And I say to my Christ ........what have they done to you?

As I rush out of the Casa de Cinco Bicas, the wind tugs at my skirt, pulls at my hair, in Aveiro the wind is very mischievous never misses out a chance to play with you. I turn left, then right, which side should I go, my sense of direction is terrible, yes I realise it is on the left, Jumbo the Mecca of the shoppers is on the right.
With uneven steps, I do love cobbles, but they are so tricky to negotiate, how does Prof. Eugenia manage to walk so fast without tripping; she practically flies all over them. The cobbles are laid out in such elegance, how do they handle all those intricate designs, those wonderful calçadas; circles, lozenges, diamonds, spirals you name it, it is there for you in stone, always in austere black and white, such precision, so beautiful in its stark simplicity. But I had no time to admire the calçada, I was in a hurry, I was on my way to the Museu Princesa Santa Joana, my outing on Sundays
Museu Princesa Santa Joana, the name evokes royalty and Princesa Joana is royalty, daughter of Afonso V, she is a princess who entered the Convento de Jesus da Ordem Dominicana femina.
The first thing that strikes me when I look at her painting is her innocence; her beautiful young face, radiating serenity; what made you become a cloistered nun Princesa? Was it because you lacked suitors? Was it because you lacked political clout? Or did you really want to dedicate your life to the Lord Jesus?
Whatever her reasons, the Princesa Joana, lived an exemplary life, dedicating herself to works of charity. She was held in such high esteem that she was beatified and is now the much beloved Saint of Aveiro, but our Dourado was not satisfied, beatified and a Saint? How could it be questioned his ever vigilant knowledgeable mind, you have to be canonised to be a Saint!
She is our Saint insisted Sr. Santos our cultured guide.
But beatification is not sainthood, quoted our theologian.
Come on dear friend Dourado, she is a Saint to the people of Aveiro; they just love her, who cares about all that theology. Saints are all about simplicity, all about faith.
We watch the tomb of the simple Princesa who dedicated her life to the work of Christ, nothing exceptional I think, you see I am biased I love the tomb of our resident saint, St. Francisco Xavier.
The museum is dedicated to the life and works of the Princesa, housed in the old Convento de Jesus, the Convento is now denuded of its old grandeur, you understand that it fell into disrepair after a decree by the Minister Joaquim António de Aguiar expelling all religious orders from the kingdom.
So you do not see any cells where the nuns rested their weary bodies after a long day of work and prayer, gone is the infirmary, of the pharmacy we see only a huge, black cupboard that housed the medicines, most probably herbal concoctions, no offices where a stern Mother Superior took stock of every thing that went on in the Convent, and the cellars so full of provisions for those long winter months are long gone.
But we do see vestiges of the kitchen and refectory. What did they eat? Did they gossip like we do all the time? Did the cook know how to cook or did she dish out unpalatable stuff that the Princesa was forced to eat without complaining? Did the cook know about our very own recipe for bebinca?
Our guide Sr. Santos, a person who really knows the place and its history very well, shows us where the religious chapter met, so this is where all important discussions take place, such austere simplicity. Sr. Santos explains to us an amazing fact, tucked just close to the door is the figure of a tiny dog etched in the stone wall. We are told, that it is the emblem of the Order of the Dominicans, Domini canis, “Dog of the Lord" faithful to the Lord as a dog is to man. How beautiful, how simply touching. I touch the little dog and think ‘how precious you are little one, there is an entire Order named after you’
We do see parts of the old, now extinct convent; the Sala de Lavor and the Capela do Senhor dos Passos. Huge paintings of the life of the Santa Princesa, adorn the walls, pictures of the Princesa entering the Convent, the Princesa welcoming her father Afonso V from the battle of Arzila and many more episodes from the life of the Royal inmate.
We move to the High Choir and that’s when I stand rooted to the spot, my heart stands still, amidst the beautiful stalls for the nuns, stands a tall crucifix with a figure crucified, yes it is Christ all right, but He is not the Christ I know, He has no crown of thorns, has it fallen off? Or did he never have one? His body is not emaciated like the Christ I know, he seems just a Man, a normal Man, a poor Man, a short Man whose back must have carried heavy weights. He has the most human face. I see with a sense of shock and pity that His hair has been hacked off in clumps. And I say to my Christ, ‘what have they done to you?’
Sr. Santos calls us to move rapidly in front of this Christ and you see so many expressions mirrored on His serene face.
And I say to my Christ, what have they done to you? Why have they hacked off Your hair? Is it to humiliate You? For I realise that nothing humiliates or disfigures a person so much as cutting off their hair in careless clumps. In a flash I remember a young woman crying out to my aunt,
‘Veja D. Elsa meu marido cortou meu cabelo’.
I remember her hair chopped out in clumps, disfiguring her face completely.
We move to the Museu, with its many exhibits, mostly statues from the now defunct convents. So many statues of saints and angels, relics of saints once so revered, touched so often.
I see the Blessed Virgin cradling the body of her dead Son and she cries out to us, ‘What have you done to my Son? Such pain on her face, such bewilderment, such incomprehension, she is just a Mother after all……

