... With A Little Bit Of Magic

The most powerful weapon on earth is the human soul on fire.  Ferdinand Foch

I met him, of all times, during the brief week my mom and I had together in Portugal.  He was gorgeous, and kind, and I was more than a little dazzled.  I made a pale effort to maintain my I’m-a-woman-alone-and-don’t-get-near-me face, and made sure to wear my faux wedding ring.  Despite my weary old habits though, I knew immediately that something was happening, something bigger than me.  He was, quite simply, a force of nature.  And one with whom I would have to reckon.

We exchanged contact information and a few of our big, fat, crazy dreams.  He made me laugh and made me wonder.  I learned only a little about his story, but enough.  Enough to appreciate he is a proud man of great depth.  Enough to see an old soul reflected under the surface of his youthful playfulness and wit.  Enough to finally acknowledge, and believe in what we were sharing: indisputable, undeniable magic.

But timing, as they say, is everything, and we had only the maybes of our magic.  Because he'll need all of his to thrash the disease that keeps returning to drag him back into the ring.  To defeat once and for all the disease that doesn't deserve him.  Because he is oozing with life.  Powerful, mischievous, fiercely courageous life.  Life full of adventures yet to be lived.  Life generously shared with the countless who love him.  And ever so briefly, life he shared with me, too.  


For reasons beyond our control, we knew I couldn't stay to fight for him.  Instead he sent me firmly onward, to boldly persist on this wild, ridiculous ride.  To live worthy of having encountered a bona fide force of nature.   So I'll take a bit of our magic on the road, a Portuguese mojo of sorts.  And since I can't give more, I'll leave the rest with him, an extra right hook I hope.  To show this bullshit disease who's boss.  For it too, will have its reckoning.  And it too will learn; you don't mess with magic. 

... With My Mama

Mothers are the necessity of invention.  Bill Watterson

My mom and I have always had an interesting relationship.  I wasn't easy growing up.  Independent, self reliant, yes.  But never easy.  I was intense, and broody, and passionate about everything.  And I'm quite sure, exhausting for her to try to keep up with.  Our relationship isn't without complicated history, but requires effort and patience from both of us, always.  She is however, someone I rely on more as I get older, decidedly
so over the past 4 months, as she's become one of my primary supporters.  I don't know what I'd do without her.  Which is why I was tickled when she decided to join me in Portugal.

Lisboa

Mom is a woman of many roles, and many talents.  She has devoted her professional life to working with students with special needs, both learning and behavioral.  She relishes her role as grandmother, and has a bustling social life.  She's incredibly active, defying stereotypes often ascribed to women of a certain age.  She's a friend to many, a yoga student to few, and an identical twin.  She's also now officially a world traveler.

Palais de Pena, Sintra

Mom arrived in Lisbon the morning after I'd arrived from Porto.  She was jet lagged, and excited, and  practically spinning in circles when I overheard her in the lobby of our hotel.  It was a sweet reunion, as I crashed into her from the adjacent cafeteria, giving that sluggish crowd a bit of an early morning spectacle.  I knew what it cost for her to be there, both financially and otherwise.  To take the time away, to have to figure out international travel alone, to treat me to proper hotels and three meals a day (!!!!!), no small thing.  I didn't take her generosity, or courage, for granted.

Street Art, Cascais

As my mom is my mom, our time together was full of escapades.  We spent our first few days tackling all Lisbon had to offer, which for us meant a lot of fresh fish and Portuguese wine.  We then headed further up the coast, where we hiked old Moorish castles, explored pristine palaces, and of course, ate more fish and drank more wine.  We laughed our asses off, and talked about life, and bickered the way only we can.

Our goodbye came all too quickly, as goodbyes are wont to do.  It was awkward and a little hurried as we hustled in opposite directions at the airport, her home to the west, me northbound to Switzerland.  With a little sadness and a lot of pride I watched her walk away to find her way home from this international stage.  I had every confidence she'd figure it out, the way I have every confidence she'll do it again.  Like mother, like daughter, as they say.  I sure hope so.

... Into Portugal

Beautiful Brittany

Portugal is a country of startling beauty, and startling juxtapositions.  It is a country only just beginning to emerge from the economic crisis of 2008, with a citizenry who work long hours at multiple jobs to make ends meet.  More often than ever before, folks are impelled to work without a contract, as employers can no longer afford to pay the exorbitant government tax to keep their employees "on the books".  And while the unemployment rate is slowly decreasing, it remains a disquieting season for the Portuguese people, as they gently but firmly explained to me during my visit.

Parrot Play

I arrived in Porto raw, raw from the physical toll of the camino on my body, raw from the emotional toll of the my final camino goodbyes.  Most recently, to an American named Brittany whose wisdom and experience eclipsed her chronological age.  Brittany was terrific company during my final days in Spain, and someone I greatly admire.  She's someone who knows her own mind, and has a tenacious strength unlike many I've seen.  She also has a wicked sense of humor, a real homage to her northeastern roots.

A valiant (failed) effort to like Port wine

Upon my arrival, I was relieved to find myself in one of the coziest hostels I've stayed in to date.  A recently converted, six story home from the 17th century, nestled into a hillside in the heart of Porto.  A hostel full to capacity of people on their own adventures.  A contingent of spirited Dutch professionals, in town for a week of surfing.  A Kiwi and a Welshman, proudly representing their respective rugby teams as they moved closer to the rugby world cup finals.  A lovely, brilliant young German, living in Portugal to become fluent in what will be her fourth language.  An older Korean woman, traveling alone without any English.  So brave.

Porto

I spent my days exploring the city, hiking the coast, and trying to learn as much as I could from my roommates, both Portuguese and otherwise.  It was here I began to really fall in love with this country, and these people.  They are a people of great pride, with deep, complicated history, and passionate opinions.  They are a people of the sea, and like the sea they are known for the world over, they reflect the same limitless depth, bold diversity, and coastal temperament.  So while they may appear placid and serene on the surface, I think they, like their ocean, boast a depth and a power capable of producing the largest waves in the world.  They are a people to be reckoned with, these Portuguese.  And I think I love them.