I attract crazy people. Apparently Kootenay does nothing to repel them. We walk the seawall everyday. There we have met lots of nice people. We met Vitor and Spock, Dalmatian Dad, Pete, Daniel, Bruno, Greyhound Guy, and Long Hair just to name a few.
We have also met some odd balls. One guy wanted us to walk in the forest with him. Another wanted us to walk out to the lighthouse with him. One guy, who looked to be about sixty wanted us to come home with him and have dinner with his mother. Common sense and caution have kept me from taking up any of those offers.
Yesterday's odd ball was the best so far. I was sitting at Farol (coffee shop) working on my novel and was wearing earphone listening to Jenny Owen Youngs' new music (Love it). I heard the chair across from me being pulled back from the table. I was expecting Michael and Chris so I looked up and smiled. Sitting there was Joseph. I know this because he introduced himself to me and asked to buy me a drink. I declined the drink and started back at my computer.
"Nice dog" he says.
"Thank you" I respond cautiously. I didn't want to be dismissive, but my crazy-o-meter started to sound.
He is from Fatima, works in the tourism business, lives with his mom, is single, and likes to use his english.
Wow. All that information while I desperately scan the crowd in the Plaza hoping to catch sight of Michael.
Joseph calls over Barbara, my cool Brazilian waitress who graciously allows me to take up an outside table and moves the giant umbrella that keeps my pasty white skin from burning. I like her.
"Men in Portugal always pay for ladies' drinks." He tells me. As I didn't allow him to buy me a new drink he has asked Barbara to bring him my tab for the drinks I had before he got there. I only realize this after Barbara brings him a bill. The fast paced singsong Portuguese he and Barbara shared was more than my little brain could piece together. Lentamente. Slowly. A word I use often. How am I going to extract myself from this? And if a Portuguese guy spends 1.50 euros on you what does he expect?
I figure I won't have to worry about this because I see Michael and his friend Chris making their way to my table.
"We can find a free table" Chris says smiling "If you are busy." There is an implied wink in his gaze.
Luckily Michael is a better judge of what is going on and sits down. Phew!
Joseph quickly realizes that Michael and Chris couldn't fill the role in my life that he sees for himself. (They are gay. In case you weren't aware.)
As we all get settled and Michael and Chris pull out their playing cards I feel something on my toes. My first thought is that my feet are in the way of Michael's. I pull my feet back under my chair to make more room for him. Now i feel something moving up my leg. This isn't incidental contact.
Joseph now knows that it has been some time since I last shaved my legs. What the hell....
A big dog is supposed to save you from things like this. I look around for Kootenay. There she is with her head in the lap of Book Boy. Can't blame her. He is cute. Why isn't it his feet I am wrestling with under the table.
Showing posts with label pets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pets. Show all posts
Friday, June 27, 2008
Monday, May 12, 2008
From What I Remember
I have been so busy doing nothing, that I have not put anything interesting up here for weeks. So, I will start with a few tidbits about my time in Spain and try not to be too wordy.
When you are travelling in Sevilla with a dog and you want to take a cab, here is a tip. Don’t wait on the street and flag one down. Despite the messy smelliness of most cabs many of them are reluctant to pick you up if you have giant white dog with you. You need to call the tele cab line and request a cab and specify that you are travelling with a “perro”. If you are lucky you can then spend the next few hours sitting in an outdoor tapas bar with various friends from around the world and a hot Moroccan waiter. While you wait for your cab to finally show up.
You might not appreciate the idiot who forgets to turn off his cell phone in the theatre, but don’t take your anger out on cell phones. They make travelling so much easier. Imagine ten years ago trying to meet up with friends who have been hanging out in Tenerife, in the Plaza de San Francisco in Seville? There would have had to be letters and calls before the vacation, emails and hope during the time and Seville, and who knows if you would have actually met up. A few text messages and Juan from Venezuela, Kim, Di, and me from Canada, Jo from England and Ro from Mexico ended up drinking cervejas on a patio in Seville.
Moroccan waiters never live in singularity. They always have a friend. So whether you want to travel to Morocco or get into a private tent during the Flamenco Feria knowing a Moroccan waiter can be helpful. Just remember to charge your cell phone so that you can call him when you are looking for a flamenco tent in the city center. An address book would never power down when you needed it.
Meeting a friend’s family can be worrisome. Are they going to be as cool as your friend? Are they going to be annoyed by your giant dog who will be endlessly searching for a hand to pet her? If you are lucky they end up being as nice and Roberto’s brother and sister-in-law Juan-Carlos and Jo. Kootenay managed to find two friends, one who would feed her chicherones and one who would pat her anytime she needed lovin’. If she could figure out how to safely swim the English Channel would probably be visiting them right now.
Spanish leather goods and flamenco fans and shawls are overpriced souvenirs, but if you don’t pick up the green leather purse you liked you will probably regret it despite the fact that it is over priced. And the shawl would look great with your black cotton dress.
If you are renting a car and planning to follow friends round Spain it helps you can get cars that aren’t as common as silver and black. When four lanes over Spanish drivers try to fit into two lanes of road it is hard to keep you eye on the lead car if it looks like every other car ahead of you and they just ran a yellow light.
When you are travelling in Sevilla with a dog and you want to take a cab, here is a tip. Don’t wait on the street and flag one down. Despite the messy smelliness of most cabs many of them are reluctant to pick you up if you have giant white dog with you. You need to call the tele cab line and request a cab and specify that you are travelling with a “perro”. If you are lucky you can then spend the next few hours sitting in an outdoor tapas bar with various friends from around the world and a hot Moroccan waiter. While you wait for your cab to finally show up.
You might not appreciate the idiot who forgets to turn off his cell phone in the theatre, but don’t take your anger out on cell phones. They make travelling so much easier. Imagine ten years ago trying to meet up with friends who have been hanging out in Tenerife, in the Plaza de San Francisco in Seville? There would have had to be letters and calls before the vacation, emails and hope during the time and Seville, and who knows if you would have actually met up. A few text messages and Juan from Venezuela, Kim, Di, and me from Canada, Jo from England and Ro from Mexico ended up drinking cervejas on a patio in Seville.
Moroccan waiters never live in singularity. They always have a friend. So whether you want to travel to Morocco or get into a private tent during the Flamenco Feria knowing a Moroccan waiter can be helpful. Just remember to charge your cell phone so that you can call him when you are looking for a flamenco tent in the city center. An address book would never power down when you needed it.
Meeting a friend’s family can be worrisome. Are they going to be as cool as your friend? Are they going to be annoyed by your giant dog who will be endlessly searching for a hand to pet her? If you are lucky they end up being as nice and Roberto’s brother and sister-in-law Juan-Carlos and Jo. Kootenay managed to find two friends, one who would feed her chicherones and one who would pat her anytime she needed lovin’. If she could figure out how to safely swim the English Channel would probably be visiting them right now.
Spanish leather goods and flamenco fans and shawls are overpriced souvenirs, but if you don’t pick up the green leather purse you liked you will probably regret it despite the fact that it is over priced. And the shawl would look great with your black cotton dress.
If you are renting a car and planning to follow friends round Spain it helps you can get cars that aren’t as common as silver and black. When four lanes over Spanish drivers try to fit into two lanes of road it is hard to keep you eye on the lead car if it looks like every other car ahead of you and they just ran a yellow light.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Hello Seville
There were times when it felt as if Kootenay took Di, Ro and I to Sevilla. The people of Spain loved her. Before we left she had her hair cut. She went from a cut shaggy mess to a fancy poodle wannabe. As we wandered from beautiful sight to beautiful sight we were followed by comments and stares. If I was younger and a few pound lighter I might have thought they were staring at me. Instead of catcalls and whistles the soundtrack to our walks through Sevilla was… Muy elegante, grande perro. And we heard it a lot.
