Tag Archives: portugal

To Get My Groove Back

I’ve been a blogger for over 5 years. So you figure lots of things happen to me, my life, my general mood, and the obstacles I face, that don’t always come accross in text. (maybe audio.. and probably video!)

Despite the fact that I tell stories and give my personal opinions. I don’t always write “Im sad” and that sort of thing, both, because I don’t think it is important, and because I think there are bigger fish for me to fry on this site. (thats actually the same reason, i love how i can write in circles) But here’s a rare revelation… I’ve been on a down cycle lately.

That’s a wishy washy way to say I lost my inspiration.. my will to fight and write and plan and plot and whatever it is that I do as a fledgling personal media un-pire. There was sickness. There was aging. There was job loss. And somewhere in there all manner of emotional bad stuff. All of which made me question every single act of my daily life and my lofty goals.

I can tell you this now because I’m starting to return to what I think is.. good form. It will be a long road.. but step one begins Thursday:

In order to get my groove back, I will return (for a visit) to my roots.. my ancestry.. my other country and a large chunk of my family and friends: Portugal. Most importantly I will spend days with 2 people who together made an enormous difference and influence on my life and personality.. my grandparents.

You may have seen the videos in the past. I’ve been working on a modest audio and video archive of them and their stories.. to keep for future generations and for my own personal enjoyment. And yes… to share, sometimes, with the internets. So stay tuned, thursday I make that oh-so-familiar trip to Lisbon, and for two important weeks, I’ll be travelling on that road… towards getting my groove back. (no matter how corny and cliché it sounds).

Must I leave the Dragon Bridge?

As I negociated the acquisition of some bananas at Ljubljana’s central market, the old man of the stand got very excited, apparently because he felt there was other fruit that deserved my attention.

He was especially insistant on these round fruits the color of peaches yet also resembling a tomato. He kept pointing to them and pointing to me and saying “Spanja”.. to which I smiled and pointed to myself and said “Portugal” (since its so nearby to the fruit). He laughed and furthered the exchange by pointing to his own chest and proudly proclaiming: Bosnia… Bosnia!

And so it goes in this city which I like to think I’ve grown to understand just a tiny bit.

The neighborhood that I regret not having spent even more time in, is that surrounding the infamous prison-turned-hostel-turned-cultural center called “Celica”. Anyone with a creative bone in their body seems to gravititate towards it. On several nights these past few days, I’ve sat with a new friend who comes from Melbourne. In town for a improve-theater festival, which sounds very interesting and Im not just saying that because she’s likely reading this post.

Tonight we walked around the block from Celica and stumbled upon something that can’t be properly communicated through words. Some would call it, a squatter’s paradise, I think one swedish guy referred to it as a free area.. whatever you want to call it.. all I saw was wall to wall art, painted, sculpted, or just simply hanging from the walls of the buildings. It was so impressive and so fascinating I decided to save my pictures for the daylight. So as we head back to the train station tomorrow to make our way BACK to Venice (story on that tomorrow perhaps), there will be a brief photosession at this place just beyond the beloved Celica.

And while I’m strolling with a camera… other people like the King of Jordan are pointing out some pretty undeniable realities.

Adopted By a Milanese Family

My last night in Milano and one of those classic things that always happens to me happens to me. After wandering town all day long, and soaking in what my friend Alberto calls “typical Milanese environment”, ie: cloudy, rainy, busy, noisy; I made plans to meet my friend Sarolina’s parents in order to pick some stuff up to bring back to Amsterdam for her.

To my surprise and to Sara’s approval, her mom and dad not only wanted to say hello and drink tea.. the moment they greeted me in front of Café Zucca the mother says to me “marko… come to our house for dinner”. They seemed like charming people and knowing how great their daughter is, I happily agree.

So there I am, a Tuesday night in November, sitting in a VERY Italian parlour with wall-to-wall books, discussing the history of Portugal with her father.. in Italian somehow. As so often happens, the father was very surprised about how similar Italian is to Portuguese…. which means Italians need to spread the word… they have lots in common with the Iberian penninsula.

In the end, I had a fantastic meal, and great discussion about their travels and life, including the recounting of a journey through yugoslavia, soviet union, turkey, iran, iraq, jordan, and syria back in the 70’s.

“It was an amazing time, the father smiled, “we were so welcome there and you were free to travel everywhere. Not like today, now you can’t get far without being questioned and so much has been destroyed.”

Afterwards they insisted on driving me back to the vlog apartment. Which has gone from housing 6+ people to an oh-so-comfy 3. (I get my own huge bed tonight). Tomorrow we’re off to Verona, where star-crossed lovers used to kill themselves I think.

For those seeking importance in the world: I’ve been listening back and reading through the transcripts that were released, of the military tribunals for guantanamo prisoners.

