Oh and I might as well clear the air. This weekend was also when I uncovered a lie that S had been living for the better part of 16 months...
I thought I was living with a true Portugueezer but it was all lies!!!
We made the shocking discovery over the weekend that because S was born in London before 1983 this means she is automatically a British citizen. She's also a Portuguese citizen because of her parents and so I'm now going to be marrying a PortuBritlander
Showing posts with label S. Show all posts
Showing posts with label S. Show all posts
Monday, 7 September 2009
Tuesday, 17 February 2009
The greatest arguement ever...
So yesterday was a pretty tough day, in fact the highlight of the day came technically today at about 00:35.
Mondays are always frustrating days and we (me and S) knew it was going to be a tough one before it even started. S had spent much of the weekend working on her paper which was due at midnight last night. Going into Monday there was still quite a lot of work to do so she had planned to spend some of her time at work working on it as well as the whole evening. Unfortunately that plan started to unravel early on. I received a phone call not long after getting in from S saying that she had forgotten to email the paper to herself and so would have to essentially work blind. I offered in my most reluctant of tones to go back home and send it to her but through some force of female intuition she realised that I wasn't looking forward to the extra hour walking and declined the offer. I am bad and I will be going to hell.
So I started on my own work filled with guilt and irritation (the usual emotions of Monday mornings but not for the usual reasons) and realised that everything I had spent the last week writing was unfounded rubbish, true but unfounded. I'm supposed to be doing research on drug mules and there is nothing out there! Nothing other than generic rubbish or studies that are so specific as to be of very little use to assess the European perspective. I successfully fought the temptation to delete everything and start again and instead found myself writing without even attempting to find justification or evidence knowing that the vague reports I have will cover me and that as a research recommendation I can suggest further study in particular areas to strengthen the evidence.
The problem here is to not be seen to be in any way political. It's almost like reaching conclusions are anathema. It's frustrating but despite this organisation being packed to the rafters with experts we have been told that they shouldn't be making the conclusions, they're for politicians to make after they've carefully ignored the evidence of the experts, but when the conclusions are as clear as day it's almost insulting to the intelligent man not to mention them. I got a phone call on Friday from a lawyer I had been put in contact with through an old colleague. He was extremely helpful and enthusiastic about the project (providing that I was more focused than the in rambling email I sent him) which surprised me to a large extent as I know how busy people are. Unfortunately but predictably when I reported this to my colleagues there was an immediate note of caution. We (I) can't be seen to be going over the head of the established contact points despite being told that it's essential for us to nurture our own networks of information.
With my head ringing from the contradictory instructions and feeling that this study is nothing more than a hassle to my colleagues I set about my day's work trying not to get under anyone's feet. The day in the office was remarkably uneventful...lunch was a pleasant affair at the usual place and consisted of alheira grelhado com ovo a really greasy smoked chicken sausage, grilled with a fried egg on top, served with rice, chips and greens. It's a real man's lunch and I am always being mocked by my continental colleagues - they claim I have a typically English attitude to eating but I don't think this is particularly fair. I have put on a little weight since I have been here, but not a great deal, especially considering I've only been running a couple of times since I arrived. I do like my big lunches and some are incredibly fatty but I avoid most dairy products (they're really not a patch on milk/butter/cream from the UK) and I have much lighter dinners. Plus I don't snack as much despite the constant temptation of the omnipresent pastelarias.
The afternoon passed mercifully quickly but before I left I had the idea of ringing my mum for a quick chat. I hadn't spoken to her in a while and we have free VOIP calls here at work for international personal calls so I thought I would take advantage of that. I ring the house phone, no answer, I ring the mobile, no answer, I ring the house phone again, no answer, I ring the mobile again, no answer. Now I'm not the angriest person in the world, I perhaps used to be but I have definitely calmed in my old age. One of the few things that is still guaranteed to annoy me beyond all reason is people not picking their phones up. I think it a common courtesy that if you're busy and don't want to answer your phone you switch it off and put it on voicemail, otherwise there is absolutely no excuse for not picking up a mobile phone. I know it's something we're all guilty of, even me, it might be in our pocket or we don't hear it but seriously, look at the statistics, I probably have no more than 3 or 4 missed calls a month. When I rule the world, more than 10 and you lose phone privileges.
As you can imagine from my unreasonable rant now, when actually confronted by an unanswered phone I was near apoplectic and so I stormed out of work in a deeply irritated mood. By the time I met S I was in a somewhat calmer frame of mind but over the course of the evening I was deeply unkind and unhelpful and S was getting increasingly panicky and silly. We were just working completely at counterpoint to each other but then followed one of the best arguments I have ever had...
After about four hours of not talking to each other, in fact it reached the point of very actively ignoring one another, we had a blazing row, 15 minutes of shouting and accusations followed by silence. A silence in which it struck me how silly the whole thing was, I was hit by the ridiculousness and childishness of my own actions and S's reactions and I let out a giggle. A giggle that quickly turned into a chuckle which was particularly contagious and soon we were both in fits of laughter, wrapped round each other and all was forgiven.
Today we felt like a team again but unfortunately it's back to the grindstone as the next paper is due on Sunday evening and much reading and research has to be done before then.
This morning was a lot easier and therefore a lot more productive. As usual I didn't see many people until lunch time but had a good chat with my colleagues about the progress of the Annual Report and the problems that have arrisen into it. It's great getting these sorts of insights. I broached the subject of me taking a day off next week, it's Carnival and the plan is for lots of drinking and dancing to be done. It was no problem for me to take the day off because it's not like I'm getting paid to be here. We also discussed an interview that the director was giving today on drugs from Asia. One of my colleagues was responsible for briefing him beforehand. We asked him what he told the director and he said,
"I told him what we know, Heroin comes from Asia."
This is why they get paid and I don't!
Mondays are always frustrating days and we (me and S) knew it was going to be a tough one before it even started. S had spent much of the weekend working on her paper which was due at midnight last night. Going into Monday there was still quite a lot of work to do so she had planned to spend some of her time at work working on it as well as the whole evening. Unfortunately that plan started to unravel early on. I received a phone call not long after getting in from S saying that she had forgotten to email the paper to herself and so would have to essentially work blind. I offered in my most reluctant of tones to go back home and send it to her but through some force of female intuition she realised that I wasn't looking forward to the extra hour walking and declined the offer. I am bad and I will be going to hell.
So I started on my own work filled with guilt and irritation (the usual emotions of Monday mornings but not for the usual reasons) and realised that everything I had spent the last week writing was unfounded rubbish, true but unfounded. I'm supposed to be doing research on drug mules and there is nothing out there! Nothing other than generic rubbish or studies that are so specific as to be of very little use to assess the European perspective. I successfully fought the temptation to delete everything and start again and instead found myself writing without even attempting to find justification or evidence knowing that the vague reports I have will cover me and that as a research recommendation I can suggest further study in particular areas to strengthen the evidence.