We cruised through town looking at the most amazing scenery. I loved the orange trees that you see everywhere. Taking pictures proved difficult. How do you choose what to take pictures of when it is all so incredible? There is the Seville Cathedral, Torre del Oro, and more plazas than you can imagine. Every few blocks you round a corner and find a park with benches, people and tapas bars. I started to experience beauty overload. Everywhere I looked the architecture seemed to scream to be recorded. Eventually I just put down the camera and enjoyed the sights. In one plaza we came across a museum. Kootenay got to hang out in the park across the street while we looked at all the paintings. It was interesting given the city’s Moorish heritage, how white all the people in the paintings were. And the cherubs had faces that seemed designed to scare people rather than comfort them. There were oddly shaped and shaded adult faces on wee little bodies with wings and arrows. Kootenay missed all this. Instead she hung out in the park and tried to get passerbys to stop and pet her. I am not sure how she made out while we were inside, but when we came out of the gallery she had a gaggle of school kids petting her and feeding her the remains of their lunches. I don’t think she minded being alone out there. I was a bit worried about leaving her there. She is a beautiful dog and while she loves me I don’t think it would take much encouragement for her to wander off with someone. But, when I decided to travel with me dog I had to be prepared to make compromises.
Before I left Nazare I made one of those compromises. Sevilla has some great places to stay in the heart of the city. But, I couldn’t find any of them that accepted dogs. Often places that will take the dog and I if we show up and they see her. She seems to know when she needs to put on her good manners. She does it when we are checking into hotels, in airports, and meeting new people. Once she is comfortable with the people around her she is a maniac, but when she needs to she can pull out the manners. But, I didn’t want to show up in Seville and not have a bed so I made a reservation at an Ibis Hotel that advertised that it accepted pets. So while Di and Ro got to stay in a quaint place in the center of town I stayed in a chain hotel devoid of uniqueness, but with a space for me and the pooch. Luckily the cost of cabs into and out of the town center came to the same about it would have cost me to park the car in the downtown, so I can come and go without resenting Kootenay and second guessing my choice to bring her to Europe with me.
We cruised through town looking at the most amazing scenery. I loved the orange trees that you see everywhere. Taking pictures proved difficult. How do you choose what to take pictures of when it is all so incredible? There is the Seville Cathedral, Torre del Oro, and more plazas than you can imagine. Every few blocks you round a corner and find a park with benches, people and tapas bars. I started to experience beauty overload. Everywhere I looked the architecture seemed to scream to be recorded. Eventually I just put down the camera and enjoyed the sights. In one plaza we came across a museum. Kootenay got to hang out in the park across the street while we looked at all the paintings. It was interesting given the city’s Moorish heritage, how white all the people in the paintings were. And the cherubs had faces that seemed designed to scare people rather than comfort them. There were oddly shaped and shaded adult faces on wee little bodies with wings and arrows. Kootenay missed all this. Instead she hung out in the park and tried to get passerbys to stop and pet her. I am not sure how she made out while we were inside, but when we came out of the gallery she had a gaggle of school kids petting her and feeding her the remains of their lunches. I don’t think she minded being alone out there. I was a bit worried about leaving her there. She is a beautiful dog and while she loves me I don’t think it would take much encouragement for her to wander off with someone. But, when I decided to travel with me dog I had to be prepared to make compromises.
Before I left Nazare I made one of those compromises. Sevilla has some great places to stay in the heart of the city. But, I couldn’t find any of them that accepted dogs. Often places that will take the dog and I if we show up and they see her. She seems to know when she needs to put on her good manners. She does it when we are checking into hotels, in airports, and meeting new people. Once she is comfortable with the people around her she is a maniac, but when she needs to she can pull out the manners. But, I didn’t want to show up in Seville and not have a bed so I made a reservation at an Ibis Hotel that advertised that it accepted pets. So while Di and Ro got to stay in a quaint place in the center of town I stayed in a chain hotel devoid of uniqueness, but with a space for me and the pooch. Luckily the cost of cabs into and out of the town center came to the same about it would have cost me to park the car in the downtown, so I can come and go without resenting Kootenay and second guessing my choice to bring her to Europe with me.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Waves
When I ask people around here what their favorite thing about the town is the answer is usually “The Waves”. Watching the ocean trying to steal back the land here is more than a pastime. Older men sit on the seawall benches deliberating the world and their place in it. I see them every morning. They look out to the ocean and carry on conversations that I will never understand. The Nazare way of speaking Portuguese is so fast that I fear I will never understand it.
When I asked Beto (one of the guys who works at the Centro-cultural) what his favorite thing about Nazare was he immediately said the waves. At first I thought he said wives and that he was a little dirty and a little intriguing. But, looking at him I knew he meant waves.
Are you a surfer? I asked.
Yes. He replied smiling.
That made more sense. Although, I kinda liked my first understanding better.
Carlos talked about how amazing the waves were when they came all the way up to the seawall. I heard him talk about them, but I didn’t really believe him. Only now can I understand that I doubted him.
Kootenay and I went for a walk on the seawall at midnight. The waves were enormous and they crawled toward the town. They had to be six meters high. Wow, I thought, this is what Carlos was talking about, then, K and turned around and headed back home.
When I first arrived in Nazare the waves kept me up at night. My family and I travelled through Thailand the winter that the big tsunami hit. We were just getting on the plane as the first bits of information were making their way to the news. When we landed in Hong Kong for a stopover, we were held up while they made sure that our destination, Bangkok, was not going to be affected by any aftershocks. Then, we made our way to Thailand and headed up north. We were quite sheltered by our non-existent Thai from the news. It was only when we headed back down south to Koh Samui that the extent of the devastation become apparent. On our return to the south we landed in the Bangkok airport. The average institutional airport that we left had been turned into what looked like a war zone command center. The institutional beige walls were now covered with missing posters and as you left your flight, embassies lined the hallways asking people to register with them so they could better estimate the missing. We were not directly affected by the wave but I was concerned about the morality of trying to enjoy a vacation in a country so wracked by tragedy.
The Thai people begged us to stay. Good for you. Good for Thailand. These words were used over and over by people talking to us. So we stayed. Loved the country, the people and the food, and returned home with a conflicted feeling about our time away.
Until I arrived in Nazare, I did not realize how deeply the trip had affected me.
My first two weeks here I spent listening to the waves at night with an anxiety that took me days to understand. After a week or so I started to love the sound of the waves at night. They lulled me to sleep.
And so I tucked into bed with the sound of the waves in the background thinking that I understood what Carlos had been talking about. That night walking Kootenay the waves seemed huge.
That all changed in the morning. K and I got up to do our morning walk. As we headed to the beach I noticed that there seemed to be more people than normal on the streets, and fewer cars than I was used to. By the time we were down the hill I could see that the night had changed the sea front of the town. There was sand and water covering the first two blocks. And the reason there were so few cars was that the street was covered with sand and receding water. Storefront windows had been broken and water flowed in and out at will.
And I, with my newfound comfort in the sound of waves had slept through it all.
When I asked Beto (one of the guys who works at the Centro-cultural) what his favorite thing about Nazare was he immediately said the waves. At first I thought he said wives and that he was a little dirty and a little intriguing. But, looking at him I knew he meant waves.
Are you a surfer? I asked.
Yes. He replied smiling.
That made more sense. Although, I kinda liked my first understanding better.
Carlos talked about how amazing the waves were when they came all the way up to the seawall. I heard him talk about them, but I didn’t really believe him. Only now can I understand that I doubted him.
Kootenay and I went for a walk on the seawall at midnight. The waves were enormous and they crawled toward the town. They had to be six meters high. Wow, I thought, this is what Carlos was talking about, then, K and turned around and headed back home.
When I first arrived in Nazare the waves kept me up at night. My family and I travelled through Thailand the winter that the big tsunami hit. We were just getting on the plane as the first bits of information were making their way to the news. When we landed in Hong Kong for a stopover, we were held up while they made sure that our destination, Bangkok, was not going to be affected by any aftershocks. Then, we made our way to Thailand and headed up north. We were quite sheltered by our non-existent Thai from the news. It was only when we headed back down south to Koh Samui that the extent of the devastation become apparent. On our return to the south we landed in the Bangkok airport. The average institutional airport that we left had been turned into what looked like a war zone command center. The institutional beige walls were now covered with missing posters and as you left your flight, embassies lined the hallways asking people to register with them so they could better estimate the missing. We were not directly affected by the wave but I was concerned about the morality of trying to enjoy a vacation in a country so wracked by tragedy.
