2015/01/14 – Wednesday (Aveiro, Portugal)
... as I sit in this tea house called Doce Infusao (sweet infusion) sipping my recently acquired taste for tea... which is not so much the beverage, but the ritual and calmness associated to savouring tea... this corner shop has very little wall due to the large windows and an atrium architecture infusing sun rays from all angles...serenity in its' décor and the sweet jazzy music being played softly and my waitresses Tania and Sandra, glide about smoothly rendering them almost invisible...
...as a small kid the first time I came to Portugal...I fell in love with the city (Aveiro) and did not even understand why...today as I look out the windows and see unique buildings that have been here for eternal decades... if the buildings were a book, the only word one could read off the pages would be neglect...endless rent signs in vacant shops, the multitude of banks on its' main artery are now replaced by Chinese discount knick knack stores and there are lottery vending kiosks everywhere selling a mathematically impossible dream of monetary joy...this country has been in a recession mode for a long time...not only is it seen, but one can feel an eeriness in the air...but all this makes for an economic tourist attraction...
...memories now flood my head...trivial things like meeting my grandparents for the first time and feeling their unfounded affectionate hugs crushing me and their clothing smelt of mothballs... my grandparents lived on a freshly scented manure farm and sounds of farm animals day and night did cause me some sleepless nights as I thought I'd be attacked by one of them... yeah!, I was a wimpy sensitive city kid...
...also!!...way back in 1965, at the ripe old age of a very dreamy mature 5-year-old kid... we got on the plane in March for a month of dysfunctional family vacation in Portugal...at that time, my vision of the world was limited to the black and white babysitting provided by our television set... couldn't understand why my dad wanted to see my grandfather when all the stories he would tell my brother and I were about how much he was hit with the belt... ...when we left the farm to visit Aveiro, a city with a population of +/- 100k...this was a major outing as it was a whole 12km trip from the farm... the whole family squeezed into the car, my car seat was someone's lap...other than the fact that it is occasionally considered the Venice of Portugal because of its' canals (on a side note, on low tide the canals enchant the air with a sewer smell)... it's simply, a typical city like so many others...
... but... for me, as that 5-year-old... I found myself in parks and public spaces with my arms stretched out as if I were a plane running/flying about... as if my winged arms were picked up by the wind and lifted me up into a déjà vu feeling of freedom... this city resonated in me, it was new to the eyes of the 5-year-old, but not to my soul... the colors, the sounds and even the smells came to me with an air of familiarity... of course... such serenity and
momentous joy came to an abrupt halt...
... my loving dad did not hesitate showing his true colors to impress my mothball smelling grandfather... by applying unlovingly the palm of his hand to my head... the impact destabilized me and I nearly crashed into my mom...she grabbed my arm and with an aggressive jolt had me standing upright instantly and she reprimanded my younger brother too, though he did nothing except stand in fear...
... so... spiritually speaking... it is said...we choose our parents as part of the learning experience on the earth plain... what purpose does it serve my apprenticeship to behave as an adult at the age of 5 other than stunt my emotional maturity later on in life? ... why these people as my parents? ... how in hell did I get mixed up with these foreign earth beings... deep down I know my parents loved us beyond reason and in hindsight there was no need for being violent...but when I associate empathy with my dad, who did my father have as a role model other than my grandfather...my grandfather, the man who at 12 years old ran away from home permanently because of the beatings my great-grandfather gave him... all I wanted that day was to fly... maybe they did too, once upon a time...
YOU ARE READING
Paper Cigarette
Random...... ...Paper Cigarette (slices of life)... ...for better or for worse, what happens on the Camino does not always stay on the Camino.... .. it's a journal style novel (fiction)....... it's about a man who inadvertently finds himself on the Santia...
