Posted on by CP · 8 Comments

An American in Faro and Some Bordeaux & Toulouse Highlights

Why I Love Faro and Plan to Stay Put

When you live in a place where they speak a different language and the customs are not what your accustomed to, you cannot help but ponder on how you fit in. The truth is that I have never fit in. Family, school, neighborhood, work, social gatherings — you name it, I was out-of-place; sometimes I still am. Mind you, it wasn’t always people who made me feel this way; it was mostly my own voice telling me I didn’t belong.

So when I decided to move to Portugal, for many who know me well, the first question was: how will you be able to live in a foreign country? Having rehearsed for this move my entire life, my answer was: oh that’s the easy part.

In the past, I have mostly written about logistics and concrete matters related to my move abroad; today I want to write about how it feels to be an American overseas. First allow me to describe the setting.

Home

[Covering an area of 4,997 km (3,105 miles), Algarve is home to 438,406 permanent residents. According to statistics from Pordata, 10 percent of the population is expats.] It is my understanding that about 11 percent of the Portugal expat population is American. I would say that this figure is far smaller in the Algarve. If you break it down, the number of Americans living in Faro is actually quite small.

The Algarve (the region of Portugal where I reside), is the southernmost part of Portugal. It is a tourist destination for many Europeans seeking predictably good weather, an affordable holiday, outdoor activity, and a safe place to hang your hat. My earlier blogs will tell you why I chose Portugal and Faro; I’ll spare you those details here.

People who look and sound like me are difficult to find in Faro. I workout at a large gym and I am one of two Americans. The other, Al, is also from Brooklyn, but he has lived in Portugal for a long time. It took several years of walking by him at the gym before I learned that he was from Carroll Gardens, a neighborhood not far from my own. Al’s a big guy who is probably a teddy bear, but he looks like someone you wouldn’t want to make angry. I think I look that way when I’m not smiling.

My apartment building is entirely Portuguese and the restaurants I tend to eat in are patronized by a majority of Portuguese people. I’m simply stating fact, no judgment.

Having described feeling out-of-place my entire life, you would think I might feel that way in the Algarve, but I don’t. I feel welcomed, accepted, and like I belong. I’m sure most of these feelings reside in my head and are not based on reality, but does that really matter? I could get all philosophical about what is real and what is made up in our imagination, but I don’t want to scare you.

Thoughts that Swirl and Machinate

These days, I feel as if I’m living outside of myself. I’m like a voyeur watching this old guy navigate a life he cannot quite believe he is living. It’s fascinating for me to watch him fumble. I’m not concerned that you’ll think me mad, because I am certain most people feel this way from time-to-time. Who am I? Where do I belong? How do I fit in? If you’re human, you frequently consciously or unconsciously, ask yourself these questions.

So why do I feel so much at home in Portugal? I will refrain from creating a list and instead, try to describe my dominant feelings. But first . . .

An aside: I flew into Bordeaux because EasyJet cancelled my flight directly into Toulouse and I rebooked on RyanAir to Toulouse which is two hours away. I like the train system in most of Europe, so I figured I’d spend a couple of days in Bordeaux and five days in Toulouse; a city I have come to love. I literally just missed my train from Bordeaux to Toulouse because I booked the wrong time and didn’t notice it on the ticket until I was on the bus to the train station. I jumped off the bus to call an Uber. It was sort of like a scene in a film . . . me leaning into the front seat asking the driver to please try and get me to the station quickly, but unfortunately traffic and slow drivers made it impossible. I tried to book a ticket for the next train, but it’s full so I’m stuck in Bordeaux — not a bad place to be stuck — a 5 hour wait I’m afraid. When I booked this trip, I was unaware that it was Easter week. What do they say about breathing or that things happen the way they’re supposed to? I’ll blog and people watch and eat and answer emails and people watch and sulk. I get to sulk just a little. It was a stupid mistake. This too shall pass . . .

Ô QG, 66 Quai de Paludate, 33800 Bordeaux

I saw this restaurant in Bordeaux on-line while I was waiting for my train. I took a shot at a reservation and they had one seat left (sometimes traveling alone has its advantages). I sort of thought they were lying until I sat down and people started flooding in. I ended up having one of the best sirloin steaks of my life. I almost went all out for a 50 Euro dry aged T-Bone, but I held back having had already incurred extra expenses from missing my 10:28. A nice Medoc and some potatoes au gratin . . . yada, yada, yada. All that for 25 Euros; now I understand why they were all booked-up.

BDX Café is attached to a stylish boutique hotel near the Gare St. Jean in Bordeaux. I’m killing time here while I wait several hours for my train to Toulouse. The homemade chocolate cake with fresh whip cream is divine and I’m sipping a Kressmann’s Blanc Grande Reserve while I type away on my fully charged laptop (multiple outlets at my feet).

I met a very nice young lady on the train who helped me pass the time and gave me a good restaurant recommendation. She was smart, very pretty, and delightful. I suppose I was meant to meet her. I hated saying goodbye at the station. People come and go so quickly here (movie reference; know which one?).