The Thai people begged us to stay. Good for you. Good for Thailand. These words were used over and over by people talking to us. So we stayed. Loved the country, the people and the food, and returned home with a conflicted feeling about our time away.
Until I arrived in Nazare, I did not realize how deeply the trip had affected me.
My first two weeks here I spent listening to the waves at night with an anxiety that took me days to understand. After a week or so I started to love the sound of the waves at night. They lulled me to sleep.
And so I tucked into bed with the sound of the waves in the background thinking that I understood what Carlos had been talking about. That night walking Kootenay the waves seemed huge.
That all changed in the morning. K and I got up to do our morning walk. As we headed to the beach I noticed that there seemed to be more people than normal on the streets, and fewer cars than I was used to. By the time we were down the hill I could see that the night had changed the sea front of the town. There was sand and water covering the first two blocks. And the reason there were so few cars was that the street was covered with sand and receding water. Storefront windows had been broken and water flowed in and out at will.
And I, with my newfound comfort in the sound of waves had slept through it all.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Hot Water Anyone?
From 36 hours to 3.6 minutes.
The hot water tank and stove are run on butane gas. You have to get the tank from a shop down the street. Drag it home. Hook it up. And then light the pilot light for the hot water tank. The stove you light each time you use an element.
A cousin of my friend Isabel showed my how to do this when I first arrived in Nazare. It took me three months to burn through that first tank. In February I had to do the first switch. Unhooking the tank was really easy. Hooking it back up proved to be more problematic. Although I thought I was paying attention to the steps when I first saw them when I tried to repeat them I could not get the gas to flow. I could not figure out how to get the hose attachment secured to the tank. I kept trying over and over again, but I was doing the same steps. So I kept getting the same result. No flame.
After a few hours of this I thought I would get my dictionary out and ask my neighbour for help. My neighbour is a tough old lady. I can hear her yelling at her kids, grandkids, neighbourhood dogs, and neighbours through the walls. She runs a tight ship. I figured she would be able to help me out. I went and knocked on her door with my little Portuguese phrase book. She couldn’t understand a thing that I was saying. She just kept smiling and nodding. I motioned for her to come with me. Then showed her the tank and the hose. AH…. She says. Then she shook her head. No No she says and taps her chest. My Yuri. Then she smiled and walked away. She wasn’t going to be any help.
I decided to leave it unhooked. I figured if I went for a walk, and got a pizza I could look at it with fresh eyes. It took until the next morning for me to realize what I had been doing wrong. All I had to do was turn the lever on the hose the other direction. Thirty-six hours to realize this. I relit the pilot light on the hot water tank and took a shower to celebrate. I had started to smell worse than Kootenay.
Last week I ran out of gas again. This time I managed to unhook the empty tank, hook up the new full one, and relight the hot water heater in under 4 minutes. This old dog learned a new trick
The hot water tank and stove are run on butane gas. You have to get the tank from a shop down the street. Drag it home. Hook it up. And then light the pilot light for the hot water tank. The stove you light each time you use an element.
A cousin of my friend Isabel showed my how to do this when I first arrived in Nazare. It took me three months to burn through that first tank. In February I had to do the first switch. Unhooking the tank was really easy. Hooking it back up proved to be more problematic. Although I thought I was paying attention to the steps when I first saw them when I tried to repeat them I could not get the gas to flow. I could not figure out how to get the hose attachment secured to the tank. I kept trying over and over again, but I was doing the same steps. So I kept getting the same result. No flame.
After a few hours of this I thought I would get my dictionary out and ask my neighbour for help. My neighbour is a tough old lady. I can hear her yelling at her kids, grandkids, neighbourhood dogs, and neighbours through the walls. She runs a tight ship. I figured she would be able to help me out. I went and knocked on her door with my little Portuguese phrase book. She couldn’t understand a thing that I was saying. She just kept smiling and nodding. I motioned for her to come with me. Then showed her the tank and the hose. AH…. She says. Then she shook her head. No No she says and taps her chest. My Yuri. Then she smiled and walked away. She wasn’t going to be any help.
I decided to leave it unhooked. I figured if I went for a walk, and got a pizza I could look at it with fresh eyes. It took until the next morning for me to realize what I had been doing wrong. All I had to do was turn the lever on the hose the other direction. Thirty-six hours to realize this. I relit the pilot light on the hot water tank and took a shower to celebrate. I had started to smell worse than Kootenay.
Last week I ran out of gas again. This time I managed to unhook the empty tank, hook up the new full one, and relight the hot water heater in under 4 minutes. This old dog learned a new trick
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Friends!!
I have two friends…. Okay. So I have a few friends at home, but here I haven’t made real friends until now. Vitor works at the cultural center and is a great photographer. Sofi is his partner. Sofi and I don’t know each other very well, but she offered to teach me some Portuguese. Hopefully she will still hang out with me when she finds out how hopeless I am at languages.
They are coming over for dinner tonight. Last week they had me over and made a really yummy duck and rice casserole. We drank a few bottles of wine and had a lovely time.
How did she meet them, you may be asking yourself. Well. One night I was walking Kootenay and Vitor was walking Spock, who may be cuter than Kootenay. We stopped to chat and it turns out that we had run into each other at the Cultural Center. It took the dogs to get us to chat long enough to make friends.
So tonight I am going to try and make garlic ginger chicken with rice. Hopefully I can pull it off with my two elements and electric frying pan. I have few bottles of wine and some bread and cheese if the dinner doesn’t turn out.
They are coming over for dinner tonight. Last week they had me over and made a really yummy duck and rice casserole. We drank a few bottles of wine and had a lovely time.
How did she meet them, you may be asking yourself. Well. One night I was walking Kootenay and Vitor was walking Spock, who may be cuter than Kootenay. We stopped to chat and it turns out that we had run into each other at the Cultural Center. It took the dogs to get us to chat long enough to make friends.
So tonight I am going to try and make garlic ginger chicken with rice. Hopefully I can pull it off with my two elements and electric frying pan. I have few bottles of wine and some bread and cheese if the dinner doesn’t turn out.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Mondays
Kootenay dug a hole today.
This was not the normal bury your tennis ball hole. This was a deep, my owner is not paying attention to me hole. A nice South Carolina couple and I chatted about pets, travel, life and vinho verde. They rescued greyhounds and the husband carried dog treats with him when he travelled so he would not feel far from his pets.
Elderly American tourists are starting to appear with regularity here. When they ask me where I am from and I say Vancouver Canada a surprising number of them have been there. And they often feel the need to tell me how they really liked the city. Despite the homeless and drug (they whisper pot) problems the add. Friends and family would be proud of my restraint. I have, so far, managed to bite back my thoughts about the tulmult their current government has thrust upon the rest of the world.
Kootenay took my inattention as an opportunity to dig a hole big enough to fit a 50-pound dog or an eight year old in. When this couple and I looked up from our conversation all we could see of Koot were her hind legs and tail. The tail was wagging with abandon like a flag on a child’s sandcastle. The joy she personifies when allowed to dig with abandon was palpable. When I called her to us she backed up out of the hole with the remains of her ball in her mouth. What was left of the tennis ball managed to look like someone had painted a bright yellow smile on her furry face.
How will I ever go back to working?
This was not the normal bury your tennis ball hole. This was a deep, my owner is not paying attention to me hole. A nice South Carolina couple and I chatted about pets, travel, life and vinho verde. They rescued greyhounds and the husband carried dog treats with him when he travelled so he would not feel far from his pets.
Elderly American tourists are starting to appear with regularity here. When they ask me where I am from and I say Vancouver Canada a surprising number of them have been there. And they often feel the need to tell me how they really liked the city. Despite the homeless and drug (they whisper pot) problems the add. Friends and family would be proud of my restraint. I have, so far, managed to bite back my thoughts about the tulmult their current government has thrust upon the rest of the world.
