Pequena coisas 5

Bom dia,
For those interested in the fuel cap dramas the key worked perfectly for the boys when they tried it Tuesday at work and its still going OK now. What the?!

For those interested in cultural commentary - a SAPO internet poll found that 67% of Portuguese believe its easier to buy a car than to buy the registration stamp/re-register the car. Welcome to Portuguese bureaucracy.

For those interested in hearing more, sorry but at the moment I don't have the time or the brainpower to write - busy couple of weeks finishing things up and also the delight my cousin visiting. Tour guiding has taken me to the same places you've seen before: Evora, Estremoz, the beach and while I have new and different photos I will save them for another time. We were planning to go to Conimbriga on Sunday (the site of the most extensive Roman town/site in Portugal) which would have been new but "technical difficulties"/laziness prevented that. One new place we went to was Setubal, a port city on the coast south of Lisbon, but we were only there for snails, shells and beer so not a lot of tourist photos or info here. Due to the town's merchant heritage the narrow streets of the old town are lined with shops, not cafes or houses, and commerce and industry are immortalised in ceramic.

Praca Bocage

Feira do Escoural

The fair at sundown

Interesting weekend (maybe not as interesting as some I've hear about) which started with the Escoural fair on Friday. If you ever have to buy lots of beer in Portugal you buy it by the "metre" (where 1 metre = 10 cups/middies). This was my mates tent/bar where I spent most of the evening and wasn't allowed to pay for many of my drinks.

Waiting for the vacada

The other attraction beside beer was the "vacada" where anyone who wants can jump into the ring and play with professional cows (the professional status of the cows was emphasised to me in every explanation). Just to clarify - no spears, no knives/swords, nothing but a blanket/umbrella to attract the cow, bare hands to wrestle it and a couple of tractor tyres to hide behind. I thought it would be "synchronised cow-hugging" but the cows are a lot quicker and grumpier than I imagined, meaning the guys weren't that keen to get too close and spent most of their time hanging from the fence. When they did go and chase the cow they looked like kids playing chasey running in front of the cow saying "I'm here, come and get me". Later in the evening (OK, midnight) everyone began dancing under the stars next to the main tent/bar. I couldn't hear whether they were dancing to traditional music or not since our tent had non-stop dance music mixed by our DJ from the caravan (when he wasn't pouring drinks). In fact my night consisted of beer and endless dodgem car smash-em-up's with my fieldies (we are so grown up), followed by bread with sausage (lifesaver) and whiskey with Red Bull (killer).

Therefore the best description of Saturday:

You wake up some days and your head hurts,
Like none of the lights in your house work,
You've been up all night, spending other people's money
It's time to slow down from the speed you've been running

- Eskimo Joe, Head Hurts

Sunday is beach day so I drive down the winding road, across the mud flats and the estuary to Comporta until past the town where the traffic slows me to a crawl due to all the cars parked on the side of the highway and the road. Of course I don't work out that this to avoid the 3euros/$5 for the carpark until I'm already at the boom-gate and paying, even though it's 5pm. But there's still time for a swim in the cold, cold water, to catch my first wave in Portugal even though the lack of power drops me off quickly, and to sit as the sun goes down reading Kerouac listening to the waves crash, identifying with the lonesome traveller and his later search for redemption, re-kindling fading memories of my first solo trip to San Francisco. Then into town for dinner since the restaraunts on the beach are flashy and over-priced so instead its the cafe with the overworked waiters who try to avoid your eye for as long as possible so they can catch on some of the other tables while your frustration mounts until they finally come for your order and are really nice to make up for it, as are the "shells" (clams) stewed in garlic and coriander with bread to soak up the juices and a couple of beers to wash it down, so perfect that I end up staying here reading on a pavement in the middle of the town almost more relaxed here than I was on the beach.

Fun and games on the way home. When I stop for fuel the normally unthinking act of unlocking the flap to the fuel tank encounters resistance - the key won't go in let alone turn. After a couple of tries by myself and the attendant the key won't turn in the ignition either. Why is it always Sunday night at 10pm when you need a mechanic? And why is its always in the place you don't have mobile reception? Thankfully the service station attendant is a legend - calling the rescue crew from Montemor (making up for my lack of Portuguese), inviting me to sit outside with him and the guys sitting having their Sunday night beer who are only too happy that that I've forced the service station/bar staying open for an extra half hour. The rescue crew massage the key back into shape but can't help opening up the fuel door so I follow them back into town where they can ring the rent-a-car company to get them to pay for the call-out and hit me up for a job ("When will the mine open? Do you need a mechanic yet?") while we drink coffee waiting for the response . And the car still doesn't have fuel. I drove in this morning on fumes waiting for the key to snap on me and hoping that someone would let me break the stupid flap. As yet no answer to that question. I'll keep you posted.

