I guess I haven't written in a long time. Every time that I've wanted to write about something, I either find something that I would rather do (watch TV, or read some portuguese book about crooks who don't use guns) or I go to rowing. I'm rowing 6 times a week. It's great fun.

I'm not feeling any great inspiration that has to do with Portugal at the moment, so I'll go ahead and talk about those pictures. The first two are from rowing. The top image was taken on the dock at about 8h30. I was lounging about, waiting for a ride from my mom, and I decided to take a seat on the dock, to see the water. The water is incredible. It has emotions. Sometimes it gets pissed off, and starts to snarl and growl like an equally angry. One should be about as careful with the water in such conditions, because it can easily break you in half. Other times, it beckons, chearful, calm, mirrorlike. That evening, when I took that picture, I was laying down, watching the clouds churn above me. They were about to erupt. But everything was so calm. The water wasn't moving. There was no current. The vertible calm before the storm. And what a storm. My dad likes to say that when it rains really heavily it's like a cow pissing on a rock. Well, that night, it was as if the entire herd decided to piss on the same rock.

The second photo was taken by one of my friends from rowing. The oars in the backround are sweep oars.

The third photo was taken last night, at the Benfica party. For those who don't know, Benfica is a soccer club in Portugal, being by far the most popular. While I'm not a fan of Benfica (POOOORTO), I figure that a party's a party, so what the hell? In the central roundabout in Aveiro, there were a ton of people, singing, yelling, getting drunk. On a Sunday night. Fantastic. There were guys running around with out shirts on, and pick up trucks with 20 people in the back, jumping up in the down. Those unlucky enough to be passing through the city at that time last night also got rocked. I mean, rocked, literally, by about 10 drunk benfiquistas. Excellent party. I won't go into too many details, but the picture is of one of my friends, a true benfiquista, joyful, arms spread wide open.

I've got about a month and a half left before they drag me, kicking and screaming, onto that jet airplane in Lisbon. I don't want to go back to Minnesota right now. I want to spend the summer here, just hanging out with friends, camping, visiting Spain and the rest of Portugal. The rest of Portugal, no, but I would have the oppurtunity to explore a little bit. This country is so big, it's ridiculous. It's a little dot on the world map compared to the US, but there is so much to live here.

Não sei se vou escrever mais um post antes que termine a minha estadia aqui, portanto, espero que tenham gostado de ler um pouco acerca da minha aventura inesquecível em Portugal!

Talvez faça um blogue do próximo ano na América para os meus amigos de Portugal. Se o fizer, vou escrevê-lo em português!

I'm going to London in 2 days. I have to get up at 2 in the morning on Friday (madrugada) to catch a flight at the Porto airport. It's gonna be a wild trip. I'm pretty excited, but I'm also really tired. It's been 5 weeks nonstop since the end of winter break, and my head is about to explode, spraying 6 months of portuguese all over the place.

My dad always said (among a lot of stuff) that there are two things that you don't want to see being made: Sausages and Laws. Can't say that I've seen the latter, but the sausage-making process is not very pretty. In portuguese, they're called morcelas which translates as "blood filled pig intestines." There are some little chunks of other stuff too, presumably some unidentifiable pig-insides. I'd hate to gack out my 5 readers, so I won't go into details. However, the end result is incredible. I've never eaten anything like it. Once you get past that feeling of eating what you just saw getting made, you feel really good, and start to enjoy the really strong, pork taste. Food made on the farm is the best.

The other day I saw a fado concert at the theatre. Fado is traditional portuguese music, played in two distinct forms in Coimbra and Lisbon. Fado is usually sad. No wait. It's not sad: It goes beyond sad. It becomes it's own emotion, encompassing saudade, sadness, and passion into one musical form. I'm not going to pretend that I know what good music is, nor how to make my description of it like those guys at Rolling Stone magazine, but I really did enjoy the show. The singer, while not in the best form, was good, and into the performance. (I must admit, it's be hard not to be into it when you're singing fado). The portguese have this guitar that is really cool. It's got 12 strings, and is smaller than a normal guitar. The band is called Carminho. I'm pretty sure they have a website. (Another band that plays fado-like music is called Deolinda. It's one of my favourites)

Maybe y'all are interested in how my portuguese is coming along. To be frank, it depends on the day, and how I'm feeling. Some days, I feel great, and talk all the time, about whatever comes to my mind, making magic with words. Let me tell you, it feels really good when the words come out in the right order, decently well pronounced. The ultimate high. Other days, it sucks. It's hard to speak, and I feel like I can't communicate with anyone without screwing up. But instead of despairing, I have to move on from that phrase, learn from it, and speak another one. One has to push through the crappy days to get better.

Awhile back I wrote a post in portuguese, and looking back at it, I realize that I have come to improve a lot since I got here. A lot. I've given up on a lot of things in my life, but I want portuguese to be one the few things that I can say that I actually got really good at. And I want to get really good at it.

I guess I haven't written about Portuguese Christmas. For a lot of portuguese people, it's the only time of the year when they go to church. I'm afraid to say that it's just as commercialized as the american Christmas. Pai Natal, or Father Christmas is the predominant image during the christmas season. Seeing a jolly, fat, northeren european dude speak portuguese is just weird. It doesn't fit, at least for me.

My family and I went to Lisbon to spend Christmas with my host mom's parents. Also present were my host aunt and uncle, as well as their two kids. They hail from Madeira, one of the tropical sets of islands off the coast of Portugal. Christmas eve dinner was comprised of bacalhau, carrots, potatoes, and this whitish root that I can say in Portuguese but am too lazy to go look up. The desserts were really good. Among them were various cakes, rabanadas (like french toast) and formigas ("ants"- a sweet paste with nuts and dried fruit). The next day, after opening presents (I got a sleeping bag and a camp stove) we had turkey and cabrito assado, or roast baby goat. It's effin' awesome. A host of desserts following the dinner. About two hours afterwords, we ate some cheese and drank wine and coffee (espresso). I dunno what else to say. I feel like it was really similar to the American Christmas, except in Portuguese, and with my host grandma telling ridiculous stories about when she was a kid. All that ridiculous commercialism that envelops the Christmas season is present, along with those stupid American Christmas songs. (Aquilo mete-me nojo, meu...foda-se) American sensabilities and the lack of portuguese self-esteem has made the holiday digustingly "globalized." Call me what you want to, my american culture has ruined all but the most deeply rooted Portuguese traditions.

We went to Lisbon and walked around on the 26th. Big city. It was really spread out, and so different from Porto. The two cities are really not comparable. Porto is tall, dark, and dirty, full of people who swear all the time. You love it though. You walk down the ribeira, cross the bridges, eat a francesinha, and you find yourself falling in love. Lisbon is the same in it's romantic draw. Except different. It's really big, and tall, but not tall in that New York City sense. There's a downtown, with a huge praça, and colorful buildings with scrupulously made sculpture. And then you get lost. Lost in a maze of incomprehensible streets that only make sense to those who live in that part of town. But who cares? It's the day after Christmas, and you have to whole day to find your way out. Don't forget the pastéis de Belém.