Carnival Portuguesa Style

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, the culmination of the carnival celebrations throughout February. Since I have been in Portugal for almost a month, I felt obliged to join in the celebration.

The Monday prior is “the” night to celebrate all that would be forsaken for lent. The collection of characters who became friends congregated at Silk (a club that boasts a beautiful view of Lisboa from their roof-top terrace), and I invited my new friend Christy to join me for a night of dancing under the stars until the sun dared to rise. I have not laughed so hard in a long time. The costumes ranged from tragic to magnificent, but everyone was jovial as they sang Portuguese songs. I had a great time dancing and singing along (when I could in Spanish). For more pictures go to my photo album.

Traffic Jam Cabanas’ Style

Life in Cabanas is slower than many places I have ever been in a while. It is really refreshing to live in “Praise of Slowness” (Shout out to Chris Holohan for letting borrow his book in SA) by cooking and heating the place with a wood-burning stove, working in the sunlight with the gatos (cats) and watching sunsets. Portugal is a place where business deals are forged and broken on the basis of the amount strain it generates between parties.

The most stressful thing I have observed in the town has been the afternoon grid-lock captured above. I am staying across the road from a sheep’s milk dairy and the afternoon grazing is about as busy as the roads get near the home. As you can see there is a real pile up around the orange tree that brings the flow to a grinding halt. The other sheep just keep on coming and the cascade of wool just increases around the tree. The sheep in the middle were trapped by the tree but they did not seem to mind it much. In fact I actually watched one sheep use the back of his brother to stand on to claim an orange (my battery died so I could not catch it on film but it made me smile). When life gave him lemons, he decided to make orange-aid out of those who held him captive.

Even though it is a stressful time with Reckoning deadlines, life around me is sending a powerful message to take things as they come and enjoy an unhurried pace of life.

Cooking Without Gas

One of the joys I am experiencing in Portugal is cooking for the first time on a wood burning stove.

Tonight I made my entire dinner on the gem you see pictured above. I am discovering how to manage the temperatures with varying amounts of wood and the proximity to the fire, and the thickness of the pan. It is a constant juggling to make a meal on the stove top and the oven but I got the hang of it. With a stone top I was able to keep my tea warm while I was cooking in addition to keep the home warm. I have to admit the food tastes richer and cooks faster.

My hat is off to those in the world who are rocking the wood stoves day in and day out. I also have a deeper respect for my forefathers who dreamed of such a luxury to care for their family. When I think of all the chopping of wood, letting it dry, hauling it into the house, then putting it to work in the kitchen. All in a days work! What is reality for others, is a temporary joy for me. Makes me think and appreciate the work of my relatives.

Momentary Pause

This is my one full day in Amsterdam and I have to say that it is good to be home. I missed the city, friends and even the brisk cold.

I have about 48 total hours and a long to-do list to work through, but I decided to take a moment to breathe. Some time to sit for a while, to soak a bit. know it is a quick turn-around, but it is good to stand still for a moment in the midst of the blur that is my life. Like Ferris said, “Life moves pretty fast,you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

23.5 Hours

The picture captures how I felt during my journey. I have never had such and experience while travelling anywhere, not even in developing countries!

What should have been two flights with a total air time of 12 hours, dragged out to almost 24 hours of 4 airports, three delayed flights, misinformation, mechanical failures, a lively debate for food vouchers and bonding with my fellow travellers. This was one adventure that drained my capacity for flexibility and serendipity.

I am grateful to Don and Christine Wood, who waited patiently for me through all the delays and an airport change. Otherwise, I might be in some place live Cleveland in a hotel,rocking in disbelief.

I am happy to have spent the day in the sunshine, which magically melted away my frustration so that I could enjoy the scenery in all h

The Guru

Tonight I attended a bhajan mandalis aka “bhajan” (a gathering to sing bhajans/devotionals) at the family home of a friend’s in Surrey County London. It was a celebration and gathering spurred by the attendance of a family guru or spiritual leader. Apparently this guru’s ancestors were responsible for reintroducing Hinduism to India and my friend’s family has been a disciples of guru’s lineage ever since. From I understand this guru’s family lineage is known for being very gifted and highly revered. Although my main motivation was to go and support my friend and her family who I have come to love, I was also interested in the new experience.

