Relative Something

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.”

I learn something new everyday here. When Ian and I were up cutting undergrowth to feed the horses, he pointed out an open mine shaft on the property where the original settlers were searching for water. He said there are 3 of them. None produced water.

My Portuguese is slowly expanding to allow folks to smile politely at my attempt to communicate. Cyndie is thriving in every capacity and surprised us all with an impromptu project of weaving a basket out of the eucalyptus bark that falls off the trees.

We are having the time of our lives! We are beginning to wonder how in the heck we will navigate returning to our former responsibilities.