Back to the Main Reason for this Blog

Let’s return to why I feel so good about my life in Portugal. First and foremost, removing myself from a place where I wasn’t very happy, was a tremendous boost to my spirits and self-esteem. I took life by the balls so to speak. When you enter into a situation knowing that the change could and hopefully will improve your life, it gives you hope and the drive to push forward.

I found myself and Giorgio (my pooch at the time) in the position to reinvent myself. I wanted to relax more, care less about what others thought, embrace the European lifestyle, travel, and most importantly, take better care of myself — eat better, sleep more, have regular check-ups, and leave the world of answering to others behind.

It didn’t hurt that I found myself a place overlooking the Ria Formosa and Atlantic Ocean. When the high school is not holding classes, it’s peaceful and perfect and when the students are there it’s youthful and nerve-racking. I think it’s good to have the former to look forward to.

I am a man of many hobbies (e.g., cooking, reading, gardening, writing, film watching, home decorating, learning Portuguese, and keeping up with friends); therefore, I am never bored or at a loss for projects. You’ve heard retirees say, “How did I have time to work?” — that’s me.

I’m close to a large market for fresh fish and beautiful groceries (French owned with many French products), an open air farmers market on Sundays, two Lidl’s, an Aldi’s, many restaurants, numerous good coffee shops (latté one Euro everywhere — café com leite), several closed-to-traffic shopping streets with great stores for clothing, etc. a mall, a multi-screen cinema, a jazz club, great pet shops, good doctors, a wonderful vet, several rooftop bars with magnificent views, and parks everywhere. There is a big park next across from my apartment; it’s being totally renovated and I’m excited to see how it turns out — I liked how rustic it was before they started.

Now I’m certain you will read what I just wrote and think, “No wonder he loves Faro,” and you’d be right. But for some reason expats have stigmatized Faro as a town you only go to for the airport and train station. Whenever I have an expat friend over from another town, they make a comment about how they’d misjudged Faro. Some say, “I could live here.” I don’t really need the validation, but it’s nice to hear that others think I made a good choice. A friend from Manhattan recently purchased in Faro. She is a person of great taste and doesn’t decide anything lightly. This has been not only gratifying for me, but also validates my decision to settle here.

Odd as it may seem, I am happy to be one of a small minority of Americans. I navigate through Faro as a proud resident of a beautiful country and I think, I am an American in Faro.

Toulouse

Toulouse is quickly becoming my second city after Faro. I love everything about this French gem (I have blogged about Toulouse in the past). Ninety quick minutes on a budget airline and I am eating French classic dishes and drinking beautiful French wines. This city has everything I love about Paris, except that it’s less crowded, friendlier, and more affordable. I will only point out a couple of highlights since I am here to just be. Now pass the foie gras.

My airbnb is close to the center of Toulouse and has everything I could possibly need. My first night was quiet and comfortable and I slept nine hours. I think last time I slept-in was 1989. Nice hotels in Toulouse are close to 200 Euros a night and this Airbnb was just a little over 60 Euros a night. I don’t always choose an Airbnb, but for five nights I like a kitchenette and a quiet neighborhood (near everything).

L’Emulsion

I booked this very popular, modern French cuisine restaurant well over a year ago and then I had to cancel several times due to COVID-19 cancellations. They were extremely accommodating and it finally happened my second night in Toulouse. My one big splurge. The dishes were visually appealing and tasted magical. You have a choice between two tasting menus and nicely paired wines (optional). I spent about 65 Euros and for a meal of this caliber, that’s pretty good.

Went to Victor Hugo Market at lunchtime; it’s my favorite and a five minute walk from my Airbnb. After a sweet walkabout, I had lunch upstairs at L’Impériale. If you’re in the mood for authentic country French, it doesn’t get much better. Get there early because the place fills up quickly. They’ve got the charm and the service down pat. The cassoulet made me think about small country inns on the outskirts of Paris; a warm fire and hearty cuisine.

The dish pictured in the middle is an escargot crumble. It must have been cooked in reduced red wine; like many French country dishes. I never had anything like it. I lapped up the sauce with some good crunchy bread.

I sat across an elderly country at lunch. I assume it was a Good Friday fish day for them. It was one of those couples who have been together for 50 or 60 years; they say nothing out loud, but the words between them are sweet, filled with tortured and loving memories. Watching them through my invisible window was a privilege I do not take lightly.

Tonight I booked a Vietnamese meal to prepared in the home of a Vietnamese home cook. I found it on Airbnb. No doubt it will be memorable. I will add more tomorrow.

Vietnamese dinner at Vivi’s home: I love these “dine in someone’s home” experiences. Vivi moved to Toulouse after studying in Montreal. Born and raised in Vietnam where her family resides, Vivi was a delight to be with. She’s authentic, young, smart, a developer, a writer, and an excellent cook. There were two amazing things about this enchanting evening: first, it was just the two of us (not so good for Vivi) and second, Vivi’s warmth and willingness to share her story. Once again, I am grateful.