Ceboleiros......pays homage to Vasco da Gama

But take heart, not every thing was so bad. Here we were at the Ceboleiros….What a lovely name, reminds you that no dish is perfect without the humble Cebola, a dinner hosted by the wonderful University of Aveiro, for us from India. You know how it is, seated at a long table, those linear seating arrangements, facing the Professors.
It is as though the Oral Exams are just about to begin. What should you say? Should you laugh at all those Portuguese jokes, that frankly you have difficulty in understanding?
Best behaviour, that inner voice tells you, sober, silent and exceedingly polite that inner voice continues.
Just when I was adjusting myself to my best behaviour mode, I heard a deep, sonorous voice, like honey being poured on gravel. I swilled in my chair. Whose resonant voice was moving, coursing through my veins, whose deep voice was playing hide and seek in my brain? That voice brought goose flesh.
You have to be lucky in life and this was definitely not one of my days, Lady Luck was ignoring me, here I was sitting miles away from that rich baritone voice, cursing my luck and sitting close to the voice was our very own Herculano! Drinking in every word, but was Herculano listening to that heavenly voice, definitely not.
Just as I was berating Lady Luck, the entradas arrived; a ‘Salada mista’ which I ate distractedly but halfway through realised was very good. As I was straining to drink in every nuance of that voice the main course arrived, that’s when I forgot the voice completely.
The ‘Bacalhau com natas’, was sublime, cod pieces swam in a delicious mixture of cream, cheese, milk and all those other ingredients that turn it into a dream.
No, no, no more voice, heavenly though it was, I was focussed, savouring every bit of the food on my plate.
Just then, the ‘Arroz de Polvo’ arrived served by the most genial waiter, whose only wish was that we should delight in every bite we took, and delight we did. Did I ever imagine that Octopus, could taste so good, all I knew about Octopus was that it has eight tentacles. Did I taste garlic, hmmm, yes a hint, chilli and pepper too. This was good.
The black aproned, brought in Coelho Suado com Batatas and Borrego suado. Confused, totally confused what should I eat, rabbit or lamb. Said a little prayer, a deep prayer for the lamb that I was about to eat, a mouthful, bliss, yes, I could taste garlic and pimento, tomatoes, cravinho and vinagre. Utter bliss. You just don’t talk at such moments; you give in to your cravings of utter delight.
The people at Ceboleiros, know what they are cooking, the people at Ceboleiros know their Geography, they are very aware that without Vasco da Gama and his huge voyage braving all odds, there would be no pimento and no cravinho.
Ceboleiros pays homage to the great navigator.
Oh yes! People the voice was there, very much there, its sonority had not changed, its depth remained the same, only I was replete, satiated, I am fickle, good food lulls me and just when I thought that maybe, just maybe the voice had an infinitesimal effect on me, the Pudim arrived…………………..

A day in the Life of ….