We arrived late to the house and rushed through an obstacle course of shoes (one removes them when entering an Indian home), relatives who were hosting the Bhajan and disapproving looks due to our tardiness. After quickly changing into something more appropriate, we descended the stairs and entered into overflowing rooms filled with about 200 family members who were anxiously waiting to hear from their Baba. We arrived just in time for the initial introductions and blessings of the hosting family (phew) then we sat and made ourselves ready for the coming message by joining in song.

Although I could not understand the words being sung, I could participate in the melody and inflections of the music and singing. The energy and rhythms were infectious and we all clapped hands or tapped along to the music. The people were beautiful, especially the older women. The petite yet powerful grandmothers had faces, which seemed to glow with pride as they surveyed the burgeoning room filled with their descendents. They were honored and respected by everyone in the room; everyone fought to attend to their every desire, need and movement. With their hair simply pulled back into tightly woven buns and understated saris, they stood out in the crowd and drew everyone’s attention – they had presence and grace that just drew you in. Their longevity acted as pillars of great wisdom for the future generations to glean support.

We sat for over three hours joined in song interspersed with messages from the guru. Although I could understand very little of what was said (due to language barrier), one thing really stuck out to me. Baba spoke about the gap between the generations regarding the significance of their faith. Most youth struggle to reconcile religious traditions and spirituality. Somewhere the meanings behind the rituals became lost on the youth, making many Hindu customs seem irrelevant. No matter where I go in the world this seems to be a growing concern of spiritual leaders across many faiths (finally) and a common thread they all share and struggle with daily. I found it interesting Christians and Hindus are experiencing the same tensions and challenges brought on by the wanting to preserve what is significant without holding onto ritualistic behavior that may appear hollow to younger believers. Today most people search for something real and significant; they reach beyond religion and tend to side step anything that cannot fill that void. This is very true also of the Hollanders I meet.

It made me think about how my walk of faith might be perceived by others. Is it something dynamic, comprehensible and inviting to others or does it seem like the mutterings of a woman who is trapped in her habitual rendition of faith? I hope that the people I meet see the former rather than the latter and feel encouraged by and not separated from what and how I believe. That question is one that I will ask myself often as I continue my journey as a Christ follower. Even though we never spoke nor did I engage in the Guru’s teachings, I walked away from that evening a question that will help me evaluate how I am living out what is most important to me.

Cruising In My Hood

One of the benefits of being in such a wonderful city is that you can always find something new. Most days I take time to familiarize myself with the neighborhood as I take walks to help me battle some serious jet lag (yes it is still hitting me). Here are some of my encounters…

First let me start of with where I am staying...This is the outside of the flat where I stay: The open window is my room!



And here’s the street we are on.



The fresh fruit at the markets are amazing and I have a wonderful store right on the corner. Look at the size of these blueberries. Mouthwatering goodness.




My arrival could not have been timed more perfectly. The sun is out and everyone is eager to be outside as much as possible. At the Saraphatipark near our flat people gather after work to bbq, relax and unwind.





Those who are lucky enough to own a boat take their happy hour on board. Hey who wouldn’t want to tan while you sail?



I will not bombard you pictures of all the amazing architecture, cute shops or the Heineken Brewery that litter the area, you will have to wait until I create an album or you will have to come see it for your self.

Cheers!

South Africa to Amsterdam

If you did not get a chance to see this or you were wondering what I have been up to here you go!

New Familiar Faces!

Today, I drove up to Sacramento, CA to attend the Mid-Town Second Saturday Art Walk - more specifically to see my new friends at the VoxSac Café (www.voxsac.com). Even though I have only known them a few months, I feel very much at home when I am with this group of rebels in sheep’s clothing. It is always great to meet people who are about pushing the envelope of what is while holding on to what is valuable in the now.