Vivi

I have a few more days here in France. Vivi told me about a Korean restaurant I will try for lunch. I purchased some good eats at the market yesterday and I’m just back from buying a crisp baguette at the local boulangerie. After a few days in a particular place you get to know where to shop and who serves the best latté. My favorite thing about an Airbnb is the ability to buy local food and eat in in a comfortable apartment setting. I will post now rather than wait so that I can enjoy the rest of my trip. If anything amazing or out-of-the-ordinary happens (it probably will), I will include it in my next blog.

Upcoming Travel Plans

In a few weeks I travel to Berlin, then on to Amsterdam, followed by Geneva, Milan, and Nantes. There are some small local excursions in between and a Northern European cruise in October. I have COVID-19 doubts about the cruise, but we shall see.

Lately I’ve been thinking that I am travelling too much and it’s wearing me out. I miss Paco and my creature comforts (the familiar). I admit my desire to explore and experience new things is currently stronger than the wish to curl under a blanket on my sofa with a good book and a glass of Portuguese red, but I suspect the latter will become more attractive over time. Until that happens, I will fight the urge to hibernate.

Feedback

I was feeling a bit down about my blog until my birthday came around. I received birthday wishes from quite a few friends and acquaintances and many of them encouraged me to keep blogging and posting photos. Honestly, I wasn’t sure anyone was listening or watching. Some of you have been following me since the beginning and I appreciate that. Since I am not one to disappoint . . . there’s no stopping me now (four years of consistent blogging). I’ve thought about self-publishing a book about living overseas, but isn’t that what I have right here on these pages? Perhaps a book containing chronicling highlights in the future. For now, this suits me just fine.

Au revoir pour le moment mes amis.

Please forgive spelling and grammatical errors; my proofreader is on vacation (ha!).

Posted on by CP · 6 Comments

Liverpool & Travel Woes

It’s Time to Piss & Moan About Travel (at the end of my blog)

The Very Pleasant Liverpool Waterfront

The Purpose of this Trip

If I’m going to be honest, Liverpool, England, was never on my travel wish list. Fortunately for me, I landed at a restaurant in Mexilhoeira Grande, Portugal, and ended up sharing plates with Jane and her son Matthew, who are from Liverpool (probably my favorite thing about traveling is meeting new people — my friend Gina thinks it’s hilarious that I talk to strangers) . It did not take long for me to be certain that I must travel to this city sooner than later. The pandemic kept me from getting there sooner.

Jane and her furry family

Liverpool

Let me begin by stating that I plan to return to Liverpool sometime in the next year or so. I don’t think I’ll be able to stay away from Jane for too long and there is more there for me to see and experience. It’s not a large city by today’s standards. A half million very friendly and proud residents. It’s easy to get around and has something for everyone.

The airport is about 25 minutes (26 pound taxi) from the centre, but there is a bus you can take for a lot less. Uber is in Liverpool and I used it a lot.

Liverpool, United Kingdom is a direct flight (2.5 hours) from Faro and may end up being what Toulouse is to France in terms of ease and delight for this traveler.

I stayed at Hotel Indigo close to the waterfront in the center. It was everything I wanted and needed: great mattress, soft cotton linen, free snacks and beverages, quiet, and affordable. I’m not sure I’ll ever stay anywhere else. It also has a steakhouse. I had the ribs and some onion rings and both were excellent — I can’t speak for the steak, but Jane said it was good and I trust Jane.

The Beatles

Liverpool loves the Beatles, as well they should. Beatles “stuff” is everywhere. Buildings, roads, etc.; the names of the four Beatles are everywhere. I cannot think of a more successful and fantastic band to celebrate. If you loved the Beatles, listen to the Beatles, care even a little bit about the Beatles, go to Liverpool. Sir Paul McCartney is especially revered. Take a Beatles tour (I used Airbnb because I trust they’ll always be good). The Beatles have given back to Liverpool over and over and over again, and a couple of them still do. I won’t go into the band here. I liked the Beatles, but I would not say I was ever a devoted fan. Their existence only enhanced my time there.

Food

I read about Turtle Bay Restaurant before my trip to Liverpool. My friend Jane and her children confirmed my choice. Jane and I went to their Victoria Street location (there is one on Hanover) and we both ordered the fried chicken, macaroni & cheese, cajun spiced fries and passion fruit martinis. I don’t get to eat like this in Portugal. When I return to Liverpool, I will return to Turtle Bay.

Ban Di Bul Korean Restaurant is the real deal if you enjoy Korean BBQ or other Korean fair. The atmosphere, service, and food were all terrific. As a lover of all things Korean, Jane made me very happy with this restaurant choice.

There were other eateries on this trip, but as I’ve said before, I only share the exceptional ones. There are many excellent coffee shops for all of us coffee lovers.

Museums

For a small city, I have to say there were almost more museums that churches — not on your life. But seriously there is a very modern and large museum dedicated just to the city of Liverpool. The Museum of Liverpool is worth a visit (my next trip for sure). There is the Tate, Maritime, Beatles, World, and so many more. The Public Library is also a beautiful building with several collections worth seeing. I was impressed and overwhelmed. Three days of sightseeing was not enough for me.

Music

There are several famous music venues and live music can be found in many places throughout the city on any given day.

