porto

Quaint town situated on a river, the town itself keeps growing upward, from below the city looms above, old painted tiles, churches from gothic times to more flowery blue and white tiled baroqe. The feeling that you have been plunged back in time, where old women wear aprons and men wear hats, everyone walks and smiles and says "obrigada" (thank you). The distinction between Spain and Portugal is surprising, the people so kind, they say excuse me if they bump into you, the hospitality of the people are amazing, and the warm smiles are unexpected.

We stayed in a very cute little apartment near the river, the town was a little humid, moss growing on many surfaces, wood so old and dark jets out and amazing hand paitnted tiles pop up in the most delightful places. The goal was to spend as little money as possible, and with a kitchen and a city with the cheapest wine and groceries, it sure wasn't hard. Even going out to dinner, with dessert, wine, and two entrees didn't break the bank.

It was an exercise in relaxation. Isa was my teacher, and I as her pupil was not doing a great job. I did hwoever finish a 500 page book, took a nap, sat at a cafe for hours in the sun, and walked around at a leasurly pace. We spent a lot of time cooking and finding the perfect Vino Verde (yum!). We even painted easter eggs.

Our last day, we got up at 4:00 to get to the airport for our 6am flight, we got there on time, and the woman told us, we were 24 hours late for our flight. . . no recourse, we tried to get another flight, but the price was steep, 500 euro. So we went to the bus station at 6 in the morning, bus stations are never someplace you want to be in the wee hours. It wasn't going to open until 8, freezing and upset at the prospect of not getting home, I threw on as many layers as possible, a little annoyed at Isa for making a 24 hour huge mistake (as she is the one in charge of the flights), then, she says, "at least it isn't rainning," and I burst into laughter, yes we are stranded in cold portugal at 7 in the morning and probably are going to be on a bus for the next 12 hours, but at least it isn't rainning, thanks Isa.

We did end up getting a bus, it was a long trip, but my relaxation classes helped and I read another book and looked through my pictures on my computer and exausted my podcast downloads.

Ceci n'est pas une pipe

The start of my spring break trips, it was an utterly spontaneous one. Unsure about going with Anna and Olga to Brussels, I finally decided when a friend told me about a Frida Kahlo exhibition she saw there. I decided I had to go, having never seen a Frida in real life. So I went, and found out that the city was so much more than expected.There has never been a city that has felt so gray. The buildings, the sky, the bikes to rent, everything with this sad gray. It didn't help that it was stormy and everything had a feeling of being on the cusp of bursting into tears. Despite the gray, the city itself is full of good things, good art, good fries, good chocolate, good beer, good people, the Belgians don't do anything half heartily. It is a small city, easily seen and devoured in a two day trip.Day one: 2 bars of chocolate, 2 coffees, 1 tin tin store, 3 great friends chanting about mussels in Brussels, 1 man with a velour suit claiming to be Mr. Satisfaction, Zero toone bars, 5 deliriums.Day two: more chocolate. . . I lost count, 1 small fries with curry sauce, 1 Magritte museum, 50 paintings that got the best of me, 4 sketches that I am glad not to have missed, a pipe that was not a pipe, a peak of sunshine, dolmas, a little fountain of a boy who pees, Frida!
The Magritte museum was perfect, working in chronological order with Olga to translate his french scrawling, it was fully of whimsy of little spots of beauty that I had missed, of videos and music. They did an incredible job of pairing everything. Some of my favorites were the head, torso and legs sketches done with friends, where you fold the paper as not to see what the person has drawn before you, the result and utterly surreal person of sorts. The plants that turn into owls and a pipe that is still not a pipe were some of the highlights.The Frida exhibition was magical. Again, chronological she works on a much smaller scale that I would have thought. Her details perfection, and her need to expel her thoughts and feelings onto the canvas, utterly emotional. The exhibition was accompanied by a booklet that discussed each painting and gave background to each, something I wish every exhibit would have. It was a really beautiful show, and I was sad when it was over.