Até logo Lisboa

Last night was my last night in Lisbon. For this vacation anyway. Like so many nights when I did live there, I took myself to dinner, chose a little table in the corner at my favorite Indian restaurant, and ate very slowly while listening to the cornocopia of conversations going on in the room.

Lisbon is such a strange town for me, on so many levels. I’ve never fit in because I’m a Luso-American, born into a Portuguese family in New Jersey. Though I tried for years to act the part, saying good morning, good afternoon, and good evening to every old person in my neighborhood. I guess I hoped they’d start to see me as one of them. But they never did and now more then ever, they still don’t.

But one thing has changed. My desire to gain their approval. I stopped giving a shit and realized who I am as a Portuguese person, does not depend on their judgement. Beyond that, I’ve come to realize, regardless of the little money and property I actually own, class and education seperate me from these people. They look at me, they hear my accent, they observe my strangely polite mannerisms, and they decide that I’m somehow wealthy. Or maybe, I look at them and I realize that somehow I exist in some completely seperate privledged class.

Maybe its none of these. Rather- it goes back to my own insecurities. Whatever the cause, I still love the old neighborhood in Lisbon. Lots of things have changed of course, since my days working there. I do so miss the group of friends from those days, I miss the little restaurants and pubs that have since changed name and ownership. But still, there are things that never change in wonderous Lisbon, and people who I love that are still there. Those are the people and things I will forever come back to visit.

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Winding down in Portugal; Issues to discuss before I leave tomorrow.

AudioCommunique #57(mp3)
25min+, 64kbps, 12Mb+

I get into:

A great email from Vancouver gets me talking development and Portugal. Long-term versus short-term thinking in the US and here.
2600.com and a radio show that greatly influences me – Off the Hook.
Taxes in three countries, how I try to stay under the radar and Ill ultimately fail.
It starts pouring as I record.

Artists/Albums:

Humanos – Tribute to Antonio Variações
Lali Puna – B sides and Remixes
Maria Alice – Sol na Tchada
Jobim-Morelenbaum/Sakamoto – Casa

SubCommandante

SubCommandate MarcosWanna know why this blog is called the communique? I think I’ve never talked about it, much like I don’t spend much time explaining the bicycle part. But I just noticed a news item that inspired me to mention this.

For me, the name Communique, though quite common for lots of messages prepared for a mass audience, actually came from the Zapatista movement. In the late nineties I was studying journalism and politics and soaking in the news as it came out of Chiapas Mexico about the hooded indigineous rebels who sought to lead a bottom-up revolution. Later, my favorite book about it was First World HAHAHA. Here I read about the group and its activities to empower women and the disenfranchised. I also read that they released “communiqués” and when it came time to name the blog, that word came to mind.

So after leaving the public eye in 2000, and retreating back to their chiapas territory, the Subcommandante is back! And he’s touring the country, speaking about the corruption and hypocracy of the right and left in Mexico. And as you might expect – I’m glad to hear it!

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Portugal is on fire, the sky is black, and Im uploading this from the mcdonalds parking lot where wi-fi aint cheap.

AudioCommunique #56(mp3)
30min+, 64kbps, 14Mb+

I get into fire, european union emergency measures, a bit on radio clash, and email of course. Oh and an interview with my mom.

Music includes:

Injuria – Zeca Neves (from the Putomayo collection “Cape Verde”
Lua – Bright Eyes
Se Perder a hora – Suba
Set yourself on fire – Stars
Quando Fala um Portugûes – Antonio Variações
Tradition – Fiddler on the Roof Soundtrack

Sky is Orange

Terrorism gets tons of attention as the big fear around the world. But here in Portugal, there is something that is much more dangerous and terrifying than terrorism. And it doesn’t just blow up in crowded places or involve religion or class. The force I’m referring to actually happens right before everyones eyes, though they are often STILL caught by surprise.

I haven’t seen a clear sky or cloud in days. All I see is smoke. All I smell is this enhanced fireplace smell, the oder of burning pine, eucalyptus, and people’s homes. I can tell you it is a strange feeling to see this happenning all around and yet somehow my house is ok. Hell, I even attended a wedding today while firetrucks and ambulences would regularly zoom down the main road. No one seemed to notice or want to think about the fact that the electricity was coming from a generator since the fires had knocked out the electricity to this part of town. After a while I myself don’t notice the smell as much as the day goes on.

I realize this isn’t the only country terrorized by fires. But this case is out of control and the government/emergency system can not handle this. Today they finally deployed the military to relieve the volunteer firefighters who were overwhelmed days ago. The few water-dropping planes that fly over head are slow and very visibly in poor condition. At night I see no stars or moon, you start to believe that its just foggy outside, but the truth is – the country is on fire.

PS- Podcasting has been impossible because of family obligations and rare wi-fi access. New show is ready, more in the can, but man its proving difficult.

From Porto with Love

(written this morning but WIFI ran out before I could post it)
Bout 5 minutes left on the WI-Fi. Podcast in the pipe, later tonight. I’m in Porto, second city (though don’t tell them that) of Portugal. Being here has reminded me of that wild summer of 2001 that forever changed my life.

I had just wrapped up a stint at New York’s Village Voice as a researcher and a slave. I was in love. Two loves I guess, one was a human the other was the city of Lisbon. Unfortunately they weren’t located in the same countries, which would eventually become a huge problem. But nevermind that. I was here in Portugal and two brave men came to visit; the D-Rock and ThePasta. Pasta doesn’t read the blog, but D-rock is reading this, as you are, and he’s remembering those crazy nights in Lisbon. So crazy in fact, that on many a night, I told him I was heading home and he wished me a good night and KEPT GOING.

so it was that summer that I took him and a random german girl up here to Porto. I’ve long been a fan of this city, argueably one of the most beautiful in Europe. we got a place at some hotel and we ran around mixing tourism with general lazyness. one of the shining moments came as we did a tour of one of the port wine caves. at the end of the tour, everyone is allowed to glasses of port, a red and a white. Then you either go to the gift shop or you get out, as another group takes over the table and has their wine. Sure enough, and I doubt it ever happened again, having just finished our wine, we rose to leave the table. And as mr D-rock is walking by another table being prepared for the next group, he quickly and before anyone realizes what is going on, snatches a glass from the next table and downs it like a shot. A few people looked over in shock and I think he put is finger over his lips and smiled, saying ” shhhhh” the international code for — I didn’t just down an extra glass of port.