Relative Something

Before we went to sleep on that first night in Portugal, I tried to write just enough in my journal to capture details of the previous day’s travel. I feared that if I didn’t, memory of it would be lost to subsequent events. It wasn’t easy. I opened my eyes a few times to find my finger still resting on a key and one letter scrolled across the screen. Ultimately, I captured what I was after and we laid down to sleep around 10:00 p.m., local time. I was savoring the last thing Ian had said, that there was nothing planned immediately in the morning and we could sleep as long as we wished.

I remember waking once in the night, and finding complete darkness of an unfamiliar space. I successfully navigated to the bathroom by way of my finger-tips. It took a little while to fall back to sleep, but when I did, it was like getting a second night’s sleep, right in a row. With shutters closed over the windows of the Writer’s Cottage, there was little-to-no light in the room when I finally awoke. I sensed it was late, and opened the shutter to find the sun high. It was about 10:30 on Sunday morning. A good night’s sleep, indeed. The Writer’s Cottage is a very comfortable place to sleep.

This day was the actual day of our 29th wedding anniversary. The trip, itself, was our gift to each other. This day was also our son’s 22nd birthday. I hoped he was getting the greeting I posted in advance to him, here in this blog. We were sure getting what we wanted.

Fresh Figs!

I roused Cyndie with some of that daylight and in short order we were wandering over to the main house. We found Patricia and Stephanie there, and they set out a little breakfast of bread, cheese and fresh figs for us. Figs appeared to be abundant. It was a special treat for me. I had never even seen fresh figs before, and now I could pluck them from the tree to eat. We had arrived at an ideal time for the fruit, and the productivity of their particular tree ultimately proved to be the very depiction of the adjective, “fruitful.” But that was not the only ripe fruit available. For me, the highlight on the table at that moment was the fresh-squeezed peach juice. I am not historically a big fan of peaches. I now know for sure that I am a BIG fan of fresh peach juice! It tasted divine.

All of our senses were being tantalized with the distinct impression that we had arrived in a paradise. I particularly enjoyed discovering my intuition about the compatibility of our two families had been accurate. I sensed we would be a good fit, but it was already feeling dramatically more extraordinary than just a good fit. Both Cyndie and I shared the sensation of feeling as if we had already known Patricia and Stephanie for a long time. Their pure and precious energy drew us in and their maturity and depth of self awareness give them a radiant beauty that is a wonderful reflection of them, as well as of their parents.

Any blessings the Rowcliffe’s expressed feeling for having us as guests were being equally felt by us for being allowed to be their guests. This mutual appreciation served as the foundation for all that we were yet to experience of the place, the animals, and the friends we would come to meet. We were truly feeling this adventure was off to a superbly good start.

When Ian and Victoria returned from a trip to the supermarket, we settled in for a special lunch of curry chicken over rice with a lettuce and tomato salad and fresh bread. That was finished off with a special dessert of cake that Stephanie made in honor of our anniversary. We were not allowed to lift a finger toward helping clean up after the meal.

Patricia took this shot of Stephanie, Victoria, & Cyndie in Amarante

Victoria was hoping to provide a visit to the town of Amarante. We were able to assure her that it would be completely appropriate and desirable for us to do different things that day. So, the girls went to town and I helped Ian cut underbrush. I did my first mulching of ferns and undergrowth beneath the pine trees, and he cut growth that feeds the horses. Afterward, he and I walked up to the peak of the property for my highlight of the afternoon’s activity. It provided a beautiful view and wonderful breeze. The weather thus far had been entirely pleasant, with a hot sun, but comfortable temperatures, and a refreshing breeze. There had been some clouds in the sky, but it was mostly sunny. We drove back down the hill with fresh-cut underbrush and fed it to the horses.

After the girls returned, Patricia accepted Cyndie’s invitation for a massage. As dinner was being prepared, the whole Rowcliffe family generously pitched in to solve the technicalities of allowing me to make use of one of their internet connections. We enjoyed a meal of soup for a late dinner, and for dessert we had special treats they had bought in Amarante. Even though it was cooling significantly since the sun went down, Cyndie carried through with another massage session, this time for Stephanie, under the light of the moon (and some extra blankets).