Kootenay took my inattention as an opportunity to dig a hole big enough to fit a 50-pound dog or an eight year old in. When this couple and I looked up from our conversation all we could see of Koot were her hind legs and tail. The tail was wagging with abandon like a flag on a child’s sandcastle. The joy she personifies when allowed to dig with abandon was palpable. When I called her to us she backed up out of the hole with the remains of her ball in her mouth. What was left of the tennis ball managed to look like someone had painted a bright yellow smile on her furry face.
How will I ever go back to working?
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Language Barrier
Kootenay and I had the ultimate inter-cultural experience the other day. We were doing our usual morning beach routine. I had a nice cup of tea in my travel mug and was enjoying it in the sun while Koot ran after her ball.
A bus loaded with tourists pulled up and off loaded fifty or so Japanese tourists. When they walked down the seawall one woman caught sight of Kootenay playing and was overcome with excitement. She stood beside me and laughed and giggled each time Kootenay caught the ball and then applauded when K brought it back to us. After a few minutes of this we ended up with the busload of people standing around us. Then Koot’s original fan started to ask me a question. Despite the language barrier I quickly caught on that she wanted to take her picture with K. Not with me.
The tour guide came up to me to ask me some questions. This is where things got complicated. I had no idea what he was saying. I told him, in my best Portuguese, that I spoke English and was from Canada. Turns out that he could speak a bit of French. So I stretched my high school French and came to understand that all of the women from the bus wanted their pictures taken with K. I asked the guide if they knew that she wasn’t Portuguese. He indicated that they did, but they didn’t care.
So now pictures of Kootenay on a beach in Portugal will be in the holiday albums of about thirty Japanese families.
A bus loaded with tourists pulled up and off loaded fifty or so Japanese tourists. When they walked down the seawall one woman caught sight of Kootenay playing and was overcome with excitement. She stood beside me and laughed and giggled each time Kootenay caught the ball and then applauded when K brought it back to us. After a few minutes of this we ended up with the busload of people standing around us. Then Koot’s original fan started to ask me a question. Despite the language barrier I quickly caught on that she wanted to take her picture with K. Not with me.
The tour guide came up to me to ask me some questions. This is where things got complicated. I had no idea what he was saying. I told him, in my best Portuguese, that I spoke English and was from Canada. Turns out that he could speak a bit of French. So I stretched my high school French and came to understand that all of the women from the bus wanted their pictures taken with K. I asked the guide if they knew that she wasn’t Portuguese. He indicated that they did, but they didn’t care.
So now pictures of Kootenay on a beach in Portugal will be in the holiday albums of about thirty Japanese families.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
A Friend for Jer and Ken
This note is for Jerry and Ken. I have met a man who you would both envy. He’s a semi retired marine engineer. He and his mother have driven down here from England in a big motor home and are living down in the harbour. That is where he keeps his 50 foot retired British Navy boat. He has it out of the water right now and is working on it.
He bumped into me in Modela (supermarket chain). He said sorry. I said no problem and we went on our separate paths. I could tell he wasn’t a local by his clothes. He was wearing royal blue short, an old sweater, white mid-calf sport socks, and beat up runners. No ,one from here would be wearing something that unfashionable.
We met up again in the checkout lineup. That is when it occurred to him that I had answered him in English and that my English did not have a Portuguese accent. Well hello, he said. Where are you from?
I gave him my brief outline. I am here from Canada. Renting a place from a friend in Vancouver. Blah blah blah.
Well have a good day. Hopefully we will run into each other again. He replies as he loads his groceries into bags and heads out to the parking lot.
This was the longest sustained English conversation I have had for a while so I nod and say bye.
I gathered up my groceries and headed out the parking lot to untie the Koot and start to lug our groceries back to the house.
You didn’t bring her from Canada as well did you? I stood up and looked around. There was my English man loading his groceries into a basket on his moped.
I sure did. And I have done it more than once now. I replied and made my way over to his bike. I could tell he wanted to ask me about Kootenay. She is the starter for so many conversations. And this one i will understand.
He plied me with a list of questions… How did she fly? She didn’t fly she’s a dog. Ha Ha. She sat in a crate in a plane that carried us here. Were there problems at the borders? No, despite having done a pile of research, and having the dog micro chipped, inoculated, inspected by the Official Canadian Vet, and all the paperwork to prove these steps have occurred not one person has looked at any of her paperwork. We have flown into Germany twice, Portugal twice and once back to Canada. It is amazing when you think about how we and our luggage are x-rayed, swabbed and wanded down so much that I worry about wearing an underwire bra on flights that no one seems worried about a giant fluffy dog and her enormous crate.
Then he moves onto the fun questions. What kind of dog is that? I have never seen one quite like her. She’s part poodle and part golden retriever I reply.
I have been thinking about getting a dog, he tells me. I was thinking about border collie, but I am worried about it on the boat. Before I get a chance to reply he fills me in on his life. He and his mom are down here. He keeps his boat here and then heads out all over from here. He has been to the Azores. Liked it. Sailed down to the Algarve where is sister lives. Hated it. Too many British he says, and the people in Nazare are nicer. The list goes on… Greece, Turkey, France etc. He wants to head over to Canada and the east coast of the US, but that depends on Mum. I am not sure what he means by that. Is he waiting for her to be well enough or….
His boat is a 50 footer. He bought it from the Royal Navy when it was decommissioned. Now he is researching the history of its’ war years. He keeps his moped on it so that he can explore whatever port he finds himself in. He is semi-retired so he spends six or seven months a year doing this and then heads home for the summer. Sound like a life you could live?
He bumped into me in Modela (supermarket chain). He said sorry. I said no problem and we went on our separate paths. I could tell he wasn’t a local by his clothes. He was wearing royal blue short, an old sweater, white mid-calf sport socks, and beat up runners. No ,one from here would be wearing something that unfashionable.
We met up again in the checkout lineup. That is when it occurred to him that I had answered him in English and that my English did not have a Portuguese accent. Well hello, he said. Where are you from?
I gave him my brief outline. I am here from Canada. Renting a place from a friend in Vancouver. Blah blah blah.
Well have a good day. Hopefully we will run into each other again. He replies as he loads his groceries into bags and heads out to the parking lot.
This was the longest sustained English conversation I have had for a while so I nod and say bye.
I gathered up my groceries and headed out the parking lot to untie the Koot and start to lug our groceries back to the house.
You didn’t bring her from Canada as well did you? I stood up and looked around. There was my English man loading his groceries into a basket on his moped.
I sure did. And I have done it more than once now. I replied and made my way over to his bike. I could tell he wanted to ask me about Kootenay. She is the starter for so many conversations. And this one i will understand.
He plied me with a list of questions… How did she fly? She didn’t fly she’s a dog. Ha Ha. She sat in a crate in a plane that carried us here. Were there problems at the borders? No, despite having done a pile of research, and having the dog micro chipped, inoculated, inspected by the Official Canadian Vet, and all the paperwork to prove these steps have occurred not one person has looked at any of her paperwork. We have flown into Germany twice, Portugal twice and once back to Canada. It is amazing when you think about how we and our luggage are x-rayed, swabbed and wanded down so much that I worry about wearing an underwire bra on flights that no one seems worried about a giant fluffy dog and her enormous crate.
Then he moves onto the fun questions. What kind of dog is that? I have never seen one quite like her. She’s part poodle and part golden retriever I reply.
I have been thinking about getting a dog, he tells me. I was thinking about border collie, but I am worried about it on the boat. Before I get a chance to reply he fills me in on his life. He and his mom are down here. He keeps his boat here and then heads out all over from here. He has been to the Azores. Liked it. Sailed down to the Algarve where is sister lives. Hated it. Too many British he says, and the people in Nazare are nicer. The list goes on… Greece, Turkey, France etc. He wants to head over to Canada and the east coast of the US, but that depends on Mum. I am not sure what he means by that. Is he waiting for her to be well enough or….
