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.