We now find ourselves at the entrance to the farm. What a monumental moment this is for me. Victoria pulls the car ahead through the gate, and Patricia closes it behind us. As we move along the driveway, the car, fully weighted down with 4 people and all our luggage, is scraping against the hump between the two tire tracks of the driveway. It is almost the middle of the day when we arrive and the sun is high. It is a pleasantly warm day with a few light clouds floating in the beautifully blue sky. As the car pulls up, the dogs start barking, and then Ian appears from around a corner. His other daughter, Stephanie, steps out of the house. I notice that I am hearing Ian’s voice for the very first time. In the moment, I try to process what it is to experience it all, but it’s almost too much. Finally being here and meeting him and Stephanie, and seeing the whole family together in this paradise, now engaged in the flurry of typical activities of arrival –amped up with the occasion of having foreign guests– is almost too much for me to compute. The excitement and emotion, plus the fatigue of the day’s travel, leave me functioning on  a sort of auto-pilot.

After Ian has given us a brief introduction to the ‘writer’s cottage,’ where we will be staying, the first order of business is a meal. Cyndie and I choose this moment to distribute some gifts we brought for them, and hustle to find and remove things from our packed bags. Lunch is served on the open front porch of their house. Stephanie has prepared lasagna and salad and some hearty fresh-baked bread. All the gifts we brought to share were well received. We gave Ian a book of my pictures and ‘Words on Images’ creations that he really appreciated. Any apprehension we held in our minds about how this trip and our visit might play out have already melted away. It feels more comfortable being with this family than we dreamed it could.

Then we jump right into the chore of harvesting some grapes. The red grapes are less plentiful on the farm and so this is sort of a test run for the bigger project to follow in a week. Afterward, Patricia processes some of what we just picked for fresh-off-the-vine grape-juice. That is a particularly luscious treat for me. We eat figs right off the tree, and discover the bounty of other fruit growing on the property… pear, kiwi, and quince. After a snack of the grape-juice and figs, we head down to the winery to squish the grapes we just picked. We find Luis, the young man whom Ian has enlisted to help with chores on the property, already busy tramping away in the tub of grapes. Ian suggests I play guitar while the others try out the technique of stomping. I experience one of the many sensations of certainly not being in my old environment and routine any more. I AM IN PORTUGAL! We certainly are.

After that task, we all walk down to the river and some of us take a little dip in the water. Cyndie and I are barely getting a sense of the expanse of this property. The water feels incredibly refreshing and serves as a way to wash off not only from working with the grapes, but also the hours of sitting on planes. Finally, we walk horses and get them some exercise. We finish the evening with one last meal: a traditional soup of shredded cabbage in a potato broth with chorizo sausage, and grilled cheese sandwiches. As you might imagine, by this time, we are pretty tired and excuse ourselves right after eating. It is about 9:30p.m. local time, Saturday night, so this feels like the end of one day where we got up in the morning to fly and then ended the day on the farm, however, we started flying on Friday… It’s been two days. I’m ready to sleep.

We didn’t need to wake up at an ungodly early hour, because the plan was to leave for the airport around 9:00 a.m., but we were up by 6:30 or so, anyway. We had a rough start due to Cyndie suffering great angst over a computer problem related to her work, and she was struggling to accomplish one last task right up to the final minute before we were to depart. Our friend, Nina (Cindy Ellwein), arrived to drive the “getaway car” to the airport and finally, we were on our way. The flight from Minneapolis to Chicago was pleasant, as was Chicago to Newark, but then at Newark’s airport, we had no signs to follow indicating we needed to go out of the secure area, hop a tram to get to the next gate, and then suffer the whole security process again. I guess you just need to find the right person to ask. Luckily, we had time to spare. The gate for our flight to Portugal seemed very international already and not at all like an American airport. The PA announcements were in Portuguese first and then barely audible in English. We were never quite sure about the status of boarding, but as folks began to make the moves indicating the process was starting, Cyndie executed some of her magic and the gate agent approved her silver card for our early entrance.

I placed my guitar overhead, on the opposite side from our seats, and the man behind me got upset about it, so I moved it to our side. As we settled into our seats, after having pushed hand bags around to fit the tight squeeze, we were asked to swap with a couple that wanted to be by their friends. We had to rearrange everything we had just done, but we switched without hesitation, leaving my guitar and Cyndie’s bag behind in the overhead bin where we were initially seated. The plane remained on the tarmac for about an hour before the pilot announced we needed  to refuel. It was a long wait, but eventually the plane left the ground and our flight wasn’t too bad. I got some sleep, fitful at first, woke up once, too hot, then slept soundly until they turned the lights back on to serve some food. After we landed, while everyone was waiting to exit, the man who had gotten angry at me earlier gestured to the man who switched seats with us. He had him pull down my guitar and Cyndie’s bag and pass them up to us. Very kind. I am able to exchange the knowing nod of appreciation across the distance.