Eric, Heath, Sue, Jill, Cindy and their families are pioneering in the scope of what we hope to achieve with Reckoning in Amsterdam. We have a special kinship of the battle ready and weary that we hope will continue to grow and mature as we move forward into our relative unknowns. It is great knowing that you are not the only crazy people in the world willing to bank on the impossible – it brings us to our knees together so that we support each other in a myriad of ways. They are like old friends who just get what you are about and where you would like to go with out the necessity of words or exorbitant explanations.

Cindy's Arm, Eric and Heath

My Next Move

It is official! I am moving to Amsterdam. If you would like to on my mailing list, please send me a message with your direct email address with subscribe in the subject.

Blessings, Alycia

Signing Off

I have to say that I am overcome with an avalanche of feelings about leaving something that has meant so much to me. South Africa opened the door to so many things in my life and she instilled a deepness and honor I hope to carry with me for the rest of my life. The people taught me about more about laughter, selflessness and hospitality; the land taught me about the wildness of beauty; the animals taught me how to praise; the economy taught me about appreciation; the history taught me about diversity over tolerance. These are the few things that have risen to the top when I muse over my time there.

I am also heavy in heart about leaving my dearest friends behind, Bryan, Daleen, Elizabeth (Lizzy), and Hilde. These people are some of the best humans I have ever met. I am at a loss when I try to think of how I will cope without them being a car ride away. They have seen me in all my colors of crazy and brilliance – and they survived to tell me that I made it through another tragic day. They are rare and precious jewels that I leave behind, knowing they will enhance the beauty of the country. I miss you so much, forever.

Last but not least, I am tear-filled over leaving 13thFLOOR. I am so enriched by the opportunities I explored within this ministry and all I learned from the students and staff there. Leaving the students is like a knife in my heart. They became my babies and I became their mother, mamma and friend. The ties run deep and will be hard to sever. I know that the distance means so relationships will end, while others will remain tethered to my heart for a lifetime, and both cause me to ache at the indefinite separation. My babies helped me to grow and become more, because I always wanted to give them my best, because I believed it was the very least they deserved (Thank you!). I dream and hope they fly higher than I ever dreamed of going myself; maybe someday the winds will cause our paths to drift together again but if not, I my heart would be pleased to see you soaring above.

Tears of joy and sadness fill my eyes again as the necessary goodbyes materialize in my consciousness. Every going is filled with newness and adventure that fills me with excitement – this energy propels me toward risks and the uncertainty. But going also implies a leaving. Abandon is the ugly sister to Adventure that comes along on every voyage. She is the one that travelers like to avoid, but she is there nonetheless. Every time a season changes in my life, indicating that it is time to go to a new land, I immediately commit to the new direction but I bristle at leaving what I have come to love. It is painful because the lack of proximity does not break the affections and adoration; it often heightens it making the leaving more perilous. Making peace with the going and leaving is never easy, but I know it will eventually come as I continue onward, becoming richer for the journey.

Ending Well

So much has happened that it seems crazy to even try to explain. Let’s just say that I have had a wonderful time in Netherlands and I am sad that it is coming to an end. I have learned so much about myself and I have been doing my best to take advantage of this time of rest and exploration, but frankly I have also been having so much fun.

I have been to Köln, Germany, Christmas parties, celebrating birthdays, visiting cathedrals, and dancing with gypsies interlaced with a plethora of laughs. I have to say that all of these things have happened randomly, without provocation. Through all of this I have made some amazing friends, some

I feel I am destined to know for long time, others it may have been for this time to help me hold together my breaking heart while it healed. Although I said many tear-filled goodbyes yesterday, I am so grateful to all the gentle souls that I was able to love and who loved me. Maybe it was fate, or luck, but I have to say it was amazing.

I hope that you have as much fun in the new year as I had in the last few weeks.

A Quick Glance at Brussels.

After wiping away my tears, I boarded the train headed to Brussels central. Once I arrived there I would only have very little time to look around before I had to catch the train back to Den Haag.

I made a mad dash to the Groet Marte and sampled a few chocolate shops. I wish I had more time to really do it justice, but you know that I have always had a strange relationship with chocolate, I really would not be bothered if I had to live without it (I know this is against the girl code of ethics, but I am what I am, - I prefer gummi bears). But this was Brussels, the girl mecca of chocolate, so I did partake and it was good, brief but good. I actually spent more time at a cheese shop I stumbled across with friendly owners and a delicious selection of curdled delights. My taste buds we in heaven. I bought a few things and raced back to central station just in time to catch my train.