His boat is a 50 footer. He bought it from the Royal Navy when it was decommissioned. Now he is researching the history of its’ war years. He keeps his moped on it so that he can explore whatever port he finds himself in. He is semi-retired so he spends six or seven months a year doing this and then heads home for the summer. Sound like a life you could live?
Monday, January 28, 2008
Dalmatian Dad
Your dog is very self-sufficient he said to me today. He has a beautiful Dalmatian that dearly wants to play with Kootenay. I was totally shocked. He spoke to me in perfect English. There was a pause in our conversation while my mind processed the fact that I understood him. Usually I smile nod my head and say fala English while pointing at my self.
She just really loves her ball I end up stuttering out in rely.
No. Even when you don’t have the ball she is just as happy following you down the beach with her nose to the sand. My dog is desperate for another dog to play with him. It is the only time he gets any real exercise. Replies the man who will from now forward be known as Dalmatian Dad.
She is easy to exercise. I reply. Just throw a ball and wait. She brings it back and demands that you do it again. The only drawback is the slobber stains on my shoes. I can’t figure out why I can’t come with something else to say. I seem to have lost any ability to engage in small talk. Have I been out of normal life for too long? I have really enjoyed my days of walking on the beach, reading and even fitting in a little writing. But, could this have all lead to me becoming, gasp, even more socially awkward. And, why is he walking away.
Bye I call out. What I really want to do is scream. She really only plays with dogs she knows. If Dalmatian wants to get to know her she will be happy to run in the waves with him. Then I wonder…. Is this really about K?
She just really loves her ball I end up stuttering out in rely.
No. Even when you don’t have the ball she is just as happy following you down the beach with her nose to the sand. My dog is desperate for another dog to play with him. It is the only time he gets any real exercise. Replies the man who will from now forward be known as Dalmatian Dad.
She is easy to exercise. I reply. Just throw a ball and wait. She brings it back and demands that you do it again. The only drawback is the slobber stains on my shoes. I can’t figure out why I can’t come with something else to say. I seem to have lost any ability to engage in small talk. Have I been out of normal life for too long? I have really enjoyed my days of walking on the beach, reading and even fitting in a little writing. But, could this have all lead to me becoming, gasp, even more socially awkward. And, why is he walking away.
Bye I call out. What I really want to do is scream. She really only plays with dogs she knows. If Dalmatian wants to get to know her she will be happy to run in the waves with him. Then I wonder…. Is this really about K?
Friday, January 18, 2008
Moving...
My dog changed my life. Before she came into my life I lived a nice, quiet, safe life. I had a good job. It was not my passion, but it paid a living wage and had health benefits. I bought a safe fixer up style of apartment in a nice neighbourhoood and fixed it up. I was average and glad of it. While my friends went about marrying, breaking up, and living overseas I was happy to offer them a bed when they needed it and live my quiet life.
Then came Kootenay. Soon after she came into my home the people in my building decided that she was too big to live in our building and offered me a choice. Either I had to get rid of her or move out of the building. This was a difficult time. I had made friends with many of the people in the building and then had to choose between this dog I had just adopted and the security and friendship of the people in the building I had been living in for four years. I chose the dog. It was my first moment of madness. I am not sure I would have been able to make that choice had my sister not been around. She, in her ever practical and capable way, made the choice of moving because of my new dog an easy one. “Of course you’ll move,” she said. As if selling the home I had lived in for four years for a dog I had for only four weeks was the most normal choice in the world.
So with her help and the support of all my family and friends I put my put my house up for sale and planned a future in a new neighbourhood with my new pet.
Luckily I have a friend who knows almost all of Vancouver. Michael introduced me to Tim, who took on selling my place. It was not an easy task. The strata minutes were messy. We, the building residents, had started down a path of unkindness to each other that would be hard to stop. Neighbour picking on neighbour is a difficult thing when you live in such close quarters and like all negative emotions, once you start focusing on the negative it becomes difficult to stop. As sad as I was at losing the friends I had made in the building moving was the right choice. If a dog could cause so many people to be so unhappy it was better to not live there.
So, I sold the place and started looking for a new one. This time I would have a better idea how to read strata minutes and making sure my dog was welcome would be the top concern.
Then came Kootenay. Soon after she came into my home the people in my building decided that she was too big to live in our building and offered me a choice. Either I had to get rid of her or move out of the building. This was a difficult time. I had made friends with many of the people in the building and then had to choose between this dog I had just adopted and the security and friendship of the people in the building I had been living in for four years. I chose the dog. It was my first moment of madness. I am not sure I would have been able to make that choice had my sister not been around. She, in her ever practical and capable way, made the choice of moving because of my new dog an easy one. “Of course you’ll move,” she said. As if selling the home I had lived in for four years for a dog I had for only four weeks was the most normal choice in the world.
So with her help and the support of all my family and friends I put my put my house up for sale and planned a future in a new neighbourhood with my new pet.
Luckily I have a friend who knows almost all of Vancouver. Michael introduced me to Tim, who took on selling my place. It was not an easy task. The strata minutes were messy. We, the building residents, had started down a path of unkindness to each other that would be hard to stop. Neighbour picking on neighbour is a difficult thing when you live in such close quarters and like all negative emotions, once you start focusing on the negative it becomes difficult to stop. As sad as I was at losing the friends I had made in the building moving was the right choice. If a dog could cause so many people to be so unhappy it was better to not live there.
So, I sold the place and started looking for a new one. This time I would have a better idea how to read strata minutes and making sure my dog was welcome would be the top concern.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Beach Time
I cannot imagine anyone or anything being happier than Kootenay is when she in on the beach. Each morning we get up and walk along the seawall walkway here in Nazare. Kootenay walks beside me with her head turned to the beach for the entire two kilometers of the walk. It is almost as if she is afraid it will disappear if she doesn’t keep her eyes on it.
When we are about halfway home I let her off her leash.
When the leash drops off her neck she looks at me to be sure that she is allowed to be free. Then I give her the all clear. She jumps up in the air and twists in a circle. It looks like somebody electrocuted her tail and she is trying to catch them. Then she leaps off the seawall and barrels down the beach towards the water’s edge.
With her nose down and her tail wagging she chases the waves as they stretch up onto the sand as far as they can reach. She is always surprised when they disappear and gallops down to the water’s new edge to find them.
Her other great joy is joining the kids playing soccer on the beach courts. I have had to buy a small fake soccer ball to carry with us when we go near the kids. It comes with us or I will have to once again wade into a scrum made of giggling boys, a dog and soccer ball and try to separate Kootenay from the ball and the boys from the dog.
Two boys always want her to play goalie for them. My Portuguese is not good enough to explain to them that once she gets the ball she will bite onto it and the chase will be on. I have tired pointing to her teeth and pretending to bite the ball, but I guess my charades are only good for ordering food and finding gas to heat the hot water tank. Either that or the boys just want a laugh when I try to act out the whole ball/teeth/chase scenario. To avoid the acting, we bring the doggie soccer ball. And it has a magic squeaker in it. Now when she tries to launch herself into the soccer game I just have to squeeze her soccer ball. When the squeaker goes off she comes running to me.
Today one of the soccer dad’s came over to “talk” with me. Between my dictionary and his little bit of English we came up with a description for Kootenay at the beach. We decided that she is joy personified. And, that you feel that if watch hard enough you can finally figure out what it takes to be truly happy.
We stood there and watched three 11-year-old boys play keep away with a soccer ball and a dog. The sun was shining and the waves were crashing ashore
When we are about halfway home I let her off her leash.
When the leash drops off her neck she looks at me to be sure that she is allowed to be free. Then I give her the all clear. She jumps up in the air and twists in a circle. It looks like somebody electrocuted her tail and she is trying to catch them. Then she leaps off the seawall and barrels down the beach towards the water’s edge.
With her nose down and her tail wagging she chases the waves as they stretch up onto the sand as far as they can reach. She is always surprised when they disappear and gallops down to the water’s new edge to find them.
