Goodbye, Sea

We've spent the last two nights in Paradise, also known as the Pousada de Juventude da Areia Branca.

Not bad for my first experience of o continente. But now, we're headed inland to Idanha, and I have to say goodbye (for now) to the sea, which has been ever present since I left home.

São Jorge:

and São Miguel:

While I have rediscovered just how American I am during this trip, I'm still Portuguese-American. One of the ways that hybrid nature manifests is my relationship with the sea. Last semester during a particularly stressful finals week, a midnight drive to Santa Cruz to yell at the ocean got my head where it needed to be.

Here in Lourinhã, I've had the sound of the ocean coming in through my window as my lullaby at night and to gently urge me awake in the morning. These past few days haven't been easy for me, but the sea is where I learned to begin to cope with my loss.

The one of the great things about Portugal is that the sea is never far away. So, I'll see you soon, sea. Thanks for being there for me.

The Next Step

Leaving São Miguel today. Leaving the familiar behind. For me, the Azores have been the only Portugal I've ever experienced. São Jorge was really (barring one horrible, no good, very bad month in Terceira) the only Portugal I've ever experienced. Leaving for the continent make seem like it's putting this idea of chasing Atlantis to rest, but it's really the opposite. Portugal, continental Portugal, is the undiscovered country I set out to find this summer.

My heart will always be Azorean, but I'm ready for something new.

#SaudadeSaturday: Ponta dos Rosais

Instead of doing a #FlashbackFriday for my blog, I decided to do #SaudadeSaturday. I started working on this particular post during my first few days on São Jorge, and was in the process of expanding on it this week with pictures and footage from near the end of my time there so I could post it today.

I never finished. As some of your may know by now, yesterday I lost my Padrinho Fernandinho. Not only could I not finish this post, I was considering quitting this blog business altogether. However, so many people have told me how much they enjoy this blog, and so I'm going to try an stick it out.

Here's a look at where I spent the summer I was 12 with my grandparents. It was one of the happiest times of my life, and one I look back on even now with fondness.

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São Jorge is a long, skinny island in the middle of nowhere. Rosais, my village, is the westernmost settlement on the island. It snakes along a long winding road. At the end of that road is the neighborhood of Ponta dos Rosais, which is exactly what it sounds like: the point, or end, of the village. The furthest end of the furthest village at the end of the island in the middle of nowhere. It's always felt like ends of the earth to me. You can't get any more away from it all than here. 

My mom grew up on the Ponta, and while my Padrinho Fernandino now lives in the center of the village with his second wife, the Ponta is what I think of when I think of my Azorean home away from home. Now, I'm going to share it with you!

Amateur Geologist Time! Lagoas of Sao Miguel

We do so much every day and I fall into bed exhausted more othen than or not, so instead of atempting to do this blog  diary style, I think I'm going to stick with themed entries. Since we visited the Geosciences department of the University of the Azores today, I'm going to indulge in a little amateur geology and share some of the lagoas of São Miguel island with you.

First, a little background info. The island of São Miguel was formed by six volcanic complexes. Some of them left behind lagoas, or crater lakes. Each has it's unique characteristics.

Lagoa do Fogo: The Living Lake

(Ignore the bit about the tea plantation; more on that in another post!)

On Saturday, we visited Lagoa do Fogo, in. Of all the lagoas, it's the closest to remaining in it's pristine condition. This is probably due to the fact that it's the highest in elevation and most remote of all the lagoas. The other lagoas have settlements nearby that have impacted the lake's chemistry and biodiversity.

Lagoa das Furnas: Lunch Time!

On Sunday we visited our second lagoa: Furnas. You'll see that the color isn't nearly as brilliant as Lagoa do Fogo:

The reason Furnas is so green is that fertilizer runoff from the pastures nearby got into the lake. Unfortunately, fertilizer works just as well on algae. It grew at an exponential rate, choking out any other life in the lagoa. Light no longer penetrates the lake, so photosynthesis isn't happening either.

Furnas is pronounced similarly to the English word furnace, but it actually means pits or caves. However, both apply to the lake. Furnas is still full of geologic activity: geysers and hot springs. The people who settled here learned to harness that power. 

Cozido das Furnas is what happens when you decided to use that geologic power as a crockpot. Throw meat and veggies into a pot, bury it for a few hours, and it's lunch time! There are also natural hot and cold mineral springs in the Furnas valley. Several springs are near one another, but they all tasted different.

Lagoa das Sete Cidades: A Lagoa Out of Legend

Sete Cidades is named after the myth of the Seven Cities of Atlantis. Unfortunately, the day was overcast, but you should still be able to see that the twin lagoas are two different colors: blue and green. According to legend, a blue eyed princess of the Seven Cities fell in love with a green eyed shepherd. Naturally, their love was doomed to end in failure. Her father sent her away to be married, and the two lovers wept so much over their parting that they left behind two lakes that matched the color of their eyes.

Fun fact: The Sete Cidades crater is so big that Corvo, the smallest Azorean island, could fit inside it.