As we pulled from the station I made a mental note that I must come back again to explore what the EU capital city has to offer. I hope that I can visit again soon.

On my way to Brussels

Sunday morning I packed my bags and joined the 13thFLOOR team at Crossroads Amsterdam for the youth service. As I walked through the foyer I was greeted by familiar faces and warm smiles. It has been a few years since I had been there and many of the “kids” I left behind were in leadership or were blossoming teens.

13thFLOOR was given the entire youth service for the day. Warren was our guide for the journey to discover “What is sacred?” In between the teachings were performances that illustrated and stretched the participants view of what can be considered sacred. I was put in the hot seat by my beloved adopted son, Warren, as part of a panel. The youth were mostly quiet during the discussion time, but the flurry of questions afterward indicated that they were challenged by what they saw and heard.

We piled (literally) into the cars and vans to meet the rest of the team who had been at Hilversum ICC for their morning service. After packing equipment and having lunch, we headed out for Brussels. Now we had a few false starts do not having a clear picture of how to get back to the roadway, a van getting stuck in the mud (the one I was riding in) and our translators wallet being locked in the church, but we eventually made it to Operation Mobilizations headquarters in Brussels near the airport.



It was only after we arrived here, that I started to realize that I might not see many of them again or for a very long time. The end of tour has always been a painful transition time for me. Saying good bye and releasing people you have loved and cared for into the unknown is paradoxical for me. I am excited to see them go off on their own and blaze their own trails, but I also want to hold them close and protect them from the trials they will have to overcome as well. It is the same way I feel when I watch nature documentaries about animal migration, you know that they all will not make it to the greener pastures strong and vigorous. But the journey has to be made nonetheless, it is in their nature. This time had the additional sting of me being released from them also to pray about and pursue what is next for me in life. I also felt like I was being set adrift and in many ways I am. Every interaction became precious no matter how frivolous the activity. I wanted to store up all the laughter, words and tears I could to use as a flotation devise until the next wave comes to rush me to shores I am destined to walk upon.



Monday morning the team did a ministry show for the staff and friends of Operation Mobilization. Warren spoke about how being in the centre of God’s will is often a place where safety is not an option. Often it is a wild ride that will leave you clinging to the very life you chose to give away. I believe that it was an eye-opening conversation for many of the people there. It especially made and impression on one young woman in particular.

She came to the base to serve and wrestle over her relationship with God. It was also a good time for her to step away from family and friends to seek out her purpose and passions. A few of us were able to share from our experiences in a way that left her feeling encouraged. In moments like these I can not help but see random encounters like these as anything less evidence of something or someone divine in the universe, because this was divine providence. I had not plan to go to Brussels until Friday evening and she had no idea that several weeks after arriving at her destination where people from a foreign country would be the source of meeting some of her deepest longings. How could we have known or planned it if we coconsciously tried to make it happen. To me this went beyond coincidence and providence.

Tuesday morning the team made it’s way to Brugge and I was taken to the train station. My heart still aches from this parting. As I entered the station, I sighed and realised I was again walking way from another season in my life that I was best left to its place in my memory. I can stand at a distance and glance back upon my times with the 13thFLOOR students, but I know I will never return there the way I entered.

Back Track…

I know it has not been a day since I wrote but it seems like weeks because so much has happened between now and then. This will be lengthy.

I think I will go back a bit further to December 1st.

Biking riding – crashing actually – in Amsterdam

After a late night of chatting after 13thFLOOR’s show in Hillversum, I finally left the cocoon of the dark room I had been hiding in and ventured out into the world to meet Adriaan Berg to catch up over cigars and beer. Since this was his first time in the city we decided to go exploring. In order to maximize his visit in the 1.5 hours we had, we took off on bikes. Now riding in Amsterdam is not as easy as it looks. There are cars, bikes, trams, buses and dogs coming at you from all directions and you have to keep track of where you are trying to go while ignoring the laughter and Dutch profanity coming from the bike savvy natives. I had much fun laughing at myself amid the sites we took in. Key takeaway from the day – Winkle by Noord Kerk (North Church) has some of the best apple tart in the city. (Thanks Esther!)