Of course we had to go for classes, how else would we acquire the finesse, the veneer expected of us? A lot of blood, sweat and tears had been expended to get us to Aveiro.
So it was toe the line or else……
All of us, sigh, well not all of us were down for breakfast. The invariable question was ’Quem é que não está!!!’
And Dhruv spreading his hands with an air of resignation
‘Quem pode ser!’
And we all agreed with smiles of resignation, it was our Le Hottie who the previous night, must surely have had a great time……Imaginations go wild. Various methods were tried to wake Le Hottie up, to no avail. They ranged from a suave “Hermanito, jagho re jagho” (Sonia). GET UP, YOU ARE LATE AGAIN, this accompanied by violent pushing and pulling (Scarlet). Trouble is one cannot pull off the duvet, Le Hottie, may not have had sufficient or any clothes on; I blush at the thought of it….
We just gave up; of course we had our customary discussion on the pros and cons of whether we should still try to wake Le Hottie or not.
Our caminho to the Universidade de Aveiro, took us through a park, the stillness of the park, the dew drenched flowers, gardeners raking leaves shouting a greeting as I passed by, the wind tossing my skirt. For those of you ladies who always wore jeans, the pleasures of a skirt are innumerable; ask Dona Flor. But most of all, the pond with ducks, ducks waiting for bread, aggressive drakes pushing all the other ducks and then gobbling everything in sight, submissive ducks and best of all the mother duck, ducklings streaming behind her, you could not start your day any better
A pedestrian crossing, a short walk and we were in the Campus, the roads are lined with huge chestnut trees, and I always wondered how it would be when the chestnuts ripened. On our next trip maybe….Oh how I loved those pedestrian crossings. What power they gave me. All I had to do was place the tip of my toe on one of them….and zap all the cars just stopped. Oh the power, once I and Alexandre got a huge cement mixer to stop for us. Never had I such power over a cement mixer. Never.
And at the Universidade we had our Professora Rosa Maria Faneca; what do I say about Professora Rosa? That she was beautiful! That she was kind? Professora was all this but most of all Prof. Rosa was the most amazing teacher. Prof Rosa entered the class with a lesson plan in her hand. A lesson plan for us! Weren’t we the guys who had completed a Post Graduate degree, after studying, huge tomes of Literatura; Pessoa, Garret, Camões. Hadn’t we completed thirty two projects? And what about those books we had waded through, including that terribly sappy, romantic ‘Amor de Perdição’. Sadly no, we were in Aveiro to grapple with the finer nuances of Grammar. How we worked at Grammar, we conjugated verbs, we probed the Pret mais que perfeito, we played around with Pret Imperfeito and most of all we broke our heads over the Conjutivo. How the Grammarians in our class shone! If the going was tough we just had to take a look at Maria Helena and Dhruv! Sigh, how they had grammar at their finger tips. We ambled on, we worked hard.
We discussed and analysed various aspects of the Portuguese Culture. What happens to the Common Civil Code, Who could have asked such a question?! Why are women so submissive in India? Now which woman wants to know that?! Are gay marriages permitted in Portugal? Everyone wanted an answer!! No way did Prof Rosa allow us to slack, behind that cool exterior lurked a tyrant. At the end of three weeks we did satisfy her very exacting standards. It was Scarlet however, who was the star of the course, with her very precise writing, she could encapsulate a great deal. My skin gets a green hue, every time I dwell on it……..

A viagem… e Bruxelas

O que é que você pode esperar quando dez pessoas interagem com um professor que interaje com seis outros em Aveiro, uma multidão de e-mails, dezenas de chamadas telefónicas e um infinito número de ` Ó MEU DEUS! Ó MEU DEUS!
Precisamos dum relatório da polícia. Sim! Não !
Necessitamos de Visto para o Aeroporto de Heathrow ? Ó MEU DEUS!
Ó MEU DEUS, Aveiro SOS. Cambiamos da rota, vamos via Bruxelas.

E foi assim que chegamos a Bruxelas. Foi o meu primeiro encontro com Europa, Bruxelas. Uma viagem interminável, e um grupo de dez bem cansado chegou a Bruxelas. Momentos horríveis, quando nós sem sapatos andávamos descalços em frente daqueles homens tão lindos- A segurança- As vezes estes europeus são estranhos preferem nossos pés?
Em todo o caso, o grupo cansado andou lentamente a uma área de espera. O aeroporto de Bruxelas é austero, simples e em certa medida cavernoso. Um grupo intrépido de entre nós sugeriu uma visita ao centro de cidade de Bruxelas ou o Grand Place. Todos nós pensávamos em coisas diferentes, mas sempre na comida! Waffles, eu já estava com água na boca, para outros um guisado do mexilhão . A maioria no chocolate e fritadas.
8€ e já tínhamos o nosso bilhete pelo metro ao Grand Place, quando calculava o euro à rupias quase desmaiei! Mas após alguns dias, com mais experência do euro, já éramos profissionais.
Uma conversa normal;
Quanto é que você pagou?
Para isso ? Ó! não muito apenas €3.
Realmente aquele não é muito.
Sim, eu também acho. Sim ao fim de três semanas já éramos profissionais.

Assim o grupo dos viajantes chegou ao Grand Place. E foi então que o inesperado aconteceu. Vi a escada rolante movendo rapidamente e decidi usar o elevador, arrastando o meu saco pesado e incómodo, cheio de agasalhos, (tinha sido prevenida Europa pode tornar-se fria de um momento para outro ! ) Saí do elevador, cheia de sorrisos, onde estavam aquelas caras tão familiares.
Ó MEU DEUS! Ninguém , nem sequer uma cara familiar!! Todos europeus. Julgariam eles que eu era uma cigana mal vestida. Onde estavam aquelas caras familiares!!! Em todo o caso, eu não ia estar tremendo, não ia para o aeroporto sem ver um pouquinho de Bruxelas. Uma voltinha, um Waffles, e então iria do trem de volta ao aeroporto, foi então é que vi meus amigos, a minha espera.
Foi nessa ocasião que ouvimos a palestra famosa de 50€.
Herculano muito preocupado juntou-nos em um grupo e disse; `
Aqui não temos nenhum líder porque não há nenhum seguidor (que lógica ) se você encontra-se perdido, pegue dum táxi pague 50€ e siga para o aeroporto!!
50€!! Não tentei converter esta soma enorme para nossa rupias, para mim era impossível. E o que é fazíamos com o bilhete do regresso que já tínhamos comprado?