Bullfights

If you’re flicking through the channels on a hot summers night theres a good chance you’ll find a bullfight on in prime time. For the last few months the posters for the upcoming torradas have been plastered over every free space in Montemor. So the world cup is over time to introduce you to the summer "sport" here since I experienced one first hand about a month ago. Disclaimer – since they are such a part of society here I am observing, not supporting/criticising. Hypocritical fence-sitter as always.

One important point to at the start is that the bull is not killed in the ring (like in Spain). Wishful thinking has me hoping that the bull is allowed to grow old under a cork tree telling the calves about the day he ran in circles while people cheered and a guy on a horse poked him with spears, but my rational self tells me I’m dreaming. However to remove a wounded/grumpy/afraid/tired bull from the ring then you first have to catch. And being a Latino country then this risky task must be done with as much spectacle and include some sort of test of manhood. I give you the “pega”.
Instructions are pretty simple. About 12 guys get in the ring and stand in single file. The guy at the front “encourages” the bull to notice him by yelling, and when the bull charges him he tried to take it front on, around the horns, in a bear hug. Just like tackling Jonah Lomu, or Plugger Lockett except 5 times the weight.


Bullfights are not just the pega. As was explained to me at the bullfight I watched “there are some tasks to be undertaken with the bull”. Mostly involving a guy on a horse riding around poking spears into the bull and then riding around the ring to lap up the adulation. It becomes mesmerising, with the pomp and ceremony, a glimpse of an ancient and primitive world. As a spectacle it’s at its best in the early stages, when the bull is racing around the ring like someone’s pulled his tail and ran away. Later on when the bull has been injured more and becomes tired and afraid the cruelty of it does hit home, as if on cue the brass band starts up to provide some entertainment and tell the cavaleiro to hurry up and get it over with.

The truly amazing part is the horses – not only are they beautiful and groomed for the occasion, but the way they can bend and swerve (like Juddy!), even dance, and show no fear with a bull in front of them is breathtaking. Here then is horsey pics/p0rn for those who appreciate such things.

Yes my mind is turning back to Australia at the moment but even at the time it struck me of the similarity between bullfights and cricket games. Not just the arena ringed with a beer-drinking crowd roaring at something which didn't seem that interesting. Most of the Portuguese I talked to mostly went to and enjoyed bullfights as kids, usually with their dad/grandfathers, now they’re older it’s not so cool and they don’t enjoy it as much because they understand the cruelty (OK not so similar to cricket there), but they also see the tradition as valuable and admit they will probably take their kids/grandkids. The trend among 20-30 year olds at the moment is it's “cool” to be traditional, to enjoy traditional food, Portuguese beer, and enjoy bullfighting. I’m reminded of the fake country boys in Perth, in immaculately pressed moleskins and Country Road flannelette shirts talking about a land they’d never had to work, about roo-shooting they’d never had to do to protect a farm. The Portuguese guys even dress in flannies too.

its too damn hot

I would love to go to sleep but my bedroom is too hot to consider it. Last night I slept downstairs on the couch cos it was cooler, tonight I'm sitting at my open window watching/listening to the rest of my square enjoying the cool evening sitting on the benches under the palm trees catching up on the days news and watching the cars drive by.

The last week has been consistently 40 so the TV (always good with the obvious) is currently running "It's hot" stories and illuminating vox pops "Are you hot?" "Yes" "How do you cope?' "I'm going to have a snooze later" - its the time of year for a 'sesto' after lunch but I've been warned that anymore that half an hour leaves you feeling worse than you did before. I would share a photo of summer here but outside is blinding white light reflecting from the white walls and empty streets. Like Australia everyones hiding from the heat inside or at the beach.I couldn't be bothered driving today but luckily Montemor has another option - the pool! (though most locals don't go, Alentejanos don't really like getting wet) Like any country town you can get away with anything if you're mates with the lifeguards, my Aussie readers will be ashamed to hear I've lost my bombing skills. It's actually a bit of a Piss-weak Waterworld (apologies to the D-Gen) - the slowest and shortest waterslide in history (after waiting 20 minutes), a wave pool which creates backwash, a 40m pool which is empty since no-one actually does laps though the sides are full (much cooler to swim one lap then sit on the side posing for a bit), a diving pool with a queue for the 10m board and no-one using any other (see what's cool above). All for the bargain price of A$6/3.50euros on weekends. But its still a good way to cool down and while away a summer afternoon, and nice to get wet.