The Sun (the daily newspaper)

There was a football fans incident (The Hillsborough Disaster) that occurred in the UK that I’m not familiar with; 1989. Apparently The Sun (UK publication) blatantly lied about what happened and now you cannot get Britain’s largest daily newspaper anywhere in Liverpool — I love that. The Guardian will tell you what you need to know: https://www.theguardian.com/media/2004/jul/07/pressandpublishing.football1.

I learned that the United States very first Consulate was in Liverpool. There are a lot of firsts to be celebrated in Liverpool: first school for the blind, first rugby club, first shot from the U.S. Civil war came from a gun made in Liverpool, and so many more.

What I Hate About Traveling These Days

I’m going to make a list because I love lists and I’m afraid that I might go-off and write more than I should about each dreaded gripe:

  1. COVID-19 has been the cause (or supposed cause) of many cancellations. I’m never quite certain I will actually get to fly. And everything gets blamed on the virus: no remote for your hotel room TV? Must be COVID.
  2. Forms — you need to have proof that you have trimmed your toe nails and a doctor has seen them and the government has signed off on it.
  3. Security lines are unpredictable. I went to Faro airport two hours before my flight and the security line was an hour long; wrapped around so many times I wasn’t sure I’d get through it the same day as my flight. I hate lines in general; I am not a cow or a Navy man, I prefer fluid motion to gathering in a herd. Hate to queue-up for sure.
  4. Liquids. A woman in front of me had a 5 ounce bottle of a prescription fluid she couldn’t live without. It took her 15 minutes to find the prescription. Had she not considered they’d want to see that piece of paper? Could she really harm the passengers with a squirt of eye medicine? Would one less ounce (allowable) have really made a difference? Is this part of how our governments control us?
  5. Masks. Sometimes you have to wear them and sometimes you don’t. Three hundred people on a plane and all the masks come off when it’s feeding time; I guess the virus just hides out while we chow down.
  6. Costs have gone up considerably; some of it is justified and some of it isn’t. What I hate is that when some of the supply chain issues are resolved, the costs will probably not come down. My Uber driver here in Faro told we he reserved a car in Florida for a week and it will be $1400 (Insurance incl.) — crazy.
  7. Boarded-up restaurants — the internet will tell you that a certain restaurant is open, but you venture there and it is shut down due to that awful virus — always call first.
  8. Customer service isn’t what it once was. I imagine every generation says this about the service people that come after them, but I honestly believe it’s true. I think social media has destroyed customer service. There was a time when businesses cared what people had to say; they’ve been burned so many times, now they just seem to do whatever they need to do to survive. Cynical I know, however, as a seasoned traveler, I have noticed a change and I don’t like it.

Upcoming Travel

I have been invited on a Portuguese “residents only” trip to wine country. This will be my first time traveling with Portuguese friends from Faro. There will be a big bus and two days of adventure. I’m anxious to see what Portuguese people enjoy in their own country.

Toulouse and Bordeaux April 12. Berlin, Amsterdam, Geneva, Milan, Nantes in the next few months and a cruise through Northern Europe in October. Lots of travel writing to share in the future.

I apologize for spelling errors in my blog. I publish to share my experiences with you and I don’t have a great deal of time to spend on editing. I want this to remain a pleasant experience for me.

Posted on by CP · 2 Comments

The Four Year Mark

In Faro, Portugal

[Pics from home and travel]

The Past, Present & Future

Much of the blog below was written at my one year milestone in Portugal. I thought after three years, a pandemic, a great deal of reflection, and trips to many places, I should provide new insights.

A Brief Overview (I’ll note updates)

I have pondered living outside of the United States my entire adult life. Until a couple of years ago, the opportunity had not presented itself. I moved to Maine, but it never felt like the right fit. When I’m unhappy I usually consider something I might do to change things up; leaving the country was my best option. I love America and will never give-up my citizenship. You just never know what the future has in store for you. Update: If anything, my decision to keep my U.S. citizenship is even stronger, without any doubt.

The Highs

I think the best part of leaving the States has been the ability to gain some perspective. A big move, such as the one I made, forces you to take inventory of your life. I left most of my material belongings behind. I didn’t put my things in storage, I got rid of them. I brought five suitcases full of memories I did not want to part with and clothing I hoped would fit for a long time. The purging of most of my material belongings was a good exercise for me. It made me realize that I can live without so much of what I have accumulated. It was also nice to start fresh. Update: I’ve always enjoyed buying new clothing as the seasons changed and my wardrobe wore out; not sure why, but when I left the U.S. I imagined myself wearing the same thing and buying very few new articles of clothing. After a short period of time I started feeling better about myself and I decided it would be good to wear comfortable, but stylish clothing. I came to Portugal and I found a style that I’m completely comfortable with: casual, smart and mostly cotton. The warmer climate is perfect for cotton fabric and I find the brighter colors and comfortable fit perfect for travel and local outings.

Having my little Paco (see photo above) in my life has been a wonderful and pleasant surprise. Giorgio is forever in my heart and I am forever grateful that he got me to Portugal and stayed with me until I was all tucked in.

