PORTUGAL! I LOVE YOU!
Let's be honest, who saw that one coming?
Yes. Portugal. It was wonderful and my family is kickass and I have lots of fun stories!
Day 1: Friday, December 15th.
My flight was at 6 AM, but unfortunately, I discovered that the earliest train didn't get me there until 5 AM, which I thought was cutting it a bit too close. The next earliest train got me there at midnight. So I opted for Door Number 2, and slept in the airport. Which was more or less okay, minus the hourly "Attention: Please do not leave baggage unattended" announcement, repeated in four languages, which they apparently do not turn off even when the airport is closed. The irony was that I discovered the check-in for my flight didn't even open until 5 AM, so basically, I slept in the airport for absolutely no reason.
But as one last parting gift, Germany gave me my favorite thing of all: a questionably gay man. Which brings us to
Is It Gay Or Is It German? ROUND 7!
The scenario: Toe socks coupled with flip flops. Skin tight jeans. A bizarre breed of neon yellow backpack, so narrow it would choke on an Agatha Christie novel. And all this at five in morning. What do you think?
After a really long layover in Amsterdam that I more or less slept through, I arrived in Lisbon, and wandered around for half an hour trying to find the exit. When I walked outside, there was Tia Mina, Tia Odete, and the taxi driver, holding a sign with my name on it. When Tia Mina saw me, she jumped up and down and clapped in exactly the same way I do--who knew such things were genetic? Suffice to say, they are possibly the most adorable creatures on the planet and I love them.
Then we all piled into the taxi for the hour-long drive to Rio Maior. Tia Mina speaks a little English, and the taxi driver a little more, so we were more or less able to have a conversation, the highlight of which was the taxi driver letting me know, "Your mother called to tell us you've had really bad skin since coming to Germany." "I know," I said, "I'm going to a doctor for it." "Well, it's probably the weather." Facepalm. Wanting to crawl into a very dark hole and die: check. And I did it in under half an hour, which is a new record for me.
First impression of Portugal: it looks a lot like Bolivia, only there are no dogs, and a slightly higher percentage of the roads are paved. There is most definitely an economic crisis, and it is most definitely evident in Portugal, which has not stayed on the sinking ship nearly as well as Germany. On the playground, Germany is like the fat happy child with one out of work parent who's still expecting presents for Christmas. Portugal has been wearing the same clothes for a week, has a precocious understanding of how the economy works, and knows the names of the CEOs in two-thirds of the Fortune 500 companies. If you know what I mean.
Second impression of Portugal: oh my sweet Jesus. I look exactly like everybody else.
Third impression of Portugal: except I'm taller.
Later that evening, I met my cousin, who is drop dead gorgeous and surprised everyone by actually speaking conversational English. Then her boyfriend came over to take us to a hot chocolate bar. I wish I could have had a camera on hand to capture the horrified expression on his face when she told him they'd have to speak English at me. But to their collective credit, they spoke English
the whole weekend. By the end of it, my cousin was accidentally speaking English to her parents, and I laughed very hard at her.
After the hot chocolate bar, they decided we were going to the salt mines, because they mine salt here. We went at night, so I wasn't able to get any pictures, but they look like this:
The area surrounding the mines consists of tiny little wooden shops and restaurants, that look like this:
And it was into one of these we went for another round of coffee. When we walked in, we effectively doubled the amount of people in the place, and I was introduced as, "The cousin from American who studies in Germany." "Does she speak Portuguese?" "No." "Does she understand Portuguese?" "Yes."
Let me throw in a disclaimer right now. My understanding of Portuguese can roughly be broken down like so: 50% decoding what people are saying about me, 30% grasping at cognates, 20% intimate experience with the rhythm Portuguese takes when it's being angry, argumentative, or relating something stupid, thus signifying you need to go into the other room. If you haven't grown up in a Portuguese household, listen carefully the next time you're in a supermarket in Newark. If you hear every syllable go up the scale, and then drop half an octave on the last one, it's time for you to leave. Rendered it text, it looks something like this:
then I was like, "Bitch, please."
If you hear it, you will know.
Back to the salt mines. So there we were, sitting in this tiny restaurant, talking in a strange mixture of Portuguese and English, and discovering the girl behind the counter and I both have relatives in Newark, which we decided probably know each other. Then, the other lady there turned to me and asked in Portuguese, "Wait, did she say you speak German?" I nodded. A voice from the corner yelled in German, "I do too! I lived in Germany for ten years!" My cousin, her boyfriend, and counter girl almost fell over themselves in hysterics. And that's how six people spoke three languages in the middle of nowhere, Salt Mine Land, Portugal.
Day 2: Saturday, December 17th.
Day 2 started out with an uncle coming over. At least, I think he's an uncle. As an American, I am pre-programmed to comprehend family as Parents, Children, one or two Aunts and Uncles, and a small smattering of Cousins. Trying to understand family in Portugal is an exercise in blowing your brains out: everyone in related to everyone, everyone knows how they're related to everyone, and you get lost during the explanation of this ever-expanding familial bubble because you can't count that high. So yes. Guy I Think Is My Uncle picked me and the tias up, to take Tia Mina to her doctor's appointment. While we waited for her, he took us on a drive through the surrounding countryside, which, as I said, looks just like Bolivia. Lots of small little villages tucked in between hills. Also, his car is named Austin, and is lacking in seatbelts. Anyway, our drive was lovely, and ultimately culminated in climbing up up up up a mountain, and we did not turn around until smoke started pouring out of the steering wheel.
We picked up my tia and then went to lunch, where I ate duck for the first time, and tried some Portuguese cheese they put on the table as an appetizer, which tastes like a wet cloud.
Then Tia Odete and I went for a walk, so I could be a total tourist and take pictures. We also went into a pharmacy, where I discovered Portugal places lube and vibrating cock rings on the shelf labeled "control." On that note, here, have some pictures of the town. You will notice that the sun is actually shining. And it was so warm, I could walk around in long sleeves without a jacket. So it was basically a German summer:
Tomorrow, Day 2 continued, and Day 3. The three amigos go to Caldas da Rainha and Alcobaça. Hilarity ensues.