The problem here is to not be seen to be in any way political. It's almost like reaching conclusions are anathema. It's frustrating but despite this organisation being packed to the rafters with experts we have been told that they shouldn't be making the conclusions, they're for politicians to make after they've carefully ignored the evidence of the experts, but when the conclusions are as clear as day it's almost insulting to the intelligent man not to mention them. I got a phone call on Friday from a lawyer I had been put in contact with through an old colleague. He was extremely helpful and enthusiastic about the project (providing that I was more focused than the in rambling email I sent him) which surprised me to a large extent as I know how busy people are. Unfortunately but predictably when I reported this to my colleagues there was an immediate note of caution. We (I) can't be seen to be going over the head of the established contact points despite being told that it's essential for us to nurture our own networks of information.
With my head ringing from the contradictory instructions and feeling that this study is nothing more than a hassle to my colleagues I set about my day's work trying not to get under anyone's feet. The day in the office was remarkably uneventful...lunch was a pleasant affair at the usual place and consisted of alheira grelhado com ovo a really greasy smoked chicken sausage, grilled with a fried egg on top, served with rice, chips and greens. It's a real man's lunch and I am always being mocked by my continental colleagues - they claim I have a typically English attitude to eating but I don't think this is particularly fair. I have put on a little weight since I have been here, but not a great deal, especially considering I've only been running a couple of times since I arrived. I do like my big lunches and some are incredibly fatty but I avoid most dairy products (they're really not a patch on milk/butter/cream from the UK) and I have much lighter dinners. Plus I don't snack as much despite the constant temptation of the omnipresent pastelarias.
The afternoon passed mercifully quickly but before I left I had the idea of ringing my mum for a quick chat. I hadn't spoken to her in a while and we have free VOIP calls here at work for international personal calls so I thought I would take advantage of that. I ring the house phone, no answer, I ring the mobile, no answer, I ring the house phone again, no answer, I ring the mobile again, no answer. Now I'm not the angriest person in the world, I perhaps used to be but I have definitely calmed in my old age. One of the few things that is still guaranteed to annoy me beyond all reason is people not picking their phones up. I think it a common courtesy that if you're busy and don't want to answer your phone you switch it off and put it on voicemail, otherwise there is absolutely no excuse for not picking up a mobile phone. I know it's something we're all guilty of, even me, it might be in our pocket or we don't hear it but seriously, look at the statistics, I probably have no more than 3 or 4 missed calls a month. When I rule the world, more than 10 and you lose phone privileges.
As you can imagine from my unreasonable rant now, when actually confronted by an unanswered phone I was near apoplectic and so I stormed out of work in a deeply irritated mood. By the time I met S I was in a somewhat calmer frame of mind but over the course of the evening I was deeply unkind and unhelpful and S was getting increasingly panicky and silly. We were just working completely at counterpoint to each other but then followed one of the best arguments I have ever had...
After about four hours of not talking to each other, in fact it reached the point of very actively ignoring one another, we had a blazing row, 15 minutes of shouting and accusations followed by silence. A silence in which it struck me how silly the whole thing was, I was hit by the ridiculousness and childishness of my own actions and S's reactions and I let out a giggle. A giggle that quickly turned into a chuckle which was particularly contagious and soon we were both in fits of laughter, wrapped round each other and all was forgiven.
Today we felt like a team again but unfortunately it's back to the grindstone as the next paper is due on Sunday evening and much reading and research has to be done before then.
This morning was a lot easier and therefore a lot more productive. As usual I didn't see many people until lunch time but had a good chat with my colleagues about the progress of the Annual Report and the problems that have arrisen into it. It's great getting these sorts of insights. I broached the subject of me taking a day off next week, it's Carnival and the plan is for lots of drinking and dancing to be done. It was no problem for me to take the day off because it's not like I'm getting paid to be here. We also discussed an interview that the director was giving today on drugs from Asia. One of my colleagues was responsible for briefing him beforehand. We asked him what he told the director and he said,
"I told him what we know, Heroin comes from Asia."
This is why they get paid and I don't!
Sunday, 18 January 2009
The Sound & The Fury...
Today marked a cultural first for me here in Portugal, I went to the theatre here for the first time (first time in Portugal that is, obviously), but more on that later, I'll first recount an interesting weekend.
It's been my first weekend after starting work and obviously with all the changes and goings-on it has been rather draining so I wasn't too enthused about the prospect of an action packed weekend. Luckily for me there are plenty of activities right on my doorstep and after her own hard week S was very much in agreement on this point.
As usual Saturday morning was spent guiltily getting my lie-in whilst S was at her classes but I hadn't forgotten my deal to keep the flat tidy which is only fair really. One of the hardest things about moving in with someone is adjusting to the other person's level of cleanliness. We all have different tolerances for tidiness and hygiene. This obviously also changes over time too, I have lived in some horrible dank pits in my student days where washing up would remain undone until you were almost at the 'eating scrambled eggs from a shoe with a comb' phase. (NB. please see Black Books for references). There were also issues in student houses I have lived in regarding entire bottles of red wine spilled on the carpet, burns of varying sizes and causes on all soft furnishings, empty bottles littering the place (I believe in my first student house we counted over 60 empty red wine bottles as we moved out and that was just what we hadn't thrown out, but I stand to be corrected on that). But, thankfully, times have changed. Those days of slobbery are now behind me, I've lived on my own for over a year and my own tolerance of cleanliness is now quite high. This is fortunate as so is S's
I remember I think either just before or just after I moved in there was a (semi perhaps) serious concern that S voiced where she asked me to confirm that I would help out around the house. It stuck with me not because I doubt that S has faith in me, she saw my flat in Manchester enough times to realise that I wasn't just cleaning it up for her, but it was a more general concern that the guys she knows here and the fact that they don't really do much around the house. All her girl friends complain about it. I'm not sure how valid this is across the country but I do suspect it to be fairly prevalent, from my own experience too. I think in the UK guys are generally more 'modern' for want of a better word. I'm not afraid to put a pinney on and do my fair share, in fact in the kitchen I really do prefer to do everything (I'm sure S resents being kicked out of a place she once used to dominate) but I really do see it as my domain now. I think there is a tendency for guys here to be 'mothered' a lot more than the UK and most definitely a lot more than I was. I do consider myself to be quite um homem moderno.