The people in Portugal are gracious and welcoming. I have never felt like an outsider. I had dinner in a restaurant last week and when the owner learned that I was living in Faro, she gave me her cell number and said that I should call her if I ever needed anything. That’s just one example of the reception I have received. Update: I only went back to that restaurant once. I loved the coconut milk Thai soup and they took it off the menu — damn! It’s still true that Portuguese people are by and large, gracious and warm. I’ve made several close Portuguese friends (Swedish, British, Canadian, Brazilian, French, and German as well).

Taxes on property are much lower in Portugal. Condo maintenance is one-fourth the cost in Maine and one-tenth of what I paid in New York. Groceries are about 30% less. Insurance costs are a lot lower. There are bargain airlines that allow you to fly for less than 30 euros each way (if you carry a small bag onto the plane — I’ve learned how to pack more efficiently). Sometimes I wonder why things cost so much more in the States.

I know this is odd, but I had no idea that I would be only a little over two hours away from Seville, Spain and that it was an easy bus ride. It’s been a huge bonus to take two or three-day trips to one of my favorite cities. I love everything about Seville. Spanish culture is very different from Portuguese culture and there’s a whole lot to discover. Update: I actually spend a lot of time in Monte Gordo/Vila Real de Santo Antonio (VRSO)on the Portuguese side of the Spanish border. From there I can take a quick ferry over to Ayamonte, Spain. It’s about an hour by train, very reasonable, and a nice, easy respite. I have also been able to see parts of Spain I had not visited when I travelled with Alejandro.

The weather in the Algarve is amazing all year-round. With an average 300 days of sunshine, no humidity most of the year, and the temperature never dipping below 45 degrees, I have to say it’s hard to beat. There is often a beautiful breeze in Faro during the summer months because of where we are on the south side of the Atlantic. The beautiful and diverse beaches here are also more than I could have hoped for. Update: I rarely go to the beach, but it sure is nice to have it nearby. My skin doesn’t like the sun anymore.

The Little things that make a big difference:

  • Because there is very little humidity here, things like sponges and clothes never get that damp, musty odor.
  • No snow . . . ever! I loved snow until I couldn’t ski anymore (knee issues).
  • The Portuguese government has regulations prohibiting the use of pesticides in farming, no hormones, no food additives, etc. Eggs are bright orange and delicious and do not have to be labeled organic — all food is grown naturally.
  • Very little crime. I feel very safe. Update: a bit more since COVID.
  • Public transportation is cheap and efficient. City buses are less than a euro a ride and run frequently. Going outside the city is also easy and only a few euros. Buses and trains are never overcrowded. Not owning a car has been freeing and has saved me a good deal of money. My commitment to lessen my carbon footprint has been rewarding. It took me a while to figure out the system, but once I did, it was fairly easy. Update: I take the train rather than fly when possible. It’s that balance between doing what you love and doing what’s right.
  • Because we have an abundance of sunshine and great weather, I can cycle all year-round.
  • I have discovered many European healthcare products that are inexpensive and work well (i.e., face cream, toothpaste, pimple cream). I have a French grocery store a few blocks away and a fresh food market right above it. The outdoor farmer’s market travels from town to town and it’s in Faro on Sundays.
  • Labor is inexpensive. I have been able to do some very nice renovations to my apartment that did not cost me a fortune (i.e., french doors in my kitchen, tile work, painting).
  • Furniture is well-made here.
  • Update: Restaurants are increasing in number and quality in Faro. More ethnic food and close to home.
  • Incredible new friends
  • I love my gym and I try to get there six days a week. Annual membership, 245 Euros!
  • I have joined a croquet club: The Pink Flamingos. I usually play on Wednesdays; sometimes on Sunday as well. I also play Mah Jongg on Fridays and Mexican Train on occasion on Tuesday. My official retirement schedule and activities. I do all of this outside of a retirement community.

The Lows

Losing Giorgio to heart disease has been the worst thing that has happened in Portugal thus far. In truth, he would have had to be put down in the U.S. at some point; however, knowing that the climate change adversely affected his heart, made his death more difficult. The wide sidewalks were great because I could walk him without a leash. He loved our new home (parks and beaches) and that gives me great comfort.

I indeed miss my friends and family and that can be tough at times. I fortunately chose a place people want to visit and so, I’ve had more friends and family come to see me than I ever anticipated. It’s been quite a treat to show the people I love, my new home.

I’ve gained some weight and I’m not happy about that. Delicious pastries are everywhere and they’re so cheap. I think the novelty will soon wear off; either that or I’ll get tired of buying new pants. I’ve always had to work hard to keep the weight off, but aging makes this even more difficult. Update: I’ve been the same weight for a few years now. I keep active and I have accepted the fact that I will always be a bit overweight. I refuse to give up the food and drink that bring me happiness. All things in moderation.

Also, I hate my condo association and I will not go into why.

Flying back to the States is expensive. Currently, airfare back to the U.S. is 900 euros during the high season, April to July. I won’t be returning very often. There are bargain fares; however, you have to accept long layovers and not-so-great airlines. I like TAP — Air Portugal.

Update: A Canadian airline has a new route to Toronto from Faro. I will not recommend them until I’ve tried them. It looks like I can get there and back for 650 Euros. I’ll probably fly to a U.S. city from Toronto. I hate flying into Newark, JFK or Miami.

