When I first stepped onto the plane in Chicago on September 5th, I expected myself to burst into tears in the same melodramatic way that I had when I had first left for Brazil. I had even imagined that very moment in the hours that slowly approached it, hugging my parents goodbye, passing through security, finding my gate and boarding slowly behind the French and American passengers. When I finally arrived at my seat, however, and plugged in my headphones to some Norah Jones, I wrote the following:
(I should preface in saying that Norah Jones reminds me of my mother, but in this, she represents everybody)
"Somehow this moment is beautiful. I sit in this spacious airplane, surrounded by other travelers, and listen to the relaxed yet soulful singing of Norah Jones. Instead of mourning for my mom, I feel so lucky to have her in my life. It makes me happy and calms me to want to hug her - but I am not sad to not be able to. I'm joyous because what we share is unique and wonderful. It is such a special feeling to want to give a hug, and to love somebody with all of your heart."
As the flight continued, I kept waiting for the tears. Here I am, on September 9th, and I'm still calmly awaiting them. Yes, I miss my family, but I don't feel very far from them. I skyped Jake today when we both happened to be online and it felt great to talk to him. Looking in his room, I felt like I was there too. Possibly its a surreal culture-shock phenomenon, or something strange in the Portuguese water, but I'm relatively convinced its a result of the growth I experienced after returning from Brazil that is only showing itself now. The reason I say this is that I was so ridiculously calm about even coming here. I've been nonchalant about Portugal since the idea first entered my head to do another year abroad.
My 5 hour lay-over in France was the snotty (pun-snuggle) beginning of a European adventure I had been awaiting for months. For the entire time, I felt like somebody had shoved slimy cotton balls up my nostrils and down my throat, then told me to breathe as deeply as I could. The French were polite enough until I couldn't say anything past "bonjour" in their language. They weren't rude, but they were significantly less amiable in English. Perhaps they were struggling to find the English words they needed, or were also having terrible airport experiences, but I wasn't exactly impressed with their hospitality. Those that I asked for help in the Paris airport weren't as personable as what I experienced in Portugal and Brazil. In saying this I don't mean to confirm any stereotypes. If it does confirm stereotypes, well...I'll let you make your own judgements. I have wonderful French friends and would never judge their country based on my impression of their airport while sick and weary. My perceptions also could have been skewed based on stereotypes I have heard.
When I finally arrived in Lisbon, yet another mini-adventure awaited me. My flight had been delayed, so I missed the airport pick-up from CIEE (the program through which I am attending the Universidade Nova de Lisboa). I spent an hour finding a way to get Euros for a taxi, learning about the metro, and running around with all of my luggage to find Internet. All excruciating details aside, I found the recently changed address of the hostel I needed to get to and flagged down a cab beneath the strong Lisbon sun.
In order to be over-the-top friendly and a little naive, my natural Maddie reaction to waving down a cab was to hop in the front seat and start a conversation. I saw the driver move his coat out of the way and didn't think anything of it until I realized how close we were and remembered that it was probably more socially acceptable for me to be in the back. At this point, it just would have been more awkward to climb back there, so I stayed and had an interesting conversation with him on the way to the mysterious hostel in the neighborhood Campo Pequeno. It was awkward, but as a result he didn't overcharge me. My cab cost 6 euros. Another girl I talked to, who came from the same place, paid 18. Awkward and cheap are two ideas that I try to live by while abroad. They generally come hand in hand.
When I got to the Fusions Hostel, the doors were locked. I tried the hotel next door, which was significantly nicer, and was told that my name wasn't in the list. This was not a huge surprise, considering I wasn't supposed to be there. I went back to the first hostel and slipped in behind an older man. The hostel was on the 5th floor of a 5 story building. You needed a key to operate the elevator.
When I finally made it upstairs, I was greeted by 15 or so other exchange students of the same program, and thus began the hilarious and exciting study abroad experience of the last few days. So far I've been to a bull fight, strolled through the historic part of the city, eaten at chic and classy restaurants, and even hugged an English man in a human-sized penis suit. Lisbon is diverse and wonderful. I would already recommend it to anybody.