Pequena coisas 4: summer

Summer has crept up and suddenly it's 37 in the afternoon. A more reliable thermometer is the old man who owns the lambs changing from wearing a shirt and trousers with no fly (sheepskin jacket on cold mornings) to a white singlet and some classy boardshorts. Flat cap still in place of course. In the last couple of days the humidity has decided to come to the party as well making the afternoon that much longer, reminding me of the Pilbara wet as the clouds gather and darken.

****

The GNR have solved the problem of non-payment of fines very easily - pay on the spot, or we keep your license. Don't have money - well get some. But we do accept all major cards. The sight of a cop with an mobile EFTPOS/ Multibanco/Interac/electronic payment machine by the side of a country machine is a little surreal, in fact the whole transaction is. There's an element of "Thank you, come again" as if you'd just popped out for tremocos, chips and a speeding fine.

****
storks stand tall / on nest perched high
while clouds gather / and drivers speed by
vigil constant / like watchers of old
no tower now / simply these poles
sentries unfailing / despite world changing

VII congresso nacional

Last week was the national geology conference in Estremoz, held in the town theatre and the old convent and run by the government and the universities. For those who are not geologists/academics looking at this photo imagining afternoon beers in the garden and lunch/dinner under the cloisters instead of learning are all you need before you read the next post or the next blog :) The programme was made up mostly of research in Portuguese geology - structural geology, stratigraphy, tectonic evolution, geochemistry (dating, isotopic data), fossils/sedimentology. A half day of "Resources Geology" included 90% of the talks on mineralisation, uniquely these included talks on ornamental stone (marble) and economic clay/feldspar deposits. More time was spent on environmental geology and "surface processes". Understandable given that this was a scientific conference not a industry or resources-focused conference, but economic geology still makes up a large part of scientific conferences in Australia, especially the national ones. Also these conferences attract more national/international scientists so talks will cover a variety of locations if not different branches of the science. But Portugal is not a large country, and therefore this was similar to some of the smaller state geology conferences.

Having been in industry for a while "academic" geology is a little frustrating, Differences in opinion in geology are normal as its an interpretative science, but because academia involves researching in schools new data is often taken to prove or disprove that groups theories instead of leading to new conclusions. Such proof is essential not only in the dash for government grants but also in continuing age-old academic battles about where to draw the line in the sand (literally in geology!). In industry we have the advantage that interpretation is essential but we don't have to prove or disprove our own, if it turns out not to work then we try another way. Often we can test two or three different interpretations in one work programme, and because our aim is a resource then the assays, the numbers are hard proof of what's right or wrong. So going back to watching arguments about how old this formation is or when this tectonic event ended or sitting through Powerpoint slide after (not viewer friendly) slide of geochemical/isotope data without any apparently conclusions makes you want to scream. Or bunk off and have a beer in the square!
It can also go over a simple rig geo's head talking about supercontinents, Wilson cycles and thermal gradients. But the big picture, the talk of how our world developed, evolved and is changing today can spark you too. I got to hear Antonio Ribeiro, the inspiration for much of Portugal's geologists/research today, photographed above as he transformed from stooping, grey mustached elderly man into an arm-waving prophet, animated by the force of his ideas. It was the presentation you expect from an elder statesman, a million OHPs whipped off the projector almost as fast as they were placed there, usually upside down/the wrong way round, faded photos of different outcrops/cliffs, hand-drawn diagrams, images photocopied from different papers and even magazines.

Festas

Waiting for the party to start

Summer is the time for town parties/country fairs. Last night Sao Brissos, next week Sao Christovao, then Escoural, the timetable is set in stone. At first glance they're not that different to a country show: lights, bunting and shadecloth shelters outside, plastic chairs and tables, old men drinking, housewives cooking, teenage girls serving and more people on the organising committee and behind the scenes than actually at the fair. However they're at night instead of during the day, the music is pumping and its definitely more of a party than a fair of stalls/exhibits. Apparently Ricardo got home at 3.30 last night, doesnt sound like too many shows!!!