 
 
 (Beware! Swarte Piet is everywhere)

 

Creative Collaboration

About 20 of us gathered at Shauna Snow’s home for dinner and some fun conversation. After a few rousing games of Candy Land and Chutes and Ladders (I lost both) with Shea and friends, we shares a fabulous chilli dinner. It was great to catch up with some of the 13thFLOOR gang while we shared a bit of down time. At some point in the evening we were invited to continue our conversations on a wall in the Snow home. Most people immediately gravitated to the wall with Shea setting the pace, by grabbing a paint brush and diving right in. It became a melange of styles, media and laughter. Some of the contributions were whimsical while others were deliberate but they all worked together. Shea was clearly the master artists as she collaborated with many and left her prominent signature daring all of us to bring our A game as she had. Here is a small taste. (See more at http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=21358&l=f070e&id=656840835).

So Excited!

I am headed out the door to spend the weekend with 13thFLOOR’s UK team in Amsterdam. I am can not wait to see the team and hug all of them to death. I have really missed them because they are in many ways my kids that I have adopted while in South Africa. I am looking forward to hearing all their stories and sharing some of mine as well.

Please be praying for Lourens' visa to get straightened out so he can join us soon.

Over the weekend I will also attend a gathering of artists and friends who are proposing and artistic way of challenging people’s worldviews. I am looking forward to hearing their plans and consider what they are doing. Who knows it may spark something in me.

Have a great weekend, I know I will.

Prepare for Sinterklaas

Last Night a little girl chased me down, grabbed my hand and shouted “Swarte Piet!”

It was a surreal moment in my life, one that I had been prepped for a few weekends ago when Sinterklaas arrived in Amsterdam after his refreshing annual hiatus in Spain.

Let me back track historically for a moment…

There was this sainted bishop of Mira, Turkey named Saint Nicolaus. He was known for his generosity to children. It is believed that Americans made him into what is known as Saint Nicholas or Santa Claus from the Nordic version Sinterklaas. As time progressed a feast was attributed to him on December 5^th to celebrate his birthday (actually the 6^th but who wants to be such a stickler). He returns a few weeks before his special day to give gifts and make appearances.

Shortly after the tradition first appeared, Sinterklaas’ mystic grew to him championing evil. This triumph was dramatically presented on feast day and men would dress as Sinterklaas and act out his defeat over evil. Evil of course was depicted as - yes you guessed it - a white man in black face. So it became impossible to see one without the other during his tours of the Netherlands. Apparently the work of delivering gifts and keeping track of naughty and nice kids was such a strain to Sinterklaas’ respite in Spain, that his little evil sidekick was morphed into his faithful servant who relieved Sinterklaas of his burdensome life. His sidekick is known as Swarte Piet (Black Pete) who is the predecessor of the elves who work for Santa Claus.

Some decades back when a white man played the role of Swarte Piet, he would put on court jester’s costume, blacken his face, elevate his voice, and take on the demeanor of a hapless child (not making this up people). Swarte Pieten are quite busy going down the chimney to collect the straw children leave in their shoes for Sinterklaas’ horse in exchange for gifts, in addition to keeping track of everyone’s behavior. There was also a time when naughty children were told they would receive a beating with twigs and then taken away in a burlap sack to SinterKlaas’ workshop in Spain. (This may be how Sinterklaas has collected so many Piets).

Today Swarte Pieten (plural) are Sinterklaas’ faithful companions who walk before Sinterklaas’ (who is mounted on a white horse) carrying a burlap sack filled with treats for young children who shout his name. Sometime during the civil rights movement Swarte Piet disappeared but in recent decades has reemerged as the playful chimney sweep (with miraculously clean clothing with a dirtied face) who prepares the way for Sinterklaas and delivers ginger cookies to children on the day they return from Spain in mid-November.

