Portugal Mega-Post

Hi to you. I've just returned from Portugal. I've been dreaming about that place for years, ever since I saw a picture of Lisbon—a whitewashed and red-roofed city tumbling down to the sea.

The place/experience/trip was epic as hoped. Sure, I submitted some formal complaints to the ether about airports, customs, and all the rude dickheads throughout. The shitty plane food. The hours of standing in line, as we all must, to fly somewhere. But physical acts of traveling aside, Portugal was, as they say, dreamy. Magnificent empty beaches. Tidy blue-and-white buildings. Olives. Bread. Wine. Sunshine everyday, everywhere, all the time.

A note about "tourism": Personally, I travel somewhere for the there-ness. With the exception of Lisbon, Portugal was delightfully un-touristy, and, for that matter, un-crowded. We had room to breathe—really see/feel/taste what was going on in the place. This led to 2 realizations: 1) the U.S. is very crowded, and 2), the tourism industry kind of benefits the economy at the expense of the culture. Like, AirBnB brings in money, but it displaces people. I mean, the fairytale jalopy buildings of old-town Lisbon were filled, not with Portuguese people, but rather with foreigners who, like us, were Air-BnBing their way through the country. Truth be told, I peeped anti-AirBnB graffiti all around the city. I'm not sure exactly what I think. Big ups to considering yourself (like I try to!) a Traveler vs. a Tourist—but I came home with a gloomy feeling that the cultural spirit of a community is a lot more fragile than we think.

Medieval fortifications overlooking the sea. All the Portuguese castles had that sickest ocean views. "Easier to defend," the ancients claimed, but we all know the real truth ...

The pretty beaches in Peniche with the nicest little waves. Here is were I went surfing, bravely but poorly.

We took a wee day trip to Porto, a city in the North (where, obvi, port wine was born). I loved this place. It's fairly untouched by time. Basically, you're on the set of a Shakespeare at all times.

Medieval stairmaster! See ya, vacation calories.

Porto azulejos. Painted tile game on point.

Sundown on my birthday in Ereicera. Gold star emoji on this scene right here!

Palace hunting in Sintra. Yep, another castle with an epic view.

As a settlement, Lisbon has been around for 3,000-odd years. I'm a student of history, and I was super in awe of the cultural and archaeological mishmash. Phoenicians. Romans. Visigoths. Moors. Celts. Christians. See the pic below—it's all layered in there like a cake!

Cotton candy sunsets in Lisbon, as seen from our attic apartment.

Stone-cold sightseers. Behind us, a statue of a prince, Lisbon city center, and the Tejo river. Got it? Got it. Now let's all go drink a beer.

After a laborious week of avoiding octopus tentacles out in the fishing villages, we came into city and our veggie-minded stomachs were rewarded.

No-fucks-given parking situations everywhere you turned your head.

Ciao Portugal! Obrigado.

The September Report

The mood I've been in for the last week and a half, contemplative you could call it, seems to suit this time of year, when summer floats like a feather to the ground, leaving you with a lovely sort of early fall, cool and clear, the sun inarguably gold—always shining on you at some odd autumn-ish angle.

I've been spending a lot of time at home. When I walk the dog, we walk slowly. It's okay to slow down. And it's okay when things end. Loss is, when you get to thinking about it, just the other side of love. Gah, which reminds me, I was watching the Netflix animated version of that Antoine De Saint-Exupéry book The Little Prince on Sunday afternoon (hey, I find it relaxing to watch cartoons on lazy weekends whilst I cook and tinker, don't you?). Anyway, this movie snuck up and caught me unawares. Before I knew it I was gritting my teeth and the tears were flowing because, as it turns out, The Little Prince, well it's a story about death. Stupid cartoons ...

To The Last Drop

Like snowflakes and people, there is no summer like any other one, ever.

This year, it was blistering hot at the beginning and the end; cool and mellow in the middle. I cannot complain. I didn't eat as many tacos as summer's past, but I did have plenty of pizza. Balance in all things. I sweat a lot and skated a lot. I tent camped. I boat camped. I swam in both rivers and lakes. I watched a punk rock show in a city park. I ate grilled summer squash, as well as strawberry shortcake. I ate orange watermelon! Whether riding my bike around town or reading from my book about hawks, I tried to always be outside at sundown—as those liminal minutes of dusk are the loveliest, most fragrant treasure of the warm season.

Anyway, hi, September, see ya Thursday!

 

Lake Life

Just looking at these pictures makes me feel good. They're from my trip to Lake Powell in Southern Utah last week. It was a red-dust playground of motorboats cutting the glassy water. We drove through 3 states to get there—way out to the very middle of the desert, but the long hours on the straight, hot roads were worth it. As said elsewhere, I love the southwest. The desert is elegant, beautiful and harsh. It was a magical trip.

1. 3 a.m. scenic pee. My child-sized bladder did me good service by waking me every night at the calmest, darkest hour, when the Milky Way burned bright overhead and the lake was so black, so still that it looked like just another star-spangled sky.

2. Lunch beer. As a bonafide lightweight, I don't normally do lunch beers, but on vacation, on the boat, in the heat, on the lake, a very cold beer is the only thing you can possibly drink with your sandwich.

3. Houseboats. RVs on the water! What a concept. They seem kinda tricky to maneuver though, so don't ask me to drive yours.

4. Kids in the water. A couple of 12 year olds, my nephew and his friend, spent every second in the lake. Splashing, swimming, sliding, dunking, diving, flipping, flopping, etc, etc. It made me very happy.

5. A dusk swim. Every night I slipped in the water right at purple dusk in order to wash off the day's sweat and sand so as not have to sleep in my own filth. During this hushed time, I could float on my back in the silver water and stare up at the clouds turned pink in the fading light.

  

A Summer Slice

Last week was a very good week.

The temperature was summerish, in the high 80s, and the vibrations were good, from an astrological standpoint. No cosmic storms or real ones.

On an unassuming Wednesday evening, our pal Patrick arrived from New York, causing us to convene at the Bracewell mini ramp to celebrate such things as skateboarding and old friends. It was lovely. It was hot. Everyone sweated through their tee shirts. Then we all went to the Alleyway for food and cold drinks. To have a day so full of friends and fun so early in the week? One can only hope for this kind of thing.

On Friday afternoon, after everyone had gotten up early and worked hard, a river trip came together with very little effort at all. The water was tropical green and that just-right temperature—cool but not cold. You could swim for real, not just dive in and shiver calamitously back out. And did you know that we saw a bald eagle while we were there? A hush fell on the beach as it soared over the sun bathers—a benediction on the water and on summer and, I guess, on us.

Anyway, I am no reckless optimist, but good portent was everywhere last week. To be friends, to be together, to be happy ... what a neat thing.