Somewhere in there my name got forward to play football for Sao Brissos this morning, but when I went down at 9 this morning there was no-one there anyway. Lost in translation? However it did mean I could take some photos of the cork harvest for you, trucks piled dangerously high with bark have been driving through town for the last month and will continue to do so all summer.

Estremoz

Montemor-O-Novo, Arraiolos, Evora, Evoramonte, Estremoz, Vila Vicosa, Borba and Elvas are the hilltop castle towns forming a chain from Lisbon to the Spanish border. Estremoz is one of my favourite towns for two reasons - the view of the castle tower and walls from the autostrada:
and the fact it has one of the biggest main squares in the country:

Along one side of the square is the church above, along the other the old Convent (now a science museum), the Army barracks opposite the church and on the last side is a line of cafes perfect for having a beer in the shade on a hot day when you're bunking off a conference (more on that later):
Thats the barracks in the background. As is typical of the area there's marble everywhere - statues, tiles, mosaics, cobbles, fountains:
Estremoz is the first time I've been in a Portuguese theatre, while this one has renovated with unpolished marble (radical!) it still retains the gold trim and painted ceiling. The family name and portrait painted on their theatre box (as seen on the upper level of yesterdays photo) is typical of these town theatres which were mostly built in the late 1900s.

And now its final

Dear Attendee,
Although the Organising Commitee knows that nothing would keep you away from the National Conference you signed up for, we know that on the first night Portugal plays in the semi-finals and ....

Therefore we have organised to show the game on a big screen in the Bernardim Ribeiro Theater after the Conference sessions for that day, and the conference dinner will be served immediately at the end of the game instead of 9pm.
Shows you how football-mad we are that even a geology conference gets reorganised around the World Cup. Lots of disappointed people in Portugal tonight. Someone remarked "Today everyone is interested in football", well tomorrow I think there will be a lot of people saying its just a silly game again. The real reason Portugal lost is because I wasn't watching in the Regalenga Bar, Jose wasn't in Lisbon, Nuno wasn't in Figueira. Superstition means nothing in sport right? Well consider that Holland haven't beaten Portugal in 14 years, England haven't beaten them since '66 (?? - loose stat, but it's been a long time anyway) and Portugal haven't beaten France in 21 years. Doesn't make sense when you consider all the variables involved but it all becomes very predictable.......

And so both the teams I'm closest to fall victim to dodgy penalty decisions. Ironic given Portugal's progress thus far has been marked (aided at times) by dodgy refereeing. English papers in particular are vitriolic at the moment about the Portuguese style of play, and while I hate diving and play acting I've kind of enjoyed barracking for a team that does use a bit of "gamemanship" at times. Given how close a lot of these decisions are there isn't a lot wrong with appealing to the ref to make a call, especially since there often is contact made, a foot outstretched, a hand on the shoulder so really the opposition are pretty stupid to give them the chance. But they love to play too - all the people I was watching it with loved the final minutes with the goalkeeper in the box for the corners, shots taken from anywhere, no holds barred, nothing to chance. None of this sit back and play carefully. Metaphor for life anyone?

Aftermath

Anticipation

The streets are eerily quiet. No shouting, no cars, no mopeds. Only some birds. Everyone has taken up their position for the game. But earlier the shops and the streets were full of people trying to finish their shopping before game time, buying beer and snacks.

The television isn't. All day every channel has been building and building to the game, interviews with people in streets and bars around Portugal, in Germany, players, trainers, journalists, anyone. In between there's songs and dancing from the sort of "light" "popular" entertainers who only emerge for occasions like this, decked in flags, scarves and Portugal tops, cheesy commerical songs, adaptions of traditional ones, all backed by an even cheesier accordion, brass band and drum machine.

Woe if you're trying to find a Portugal t-shirt to fit in with the crowd. In a small town the shops are already sold out, and to make matters worse everyone is wearing their own already at 11am, as if to make the point that the true supporters are prepared, and not just jumping on the bandwagon on game day. After an hour and a half trawling the discount shops and bazaars I finally have one, so with that and a Euro 2004 scarf I was given last week I have 22 minutes to get to the pub. Forca Portugal!

