Lisbon

“There is something unwholesome about such a concentration of sweetness. A promise, half fulfilled, of the forbidden. I try not to look, not to smell….
…And now? What do I believe right now? I believe that being happy is the only important thing. Happiness. Simple as a glass of chocolate or tortuous as the heart. Bitter. Sweet. Alive.”
-excerpt from Chocolat, by Joanne Harris (a truly divine little novel that has once again, taken me away)

A very brief account of a truly amazing experience…Lisbon!

My three loving friends brought me to Lisbon, to eden really. Monique, Keisha, and Marian treated me to the most delicious, breathtaking vacation I’ve ever known in my 28 years on Earth. We spent 10 days in an apartment in Alfama, the ancient part of this beautiful city, amidst native Portuguese sitting on their front stoops, music playing in the distance, grilled fish, and children running and laughing up and down the steps. Our days were long and our nights longer.
We ate, and ate and ate, food I’ve never known before. Food that dances in your mouth like a symphony of fresh peaches and figs, dried apricots, medleys of soft cheese and melted butter atop warm fresh baked bread, cod topped with melted cheese poured over soft creamy potatoes; food that I’ve actually dreamt about since leaving Lisbon, food that never ended.
And the music, the vistas, the sea, the museums filled with ancient art that I’d only ever read about in text books.
Then there was the dancing, Oh the dancing! We left Lux, the oh-so-ever-exclusive-hard–to-get-into night club, long after the sun rose one morning and then another, once as it was just breaking light over the water. The dancing and the energy of all those bodies, strangers, moving in a rhythm with us, was enormous, amazing.
Connecting with my friends was bittersweet. They get me. We get each other. Then I have to leave them, actually, two of them left first and I cried more than when I left for Ghana. Then Lisbon cried too, after 10 days of bright un-ending sunshine, rain fell on the city’s streets to match our mood and end our trip, as though no more fun should occur in the absence of two.
I spent the last night with Marian, we walked beneath a famous pavilion I’d studied and wrote about in school and only just remembered it was in Portugal that last night, so she took me there. It seemed smaller in real life, but no less grand. I stood beneath it, cold from the wind blowing in off the ocean, staring up at the concrete stretched between the two buildings, marveling at its spance, happy to just be.

Monique, Keisha, Marian… thank you, thank you, thank you… from my depth.

There is so much that happened to me while traveling, but now is not the time to write about it. I never force myself to write about anything and I need more time to digest it all, to let it stew within until it is ready to be served.

Here are a few photos until I can load the rest...













The return

I’ve returned to my cocoon with its warm yellow walls. I am growing here. Simply due to solitude, it seems. I create more here than any other place. But to write one must live and therefore, I need to leave sometimes because I’m growing too accustomed to this little town, nothing really surprises anymore. I didn’t know what to expect to feel returning to this country. It was refreshing to be in a place where people don’t expect anything from you. And disheartening to be in a country like Lisbon, where Americans are not so well liked. I can’t blame them, there is much I dislike about it and many I disagree with. But how do you convey that to someone you interact with momentarily, someone you purchase fruit from or simply pass in the street? Do I yell, Oh, sorry, I know what you think, but I promise I’m not like them, really I’m not. But then, I am to some degree.
So it is back to no privacy and smiling faces that greet me so warmly and are so happy to see me.
Back to my simple, slow life of inner reflection and change.


Thieving in Jirapa

So far, from the locked office I use, I’ve had a peace corps manual and an entire package of paper stolen, from people whom I know. This morning, someone actually tried to take the ink cartridge out of the printer I am using. An elder man, who I shooed out of the door and told him not to come back. A man who works here with me and should know better.

So, now I’m repeating my mantra for the day, through deep breaths and clenched teeth…

I am a Ripple in the Fabric of the Cosmos

I think its working, because I do find it all amusing, greedy bastards

Good evening for a haircut…

Most evenings I sit in my yellow living room with soft music, tea and whatever book I’m reading or making at the time. This evening, however, I cut all of my hair off. I’d been wanting to all day; all month really, Lisbon did it for me. Once I returned, I just wanted to be free of all that extra whatever I’ve been holding on to since leaving America. Afraid to totally lose myself and be forgotten by those at home, I wanted to somehow appear exactly as I left. But holding on to unnecessary things only causes exhaustion. So I cut it off, well, I asked someone to cut it off and I told her what I wanted and she looked at my hair and looked back at me and said no, that I was crazy. So I begged. I said its her or me but its getting cut and since she can see the back and I can’t, I feel she’ll do a bit better job than me. then, when she made the first cut of my long pony tail, she looked at me and said yes, this is you. Almost as though I’m leaving some part of me behind, some finished, dead part of me. I love it. Its above my shoulders and it feels so good. I just kept moving my head back and forth letting it run across my shoulders. Something is stirring, changing, and its good.