Em todo o caso seguimos lentamente o caminho para o Grand Place, pelas calçadas estreitas. Sonia boca-aberta, a respirar profundamente Europa pela primeira vez. Andamos em volta deste Grande Place fascinados. As cores dos trajes, os conjuntos bonitos, as senhoras à moda com aqueles sapatos tão lindos e os sacos! Se o euro não fosse tão caro atacaríamos muitas lojas. As chocolatarias deixaram-me esfomeada. Podia olhar as vitrinas. Quem não tem euros faz isto ! Pelo menos podíamos comer os Waffles. Naturalmente já tínhamos perdido o grupo mais uma vez ! Mas até então já não importávamos tanto.

The Voyage…and Bruxelas

What do you get when ten people interact with a professor who interacts with six others in Aveiro? A flurry of mails, a zillion trans-Atlantic telephone calls and a lot of ‘Ó MEU DEUS! Ó MEU DEUS!
Do we need a Police Clearance. Yes we do ! No we don’t
Ó MEU DEUS! Necessitamos de Visto para o Aeroporto de Heathrow. Não! Sim!
Ó MEU DEUS, Aveiro SOS. Mudamos rota via Bruxelas.
And that is how we landed in Brussels. My first whiff of Europe! After interminable journey, a tired lot reached Brussels. Those of us who had stylish shoes with laces, had to get them off! Why do they need to see the soles of our feet is beyond me. Anyway, the tired lot made its way to a waiting area. Brussels Airport is stark, simple and to some extent cavernous.
The intrepid amongst us, suggested a visit to the Brussels City Centre or the Grand Place. All of us had different things in mind, but it all revolved around food! Waffles, I had visions of gluey syrup dripping down. Others had mussel stew on their mind. Most wanted chocolate and fries.
For 8€ we had our ticket by subway to the Grand Place, a calculation of Euros to INR left me reeling, but after a few days with Euros, we were pros. A conversation went something like this;
How much did you pay ?
Oh! not much just 3 €. Really that’s not too much.
Yes, I thought so. We were pros by end of three weeks.

So the slightly battered bunch of travellers descended on to the Grand Place Station. And that’s when it happened, I saw the fast moving escalator and decided that I would use the elevator, lugging my unwieldy bag, full of warm clothing (in case the weather turned nippy) I got out of the elevator expecting to see those oh so familiar faces.
Ó MEU DEUS! Nothing, not a familiar face in sight, all I saw was trendy group of Europeans. Where were those familiar faces? Anyway, I wasn’t about to give up Brussels for nothing. A good tour of the nearby areas and then I would take the train back to the Airport and that’s when I saw my friends waiting for me.

And that’s when we got the famous 50€ talk.
A very worried Herculano got us all together and said;
‘Here we have no leaders because there are no followers (The sheer logic of it beats me) If you get lost pay 50€ and take a cab to the Airport!! 50€!! Was this guy kidding, I did not even try to convert this princely sum to INR. And what about the return metro ticket we had purchased?

Anyway we meandered off to the Grand Place, through narrow cobbled lanes
An open mouthed Sonia breathed in the Grand Place. We just walked round the mesmerising Grand Place, taking in the sights and most of all the colours, the beautiful ensembles, the exceedingly stylish ladies with those beautiful shoes and bags!
Sigh, it’s only the powerful Euro that kept us from attacking every shop.
The chocolateries left us drooling, I could afford however, to window shop.
At least we could eat the Waffles, of course we got separated once again, but by then we were pros and nothing could faze us.

Nostalgia...

Our trip to Aveiro Portugal had so many reasons and aspirations; we needed a veneer for our language, we needed to interact with Portuguese speaking people and we needed to learn more about Portuguese culture. These of course were the official reasons, but we all had oh so many personal feelings.

For some it was a trip back in time, a trip taken a long time ago with parents, comparing it to sights and sounds of the now. A trip with husband and children, recollecting all those lunches shared. A promise made to somehow get a scholarship to study in Portugal. To the young ‘hot’ guys memories of all those pretty Lusitan girls who still remembered them fondly. To a professor a culmination of a dream slogged for tirelessly.

Nostalgia for everyone who had been to Portugal before.

But for Alexandre and me, it was a voyage of discovery; it was our ‘por mares nunca dantes navegado’. Alexandre who knows so much about Portugal studied from those books at Liceu. For me a culmination of a dream and as Dhruv puts it ‘ A cherry on the cake’.