Being at the parade in Amsterdam for Sinterklaas’ arrival was an experience to say the least! Seeing little Dutch children dressed in brightly coloured costumes wearing wigs to cover their blonde curls with coarse black hair was strange. Extreme parents would top this by blackening their child’s face! I think my defense mechanisms kicked in and all I could do was laugh to the point that I could not stop (I could not focus the camera I was laughing so hard). My friends were shocked and embarrassed by the racial overtones but like me did not know what to do with it. What else can you do in the face an indigenous culture norm that rams into your paradigm? Every store you go in has diminutive Swarte Pieten decorating their merchandise and the windows are covered with the blacken faces with red lips and gold hoop earrings that look very much like the performers of the traveling minstrel shows of America in the 1800’s. I do not know where to begin, besides making a joke of the whole thing. (And believe me I did – you can ask Ari Snow about it).

Now back to this moment’s reality….

So knowing all this, when this child ran after me shouting “Swarte Piet,” I froze. How do you tell a smiling six year old cherub-face child that they just insulted you and explain to her the significance of the slight. I asked her where her parents were and she said they were in the overly crowded store (I had a few words in mind for them). So I bent down and told her that I was not a Swarte Piet and not all brown people are Swarte Pieten. She was confused, but excepted this and asked me if I knew where any Swarte Pieten were, I of course told her no, because I was not from her country and there are none where I come from. She shrugged and went off to find her parents.

I am still struggling to figure out what to do with such an experience. It took a night of wrestling just to write about it. Maybe there is a constructive and brilliant answer out there but in that moment all I could come up with was love to this little girl’s innocence while I processing the distain for the reason we met. I doubt she or her parents know the origin of Swarte Piet (no one that my friends and I asked had a clue and were shocked to hear it), so it was not malicious but it was still wrong in my universe (Especially because I have experienced obvious prejudicial treatment in this country as I have in many others including my birthplace). In a world that is shouting relativism above everything, how do you make choices that reflect significance for all mankind at the same time? I guess there are some things that take tremendous thought and foresight to handle. I am willing to enter into it and invite others to do the same.

Baby, It’s Cold Outside!

Went walking around Den Haag today. I waited until the temperature reached a high of 7°C/45°F before venturing outside. That was 15h people! A whopping 2 hours before it gets dark. Did I mention that the sun only comes up after 8h in the morning?

I love walking around the city and observing the great architecture, people and the kids who seem to be impervious to the cold. This will be my first really cold Christmas season this year and it is taking some getting used to. One great thing is that all the Christmas Shopping is outdoors on the market high streets so the streets are all decorated nicely. It is really festive and joyful.

I stopped for a warm drink in a local coffee shop and watched people for a while. I was inspired to write about a man's struggle with the world that is racing around him while he struggles with his aging body to stand. Only a rough sketch but I hope to make it into a short story.

Today the 13thFLOOR team arrives for their show on Friday at the Hilversum International School in Amsterdam. I am excited to see the team and hear about their journey so far as I will spend the weekend in the city with them. We will brave the cold and rain together.

Familiar but different!

Today I rode around some of my old haunts in Den Haag and it was a surreal experience. The last time I was here was with Kelley for some meetings so I did not really have time to go out and visit some of the places that I would spend time visiting when I was here before with Christian Associates.

I went for a ride past one of the squares and came across a restaurant that had amazing BBQ and that says a lot considering I was taken to the place by Texans! I was introduced by my good friends the Strauss’. They were such a large part of my experiences in Den Haag and are some of the most generous and caring people I know. I felt a twinge of sadness knowing that they were no longer live here, and some how it felt wrong to visit the place with out their company, even though I was feeling a bit peckish at the time.

After some errands I made my way through Haagse Bos, the park that holds the Queen’s house. It still holds a magical quality for me as I drink in the luscious greens and moss. I used to stay across the street from this forest and walk its paths daily. It still rejuvenated me as it would then. I love the way the tree canopy hugs itself around you while you are stunned by the emerald green moss that dances across the water ways that twist their way though the park. It is a beauty that I always love to return to. I realize how much I have missed being close to the recreational core of myself and how far from it I have been in recent years due to location, work and lack of optimal situations. Although it was a crashing reality that confronted me, it was a loving nudge from within that I need to restore this again in my life.