Did I Make the Right Choice?

There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that I chose the right country at the right time. Portugal is becoming more attractive to expats because real estate prices are reasonable; however, in the year since I purchased my condo, the value has risen by 20 percent. It will soon be just as expensive as everywhere else. I saw this happening with Spain 20 years ago. More importantly, I love it here. I love the people, I love the food, I love the weather, the quality of life, my location in Faro, my healthcare, and I love how it all makes me feel. I’ve mentioned this before, but I am 45 minutes to Spain by car and I can fly or take a train to several other European countries very easily. The time difference in other countries is only an hour or two and that’s manageable.

Update: I believe that I found my place.

Access to Travel

Faro is not a very large city; however, it is the capital of the Algarve and the airport is a fairly large hub. Multiple airlines fly direct to many cities throughout Europe. The rail system in Europe is also quite extensive and efficient. I can see the world more easily from my new home. I know that as I get older I will want to stay closer to home where I get to enjoy all the creature comforts. I sleep better in my own bed than anywhere else. Still I know it’s best to travel as much as possible; while I still can. Update: I have fully embraced the notion that I will someday (soon) be an old fuddy duddy that likes to stay home.

From Original Blog. Photos:  I took these photos in Sagres, Portugal, a couple of days ago. Sagres is the furthest south and west you can go on the Iberian continent. It’s difficult to capture how truly peaceful and spectacular this part of the world is. It was an easy two and a half hour drive from my home. Update: I’ve returned numerous times. I have also fallen in love with Alvor (off-season).

Sagres Guide

IMG_3319.jpg
IMG_3320.jpg
c97fdca8-bc50-4540-8e14-a599072a677e

What Lies Ahead?

The best is yet to come . . .

I have decided to stop thinking long-term. I am open to possibilities I might not have ever considered before. I have two big trips coming up in 2019. After I return, perhaps a rescue dog? A pet would probably force me to stay put for a while, but that’s not a bad thing. I’m going to go the organic route on this decision and see where the future takes me. Getting older means aches and pains I did not anticipate and other small medical issues that I have to be dealt with. Staying on top of these things is important for long-term good health. When you get older, health becomes a priority. Update: all remains true. I did rescue Paco and I’m still “fairly” healthy. I thought I’d stop planning way ahead, however, I’ve given up trying, it’s what I do.

“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.”
― Soren Kierkegaard

“I have learned that if you must leave a place that you have lived in and loved and where all your yesteryears are buried deep, leave it any way except a slow way, leave it the fastest way you can. Never turn back and never believe that an hour you remember is a better hour because it is dead. Passed years seem safe ones, vanquished ones, while the future lives in a cloud, formidable from a distance.”
― Beryl Markham, West with the Night

“We don’t have to be defined by the things we did or didn’t do in our past. Some people allow themselves to be controlled by regret. Maybe it’s a regret, maybe it’s not. It’s merely something that happened. Get over it.”
― Pittacus Lore, I Am Number Four

Liverpool at the end of this coming week. Other travel will be mentioned in my Liverpool post. I’ve cancelled Asia in 2023. Due to COVID-19, there are too many considerations and changes to worry about. It will happen someday. The long flight to and from Cuba did me in, keeping me closer to Europe for a while.

Posted on by CP · 16 Comments

My Love Affair With Food

Ain’t it the truth!

My name is Christopher and I am a foodaholic. I do not mean to poke fun at or trivialize alcoholism, however, I do believe that addiction to alcohol is similar (not the same) as addiction to food; no doubt that I am highly addicted to the consumption of “good” food. I will not, however, be seeking a cure or remedy.

foodaholic

[ foo-duh–haw-lik, –hol-ik ]

noun

— a person having an excessive, often uncontrollable craving for food.

A few things right up front:

  1. I have felt this way since I was a small boy.
  2. If I were told that I could eat bland food and live another 20 years or eat delicious food and only live another two, I would choose the latter.
  3. I believe I was born with the ability to distinguish between good food and mediocre food.
  4. I dream about food more than I dream about sex. That wasn’t always the case.
  5. I am perfectly content to dine out alone — food and wine being the perfect dining companions.
  6. I choose most my friends based on their love and knowledge of food (there are a few exceptions; calm down Julie).
  7. I love lists and menus are sort of similar to lists. I love menus.
  8. I like how my taste in food evolves.
  9. I like to grow food.
  10. I love how food brings people together.

“People who love to eat are always the best people.” – Julia Child

A Bit of Background

I consider myself a food snob. I will not eat just for the sake of eating. I eat for the flavor, taste, and for the pure pleasure of excellent food. I love texture and spice and I love street food. I am a carnivore; unless I’m told I will die tomorrow unless I cut meat out, I will eat meat until I die. A good steak and a glass of wine gives me more pleasure than poker and I love playing poker.

The food I eat does not necessarily have to be deconstructed, molecular, Michelin star, five star, pure gold leaf, rare, expensive, fortified, modern, home grown, top chef cooked, hand selected or from a high-end restaurant . . . it just has to be good. I love rich food, healthy food, straight from the garden or sea food, food truck food, restaurant food, street food, pasta, more pasta, ethnic food, prepared food, my food, cookbook dishes, friend’s food, family food, chef’s food, and snack food.