Cleaning aside there were some plans for yesterday as we were finally going to go to the library which is across the street from us. The Municipal Library here is located in a very beautiful old building called the Palácio Galveias, here is the front of it-
We actually live behind it, here are a couple of views from our balcony -
The garden is very pretty, especially in the summer when these photos were taken and when it is filled with peacocks that kindly (or not depending on how much sleep you want) provide the neighborhood with an alarm clock.
S had been in the flat, metres from the place, for nearly two years without ever setting foot in the library but was finally convinced by a combination of my persistence and the fact that upstairs there was a rather interesting looking exhibition of Finnish illustration for children's literature. It was only a small exhibit, just four rooms but I thought it was exceptionally well done and some of the images were amazing. I love children's literature, something I inherited from my mum and the pictures on display here were very much of the kind that don't patronise children. There are no 'cartoons' but well expressed drawings, many did tell a story but I think that the most important thing in many of them was what was absent, allowing the imagination to flow. It was interesting seeing them on the walls, out of context of the books that many of them were drawn for, and without the words and stories they were designed for. We were very lucky to catch the exhibition as I think it's only around for another couple of days. I also managed to get an impromptu Portuguese lesson as I went round translating all the titles of the works.
After the library we had arranged to go round to J & R(J)'s for dinner. I have to admit that at first the idea didn't thrill me, I was tired and I just wanted a stress free, chilled out evening but in the event I had a really good time. Dinner was just chicken, salad and potatoes with an excellent cake for desert. The conversation was nice and relaxed and then we just all sat down together to watch a film. R(J) had just got a new harddrive media player linked to his TV so as he downloads most of the films he watches he can just put them on there. I wasn't hugely thrilled with the selection on off (Saw V anyone?!?) but in the end we decided to watch The Fall which was not bad, some beautiful cinematography and stunning settings but was a little unsatisfactory in the end. I was just left wondering what really was the point of the film other than as an excuse to show all the wonderful settings...still...better than Saw V.
The journey home was memorable for all the wrong reasons unfortunately. As you can just make out on the last photo of the library we were making our way in the car across that junction at about 1:30-2:00am the light turned green for us and we set off only to almost smash into a car going at about 80mph through the red light out of the tunnel (which is just obscured by the building). The exit of the tunnel onto the junction is completely blind so S had no time to react whatsoever and I'm really not exaggerating to suggest that a second either way and the crash would have been fatal. I was incensed and S was obviously extremely shaken. She had to stop as soon as possible, despite only being metres from home, and take a few deep breaths. I was eager for her to race around to the next junction where we might catch them and I could have a few choice words for them but it was probably not wise at that point as I was so mad I think I could've killed them with my bare hands. I might laugh and joke and exaggerate about the driving here but a lot of the time it is no laughing matter, it's dangerous and a scandal that the police just look the other way.
After the scare yesterday S unfortunately had more driving to do today as we went to the parents' for lunch again. It was only really going to be a quick visit to drop things off that had been left after the birthday party but it turns out that S's mum had been sneakily preparing a meal for us and she's convinced that I'm too thin. It was really nice to spend time with them anyway and I do really appreciate the way they've accepted me into the family. So it was with mixed feelings that we had to dash off because we had other plans.
Earlier in the week I had proudly purchased (in my best Portuguese, without a bit of English!) two tickets to see The Sound and the Fury at Culturgest which is a theatre attached to the huge bank building at the end of our street (the rather fascistic building you see on the right of the last library photo). The play was going to be in English and I had read the novel before so it was cheating but I was still looking forward to it.
I have been to Culturgest a number of times now and it is a really good venue putting on a wide range of interesting cultural events. My favourite by far has so far been the Lisbon Documentary festival last year which I very much hope will be on again this year.
For this performance they were using the main auditorium which holds maybe 600-700 but in order to make the experience more intimate they had constructed a smaller and steeper bank of seating directly in front of the stage. It was a good job because the performance was so intense and required such a lot of concentration it was good to be as close to the stage as possible. Those of you who know the novel will appreciate that The Sound and the Fury would not be an easy play to adapt for the stage and so it proved. They had dispensed with the last three quarters to concern themselves with the first complete day of the novel. The sense of disjointed time and incoherence was achieved by having the actors playing several characters throughout the play (without regard to sex or race) and by having large parts read by actors at various times. This was combined with sections of loud music and dancing and had quite a shocking, almost tiring effect overall.
I don't think the play was bad but I couldn't get rid of the feeling that (like the film seen last night) it was produced just to be able to say that it had been. I thought the performances from the actors, especially the woman who played Benjy for the majority of the play, were very good (with the exception of the 'girl' who played mother for the large part, she hammed it up a little) and the set design was very good, although it felt like they had in some way limited themselves by having quite an overstocked mise-en-scene when perhaps something more minimalist would have given them more scope for imagination.
It's back to work tomorrow and whilst it's been a reasonably packed weekend I do feel quite rested and it's good to get the old grey cells ticking in many different ways as otherwise I think things could feel quite stressed.
It's been my first weekend after starting work and obviously with all the changes and goings-on it has been rather draining so I wasn't too enthused about the prospect of an action packed weekend. Luckily for me there are plenty of activities right on my doorstep and after her own hard week S was very much in agreement on this point.
As usual Saturday morning was spent guiltily getting my lie-in whilst S was at her classes but I hadn't forgotten my deal to keep the flat tidy which is only fair really. One of the hardest things about moving in with someone is adjusting to the other person's level of cleanliness. We all have different tolerances for tidiness and hygiene. This obviously also changes over time too, I have lived in some horrible dank pits in my student days where washing up would remain undone until you were almost at the 'eating scrambled eggs from a shoe with a comb' phase. (NB. please see Black Books for references). There were also issues in student houses I have lived in regarding entire bottles of red wine spilled on the carpet, burns of varying sizes and causes on all soft furnishings, empty bottles littering the place (I believe in my first student house we counted over 60 empty red wine bottles as we moved out and that was just what we hadn't thrown out, but I stand to be corrected on that). But, thankfully, times have changed. Those days of slobbery are now behind me, I've lived on my own for over a year and my own tolerance of cleanliness is now quite high. This is fortunate as so is S's
I remember I think either just before or just after I moved in there was a (semi perhaps) serious concern that S voiced where she asked me to confirm that I would help out around the house. It stuck with me not because I doubt that S has faith in me, she saw my flat in Manchester enough times to realise that I wasn't just cleaning it up for her, but it was a more general concern that the guys she knows here and the fact that they don't really do much around the house. All her girl friends complain about it. I'm not sure how valid this is across the country but I do suspect it to be fairly prevalent, from my own experience too. I think in the UK guys are generally more 'modern' for want of a better word. I'm not afraid to put a pinney on and do my fair share, in fact in the kitchen I really do prefer to do everything (I'm sure S resents being kicked out of a place she once used to dominate) but I really do see it as my domain now. I think there is a tendency for guys here to be 'mothered' a lot more than the UK and most definitely a lot more than I was. I do consider myself to be quite um homem moderno.