I shot down a main street and turned onto Thersiastraat, where I did most of my daily shopping when in town. Most of the shops were still there and a few had changed hands. I received warm welcomes from old friends at the hair salon and the Turkish restaurant. It was funny to hear the variations of my name that they could recall and I am sure they chucked at me as I tried to remember the Dutch that had escaped me. Exchanging stories of our past days since we met last made me realize how much time had escaped me.

My last stop was my old office 249 Bezuidenhoutsweg - for some reason that address is indelible in my memory. I parked the bike and rang the bell for the first time in many years and was let in by a confused Kevin, but soon saw familiar faces that were surprised by my unannounced visit. It was good to see Al and hear about his upcoming wedding to a colleague and meet her for the first time. I got a quick glimpse of Rogier and hope to spend some time with him and his family before I leave the country. The office had been rearranged and redecorated. As I looked around so much was different and changed since I last walked these halls, but then again some things were still the same, like Al’s office and Rogier’s focus.

Today was very nostalgic and sweet. In a way it was a homecoming, a completion of the circle that solidified my love for the European continent. Although it was nice to visit this place again I also know that it is what once was and can not be duplicated. It is always good to be reminded of where you come from and take a peak at the how you have grown and remember what you must take with you in the moment. Otherwise what is meant to be a sweet memory can easily turn sour if we choose to hold tightly to the past.

Meeting Isabella

Zambujal de Baixo, in the hills above Sesimbra was my first wandering destination of my sabbatical. Sesimbra is idyllic in views as it is a peninsular beach town nestled in the heart of a one of Portugal’s national forest. Because it is away from most of well traveled tourist spots you have a chance to peak into the daily lives in Portuguese culture. The people are very friendly and treat each other as a collective family. It was also a challenge because no one spoke more than a few sparse words of English. I became know as “Niña” in town by most of the people at the morning fish and produce markets. I am sure that I was comic relief to most as I crudely communicated in hand motions and Spanish.

On my second trip to town, I decided to walk around the local shops before heading back home. I walked into the local haberdashery to see if they sold knitting needles and handmade yarns. The shopkeeper was on the phone as I came in and greeted her. I could tell that this conversation was especially intense and even though she smiled my way as I entered, she was involved with something that was causing her incredible pain. When I looked into her face I could see her struggling to hold back tears and her voice’s timbre was elevated and constricted. Something was very wrong.

I knew that helping a customer at this point was the last things she needed, especially one that would require extra effort to cross the language barrier. But I could not leave either. I needed to stay there – so I waited until she hung up the phone. As she put the phone down, she turned her back to me and I watched her wipe the small collection of tears from the corners of her eyes. As she prepared herself to face me, I summoned all the Spanish I could recall and made a decision to disregard how lame I might sound with mispronunciations and bad grammar because I really felt I needed to speak with this woman. Eventually, she sighed deeply as her final resignation before donning a plastered smile to face the insistent customer in her store.

I swallowed my shame, immediately took her hand and asked her what was wrong. She paused for a moment and looked at her hand in mine, then looked into my eyes as if she was searching for something. She must have found it because she proceeded to tell me her doctor just told that she has breast cancer and was going to have a double mastectomy. Then the tears came. I thought of a million things I wish I could say to her in that moment, but without a translator my words would offer no comfort, maybe words on my part were never necessary at all. The only thing I could do at that moment was let her cry and allow her emotions wash over me as she spoke words I mostly did not understand. I hugged her, and said that I could not speak Portuguese well, but that my heart was full for her and that I was sorry. She smiled at my childish attempts, and said I no speak English pero I see you heart.

We prayed together and continued our conversation of the heart. In those 30 minutes we were undisturbed and got to know and see each other. It was one of the best conversations that I have had in a long time and we barely used words. When both our tears subsided and were ready to face the outside world again, I told her my name and asked for hers. “Me, Isabella,” she said, then I said in Portuguese, “It was nice to meet you Isabella.”