The bull fight was terribly cruel and inhumane, but I try to chalk it up to a cultural experience. I went on Thursday night. I'd rather not go into excruciating detail. I will say that there were cardboard fans on everybody seats, flamenco-style, which everybody used to keep cool during the fight, and that for an activity that is supposed to make a man look masculine, the outfits made them look like ballerinas. There were children in the audience, and the whole arena was packed with screaming enthusiasts. It smelled like horses when I arrived and like sweat when I left. I didn't enjoy watching them stick the bull but I did enjoy having the experience. It is said that the Portuguese are much more humane about it than the Spanish. I've heard that the styles are very different.
Ah, why not. I guess I'll go into it. There were three men, or matadores, on horses, and a handful of them in jesters suits. One version of costume distinguished the men that would eventually wrestle the bull to the ground (one taunts it, grabs its horns as it charges, and six-or-so more grab the sides while one gets the tail). Another version was for the men who wave the pink flags and jump over the fence when the bull comes running. The last were for the matadores, or the men who stick the bull while on a horse. In the end of each match, they herd the bull out with a group of other cattle. The good fighters are bred and the ones who aren't feisty/do poorly are killed. There are three matches, therefore three matadores and three bulls. We stayed for all three matches.
That night, I stayed up with two Brazilians that worked/were staying at the hostel and a girl, Lee, with whom I have a lot in common. She's another student with CIEE, from Vermont. We were up until about 4:30, and then awoke at 9:30 the next morning for more orientation and a tour of our school. Breakfast was bread, jam, and coffee.
That day, or Friday, there was a tour around Lisbon and I walked the cobblestone roads to Bairro Alto and some of the other districts. There are some amazing parks and view-points in Lisbon in which I anticipate I will spend a large amount of time. We saw live Jazz, had drinks at a look-out point over the Tajo river (you can see the Santo Cristo, a gift from Brazil that stands over the river, and one of the few beautiful bridges of Lisbon). I almost cried, then, because it was so incredibly beautiful. A small group of us were with the two coordinators, Nuno and Luisa, who are awesome young Lisboners with a knack for art and culture. The wine was spectacular. On the way back, we took the metro, a bus, and hugged the giant penis.
That night we went out to Bairro Alto, which is the highest neighborhood in the city with a bunch of historic buildings and bars. It was jam packed and was still bumping when we left at 5 in the morning. We hung out back at the hostel until it was light out, then got up a few hours later for breakfast and to meet our host families. I was stumbling around all morning in a dehydrated daze, mostly just overtired but a bit woozy as well. Friday was a great night.
Saturday morning, after a short orientation in a park, we met our host families. My host aunt was there to pick me up, as her and the extended family had just gotten back to Lisbon from a vacation in the Algarve region. She's a quick talker with a lot to say and I absolutely loved it! We ran (literally ran) my suitcase and backpack up the stairs to the 5th story of what is now my home, and then were off to a city called Ericeira, which is north of Lisbon and on the coast. It is small and home to about 20,000 people - many of which are only there during the summer months. We were visiting a college friend and his family of my host uncle. They have a precious little 2 year old girl by the name of Eleanor, or "Nuna" for short, with adorable thick little glasses and a toothy girlish grin. The home we went to was beautiful - plants were growing all outside, there were dozens of fruit trees in the land behind their house, and it smelled like Mike and Lisa's, which killed me and made me feel alive all at once. The people were so nice and generous - I wish I would have had a camera to take a picture of my plate at one point. There was a fish cut in half the long way, head/tail and all (eyeballs and brains and...mch!), and beside that some delicious vegetables and greens. What really got me was the insisted upon wine, espresso, shot of what tasted like it had to have been Portuguese moonshine, and shot of bailey's. This family was very intent on taking good care of me. I felt bad leaving some of the liquids unfinished by would rather do that than be stumbling around as a drunk American at their house.
We had some brilliant conversations and I learned a great deal about the Portuguese people. I think that the biggest social outlet is food. This may be true for any place in the world, but I would say it is especially true here. People are obsessed with espresso and go out often with friends to get one. Conversations, therefore, occur mostly around tables. You can't find an American coffee (funny story about that later).
After leaving, I learned that the Portuguese can imitate a Brazilian accent perfectly - even distinguish between the different regions. It momentarily crushed the identity I had created for them when I hear them screaming out at different intervals in the car, "Ô gente, olha aí pow! Esse bixo tá danado, viu? Tá danado memo! Sei não mermão, sei disso não vei! Caraiii-o!"