Cleaning aside there were some plans for yesterday as we were finally going to go to the library which is across the street from us. The Municipal Library here is located in a very beautiful old building called the Palácio Galveias, here is the front of it-
We actually live behind it, here are a couple of views from our balcony -
The garden is very pretty, especially in the summer when these photos were taken and when it is filled with peacocks that kindly (or not depending on how much sleep you want) provide the neighborhood with an alarm clock.
S had been in the flat, metres from the place, for nearly two years without ever setting foot in the library but was finally convinced by a combination of my persistence and the fact that upstairs there was a rather interesting looking exhibition of Finnish illustration for children's literature. It was only a small exhibit, just four rooms but I thought it was exceptionally well done and some of the images were amazing. I love children's literature, something I inherited from my mum and the pictures on display here were very much of the kind that don't patronise children. There are no 'cartoons' but well expressed drawings, many did tell a story but I think that the most important thing in many of them was what was absent, allowing the imagination to flow. It was interesting seeing them on the walls, out of context of the books that many of them were drawn for, and without the words and stories they were designed for. We were very lucky to catch the exhibition as I think it's only around for another couple of days. I also managed to get an impromptu Portuguese lesson as I went round translating all the titles of the works.
After the library we had arranged to go round to J & R(J)'s for dinner. I have to admit that at first the idea didn't thrill me, I was tired and I just wanted a stress free, chilled out evening but in the event I had a really good time. Dinner was just chicken, salad and potatoes with an excellent cake for desert. The conversation was nice and relaxed and then we just all sat down together to watch a film. R(J) had just got a new harddrive media player linked to his TV so as he downloads most of the films he watches he can just put them on there. I wasn't hugely thrilled with the selection on off (Saw V anyone?!?) but in the end we decided to watch The Fall which was not bad, some beautiful cinematography and stunning settings but was a little unsatisfactory in the end. I was just left wondering what really was the point of the film other than as an excuse to show all the wonderful settings...still...better than Saw V.
The journey home was memorable for all the wrong reasons unfortunately. As you can just make out on the last photo of the library we were making our way in the car across that junction at about 1:30-2:00am the light turned green for us and we set off only to almost smash into a car going at about 80mph through the red light out of the tunnel (which is just obscured by the building). The exit of the tunnel onto the junction is completely blind so S had no time to react whatsoever and I'm really not exaggerating to suggest that a second either way and the crash would have been fatal. I was incensed and S was obviously extremely shaken. She had to stop as soon as possible, despite only being metres from home, and take a few deep breaths. I was eager for her to race around to the next junction where we might catch them and I could have a few choice words for them but it was probably not wise at that point as I was so mad I think I could've killed them with my bare hands. I might laugh and joke and exaggerate about the driving here but a lot of the time it is no laughing matter, it's dangerous and a scandal that the police just look the other way.
After the scare yesterday S unfortunately had more driving to do today as we went to the parents' for lunch again. It was only really going to be a quick visit to drop things off that had been left after the birthday party but it turns out that S's mum had been sneakily preparing a meal for us and she's convinced that I'm too thin. It was really nice to spend time with them anyway and I do really appreciate the way they've accepted me into the family. So it was with mixed feelings that we had to dash off because we had other plans.
Earlier in the week I had proudly purchased (in my best Portuguese, without a bit of English!) two tickets to see The Sound and the Fury at Culturgest which is a theatre attached to the huge bank building at the end of our street (the rather fascistic building you see on the right of the last library photo). The play was going to be in English and I had read the novel before so it was cheating but I was still looking forward to it.
I have been to Culturgest a number of times now and it is a really good venue putting on a wide range of interesting cultural events. My favourite by far has so far been the Lisbon Documentary festival last year which I very much hope will be on again this year.
For this performance they were using the main auditorium which holds maybe 600-700 but in order to make the experience more intimate they had constructed a smaller and steeper bank of seating directly in front of the stage. It was a good job because the performance was so intense and required such a lot of concentration it was good to be as close to the stage as possible. Those of you who know the novel will appreciate that The Sound and the Fury would not be an easy play to adapt for the stage and so it proved. They had dispensed with the last three quarters to concern themselves with the first complete day of the novel. The sense of disjointed time and incoherence was achieved by having the actors playing several characters throughout the play (without regard to sex or race) and by having large parts read by actors at various times. This was combined with sections of loud music and dancing and had quite a shocking, almost tiring effect overall.
I don't think the play was bad but I couldn't get rid of the feeling that (like the film seen last night) it was produced just to be able to say that it had been. I thought the performances from the actors, especially the woman who played Benjy for the majority of the play, were very good (with the exception of the 'girl' who played mother for the large part, she hammed it up a little) and the set design was very good, although it felt like they had in some way limited themselves by having quite an overstocked mise-en-scene when perhaps something more minimalist would have given them more scope for imagination.
It's back to work tomorrow and whilst it's been a reasonably packed weekend I do feel quite rested and it's good to get the old grey cells ticking in many different ways as otherwise I think things could feel quite stressed.
Saturday, 3 January 2009
Survival of the sales part 1...
Typical! I manage to go for months through the driving rain, the burning cold, the whipping wind of Manchester and I finally get to Portugal and I catch a cold. To be fair though all those people who expressed jelousy at my change in cilmate really should visit here in the winter. Never before have I experienced such poor forward planning for winter, most windows are single glazed, there's no central heating anywhere and the houses are designed to let the blistering summer heat out which in winter creates the strange phenomena of it being warmer outside than inside. I have to wear a jumper all the time indoors now.
My cold could also have something to do with the sheer number of people I was around yesterday and the miriad of germs they were carrying. We decided to brave the sales and I know S was missing her retail therephy (I don't think I've met anyone as well dressed as S, in an understated way). I was very poor but in desperate need of at least one more pair of pants and some shoes so we headed to Colombo, a huge city centre shopping centre next to the Benfica football ground.
One thing Portugal is not short of is shopping malls. The Portuguese are mad about these palaces of consumerism and I've even had C raving about ones such as the Vasco da Gama centre (with waterfalls over the glass ceiling - which just look like they're being washed constantly). To me they're all the same, the same shops just in more or less confusing arrangements.