My niece

Meet Katherine Margaret - born June 29th, daughter to proud (and possibly exhausted) Lynne and Derek, niece to yours truly (who can take none of the credit!). Wow. Congratulations for the millionth time to you both.

Stats for those who can interpret them: 3678g / 8lb 1.7oz, 52.1cm / 20.5 inches
It feels a lot more real seeing a photo now, although of course reality will come when I can hold her. And that will be just one point in her life/growth, I expect every time I meet her I'll be meeting a new person. The world is changing - or perhaps just following its natural cycle.

That came home to me last week here. On the same day it was Ricardo's daughter's 1st birthday (she's sort of our project baby since she was born during a drilling day) and a funeral in town as well. Mixed emotions, the only way to deal with it is to celebrate life. The wheel turns.

Dingo got rid of my baby plus every roo for kms

In a week where you could be proud to be Aussie this story puts Australia right back to the "strange" side of the world. These stories usually mean those of us overseas start explaining. Except here I suspect - I continually get asked why we don't eat our native animals like koalas since "they have nice soft fur, I'm sure they'd be good roasted". One of the things vegetarians miss out on in foreign countries is that leap of faith you take when you put your fork in a piece of meat and put it in your mouth not quite knowing what animal it is, let alone which part of that animal.......

Salisbury

I seem to end up in the UK a lot. It is supposed to be only 2 hours away but after a 1hr delay in Lisbon and an hour holding over London it didn't seem so close. I headed to Bristol to meet people who understood why leaving a sunny 30deg day in Lisbon took some adjusting. The support process included drinking capirinhas in a Brazilian bar with Portuguese friends in Clifton. What the?!

Then the next day it was off to Salisbury to meet my brother who was singing at the cathedral for the weekend. The cathedral has the highest spire in the UK and dominates the town skyline, I have millions of photos of it to prove this fact. The normal postcard photo is the catherdral seen from across the fields, however I like this one better.
As blogged before I always find it interesting dealing with the English after being away, the nuances, the wit,the cynicism, the questioning about who you are to try to connect with you ("Ah, Evora, we thought of buying a house there once"). Thus being part of a choir thrown together for a weekend was interesting, watching the group interact tentatively, shifting between points where I was comfortable and where I felt as if I didn't fit (since I was a child in England I wasn't involved as much in social situations as my brother). As if getting used to that wasn't enough we were staying in a theological college in the Cathedral close, not the sort of place you'd expect to find me staying. The close is like a town within a town, surrounded by 10m high walls and gates that close at 11.30pm every night. Definitely not the sort of accommodation I'm used to. In revenge for this curfew being placed on our drinking we spent one night trying our best to drink the college bar dry, proving our aim for the weekend wasn't exactly "intellectual and spiritual growth and development".

It was also interesting, and good, to be back with my brother - we live on opposite sides of the world and catch up all too rarely. Yet bizarrely with a lot happening in our lives (especially at the moment) there are times we don't have much to say to each other. It's a credit to the effort we make to keep in contact and the effectiveness of email but also reflects that with somebody close it can be more important to be able to be comfortable enough to relax over lunch and read the paper unlike with others where you need to spend the time getting to know each other

Anyway one essential part of coping with the slightly familar is to get back to something you feel more comfortable with. So I set off on a Bank Holiday Sunday to have a few beers and think Australian instead of English (pardon?!) while catching up with Cathy and some other Aussie mates. One thing to remember is that Bank Holidays means rail maintenance means instead of a 2hr train ride to London I ended up on a 2hr bus trip through Surrey with half a dozen drunk Aussies next to me and got into London 4 hours after I left Salisbury. The other thing to keep in mind is that Bank Holidays always mean great weather for being outdoors. The English attitude of "We're here, it's a holiday, we're going to enjoy the outdoors despite wind and rain" may be bloody stupid but you have to admire it.
After all that the prospect of a the return trip, and the likely outcome of standing outside aforementioned locked gates at 11.35pm without a bed was enough to drive me to drink. None of you will be surprised that I ended up crashing the night in London, the decision made halfway through 2-for-1 cocktail hour, and some may have well copped sms's just before closing time (I still never know when pubs close in London!). But it was good to see people from "home" and feel that the world isn't so big after all, also to share some stories and talk more about the experience I'm having here. That continued later in the week when Derek came back to Portugal with me and experienced some of the "wows" that I end up gushing about on here all too often. As with Bry it amazed me how much I want visitors to enjoy Portugal and the pride I have in the place.