Getting through customs was pretty easy, except we weren’t quite prepared to pronounce what city we were going to. Our stumbling attempts appear sufficient. The wait for luggage seems unjustly long, but all our bags did successfully follow our multiple connections. Finally, after facing the same struggle to identify our destination cities again, we get past the luggage claim officer and walk out to find Victoria and Patricia waiting right in front of the exit for us. They stepped up to get our attention and we shared a wonderful greeting. Our luggage fit perfectly in their car, except we had to load from the passenger doors because the back hatch had been inoperable since having been rear-ended quite some time ago.

We enjoy a pleasant visit during the hour-long drive, beginning the process of getting to know each other. The scenery on the route grows increasingly beautiful. Victoria’s driving lived up to comments Ian had written about it. She doesn’t waste much time. We leave an expressway and enter a small commerce center that is Celorico de Basto and then as we pass from there, the roads become increasingly narrow and rustic, passing up and down through areas with cuts into the earth so there are walls on either side. Occasionally,  buildings appear, right up to the edge of the road. There are no direction signs or other traffic control. Victoria beeps her horn to warn that we are coming around corners as the road narrows to about one car wide. All of a sudden the pavement ends and we are on a rough patch of road that splits a couple of times. We approach a gate and Victoria brings the car to a stop. Patricia hops out and opens it. We are at the farm.

I found the farm on Google maps. The trick was the greenhouse. While we were there, I had a feeling the greenhouse would prove to be the feature that would stand out and be identifiable. While trolling the area around Celorico on the Google maps view, it indeed was the greenhouse that caught my eye. Unfortunately, what doesn’t come through on this view is the change in elevation across the property. Essentially, the pool and greenhouse are above the main house, and the land to the left of those rises steeply to the high point of the property. The little isolated stable is below on the way down, leading the rest of the way down to the bottom field, where the horses so often run free to graze. The lower edge of the bottom field, which is the border of Ian and Victoria’s property, is the river we swam in at the bottom of the valley.

I have been mulling over the challenge of finding the words to tell the story of our Portugal adventure in a way that conveys the magical splendor of what we experienced, while also providing something of a chronological depiction, but avoiding becoming a monotone travelogue. I dream of describing our adventure in such a way that readers are drawn into the tale in the same way we were drawn into the activities that appeared for us each and every day in Portugal. Activities like picking bunches of grapes for making juice and wine. We found ourselves doing that on the very first day we arrived.

There are many aspects of this story that are worth telling, several of which could stand alone as interesting subjects. Yesterday, I found myself explaining to an acquaintance, where it was that I had been for the last two weeks. It seemed like each detail I provided, led to additional questions that brought comments of amazement over my description. It helped me to realize that my familiarity with all the things that make this story noteworthy could contribute to my overlooking some features that deserve to be included.

One dramatic detail about our whole adventure in Portugal, which I’ve already written about and posted here in Relative Something back on 9/13/10, is how I “met” our host and his family online in a virtual community social discussion forum. If you don’t already know that part of the story, I encourage you to go back and read about it.

I found Ian Rowcliffe in Brainstorms, the virtual community where, over many years, we became familiar with each other through the stories we wrote and posted about our lives and interests. He is originally from Bristol, England, so my lack of ability speaking Portuguese wasn’t a concern. Ian’s wife, Victoria, is Portuguese, and thankfully, her ability with English was strong enough that I was completely comfortable communicating. Cyndie has strong language skills and her ability with speaking Spanish proved to be very beneficial to how well she was able to interpret the Portuguese she was hearing. As the days of our trip drew close, the thought that was occurring to me about communicating with our hosts was that I had never heard Ian speak and didn’t know what his voice sounded like. Little nuggets such as that can easily be overlooked when sharing the bigger story.

We were going to travel across the Atlantic ocean to a foreign country with a plan of staying with someone I had never met in person, and who I had never even heard speak. Some might suggest that such an idea was a bit zany. I think Ian shared my sense that it wasn’t. In the end, our intuition proved to be right on. With each progressing day, it felt as if our coming together was entirely natural, even divinely inspired. It is a significant aspect of our adventure in Portugal, but it is only a part of the many stories that unfolded, magically for us, in the two-week visit to Ian and Victoria’s “Forest Garden Estate.”