There are just about two clothes shops in Portugal I would shop in (for some reason the Portuguese H & M is rubbish) and that's Pull & Bear and Springfield. One of my long running comments on the Portuguese is that they dress in such a conservative fashion. Walking down the streets you do get the impression that their mother's choose their clothes, sometimes this is true in people up to their mid 30s. Added to that all the clothes look brand new, there's not a scuff mark, stain or rip (with one exception today!) in anyone's clothes which often gives the impression of either being in a film or a Daz advert. I've had a little think about this and can only assume that Portugal being so poor for so long has issues with apparent poverty. I will always remember a comment made by a Portuguese friend regarding my favourite pair of converse which had been lovingly tended to a state of near collapse and it was remarked that I could wear them to park cars (a common job for the homeless is finding parking spaces). I've had numerous conversations with Portuguese friends about this and it's just a cultural different that's difficult to understand.
So I'm left with these two shops, neither of which are great but which do have some good lines. I don't buy a lot of clothes, that should be emphasised at this point but I do have set ideas on what I like and back in the UK this usually led me to vintage or charity shops or shall independant shops, with the occassional visit to Topman, H & M or Primark for essentials. Now the charity/vintage shops here are practically non existance. Their lack is merely emphasised by the fact the the one or two that do exist will no doubt be pointed out to me. The same is true for the independant shops but these seem to consist of 'boutiques' in Bairro Alto that charge €40 for a t-shirt. There's just no equivalent to Pop or its ilk, or if there is then please please point me in its direction.
Saying this though I was rather pleased with my purchases. I got a pair of gray cord trousers and some smart(ish) trainers which will be perfect for work. It wasn't too painful and they were under €40 for the lot. I spent a long time having a shirt pushed on me by S but in the end I declined, I fancied being a bit more colourful but there was nothing that caught my eye.
Happy with my clothes purchases we decided to do a bit of food shopping as there is a massive Continente supermarket there but as it turns out we didn't end up buying much. We were disappointed with the quality of the meat and most of the other stuff on our list can be bought either cheaper or of better quality from our local supermarket - Pingo Doce.
By the time we got home I was starting to feel a bit ill and very tired. Ashamedly I fell asleep through the film - Last Year In Marienbad - much to S's amusement as it's her who is normally guilty of that. I woke up today feeling a little horrible but I'm medicated up and prepared to face the sales downtown now!
My cold could also have something to do with the sheer number of people I was around yesterday and the miriad of germs they were carrying. We decided to brave the sales and I know S was missing her retail therephy (I don't think I've met anyone as well dressed as S, in an understated way). I was very poor but in desperate need of at least one more pair of pants and some shoes so we headed to Colombo, a huge city centre shopping centre next to the Benfica football ground.
One thing Portugal is not short of is shopping malls. The Portuguese are mad about these palaces of consumerism and I've even had C raving about ones such as the Vasco da Gama centre (with waterfalls over the glass ceiling - which just look like they're being washed constantly). To me they're all the same, the same shops just in more or less confusing arrangements.
There are just about two clothes shops in Portugal I would shop in (for some reason the Portuguese H & M is rubbish) and that's Pull & Bear and Springfield. One of my long running comments on the Portuguese is that they dress in such a conservative fashion. Walking down the streets you do get the impression that their mother's choose their clothes, sometimes this is true in people up to their mid 30s. Added to that all the clothes look brand new, there's not a scuff mark, stain or rip (with one exception today!) in anyone's clothes which often gives the impression of either being in a film or a Daz advert. I've had a little think about this and can only assume that Portugal being so poor for so long has issues with apparent poverty. I will always remember a comment made by a Portuguese friend regarding my favourite pair of converse which had been lovingly tended to a state of near collapse and it was remarked that I could wear them to park cars (a common job for the homeless is finding parking spaces). I've had numerous conversations with Portuguese friends about this and it's just a cultural different that's difficult to understand.
So I'm left with these two shops, neither of which are great but which do have some good lines. I don't buy a lot of clothes, that should be emphasised at this point but I do have set ideas on what I like and back in the UK this usually led me to vintage or charity shops or shall independant shops, with the occassional visit to Topman, H & M or Primark for essentials. Now the charity/vintage shops here are practically non existance. Their lack is merely emphasised by the fact the the one or two that do exist will no doubt be pointed out to me. The same is true for the independant shops but these seem to consist of 'boutiques' in Bairro Alto that charge €40 for a t-shirt. There's just no equivalent to Pop or its ilk, or if there is then please please point me in its direction.
Saying this though I was rather pleased with my purchases. I got a pair of gray cord trousers and some smart(ish) trainers which will be perfect for work. It wasn't too painful and they were under €40 for the lot. I spent a long time having a shirt pushed on me by S but in the end I declined, I fancied being a bit more colourful but there was nothing that caught my eye.
Happy with my clothes purchases we decided to do a bit of food shopping as there is a massive Continente supermarket there but as it turns out we didn't end up buying much. We were disappointed with the quality of the meat and most of the other stuff on our list can be bought either cheaper or of better quality from our local supermarket - Pingo Doce.
By the time we got home I was starting to feel a bit ill and very tired. Ashamedly I fell asleep through the film - Last Year In Marienbad - much to S's amusement as it's her who is normally guilty of that. I woke up today feeling a little horrible but I'm medicated up and prepared to face the sales downtown now!
Thursday, 1 January 2009
Panic on the streets of London...
The NYE party went amazingly well but more of that later, I want first to recount my epic journey of yesterday.
I'm feeling rather jet lagged at the moment even though Lisbon is just a matter of a couple of hours from the UK but this is mostly my own fault. For some unfathomable reason the airlines of the UK (and Portugal - they don't get off the hook that easily) have decided to stop running direct flights from the North (Manchester or Liverpool) to Lisbon. My choice would've been to go from the North to either Porto or Faro - not an ideal situation given Portugal's infrequent public transport system - or fly from London and travel down the night before. I much preferred the latter option as this way I could say goodbye to some friends that I don't get to see very often and also say goodbye to my old 'manor' so I booked my flight for early on the 31st from Luton.
I had my itinerary planned down to the minute but it was still really rather nerve wracking having to haul all my stuff through the streets of London. It is perhaps a little silly considering I used to live there for a year and never had any trouble but I was aware that I was going to be walking the streets of some of the rougher areas and this time I had extremely valuable cargo - the engagement ring I planned to propose with on my arrival. That ring caused me so many headaches because I dared not put it in one of my bags in case someone lifted it from the pub or snatched it in the street. It alternated then back and forth between my coat to my jeans (thus producing a rather startling bulge in my pants) but I felt much more at ease having it on my person. I did at one point contemplate that should the worse happen and and some gang stop me in Camberwell I'd throw my rucksacks at them and hotfoot it away with the ring safe and sound.