Forca Portugal

The horns have almost stopped. The town is almost quiet. There is only the occasional "Portugal ole". But for an hour or so after the game it certainly wasn't the case. Why? Because Portugal are through to the quarter finals. The roar in the pub when the goal went in and when the final whistle went was as loud as any I have heard in any sports stadium or bar across the world. In celebration everyone seemed to be driving laps of the town, horns honking, hazard lights on, as many flags/scarves/people hanging out of the window as you can, all yelling the fact that Portugal are winners. A truck is really better, you can fit all your family/friends on the back to chant. Something tells me some of the people shouldn't have been driving either given the way some of the cars were weaving. If you're not driving you're watching the parade, waving your scarf/flags at the cars, even playing your trumpet or drums if they come to hand. Not quite dancing in the streets but close. And magical. The good side of the passion and pride that football can bring.

You bewdy no 2 of ???

Hopefully this is just number 2 of lots more World Cup style euphoria. What price a table in Lygon St on Monday? And for those wondering if I could see the game since Brazil-Japan was on at the same time - this is how Kewell's equaliser looked to me on a blocked out pay-TV channel reading HTML commentary while I desperately searched for radio coverage online:

Presents

"It was the most useless thing I could find in the store"

Descida do Zezere

Saturday dawned cloudy and grey, both weather-wise and in my head. An excuse for being in the bar was the football was only on pay-TV, but not for going back there at midnight. No long lie-in either as I was off on a gym trip kayaking down the Tejo. In Australia this would be a meticulously organised operation timed to the second. On Saturday we left 45 minutes after the scheduled time, not only because of people running late but time organising who was driving, which route, who needed fuel, how much extra we had to pay. I could’ve saved a couple of people the effort if I’d brought my 5-seater but silly me assumed there would be a bus or something so it wouldn’t be needed.

Instead I ended up in the front of the only decked-out Polo I have ever seen: 2 jet-engine sized sub-woofers in the back, DVD player and LCD screen in the front, the most unnecessary ironing board spoiler in history. Unlike the usual street racer image the music videos were commercial R’n’B/MTV chart, possibly sensing that the mood wasn’t appropriate he put on The Fast and the Furious. Its not so much the fact he drove like the movie, it was more I wasn’t completely convinced he wasn’t watching more of it than you should while doing 140 on a back road!
So we drove north for the next 2 hours. I only know it was north after tracing the route on the map yesterday. What worried me was when the other guys in the car gave up trying to work out where we were going. Towns, villages, paddocks, market gardens, vineyards, dams, bridges all flashed by in endless pursuit of the car that knew the destination.

We got to Constancia (near Abrantes) in time for lunch. Because of the Portugal-Iran game the restaurant that runs the kayaking was fully booked so we were escorted up the hill to the backup restaurant. I’d been warned lunch was bad, but these are Portuguese standards. As lunch came to an end and the start of the game approached I began to wonder whether we would do any kayaking at all, a hypothesis supported when we returned to the bar and tried to watch the game through the windows and the open door, while the patrons inside got in our way as much as possible.

My hypothesis was proved wrong – half time brought movement. The guy began ordering others to hitch/unhitch trailers of canoes from his crutches and herded us into a van. He then proceeded to struggle into the driver side, assuring us “I drive well, OK?” before we could think the contrary. And drive well he did along the side of the valley, while we looked down on the river below (until he got on his mobile while going round a hairpin bend which had nothing to do with a handicap). If I thought the slope to the river was steep the road across the dam wall provoked vertigo looking down the 100m sheer concrete face of the spillway (plus thoughts of The Fugitive), but we followed the less direct route down to the river past the hydroelectric power station and parked next to one of the “Zona Perigosa” signs (No swimming, no fishing). I wasn’t game to read the sign any closer.
And then finally onto the river (and occasionally into it). We weren’t kayaking on the Tejo, but the Zezere instead. The Zezere is pretty tame, the river isn’t exactly quick and there wasn’t much white water on the rapids with the recent rain. We were in double ocean kayaks (goat boats) and I was paired first with a guy I work with. The fact we were the two heaviest guys, and some communication breakdowns, ran us aground very quickly and left us in the water at the first rapids. So I was re-assigned to another boat. After establishing “Eu nao falo ingles” I spent the rest of the trip trying to read which side she was going to paddle on, and less time looking at the view than I should’ve. But we wound our way in the late afternoon back to the bar through gravel islands and overhanging trees and river grasses with little white flowers, looking up at slopes filled with pine trees. The new team didn’t stop us landing in the water at some rapids further down and by the second rest stop I gave up and went for a swim for the hell of it. The water was not warm.