Her other great joy is joining the kids playing soccer on the beach courts. I have had to buy a small fake soccer ball to carry with us when we go near the kids. It comes with us or I will have to once again wade into a scrum made of giggling boys, a dog and soccer ball and try to separate Kootenay from the ball and the boys from the dog.
Two boys always want her to play goalie for them. My Portuguese is not good enough to explain to them that once she gets the ball she will bite onto it and the chase will be on. I have tired pointing to her teeth and pretending to bite the ball, but I guess my charades are only good for ordering food and finding gas to heat the hot water tank. Either that or the boys just want a laugh when I try to act out the whole ball/teeth/chase scenario. To avoid the acting, we bring the doggie soccer ball. And it has a magic squeaker in it. Now when she tries to launch herself into the soccer game I just have to squeeze her soccer ball. When the squeaker goes off she comes running to me.
Today one of the soccer dad’s came over to “talk” with me. Between my dictionary and his little bit of English we came up with a description for Kootenay at the beach. We decided that she is joy personified. And, that you feel that if watch hard enough you can finally figure out what it takes to be truly happy.
We stood there and watched three 11-year-old boys play keep away with a soccer ball and a dog. The sun was shining and the waves were crashing ashore
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Does Sexy Translate?
North American movie stars engage in endorsements abroad. It is no big secret, but it is surprising when you see the ads. They promote things in other countries that they would never been seen overtly promoting back home. Coffee. Shampoo. Watches. And they sell these things with their “sex appeal.”
George Clooney sells coffee in Europe. In the ad he finds himself amazed as women walk past him to get to a good cuppa and don’t seem to notice him. Brad Pitt was selling watches in China. As we were walking down a street in Chengdu a little girl looked up at a Brad Pitt ad and ran over to stroke my nephew’s hair and point to his blue eyes excitedly. Aiden is only ten and the attention was a little overwhelming. Seeing these ads has made me watch movies a little differently. The next time I see George or Brad in a movie I will be watching to see if these products end up in the movie. Maybe they are advertising stuff back home and we don’t even notice it?
One of my most disconcerting moments with this type of ad occurred in China. Treesa and I watched a grown man in a suit stroke George Clooney’s giant lips. He pressed himself up against a billboard and went up on his toes so that he could stroke a picture of George’s lips. Now don’t get me wrong I understand the desire to touch George’s lips, but if I’m going to do it I hope it is in private. And I hope it doesn’t stop with his lips. But it was bewildering to me that a grown man in what appeared to be an expensive suit, would stop in the middle of a busy sidewalk and take time out to stroke a picture of a “star”. I felt very much a voyeur watching this moment. The other remarkable thing was that my sister and I seemed to be the only people to find the incident peculiar. And like all places in China, there were literally hundreds of people walking by. No one even slowed down.
Tonight a woman at the movie rental store wanted to rent Richard Gere. She brought back a movie that he had starred in pointed to his face and asked the clerk something that my limited Portuguese could not understand. The clerk took her over to the wall and pointed to another Richard Gere title. But, the woman wasn’t happy. She took the box of the movie she had just seen and held it up to the other movie. She pointed to the two faces that were clearly different. In the second movie Richard Gere was playing a role that required him to adopt a character. She didn’t want Richard Gere the actor she wanted Richard Gere. Luckily my immense knowledge of romantic comedies came to the rescue. I pointed out Pretty Woman and Runaway Bride to her and the clerk. The woman happily left with the two movies. The clerk smiled at me and shrugged her shoulders. She watched movies for the movie. I am pretty sure I lost a few coolness points with her for knowing those titles, that and the fact that I went home with a Ryan Reynolds romantic comedy. Oh well. She still in awe that I am from Canada, don’t speak any Portuguese, and have a bonito cachorro.
And now me and my cachorro will go curl up on our sofa and watch our romantic comedy. Hope K feels like snuggling. How’s that for sexy?
George Clooney sells coffee in Europe. In the ad he finds himself amazed as women walk past him to get to a good cuppa and don’t seem to notice him. Brad Pitt was selling watches in China. As we were walking down a street in Chengdu a little girl looked up at a Brad Pitt ad and ran over to stroke my nephew’s hair and point to his blue eyes excitedly. Aiden is only ten and the attention was a little overwhelming. Seeing these ads has made me watch movies a little differently. The next time I see George or Brad in a movie I will be watching to see if these products end up in the movie. Maybe they are advertising stuff back home and we don’t even notice it?
One of my most disconcerting moments with this type of ad occurred in China. Treesa and I watched a grown man in a suit stroke George Clooney’s giant lips. He pressed himself up against a billboard and went up on his toes so that he could stroke a picture of George’s lips. Now don’t get me wrong I understand the desire to touch George’s lips, but if I’m going to do it I hope it is in private. And I hope it doesn’t stop with his lips. But it was bewildering to me that a grown man in what appeared to be an expensive suit, would stop in the middle of a busy sidewalk and take time out to stroke a picture of a “star”. I felt very much a voyeur watching this moment. The other remarkable thing was that my sister and I seemed to be the only people to find the incident peculiar. And like all places in China, there were literally hundreds of people walking by. No one even slowed down.
Tonight a woman at the movie rental store wanted to rent Richard Gere. She brought back a movie that he had starred in pointed to his face and asked the clerk something that my limited Portuguese could not understand. The clerk took her over to the wall and pointed to another Richard Gere title. But, the woman wasn’t happy. She took the box of the movie she had just seen and held it up to the other movie. She pointed to the two faces that were clearly different. In the second movie Richard Gere was playing a role that required him to adopt a character. She didn’t want Richard Gere the actor she wanted Richard Gere. Luckily my immense knowledge of romantic comedies came to the rescue. I pointed out Pretty Woman and Runaway Bride to her and the clerk. The woman happily left with the two movies. The clerk smiled at me and shrugged her shoulders. She watched movies for the movie. I am pretty sure I lost a few coolness points with her for knowing those titles, that and the fact that I went home with a Ryan Reynolds romantic comedy. Oh well. She still in awe that I am from Canada, don’t speak any Portuguese, and have a bonito cachorro.
And now me and my cachorro will go curl up on our sofa and watch our romantic comedy. Hope K feels like snuggling. How’s that for sexy?
Monday, November 19, 2007
Things Are Different Here
Coffee is a bit of an obsession in Vancouver, but it is nothing compared to here. I saw a few Starbucks in Germany, but now that I am in Portugal, I have yet to see one, although, I have seen coffee shops. Coffee and the pastries that accompany it seem to hold a very important position here. Every afternoon at about 1pm everyone leaves their jobs and goes in search of family, friends and coffee. And they find them. And they sit and talk, connect eat and drink. It may just be coincidence, because I have not seen a lot of the country, but here it seems that who visits which shop depends on where their relatives work. And here I am a tea drinker.
Central heating. Lets make some noise for that convenience. I will never take for granted the ability to turn up the thermostat. The first two days I was here were sunny and beautiful, that all ended last night. A storm steamrolled over the sun and replaced it with grey skies, clouds and thunder. The temperature in the house I am in went from snug to frosty. This morning I searched through the house for heaters to plug in. Everyone who is thinking of visiting me should wait until the spring hits. Cold undies in the AM are not fun.
Dogs here seem to have free run of the town. There seem to be no leash laws and the no dogs allowed signs are reserved for fearful tourist. I am the only person who has here their dog on a leash. When we walk out of our courtyard the dog from up the street runs down to greet us. Then as we head down to the seawall the neighbour dog follows us for a while and turns back home when he loses interest in us. During our walks we are approached by many free roaming pooches, who come up to Kootenay and sniff about us as if to commiserate with her about her lack of freedom. But, honestly she is not the most obedient of dogs. And the sea and beach here would test us too much. I am not ready to be the crazy foreign woman who had to pull off her shoes and run up and down the cold surf trying to get her dog to come back home with her.