I first got to know good food at home and in the homes of family members. My father worked in an Italian restaurant six days a week most of his adult life and he often took us out to dinner on his day off; there were a lot of us in his immediate family.

There are so many types of cuisine and/or street foods that I love, it would be impossible to name them all. Italian will always be my favorite cuisine; although I was raised on Southern Italian, I passionately love almost all Italian food. I also love Thai, French, Spanish, Portuguese, Indian, Japanese, Chinese, Moroccan, Jamaican, Scandinavian, Southern BBQ, fried chicken, hamburgers, frankfurters, in no particular order.

Dad

Dad’s mom taught him how to cook. My father taught me how to enjoy food, how to source good food, why handed down recipes matter, and how food can take you out of a funk. He was passionate about cooking and feeding people. My dad’s cooking made me happier than just about anything else.

Mom’s Side of the Family

My mother had very little family. Her mother was Russian. My grandmother loved Eastern European food, but she was too old and frail to cook when I entered the picture. My mother’s brother was a butcher. He loved meat and he knew how to cook it. Other than that, he was a horrible human being: self-absorbed, big gambler, verbally abusive, homophobic, and a bully. Did I mention that he was horrible?

My mom made a handful of good dishes. My father tried to teach her how to cook, but my mom did everything fast and without much consideration. There were certain foods she enjoyed, but sauteed broccoli rabe (garlic, red pepper flakes, and extra virgin olive oil) was probably her absolute favorite. It is for this reason that I order it whenever I see it on a menu and I saute it whenever I can find it in a market (I’ve never seen it in Portugal where I live).

Dad’s Side of the Family

My dad and his family were born and raised in Italy. Dad had four sisters (Mary, Rose, Grace, and Alice) and they were all amazing cooks. When we got to eat at any of their houses I would be up all night the night before. I would think about what I would be eating and I would shiver with anticipation. I only really knew two of his four brothers (Tony and Nicky) and honestly couldn’t tell you whether or not they cooked, but Dad cooked.

I can say without a doubt, that my father was the best cook I have ever met in my life. I know that sentiment has a great deal to do with how I felt about my father, but he instinctively knew how to make food taste good. He mostly cooked Italian dishes, using only fresh ingredients from the best markets and food sources.

Friends

I have several friends who are excellent cooks. I love invitations to their homes and I love their food. I cannot name them for obvious reasons. Some friends are afraid to cook for me. It’s sort of sad because making the effort is everything and I’m not as fussy as people think.

Career

After years in academia, I fell upon a position at the French Culinary Institute (FCI). There my obsession with food was out-of-control. I ate food prepared by students in our kitchens or at L’Ecole, our restaurant, nearly five days a week. It was also my responsibility to dine out at restaurants owned by former students, alumni chefs, and jury (chefs who judged student finals), new hotspots, and restaurants that might be looking for new talent. I had an expense account that never lasted very long. It was like a game and I played it well. I worked out twice as hard so that I could eat and not feel guilty. It didn’t work, I did feel guilty, I was consumed by guilt. I left the FCI and the guilt went away. Sixteen years of obscene eating and drinking.

Breakfast, Lunch & Dinner

Cooking makes me happy, it calms me down, it satisfies me in so many ways, it provides an opportunity to feed people I care about; food is my crack cocaine. I never take food for granted. I was born with a stomach issue that kept me from eating many types of foods and drinking many beverages. Surgery fixed this problem five years ago and now I can eat or drink anything. This surgery was available thirty years ago, however, not recommended by most gastrologists until recently. I consider myself fortunate to have found a good surgeon in Maine and I am forever grateful for modern medicine and good health insurance.

Breakfast is different everyday, however, I admittedly love cookies or cake in the morning. I don’t do it every day, but I do it a lot. It’s the coffee cake combo that does it for me. Never more than a couple of not-so-sweet cookies or a small piece of cake — lemon pound, chocolate layer, carrot, orange, banana bread — I try not to discriminate. Eggs on occasion, oatmeal, avocado toast, pancakes — I love it all.

I’ve been making lunch my “big” meal for a few years now. I prefer to cook, but I do go out on occasion. I like to go to the market early in the morning and choose what I’m cooking for lunch. Yesterday I spotted gorgeous veal steak at the local butcher; I grilled that with eggplant and roasted potatoes with fresh thyme from my terrace. Not a bad lunch.I paired all that with a Portuguese red. You can get a bold and beautiful red here for four euros.

I like leftovers for dinner. Something I prepared for lunch the day before or frozen leftovers. I also occasionally prepare a charcuterie plate with Portuguese cured meats, cheeses, some sort of fig or honey spread, olives, and toasted baguette (there is a French bakery in Tavira, a few towns over, where I buy my bread and rolls and freeze them). French bread will always be my absolute favorite. When I travel to France, I buy a fresh baguette almost everyday. A French pastry as well; they’re hard to resist.