The plan was to leave my mum's house at around 12:30 on the 30th, get the train down to Euston arriving at around 16:30 and then heading down to New Cross for a few drinks with C & R, H and P. There was some debate as to whether we should head to the Hobgoblin or the Montague. I'll miss the Montague but I thought the Hobgoblin the safer choice, both for people getting back and due to the fact that I didn't really want to be walking around Peckham at night with my rucksacks. The Hobgoblin was also of course the scene of one of my great pub quiz successes, something that was sadly never to be repeated with my London Crew.
It was great to see those guys, C & R and P I hadn't seen since Barcelona and I hadn't seen H since her flat warming party in February so obviously there was a lot of catching up to do. No-one seemed particularly surprised by move and C was I think a little jealous of the ring in my pocket. She wants R to propose and even has the ring and has planned the wedding but has heard nothing yet from R.
H is doing well, she's considering doing a PhD at Oxford in 17th Century Literature which would be very interesting but I'm not sure where it would lead to for her. I really can't see H in an academic career, she's as cynical about it as me, if not more so and so it's probably just an excuse to avoid getting a proper job. She's getting by at the moment stuffing envelopes and setting English exams but she seemed pretty relaxed about it and was even talking about buying a houseboat with her brother.
C was doing a lot worse in the real word. She's finding the reality of being an English teacher a lot more difficult than she ever imagined. She never thought it would be easy but it has come as somewhat of a shock to her just how difficult it is. I think though that some of this pressure comes from herself. She holds herself to impossibly high standards and always has to be the best. I'm sure things will begin to settle down when she's into her second year. She was all full of excitement for me though and talking about plans for moving to New York to work as a teacher there . (This news immediately got S excited about the possibility of visiting.)
After the drinks (only a few ales for me as I had an important journey to undertake) and the talks, at around midnight, I had to say goodbye and got on my bus heading for Victoria. Amusingly the bus ride was not without drama which was what I feared but as it turned out was quite underwhelming. Just before Vauxhall Bridge some drunken guy tried to get on the bus with his girlfriend. He had just missed it but rather than wait for the next one he decided to force open one set of the back doors which in turn stalled the bus and meant we all had to get off and change. I really did think some of the other passengers were going to inflict violence on this young chap but I think by this time it was so cold that people just wanted to get where they were going.
I finally got to Victoria, found my coach and jumped on. I then spent the next 20 minutes watching the open luggage door like a hawk in case someone tried their luck with my large rucksack (by this time the ring was safely still in my pants pocket, digging in to my leg in such a way that made the vigil much easier). We then set off for Luton and I had 4 and a half rather uncomfortable hours on the departure lounge floor waiting for the check-in to start. I kept myself amused in these small hours with a by reading José Peixoto's Blank Gaze, Nigel Williams' The Wimbledon Poisoner and wondering about women who appear in the airport at 4 in the morning with immaculate hair and make-up.
The flight itself was pretty undramatic which as far as I'm concerned is definitely the best kind of flight. I failed to get more than a combined total of about 2 hours sleep in the entire day because sleep in public makes me really uncomfortable, I must've had some really cruel friends in the past.
I landed in Lisbon at about 9:30 and there was my love waiting for me in arrivals, I have to admit looking very nonchalant. I was a bag of nerves and rather dishevelled. My face covered in the ratty 2 day growth of stubble and as spotty as a teenager. All the stress of previous months has had the most unfortunate effect on my complexion. I was thankfully whisked away from the airport back home - something which felt totally natural and normal. I am really starting to see these streets as my own and I can't describe how good it is to see the large greeny-blue domes and red brick of Campo Pequeno. It really felt like everything had fallen into place and my heart could finally be at ease.
Whilst my heart was now at ease my body still had lots of work to do...the NYE party needed lots of work! Considering the fatigue I was now feeling it seemed a little rash to agree to host a party on the night I was arriving into the country but thankfully it had been arranged that me and S would provide starters and drinks and everyone else would bring the food. We prepared a few starters, some roast sweet potato, home made tuna pâte, hummus and other nibbles along with plenty of beer, wine, whisky and a surfeit of excellent caipirinhas, the tasting and perfecting of which got me and S very much in the party mood.
People arrived from around 8:30 onwards and some excellent food arrived with them, the dishes included pork with chestnuts, walnut rice, bacalhau with potatoes and mixed vegetables and then for desert there was a lovely chocolate tart, a strange cream and biscuit desert and a good sponge cake. The food went down very well and it was such a relief not to have to do all the cooking. One of favourite things about this relationship is the dinner parties we go to and throw ourselves but I think if I'd been forced to cook for 9 people I would've broken down at this point. Instead everything was very laid back and I felt totally guilty free having a couple of drinks.
After the food midnight came upon us and we all hugged and kissed and opened some champagne. We toasted the new year well and there was also wine enough to toast mine and S's engagement which I had mumbled my way through earlier in the day.
It was at this point that the real party started but I was unfortunately beginning to lag. My music had not been received with much enthusiasm thus far so I gladly lent the reins to DJ J and her party mix of the year. This was a real floor filler and soon my living room was a jumble of gyrating arms and legs with the men of the group sitting sullenly on the outside. R then had the bright idea of introducing a little karaoke to the proceedings...and so began the epic Drunken Soft Rock Karaoke 2009. No one was innocent, no one escaped but thankfully all audiovisual evidence has been hunted down and destroyed. After what some may have thought of as the defining version of You Give Love a Bad Name I could barely keep my eyes open and I retired to my new bed, ready to begin my new life in the morning.
I'm feeling rather jet lagged at the moment even though Lisbon is just a matter of a couple of hours from the UK but this is mostly my own fault. For some unfathomable reason the airlines of the UK (and Portugal - they don't get off the hook that easily) have decided to stop running direct flights from the North (Manchester or Liverpool) to Lisbon. My choice would've been to go from the North to either Porto or Faro - not an ideal situation given Portugal's infrequent public transport system - or fly from London and travel down the night before. I much preferred the latter option as this way I could say goodbye to some friends that I don't get to see very often and also say goodbye to my old 'manor' so I booked my flight for early on the 31st from Luton.
I had my itinerary planned down to the minute but it was still really rather nerve wracking having to haul all my stuff through the streets of London. It is perhaps a little silly considering I used to live there for a year and never had any trouble but I was aware that I was going to be walking the streets of some of the rougher areas and this time I had extremely valuable cargo - the engagement ring I planned to propose with on my arrival. That ring caused me so many headaches because I dared not put it in one of my bags in case someone lifted it from the pub or snatched it in the street. It alternated then back and forth between my coat to my jeans (thus producing a rather startling bulge in my pants) but I felt much more at ease having it on my person. I did at one point contemplate that should the worse happen and and some gang stop me in Camberwell I'd throw my rucksacks at them and hotfoot it away with the ring safe and sound.