Grass. Grass is in short supply here. This is not the west coast, with its ample rain and green grass. There are lovely winding cobblestone roads with little sidewalks. Each street seems to have it’s own bit of “old world” charm. Little stores dot the streets, each with it’s own specialty. There are places that only sell keys, or knives, tools, cheese or meats. The operator of the wine store down the street also sells rugs, but there are separate entrances and cash registers for each side of the store. All very charming for someone visiting from the land of Wal-Mart and Costco, but for a west coast dog it is confusing. How does one find just the right place to pee without grass? And what does a dog do with out a giant park to tromp about in? Kootenay is finding this very difficult. Sure we walk for miles every day, but she does this without finding that relief that comes with finding the just the right spot of grass. Hopefully the stones will one day seem welcoming or we will have some trouble. I am sure that the nieghbour will catch us using his ivy and explaining our situation in Portuguese is way beyond my vocabulary.
Central heating. Lets make some noise for that convenience. I will never take for granted the ability to turn up the thermostat. The first two days I was here were sunny and beautiful, that all ended last night. A storm steamrolled over the sun and replaced it with grey skies, clouds and thunder. The temperature in the house I am in went from snug to frosty. This morning I searched through the house for heaters to plug in. Everyone who is thinking of visiting me should wait until the spring hits. Cold undies in the AM are not fun.
Dogs here seem to have free run of the town. There seem to be no leash laws and the no dogs allowed signs are reserved for fearful tourist. I am the only person who has here their dog on a leash. When we walk out of our courtyard the dog from up the street runs down to greet us. Then as we head down to the seawall the neighbour dog follows us for a while and turns back home when he loses interest in us. During our walks we are approached by many free roaming pooches, who come up to Kootenay and sniff about us as if to commiserate with her about her lack of freedom. But, honestly she is not the most obedient of dogs. And the sea and beach here would test us too much. I am not ready to be the crazy foreign woman who had to pull off her shoes and run up and down the cold surf trying to get her dog to come back home with her.
Grass. Grass is in short supply here. This is not the west coast, with its ample rain and green grass. There are lovely winding cobblestone roads with little sidewalks. Each street seems to have it’s own bit of “old world” charm. Little stores dot the streets, each with it’s own specialty. There are places that only sell keys, or knives, tools, cheese or meats. The operator of the wine store down the street also sells rugs, but there are separate entrances and cash registers for each side of the store. All very charming for someone visiting from the land of Wal-Mart and Costco, but for a west coast dog it is confusing. How does one find just the right place to pee without grass? And what does a dog do with out a giant park to tromp about in? Kootenay is finding this very difficult. Sure we walk for miles every day, but she does this without finding that relief that comes with finding the just the right spot of grass. Hopefully the stones will one day seem welcoming or we will have some trouble. I am sure that the nieghbour will catch us using his ivy and explaining our situation in Portuguese is way beyond my vocabulary.
Things Are Different Here
Coffee is a bit of an obsession in Vancouver, but it is nothing compared to here. I saw a few Starbucks in Germany, but now that I am in Portugal, I have yet to see one, although, I have seen coffee shops. Coffee and the pastries that accompany it seem to hold a very important position here. Every afternoon at about 1pm everyone leaves their jobs and goes in search of family, friends and coffee. And they find them. And they sit and talk, connect eat and drink. It may just be coincidence, because I have not seen a lot of the country, but here it seems that who visits which shop depends on where their relatives work. And here I am a tea drinker.
Central heating. Lets make some noise for that convenience. I will never take for granted the ability to turn up the thermostat. The first two days I was here were sunny and beautiful, that all ended last night. A storm steamrolled over the sun and replaced it with grey skies, clouds and thunder. The temperature in the house I am in went from snug to frosty. This morning I searched through the house for heaters to plug in. Everyone who is thinking of visiting me should wait until the spring hits. Cold undies in the AM are not fun.
Dogs here seem to have free run of the town. There seem to be no leash laws and the no dogs allowed signs are reserved for fearful tourist. I am the only person who has here their dog on a leash. When we walk out of our courtyard the dog from up the street runs down to greet us. Then as we head down to the seawall the neighbour dog follows us for a while and turns back home when he loses interest in us. During our walks we are approached by many free roaming pooches, who come up to Kootenay and sniff about us as if to commiserate with her about her lack of freedom. But, honestly she is not the most obedient of dogs. And the sea and beach here would test us too much. I am not ready to be the crazy foreign woman who had to pull off her shoes and run up and down the cold surf trying to get her dog to come back home with her.
Grass. Grass is in short supply here. This is not the west coast, with its ample rain and green grass. There are lovely winding cobblestone roads with little sidewalks. Each street seems to have it’s own bit of “old world” charm. Little stores dot the streets, each with it’s own specialty. There are places that only sell keys, or knives, tools, cheese or meats. The operator of the wine store down the street also sells rugs, but there are separate entrances and cash registers for each side of the store. All very charming for someone visiting from the land of Wal-Mart and Costco, but for a west coast dog it is confusing. How does one find just the right place to pee without grass? And what does a dog do with out a giant park to tromp about in? Kootenay is finding this very difficult. Sure we walk for miles every day, but she does this without finding that relief that comes with finding the just the right spot of grass. Hopefully the stones will one day seem welcoming or we will have some trouble. I am sure that the nieghbour will catch us using his ivy and explaining our situation in Portuguese is way beyond my vocabulary.
Central heating. Lets make some noise for that convenience. I will never take for granted the ability to turn up the thermostat. The first two days I was here were sunny and beautiful, that all ended last night. A storm steamrolled over the sun and replaced it with grey skies, clouds and thunder. The temperature in the house I am in went from snug to frosty. This morning I searched through the house for heaters to plug in. Everyone who is thinking of visiting me should wait until the spring hits. Cold undies in the AM are not fun.
Dogs here seem to have free run of the town. There seem to be no leash laws and the no dogs allowed signs are reserved for fearful tourist. I am the only person who has here their dog on a leash. When we walk out of our courtyard the dog from up the street runs down to greet us. Then as we head down to the seawall the neighbour dog follows us for a while and turns back home when he loses interest in us. During our walks we are approached by many free roaming pooches, who come up to Kootenay and sniff about us as if to commiserate with her about her lack of freedom. But, honestly she is not the most obedient of dogs. And the sea and beach here would test us too much. I am not ready to be the crazy foreign woman who had to pull off her shoes and run up and down the cold surf trying to get her dog to come back home with her.
Grass. Grass is in short supply here. This is not the west coast, with its ample rain and green grass. There are lovely winding cobblestone roads with little sidewalks. Each street seems to have it’s own bit of “old world” charm. Little stores dot the streets, each with it’s own specialty. There are places that only sell keys, or knives, tools, cheese or meats. The operator of the wine store down the street also sells rugs, but there are separate entrances and cash registers for each side of the store. All very charming for someone visiting from the land of Wal-Mart and Costco, but for a west coast dog it is confusing. How does one find just the right place to pee without grass? And what does a dog do with out a giant park to tromp about in? Kootenay is finding this very difficult. Sure we walk for miles every day, but she does this without finding that relief that comes with finding the just the right spot of grass. Hopefully the stones will one day seem welcoming or we will have some trouble. I am sure that the nieghbour will catch us using his ivy and explaining our situation in Portuguese is way beyond my vocabulary.
How Did I Get Here
I am trying to figure out what I am doing here. I was not raised to live an unstructured life. I was raised to get a job, hopefully with good benefits and hold onto it. To go to work everyday doing what I’m told and work until I retire. I’m not exactly sure when I stopped believing in anything else. Maybe I thought that, given the miracle or good luck that had me live through my teenage cancer battle that that was my miracle and to hope for more would be greedy.
When I told my dad that I wanted to travel to Europe with my dog and try and write the storey of my cancer battle he responded by telling me that artist suffer. They get jobs as waitresses or taxi drivers and write. And if they are lucky they produce something other people want to read. I am not sure that was meant to encourage or discourage me.
Of course I heard it as a subtle condemnation of this. I constantly question my decisions and this is no different. Today I had to remind myself that this was only my second day here so trying to measure my accomplishments was premature. That deciding I had failed already, was a trifle self-defeating.