Blogging and Friendship

Couldn’t sleep last night. And I don’t sleep much at night anymore since crossing over into the world of freelancing. A mix of too many things on my mind and too many concerns about what the future will hold and how life will be.

But last night there was one fundamental reason: my best friend.

We used to call each other “my heterosexual life partner” because ever since our first year of college up in North Jersey, that’s how it was. As we progressed through college we both found ourselves knee deep in the political science department, both admiring similar professors and strategically ending up in the same classes. It used to be my task to bring candy just in case the man needed a little boost during class. And as those years progressed, we always lived somewhere near each other.. on campus, off campus, never a dull moment with my boy D.

As college came to end we both went to europe for a semester. Him, interestingly enough to Amsterdam, and myself down in Aix-en-Provence. Naturally we visited each other and took turns showing our respective international student worlds. Not soon after we both finished our student life in New Jersey and the man ended up working for a very prominent human rights organization in DC. Myself I worked as a waiter in NYC, with aspirations of either being a freelancer for the then-still-alternative Voice or flat out taking off to live in Portugal. Portugal won that contest.

It was around that time, 2001/2002 that I launched this here blog. It was a place for my opinions on current events, as well as for telling personal stories… like this one. And underneath it all, it was the perfect way to continue the daily conversations and debates that D and I always had have. In a time when no one had heard of a blog and certainly not this one, he was there commenting… sometimes the only one.. and in my eyes the most important one anyway. Years went by.. and this blog changed.. I changed.. moved to Amsterdam.. and he also made big changes.. climbing the DC non governmental ladder (or thats how I saw it). Every year I’d go back to Jersey…. and he’d offer to pay my ticket for me to come down to DC and spend some days with him. And so it has been.. year after year.

But last night threw me off.. tho perhaps I should have been more aware of things. As lately I’ve been attacking those that celebrate the results of the recent US elections. I try very hard to stick to very strict expectations for the country of my birth, obviously you’ve noticed that I hate stopping to celebrate anything when in my eyes.. things are so disappointingly far behind where they could and should be. Somewhere in there I forgot some things.. most importantly my buddy who has been working very hard on a campaign in Virginia. Yesterday it was finally announced the candidate for which he had worked so hard for had won. And here I was, making my heavy statements, denouncing the entire outcome… I hadn’t (and should have) considered that in doing so I was insulting his hard work. It’s easy to insult strangers in vague sweeping statements, and I certainly do it, but last night I got to thinking about D and what Id been saying lately. Nevermind arguements and values and words… I was utterly depressed to read the angry and condemning words of the man I still think of as my partner in this life.

So here I sit in Brussels. Took the long train ride to come see family and feel loved… because I was hoping to find answers or at least clear my head. But I couldn’t NOT write these thoughts and these feelings. If you read the comments yesterday than you’ll see the statement that he won’t be reading this anymore. I don’t know if its a coincidence but he hasn’t responded to any emails either. While I can picture him yelling at me for writing this and being so dramatic… I’m willing to take that risk just to have this out there and stated.

Having already said too much Ill stop here. The point of this is not to make someone like me more than him, or justify anything Ive done. The point is for me to write how sad I am because I may have just alienated one of my oldest friends and a constant source of inspiration.

A Nice Coup of Soup

Much has been made of the announcement of a coup in Thailand. Some people use that word that I find hard to spell: pusch. Although at first I was a little concerned for Thai people, at the idea of military driving around and squashing their civil rights, I’ve since formed a more solid opinion based on observation.

I watched the fun today through various video sources, as the king appeared on TV and the military publicly apologized for carrying out a coup. What A Country! They apologized!

It is one of those moments where I’m glad to have Thai blogs to explain to me what is really going on. Of course, Thai friends also help, but a look at the blogs like Bangkok expat mama or Thai Blogs dot com, where this guy writes about the lighter side of the coup, it all helps me to better get the feel of things and reach my own conclusions.

The BBC just ran some footage where teenagers and coming up to soldiers and handing them flowers. Reminds me of Portugal 1974 in some ways. Not too many ways.. but some.

bmtv17 The Cemetery in my Father’s Town

Being as I’m in rainy Paris all weekend and I’d like to spend some time outside or at least in some café somewhere without my laptop. I’ve pre-prepared a vlog which is actually from my time in Portugal only a few weeks ago. This one is low on explanation, but basically whenever I meet my parents in Portugal, we go to the cemetery to visit my grandparents (father’s side). The interesting is always going from grave to grave with my father, and him telling each person’s story and where they immigrated to and how he remembers them from when he was a child.

If you’ve never been to a Portuguese cemetery, I think they are amazing. Hence the Antony and the Johnson’s song which seemed fitting.

Watch the Video