The plan was to leave my mum's house at around 12:30 on the 30th, get the train down to Euston arriving at around 16:30 and then heading down to New Cross for a few drinks with C & R, H and P. There was some debate as to whether we should head to the Hobgoblin or the Montague. I'll miss the Montague but I thought the Hobgoblin the safer choice, both for people getting back and due to the fact that I didn't really want to be walking around Peckham at night with my rucksacks. The Hobgoblin was also of course the scene of one of my great pub quiz successes, something that was sadly never to be repeated with my London Crew.
It was great to see those guys, C & R and P I hadn't seen since Barcelona and I hadn't seen H since her flat warming party in February so obviously there was a lot of catching up to do. No-one seemed particularly surprised by move and C was I think a little jealous of the ring in my pocket. She wants R to propose and even has the ring and has planned the wedding but has heard nothing yet from R.
H is doing well, she's considering doing a PhD at Oxford in 17th Century Literature which would be very interesting but I'm not sure where it would lead to for her. I really can't see H in an academic career, she's as cynical about it as me, if not more so and so it's probably just an excuse to avoid getting a proper job. She's getting by at the moment stuffing envelopes and setting English exams but she seemed pretty relaxed about it and was even talking about buying a houseboat with her brother.
C was doing a lot worse in the real word. She's finding the reality of being an English teacher a lot more difficult than she ever imagined. She never thought it would be easy but it has come as somewhat of a shock to her just how difficult it is. I think though that some of this pressure comes from herself. She holds herself to impossibly high standards and always has to be the best. I'm sure things will begin to settle down when she's into her second year. She was all full of excitement for me though and talking about plans for moving to New York to work as a teacher there . (This news immediately got S excited about the possibility of visiting.)
After the drinks (only a few ales for me as I had an important journey to undertake) and the talks, at around midnight, I had to say goodbye and got on my bus heading for Victoria. Amusingly the bus ride was not without drama which was what I feared but as it turned out was quite underwhelming. Just before Vauxhall Bridge some drunken guy tried to get on the bus with his girlfriend. He had just missed it but rather than wait for the next one he decided to force open one set of the back doors which in turn stalled the bus and meant we all had to get off and change. I really did think some of the other passengers were going to inflict violence on this young chap but I think by this time it was so cold that people just wanted to get where they were going.
I finally got to Victoria, found my coach and jumped on. I then spent the next 20 minutes watching the open luggage door like a hawk in case someone tried their luck with my large rucksack (by this time the ring was safely still in my pants pocket, digging in to my leg in such a way that made the vigil much easier). We then set off for Luton and I had 4 and a half rather uncomfortable hours on the departure lounge floor waiting for the check-in to start. I kept myself amused in these small hours with a by reading José Peixoto's Blank Gaze, Nigel Williams' The Wimbledon Poisoner and wondering about women who appear in the airport at 4 in the morning with immaculate hair and make-up.
The flight itself was pretty undramatic which as far as I'm concerned is definitely the best kind of flight. I failed to get more than a combined total of about 2 hours sleep in the entire day because sleep in public makes me really uncomfortable, I must've had some really cruel friends in the past.
I landed in Lisbon at about 9:30 and there was my love waiting for me in arrivals, I have to admit looking very nonchalant. I was a bag of nerves and rather dishevelled. My face covered in the ratty 2 day growth of stubble and as spotty as a teenager. All the stress of previous months has had the most unfortunate effect on my complexion. I was thankfully whisked away from the airport back home - something which felt totally natural and normal. I am really starting to see these streets as my own and I can't describe how good it is to see the large greeny-blue domes and red brick of Campo Pequeno. It really felt like everything had fallen into place and my heart could finally be at ease.
Whilst my heart was now at ease my body still had lots of work to do...the NYE party needed lots of work! Considering the fatigue I was now feeling it seemed a little rash to agree to host a party on the night I was arriving into the country but thankfully it had been arranged that me and S would provide starters and drinks and everyone else would bring the food. We prepared a few starters, some roast sweet potato, home made tuna pâte, hummus and other nibbles along with plenty of beer, wine, whisky and a surfeit of excellent caipirinhas, the tasting and perfecting of which got me and S very much in the party mood.
People arrived from around 8:30 onwards and some excellent food arrived with them, the dishes included pork with chestnuts, walnut rice, bacalhau with potatoes and mixed vegetables and then for desert there was a lovely chocolate tart, a strange cream and biscuit desert and a good sponge cake. The food went down very well and it was such a relief not to have to do all the cooking. One of favourite things about this relationship is the dinner parties we go to and throw ourselves but I think if I'd been forced to cook for 9 people I would've broken down at this point. Instead everything was very laid back and I felt totally guilty free having a couple of drinks.
After the food midnight came upon us and we all hugged and kissed and opened some champagne. We toasted the new year well and there was also wine enough to toast mine and S's engagement which I had mumbled my way through earlier in the day.
It was at this point that the real party started but I was unfortunately beginning to lag. My music had not been received with much enthusiasm thus far so I gladly lent the reins to DJ J and her party mix of the year. This was a real floor filler and soon my living room was a jumble of gyrating arms and legs with the men of the group sitting sullenly on the outside. R then had the bright idea of introducing a little karaoke to the proceedings...and so began the epic Drunken Soft Rock Karaoke 2009. No one was innocent, no one escaped but thankfully all audiovisual evidence has been hunted down and destroyed. After what some may have thought of as the defining version of You Give Love a Bad Name I could barely keep my eyes open and I retired to my new bed, ready to begin my new life in the morning.
Wednesday, 31 December 2008
So that was that and this is this...
And so begins the adventure.
One of the longest days (or rather months) of my life will shortly be coming to an end and when I wake up tomorrow it will be in a new year, in a new bed, in a new city, in a new country. Of course only the first of these is strictly true, I built the bed and I have spent enough time wandering Lisbon and exploring Portugal (not to mention weeks and months worth of conversation with S and V & C) to feel like I have at least a familiarity with the place.
My journey here has been, both in the long and short term, a long and exhausting one. It started what seems like an age ago, back in April 2008 when playing the third-wheel to my friends V & C's first wedding anniversary I returned to Portugal for some relaxation after a stressful period at work and at home. On this holiday I was reintroduced to S who I had originally met at the wedding the year previous. V had worked her little matchmaking magic here and it hit me remarkably quickly just how special this thing was going to be.
