The tree at the center of the universe

This neighborhood is not like the others; here there is beauty wherever you look. From here are many paths; one of these leads to Largo do Rato; another to the Bairro Alto, Largo de Camões, and eventually to the water and to Cais do Sodre; yet another leads to the Basilica. Other paths must lead to everywhere, as all paths really lead here, to the park, and to the tree, grown so wide that it drapes over all the scaffolding set up to contain it.

The other day, for the first time, I saw people sitting among the branches. It seemed somehow intrusive to take their picture. Just as it seems somehow a sacrilege to climb the tree. The tree seems drier now then when I lived here, but then again, it has been a hot summer. And the roots of this tree surely go very deep, and offer solace and protection, as well as water and nutrition.

Whenever I am here, I carefully consider all factors, and choose the house I will someday live in. The blue one used to be my favorite, but I currently really want the building next to it, which is less photogenic but probably bigger and with a more direct view. Both are on a street I used to live on, though a block away out of viewing range of the tree. I also lived a block away in another direction, but in a basement apartment with a view of nothing. Later, I will probably choose a building somewhere else in the square, with less traffic noise. Maybe one where I can also see down to the river. In the meantime, while I await my fortune, periodic visits must suffice.

This post is of course dedicated to the big tree in Praça do Principe Real.

Beauty, wherever you may find it

Try the following exercise: Walk around a neighborhood, and look for beautiful objects. Because every neighborhood has beauty, if you know where to look. You could walk around your own neighborhood, or someone else's; it doesn't matter.

These pictures were taken in the generally non-descript neighborhood around São Domingos de Benfica. I'd never given much though to Benfica, until I ended up there for half a month. Now I see it in a new light. It's not on the tourist track, and there are reasons for this. But, the more I looked, the more I saw.


A fountain, off of what has to be one of Lisbon's ugliest streets. Traditional buildings, a traditional street lined with identical houses. And, high off of the main road, a park with an azulejo-covered mansion.

Now, I'm looking forward to one day going back and seeing it again. If you had told me before, that I would one day have Benfica on my Lisbon list of places to go, I would not have believed you.

Here, a photo of Estrada da Benfica. All of the photos were taken on or (in the case of the fountain) very near this road.

To everyone I've ever neglected

It's not personal, really it isn't. I know I haven't responded to your phone call, letter, e-mail, blog post. I know it's been days, weeks, months, years. I've been meaning to get in touch. I think of you when I'm on-line, when I'm near a phone, when I read your words. My not responding is just the way I am, it's nothing personal, I ignore all my friends equally.

Surely you know that I will eventually resurface, perhaps long after I've been forgotten, or discarded by you out of irritation and impatience. When that happens, I do hope you'll forgive me, and be happy to see me, and hear all the silly distractions and petty obsessions that have kept me from you all this time. I've missed you always, even when I haven't remembered you for a while. I want to know how you've been, what you've done, who you've become, since I last was with you. I want the opportunity to vow to not let so much time pass before our next encounter, even knowing that much time will pass, and probably more.

When I finally do get in touch, I hope you are well. It can be dangerous to wait too long to respond to news - are you still in that great new job, still in the first phase of that new love? Or has the job turned sour, or is that love now fading? This makes me a bit hesitant to ask you personal things. It's not that I'm so cold, or that I don't care, it's just that I've lost touch, and don't wish to hurt you with my long-developed ignorance of your situation. I hope you understand.

My far-flung friends, rest assured that eventually I will find myself in your part of the world. I will do my best to let you know I'm coming, and where exactly I'll be. I hope you still wish to see me. I hope you're not on holiday, out of town, in hospital. And when you're in my part of the world, please let me know. I really, really do want to see you, and talk to you, and hear you, and be with you. Even when I neglect you.

*Photo: one of the many sculptures in the Norwegian garden at Frendensborg palace.*

Lisboa: Cow Town

A veritable stampede, and right in the middle of Praça dos Restauradores!

A distant relative of Portugal defender Ricardo Cowvalho.

Some Portuguese cowlture: A traditional green and black taxi.

A cowpyrighted cow outside of Cowmpo Pequeno.

Cowmpo Pequeno, home of Lisboetan bullfighting, and of the cowpyrighted cow.

Portuguese epic poet Luís Vaz de Cowmões.

More Portugese cowlture: Portugese tiles with egg on top. Portuguese food is often topped with a fried egg. Well, the meat dishes at least.

I have been told that this cow looks just like Christopher Cowlumbus.

A cow of the world, located inside Cowlombo shopping center.

A view of Cowlombo.

A statue of Armenian industrialist Cowlouste Gulbenkian, located on the grounds of the Fundação Cowlouste Gulbenkian. Not a cow in sight, but just too good a pun to pass up.

A minha vida, a week in review

This is purely an informational post on my first few days back in Lisbon...if you are not really interested in the minutiae of my daily life, I'd suggest moving on now.

Bad news, language: I had hoped that my Portuguese would come flooding back, drowning me in a sea of luso-ness. This has not been the case. However, I am constantly hearing, or spontaneously using, words or phrases that I suddenly recognize as old friends returned. Then I can dwell on them, turn them over in my mind, savor them. For example, the word 'pá'. Yes, I'd lost my 'pá', pá. I would never before have thought that possible, pá. Now if only I could come up with an acceptable and short definition of 'pá'. But I can't, sorry.

Good news, language: I feared that my Portuguese would be gone forever. This has not been the case, either. I've even had a couple opportunities to use Danish and then Portuguese, and could almost switch on command.

Bad news, food: the tosta mista (grilled ham and cheese sandwich) has fallen greatly in my esteem. I like it still, but not like my memory of it. And that alheira (a type of sausage) was really good, but I fear permanent arterial damage may have been done. And I seem to have forgotten the names of all my pastries, and have to order them by pointing.

Good news, food: The first time I ever ordered a meal in Portugal and it arrived accompanied by both rice and french fries, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. I still love my complex carbs, and still think that. The canja da galinha (chicken noodle soup, only different, and better) is still a delight. And Cerelac (yes, it's porridge for babies...but I long ago learned to love it just like all the Portuguese adults seem to) is everything I had hoped it would be and more. Though I used to buy that for myself in London, too, so I knew it would be.

Bad news, blogging: I haven't taken the time to get a cable so as to hook my computer up to the university internet, which means that you won't yet be able to see any of my photographs of Lisbon.

Good news, blogging: You won't have to see any of my photographs of Lisbon in this post. But soon, my lovelies, very soon (insert rubbing of hands and maniacal laughter here).