Futebol and the Portuguese Psyche

This morning's lecture was on the Estado Novo dictatorship, and part of it dovetails nicely into one of our cultural activities this afternoon: watching the PORvsGHA game at a football club.

I knew as soon as the groups were released that I was not going to enjoy this World Cup. I'm not stupid; I never expected both of my teams to advance over Germany. (I think they're a final four team, tbh) I didn't know who I was going to choose.

Then PORvsGER happened. It's not that Portugal lost; my two favorite teams (the Sharks, the Niners) have managed to disappoint me this year and I'm still a fan. It's the way they played. Entitled, stupid, malcriados. Then, this ridiculous blame game after the game. No, thank you. I went from a 50/50 split to a solid 60/40 in favor of the country that issued me my passport.

But this blog post isn't supposed to be about me; it's supposed to be about the Portuguese psyche. So, a quick history lesson is in order.

Portugal was a dictatorship, the Estado Novo, from the 1930s until April 25, 1974. Salazar, the dictator, knew he had to control the populace and mold the Portuguese psyche to fit his own image of Portugueseness. One of the tools he used to unify and control the Portuguese people were the 3 F's: (grupos) folclóricos, Fatima, and futebol. 40 years and counting since the fall of the dictatorship, and all three of those things still define Portuguese culture to this day.

When Cristiano Ronaldo is (rightfully) named the best player in the world, it is an honor for all the Portuguese. When the Portuguese national team loses, it is a national wound. Futebol is a part of the national identity in a way that baseball or football (our official and actual American pastimes) will never be in the US.

The blame game I'm watching on tv now goes back to Salazar, too. He had his own hybrid of the Gestapo and the Spanish Inquisition: the PIDE. They were everywhere. They were your neighbors, your family. You just never knew who they were. So, it became a part of the national character to avoid blame and pin it on a scapegoat instead. Better them than you when it comes to the risk of being sent to prison, right?

Before the World Cup started, I believed that US Soccer needed to make it out of group play more than the Seleção Portuguesa. When it comes to the promotion of the sport, I still believe that. Americans only care about winners, after all. 

But the Portuguese people? As much as they needed it for the sake of their national self esteem, I supposed they're used to disappointment by now. When you peaked in the 1600s and you can't let that go, I guess it comes with the territory. 

Welcome to São Miguel!

The wifi at the pousada de juventude (youth hostel) loads at a a glacial pace, belying our subtropical climate. I'll have to post more substancial updates when I'm on UAç's wifi, but for now here's a quick update:

• Our group this summer is small, only seven people. 
• Everyone is hella nice though; no drama on the horizon!
• We four girls are roomies, and of course one of them is distantly related to me. #saojorgeproblems
• Followed Professor Adao like little patinhos (duckies) from the pousada to campus this morning.
• Definitely had some first day of kindergarten butterflies.
• The University of the Azores (UAç) reminded me a lot of West Valley: small and surrounded by nature. I'm going to like it here.
• (Finally?) Added horrible cafeteria food to my college experience. I suppose I was overdue.
• Already learned a ton of Azorean history, and it was just the first day of classes!
• Some of that history took place right next to the campus!
• Went to the opera, mingled with some big shots. 
• Introduced to and going to be in the paper with the Azorean Minister of Culture!
• Brushed shoulders with the President of the Azores!
• Had my first introduction to Ponta Delgada night life.
• 3 euro caiprinhas? Yes, please.

São Miguel, you and I are going to get along just fine.

Pineapples, tea, and amateur geology opportunities on the horizon for the weekend. I might even finally get a chance to go swimming!

Catch you all up on Monday!

Leaving São Jorge

I still have a pile of raw footage and some half completed posts about São Jorge, but those are going to have to wait. (Flashback Fridays? I could make that a thing.) I'm about to leave my little rock in the middle of the Atlantic for a slightly bigger one, but even that's just a pitstop on the way to continental Portugal. 

I'm getting serious C.S. Lewis's The Last Battle vibes. "Further up and further in!" I'm starting as small and familiar as I can get, but this country (while it isn't quite Aslan's country) is just going to grow as my journey this summer moves forward.

I'm glad I came early to see my family and ease myself into this experience. I left something out of my first blog post; São Jorge plays a huge part in how I got here. It is how I got here! It's where my roots are, even if I'm a transplant that blossomed in American soil. My personal journey started here (I left São Jorge the first time as a fetus), so of course the chase for my Atlantis this summer had to start here, too. 

One thing did sink in, however. I might be from here, but I'm not of here. I never understood that truth quite so intensely as I did this summer. I never felt my separateness, my Americanness, more keenly than this summer. Almost everyone I knew here as a child is married with kids or nearly so. Their lives are nothing like mine. They're smaller. On this island, there's only so much space to grow.

My life would have been entirely different if I'd grown up here. It nearly happened, too. I understand now why so many people leave. Some come back and stay, but not all of them do. My parents nearly did when I was four. I have so much to than them for, but let's add that to the list. I might have done a lot of stupid (and not so stupid) things to get to where I am today and become the late blooming academic that I am today, but I don't think I'd want any other life.

Enough insomniac ramblings. Early flight tomorrow. Good night, São Jorge.