It is not surprising that people live so much of their lives in cafes here. With no central heating it is cold in the houses. Last night I was ready to leave. Then I got up, had some breakfast and Kootenay and walked along the sea edge. We watched the giant waves crash onto the shore and then sat on a bench and watched all of the town walk by us. Families, friends and lovers walked up and down the seawall meeting and greeting each other. If you watched this in a movie it would seem false and scripted.
The women here wear what is called the seven petticoat dress with black wraps that also wrap their heads. Many people mention this and question why they still dress this way. The fishing wife life seems to have been chased away from this village by the Mercedes, Alfas, and Peugeuts that crawl the streets now. I can only say that given the temperature of the stone houses the older people live in I can why. While not stylish the outfit looks like it would keep you warm.
Kootenay is adjusting to having a daily routine, I think she enjoys the fact that we have unpacked. Although, I think she liked the people in Lisbon better than here. In Lisbon people stopped us to pat her and treated her like a movie star. Often people stop and talk to us and while we didn’t understand it all, inevitabily the sentence would include the phrase “Never Ending Story”. And then everyone would smile. She looks like the dog at the end of the movie. Here people are more hesitant, and often shy away from us. After being a star in Germany and Lisbon, Kootenay is finding it odd. Rather than fawning she is treated with a mixture of awe and reserve.
When I told my dad that I wanted to travel to Europe with my dog and try and write the storey of my cancer battle he responded by telling me that artist suffer. They get jobs as waitresses or taxi drivers and write. And if they are lucky they produce something other people want to read. I am not sure that was meant to encourage or discourage me.
Of course I heard it as a subtle condemnation of this. I constantly question my decisions and this is no different. Today I had to remind myself that this was only my second day here so trying to measure my accomplishments was premature. That deciding I had failed already, was a trifle self-defeating.
It is not surprising that people live so much of their lives in cafes here. With no central heating it is cold in the houses. Last night I was ready to leave. Then I got up, had some breakfast and Kootenay and walked along the sea edge. We watched the giant waves crash onto the shore and then sat on a bench and watched all of the town walk by us. Families, friends and lovers walked up and down the seawall meeting and greeting each other. If you watched this in a movie it would seem false and scripted.
The women here wear what is called the seven petticoat dress with black wraps that also wrap their heads. Many people mention this and question why they still dress this way. The fishing wife life seems to have been chased away from this village by the Mercedes, Alfas, and Peugeuts that crawl the streets now. I can only say that given the temperature of the stone houses the older people live in I can why. While not stylish the outfit looks like it would keep you warm.
Kootenay is adjusting to having a daily routine, I think she enjoys the fact that we have unpacked. Although, I think she liked the people in Lisbon better than here. In Lisbon people stopped us to pat her and treated her like a movie star. Often people stop and talk to us and while we didn’t understand it all, inevitabily the sentence would include the phrase “Never Ending Story”. And then everyone would smile. She looks like the dog at the end of the movie. Here people are more hesitant, and often shy away from us. After being a star in Germany and Lisbon, Kootenay is finding it odd. Rather than fawning she is treated with a mixture of awe and reserve.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Big dog
My dog and I both have size issues. People these days seem to want dogs and people to be purse size. We are definitely not purse size, although I do have a weakness for purses. Now that we are travelling our sizes has become an issue. People are very welcoming to small dogs. They look cute and you can put them in your purse and carry them everywhere. Big dogs require a bit more room and a bit more imagination. To have a big dog in your life you have to commit to opening yourself up to their needs. Small dogs can be fit to your life. You can tote them in and out of stores unnoticed, and a five-minute walk can keep them happy. Big dogs can’t be snuck into very many places. Although, I will admit to sneaking her into a few motels, but a great deal of subterfuge was needed. Since Kootenay became part of my life I have had to face the world differently. We no longer go unnoticed by people. When we walk down the street people stop. They say hi; they want to pet her; they want to connect. I never expected this. So here we are travelling and trying to find space for ourselves in another language. We can be persuasive in English, but now we have to get by on our looks and personality.
Today we hit Portugal and had to use all our looks and personality to find a bed for ourselves. Like most people my age we have come to rely on the internet. So in preparation for Lisbon we got on the internet and researched hotels. Who allows pets? What is their policy? All good things to know before you leave. After a great deal of reading we found a place and had our travel agent book it for us and include information about the dog. The motel concept is not strong here, so I wanted to be sure upfront that we would be welcome. They took our deposit along with the pet info yeah!
Imagine my surprise when we get there and they do not accept dogs. Now we are in Lisbon with no place to stay.
Back to the internet. Fatima, the hotel consierge manned the phone and I trolled the internet for places that might take us in. We phoned every place we could find and things looked bleak. I was almost glad for the giant cage the German ground crew forces on us, as I could picture Kootenay and I comfortably sleeping in it. It is almost as big as my apartment back home. Then I pulled out the Rick Steeves guide to Portugal. We would read the guide for hotels that seemed to have personality and then contact would ensue. I would look on the internet for the hotel pet policy and Fatima would phone them. Finally we found a bed. Thank you Residencial Florescente. People on Expeida and Travelocity may complain about the carpets or the smell, but we are happy to put our heads down here. And we actually appreciate the 1800’s character of the building. Our Juliet balcony makes us both very happy
Today we hit Portugal and had to use all our looks and personality to find a bed for ourselves. Like most people my age we have come to rely on the internet. So in preparation for Lisbon we got on the internet and researched hotels. Who allows pets? What is their policy? All good things to know before you leave. After a great deal of reading we found a place and had our travel agent book it for us and include information about the dog. The motel concept is not strong here, so I wanted to be sure upfront that we would be welcome. They took our deposit along with the pet info yeah!
Imagine my surprise when we get there and they do not accept dogs. Now we are in Lisbon with no place to stay.
Back to the internet. Fatima, the hotel consierge manned the phone and I trolled the internet for places that might take us in. We phoned every place we could find and things looked bleak. I was almost glad for the giant cage the German ground crew forces on us, as I could picture Kootenay and I comfortably sleeping in it. It is almost as big as my apartment back home. Then I pulled out the Rick Steeves guide to Portugal. We would read the guide for hotels that seemed to have personality and then contact would ensue. I would look on the internet for the hotel pet policy and Fatima would phone them. Finally we found a bed. Thank you Residencial Florescente. People on Expeida and Travelocity may complain about the carpets or the smell, but we are happy to put our heads down here. And we actually appreciate the 1800’s character of the building. Our Juliet balcony makes us both very happy
Leaving Frankfurt
Frankfurt.
When I started to write this note last night it was going to be a love story. The city was friendly and Kootenay and I walked all over it and enjoyed every minute. Then we flew out and that is where the love affair ended abruptly. When we got to the airport the ground crew refused to transport K in her crate. They claimed it was not big enough, and just so handily happened to have a place there where I could purchase a new crate, at a grossly inflated sum. Only then would they put her on the plane. The only crate they would accept was enormous. So despite the fact that my crate was approved for the size and weight of my dog, and the fact that she had just travelled from Canada in it we had to shell out for the new crate. The crate should have cost about 180 dollars, but they wanted 300 euros. So I am warning all people with pets who plan to travel through Frankfurt DO NOT. The city is great, but it is too costly to be at the whim of the airport ground crew.
When I started to write this note last night it was going to be a love story. The city was friendly and Kootenay and I walked all over it and enjoyed every minute. Then we flew out and that is where the love affair ended abruptly. When we got to the airport the ground crew refused to transport K in her crate. They claimed it was not big enough, and just so handily happened to have a place there where I could purchase a new crate, at a grossly inflated sum. Only then would they put her on the plane. The only crate they would accept was enormous. So despite the fact that my crate was approved for the size and weight of my dog, and the fact that she had just travelled from Canada in it we had to shell out for the new crate. The crate should have cost about 180 dollars, but they wanted 300 euros. So I am warning all people with pets who plan to travel through Frankfurt DO NOT. The city is great, but it is too costly to be at the whim of the airport ground crew.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)