From the very beginning of our relationship there was no question of me and S not being together. It would, of course, have to continue over the long distance for the time being, with regular exchanges between Manchester and Lisbon (including one rendevous in Barcelona). When the time came to decide about the move there was no real choice, despite the language advantage S has over me (She speaks perfect English whereas I speak next to no Portuguese) it was much more convient for us at this stage for me to move to Lisbon. S is much more advanced in her career than me, with excellent prospects and is in the midst of an MA at a University in Lisbon whereas I was having serious doubts about the shape my career was taking, I was feeling railroaded into a career in law that I was unsure about and which would've kept me tied to the same agency (and essentially in the same job) for the better part of a decade. I was living in a flat that I could barely afford in a city that I love but that had little mystery left for me.
By mid-summer preparations were underway for my move. We were both looking Anglophone jobs and the hoops I had to jump through to get them and to get here. It was immediately obvious that it was not going to be easy for me to find something that would further my career, the possibilities seemed limited to the usual 'traveller's fare' of barwork/teaching English/manual work. It was quite disheartening, there were many avenues still unexplored but it did look bleak, especially when a whole slew of speculative CVs went unanswered. We never wavered in our goal but the provisional date - 29th December 2008 - looked increasingly optimistic.
Things slowly got underway, research was done on how I would move all my things, more CVs were sent, I was bought what seemed like hundreds of Portuguese phrasebooks and language courses yet nothing seemed to actually be getting done. Then there was one glimmer of light, I had got an interview with an EU agency, not for a paid job but for an unpaid internship - not ideal but a step in the door and a foot in the right direction. It was in the field I want to work in, it was English speaking and in Lisbon, granted it wouldn't pay the bills but the hope was that it would lead to something that would.
The interview took place in November and went riduculously well, it seemed somewhat of a formality with me merely asking questions of the panel about my working conditions and what projects they had in mind for me. It took another few weeks after the interview for me to get confirmation of the place but I had finally done it, I had some kind of start in Portugal, I wouldn't be going and risking everything for no possible return.
The next problem to arise was with the flat. Acting well within his rights my landlord asked me to find someone to fill my place in the flat for the final 3 months of the contract. I thought it quite bad timing, so close to Christmas and for such a short term but after a little panic and one false start I found the perfect couple thanks to a well worded advert on Gumtree (perhaps too well worded, I'm still getting responses to it now, I should really take the damn thing down). The move was now most definitely on now.
I arranged for a shipping company to come and pick up most of my possessions, packed the rest off to my mum's and then had to endure a few weeks crashing on the floor at my old childhood home. It was quite a strange experience because I hadn't spent that much time there since I was about 20 or so and it very much feels like someone elses home now that she lives there with her new man. I survived because I kept my focus on the fact that I would be moving home myself in a matter of days, in the fact there was minimal drama which surprised me. Christmas was really nice if tinged with a little sadness but everyone has promised to come and visit as soon as they can.
I will write about the actual journey here tomorrow along with my first impressions of the New Year.
Até amanhã
One of the longest days (or rather months) of my life will shortly be coming to an end and when I wake up tomorrow it will be in a new year, in a new bed, in a new city, in a new country. Of course only the first of these is strictly true, I built the bed and I have spent enough time wandering Lisbon and exploring Portugal (not to mention weeks and months worth of conversation with S and V & C) to feel like I have at least a familiarity with the place.
My journey here has been, both in the long and short term, a long and exhausting one. It started what seems like an age ago, back in April 2008 when playing the third-wheel to my friends V & C's first wedding anniversary I returned to Portugal for some relaxation after a stressful period at work and at home. On this holiday I was reintroduced to S who I had originally met at the wedding the year previous. V had worked her little matchmaking magic here and it hit me remarkably quickly just how special this thing was going to be.
From the very beginning of our relationship there was no question of me and S not being together. It would, of course, have to continue over the long distance for the time being, with regular exchanges between Manchester and Lisbon (including one rendevous in Barcelona). When the time came to decide about the move there was no real choice, despite the language advantage S has over me (She speaks perfect English whereas I speak next to no Portuguese) it was much more convient for us at this stage for me to move to Lisbon. S is much more advanced in her career than me, with excellent prospects and is in the midst of an MA at a University in Lisbon whereas I was having serious doubts about the shape my career was taking, I was feeling railroaded into a career in law that I was unsure about and which would've kept me tied to the same agency (and essentially in the same job) for the better part of a decade. I was living in a flat that I could barely afford in a city that I love but that had little mystery left for me.
By mid-summer preparations were underway for my move. We were both looking Anglophone jobs and the hoops I had to jump through to get them and to get here. It was immediately obvious that it was not going to be easy for me to find something that would further my career, the possibilities seemed limited to the usual 'traveller's fare' of barwork/teaching English/manual work. It was quite disheartening, there were many avenues still unexplored but it did look bleak, especially when a whole slew of speculative CVs went unanswered. We never wavered in our goal but the provisional date - 29th December 2008 - looked increasingly optimistic.
Things slowly got underway, research was done on how I would move all my things, more CVs were sent, I was bought what seemed like hundreds of Portuguese phrasebooks and language courses yet nothing seemed to actually be getting done. Then there was one glimmer of light, I had got an interview with an EU agency, not for a paid job but for an unpaid internship - not ideal but a step in the door and a foot in the right direction. It was in the field I want to work in, it was English speaking and in Lisbon, granted it wouldn't pay the bills but the hope was that it would lead to something that would.
The interview took place in November and went riduculously well, it seemed somewhat of a formality with me merely asking questions of the panel about my working conditions and what projects they had in mind for me. It took another few weeks after the interview for me to get confirmation of the place but I had finally done it, I had some kind of start in Portugal, I wouldn't be going and risking everything for no possible return.
The next problem to arise was with the flat. Acting well within his rights my landlord asked me to find someone to fill my place in the flat for the final 3 months of the contract. I thought it quite bad timing, so close to Christmas and for such a short term but after a little panic and one false start I found the perfect couple thanks to a well worded advert on Gumtree (perhaps too well worded, I'm still getting responses to it now, I should really take the damn thing down). The move was now most definitely on now.
I arranged for a shipping company to come and pick up most of my possessions, packed the rest off to my mum's and then had to endure a few weeks crashing on the floor at my old childhood home. It was quite a strange experience because I hadn't spent that much time there since I was about 20 or so and it very much feels like someone elses home now that she lives there with her new man. I survived because I kept my focus on the fact that I would be moving home myself in a matter of days, in the fact there was minimal drama which surprised me. Christmas was really nice if tinged with a little sadness but everyone has promised to come and visit as soon as they can.
I will write about the actual journey here tomorrow along with my first impressions of the New Year.
Até amanhã
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