On the way back, I also tried learning the Portuguese accent and received the best compliment EVER on my Portuguese. They said that I sounded just like a Brazilian when I spoke - that they didn't hear an American accent. They might have been being polite, but they sounded sincere and I gladly ate that one up.
When we got back to Lisbon at about 7 pm, I went upstairs into my host family's house and was met by Vasco, the 8 year old ball of excitement and Concha, the giggly girl of 5. Rita was also at the door - she is the mom in my host family and is an architect. I really enjoy their company. We ate dinner, which was when I noticed the tradition of putting olive oil on literally everything (I thought it had been a coincidence until this point) and shortly afterward I went to bed. Vasco looked at me right beforehand, turned his head to the side, and said, "You seem Brazilian." I explained my situation and apologized for the weird accent. It was 10:30 when I went to bed and I woke up this morning at a quarter to noon. It felt good to catch up on sleep but I don't think I'm done yet. I could have slept through anything, but tonight might be more difficult because they live near an airport. Everybody does - it's in the middle of Lisbon. Airplanes fly right outside my window on cloudy days because they have to take off in the direction of my house when it's not sunny, for some reason.
Today was spent running errands - I bought groceries (the family doesn't provide food in this program - something I learned after getting here and will have to budget for), an adaptor for my electronics, and a pre-paid cell phone. Hopefully I can find some work while I am here.
We went and got a coffee (here, this means espresso) with one of Ritas friends and her daughter of about 12, and then went to McDonalds to eat. The salad I got came with: (wait for it.....wait for it....) olive oil. McDonalds here have little bottles of olive oil that they give out with salads. No more French/Thousand Island/Italian for the year!
When Rita asked me if I wanted an American coffee, I was like, "yeah, sure!" and confirmed that yes, it was the kind that was bigger than espresso. What I got was about 4 shots of espresso in a coffee mug. It was delicious so I didn't complain, but thought it was funny that the watered down American jumbo size coffee isn't really a thing here.
I've put away all of my things today and spent a lot of time with the kids. I dressed up Concha in a scarf-toga, gave her some earrings (shout out thanks to mom), and then the three of us played mandolin and guitar. Rita sang a song with them. It was so precious so that I teared up, but held myself together because I didn't want the kids to be freaked out by the over-emotional American girl, sniffling over the sound of their voices. It was adorable, though. They've drawn me pictures, which are now on my walls, and don't really leave my side when we're all walking somewhere. I'm not too big on kids, usually, but can't seem to stay away from them while abroad. Probably because I know less of what's going on than even they do, so I can relate to them more. Concha, Nuna and Vasco have been grabbing my hand to cross the street and running around with me since I've been around them. I'm totally and wonderfully enamored by them.
Some quick observations that you all might find interesting:
gas/water/electricity are greatly conserved here because they're expensive, and also for environmental reasons. They turned the water off when they went on a 3 day vacation. I don't know if we do that but I'm pretty sure that we don't. Gas is $10 to the gallon, for all of us that complain about the measly $4 that we pay in Wisconsin. There is a national 23% sales tax. Tipping is different - you don't really have to. Never at a bar and only occasionally at restaurants. The keys are weird in that none of them really work properly. You have to get a specific niche for all of them and sit at the door, playing around with it until you figure it out. House keys are also as long as my middle finger, which makes me feel like a mistress in an ancient, gladiator-ridden castle. They look awesome. Wifi is becoming increasingly available and bike lanes are getting more common. I've been drilling everybody I know on bikes. I haven't gotten too many constructive answers but people are kind enough to tell me what they know.
Anyway - Lisbon is great, I miss my friends and family but feel like they're here with me, and am loving the people and culture so far. I can't wait to look back on this a few months from now and read about what my first impressions were, then reflect on how absurd and general I was when addressing the country I'm in. Hopefully these aren't too far off.
One last thing - I have a balcony in my room, so life will never be that bad here. I also have a cool bathroom. I bought a sketchbook for 49 cents (in euros). The highlights have been many and the shadows few. I'm falling deeper and deeper in love with Lisbon with every second that passes.
The people that you can see down here are having pastries and espressos. Even though classes don't start until the 30th, campus was relatively full today. The different schools are located in different areas of the city. All of my classes will be on this part of campus. 