Another key difference between the races: because the lunch was so bad I was advised to bring some snacks. So I brought some fruit and some water figuring no matter how bad lunch was I could still survive the afternoon on it. Everyone else brought a couple of rolls, half a dozen pastries, some drinks….. (this is for a 3 hour kayak remember).
Back at the bar we found out the result of the game, had a beer and a snack and headed back. Again a bit of a blur due to speed and tiredness, but the sun decided to show itself as we climbed out of the river valley leaving us with a magical view behind, the reflections off the Tejo as we crossed it and sun setting into the wetlands nearby sparkling etched themselves into my subconscious.

I’ve painted the day as a mission but I spelt it out becuase a lot of days end up like that. It’s not like its Africa or somewhere really hard to live but it can be frustrating at times. Of course the language barrier makes me a lot more uncomprehending. This could have all been planned: arrive for lunch, watch the first half, then at 3 when lunch has settled and the heat of the day passed (not an issue this day but possible) get onto the river and paddle about. And this trip was one of my highlights so far, not just the views and the kayaking but the people, as sad as going on a gym trip might seem it was nice to meet some people and try to talk to them (which is what travelling's all about) and then to be able to say hi to a couple of guys in the gym tonight makes the frustration worthwhile.

More football

OK if you don't want more football analysis then as soon as Blogger lets me post photos I'll have another one up.

FOX here is getting great mileage out of the Simpsons episode where Springfield hosts a football game. Why? I never realised this but it was Mexico v Portugal. The soundbyte of Homer saying "I'll kill myself if Portugal doesn't win" is the phrase I've most heard this week. We'll wait for Wednesday to see how Homer goes.

The other thing I've heard this week is not Australia played well, but why didn't we score? In a way it's great, it's respect. Not the patronising "Oh you lost but you played well", it's independent viewers saying "If you have as much of the ball as your opponents, if you have half a dozen good chances on goal, you have as much right to win it as them. Who cares which team is Brazil." I loved the way the Aussie midfielders played the ball around, kept possesion, one-touch football, look for the opening. None of this long ball shit, none of this panic when you have the best players in the world running at you.

My love of Guus remains. SBS said he was conservative in only playing one striker and stacking the midfield but I nearly fell off the couch when he took Moore off and put Aloisi on. Taking off your central defender against Brazil? Who here would do that?! But it sends a message to the players and to the country - we're not here to "lose by a little", we're good enough to win and we're going to chase that win.

This is what I mean when I say how much this means to Australia. We're a country of arrogant over-achievers in sport football is something we're ranked no. 44 in the world in and that doesn't sit well, that belief we have in ever other sport isn't there. Yet. Respect. It's almost there. The next stage is to progress, and somehow I'm comforted Guus is at the helm. Australia historically have failed in these tactical games but this World Cup is different so far, so fingers crossed. Don't worry boys the Alentejo is with you!

One thing I'm not so proud of was some of the fans in Munich. Don't ask me why but some idiot holding up the holiest of holies (Munich beer) and say "Gee the beer's not bad here" makes my teeth clench. There are some Aussie tourists who don't quite integrate or learn or just shut up when they should. Like the one on the travel channel last night who somehow got into a story on Vanuatu (methinks the local guy hosting picked her up and couldn't get rid of her in the morning) with no journalistic talent except saying "awesome" 8 times in a 5 minute story.

Sardines and beer

I like it when the images tell the story better than I could describe it. Writing is hard enough usually but today my brain isn't working. Last night was the night of Saint Antonio's day and the tradition is to cook/eat a lot of sardines and have a big street party in the old quarter. Not that different to most weekends in Lisbon. You spend your night squeezing through narrow alleys or staggering up and down staircases with a mass of people passing by you, beer in hand and reeling from half a dozen sardines.

I do have a technical point to rant about though - a mate last night looked at my photos and said "Ah lots of yellow." However I prefer flash-less photos, to me they seem to have warmth and seem more natural whereas flash photos look artificial. So thats why you'll always get blurry yellow photos here. The blurriness is completely unrelated to alcohol.