Kitchen gadgets are the best. I splurge on good pots & pans and all of my kitchen appliances are high-end. Try to sell me the most expensive jeans or sneakers; fat chance.

Beer, Wine, Soda and Spirits

I hated beer until later in my 30s. I would only have a beer with pizza or a burger. I dated a Spaniard who loved beer and that changed everything. I started trying beer from all over the world and now I have to say that I like it almost as much as I like spirits . . . almost as much.

I couldn’t drink white wine until five years ago (stomach issue); now I drink it all the time. However, red wine is my true love. I enrolled in a couple of wine courses at the FCI, but I have a lot to learn (that part is fun). I would have to say a good French Bordeaux is my favorite, followed by Italian Amarone, Spanish Rioja, California Cabernet, Portuguese Alentejo and South African Syrahs. There are dozens of other wines and grape varieties I love to drink. Pair a great wine with excellent cuisine and you have heaven on earth.

Spirits make me happy, but there are a few I favor: Kentucky bourbon, French armagnac, Russian vodka, Cuban rum, brandy, and Swedish aquavit (snaps).

I often concoct my own crazy cocktails, I make homemade limoncello, and I have a fairly nice collection of wines (the wine refrigerator helps). I am not a connoisseur of anything. I know very little and I like what I like.

Sweet Versus Savory

I will leave it at this: a good savory dish will always be my first choice, but I love dessert and I enjoy baking. Tollhouse chocolate chip cookies with walnuts are my all-time, absolute favorite sweet.

Famous People I Knew (know)

My position at the French Culinary Institute and my involvement with the James Beard Foundation, afforded me the opportunity to work with, dine with, party with and/or meet, the following famous people (yes, I am name dropping): Julia Child, Anthony Bourdain, Isabella Rossellini, Larry Kramer, Joan Rivers, Christo and Jeanne-Claude, John Lithgow, Rosemary Clooney, Samuel Jackson, Joan Allen, Jacques Pepin, Andrew Soltner, Al Franken, Star Jones, Christine Baranski, Brooke Shields, Paul Bocuse, Lidia Bastianich, Alice Waters, Marcella Hazan, Joan Nathan, Barbara Fairchild, Massimo Bottura, Dana Cowan, Bobby Flay, Emeril Lagasse, José Andrés, Eric Ripert, Daniel Boulud, Aarón Sánchez, Ferran Adria, Bette Midler (30 seconds of bliss), Marcus Samuelsson, Al Roker, Anne Burrell, Ina Garten, and others. They were not all nice people, but I like to think I held my own around them. Several of the people I named were gracious and lovely; a few became friends.

Food is and will always be the greatest love of my life; Alejandro a close second.

“There is no sincere love than the love of food.”

— George Bernard Shaw

A Handful of recent food and beverage choices:

Upcoming Travel

Liverpool in two weeks to see a friend and Beatles sights/attractions. Toulouse in April, Berlin and Amsterdam, end of April and May, Geneva in June, Milan in July, Nantes and Pomic in August, and a Northern Europe Norwegian Line Cruise in October. I’m cutting back, so that I can be home more with Paco and the country I have come to love. I’ll write about some of it and keep other parts to myself.

Julia Child, Jacques Pepin, Leah Stewart and me. This was a good day.
Posted on by CP

Family Revisited

With some strong opinions about our current political situation.

What you see here is my immediate family: Paco and me and me and Paco. Don’t be sad about it, I’m happier than I’ve ever been. After 30 years of therapy, countless self-help books, two or three semi-rewarding careers, and early retirement, this is where I’ve landed. Paco and Portugal are a pretty darned good combination. I can walk him year-round without ever having to step in snow or wear a winter coat. This is the life I have chosen and I believe it is unfortunate that there are people who are partnered or dying to be partnered, who feel sorry for me. Family can be defined in many different ways; for me, family is me and my dog. Trust, loyalty, commitment, and love; none of it questionable or wavering (new).

Pandemic, war, climate change, political division . . . these are the times we reflect on what matters.

A thought I am stating upfront (reprinted from 2019):

Admittedly, this has been one of the more difficult blogs I have written thus far. I have wanted to write about family from the day I started publishing, but I have often hesitated and abandoned the idea. There have been mentions of family; however, I have clearly danced around the topic on purpose. I have decided to go forward with it, play it safe and not name names. I am fairly certain family members know where they stand with me and I think it’s best not to air dirty laundry in a public forum. Darn!

I’m fucking angry at many of my family members and although I know some of them won’t like what I am going to share, it needs to be said. I want to remind several of them, that I’ve been around them for 62 years and I have listened carefully. Anyone in my family who is currently supporting Trumpism wants the following for the United States: 1) immigration exclusively for those who can prove they have means, 2) the end to programs designed to assist the less fortunate, 3) the stripping down of school curriculum so that revisionist history is banned and only the conservative perspective is taught (I’m holding back), 4) christianity is the moral compass of the nation, 5) anti-abortion can continue to be used as a weapon for fighting personal freedom, and 6) power and money can be kept in the hands of the fast becoming white minority. I’m leaving off a few things that are way too personal and would only fan the flames of hate directed toward me.

If you are a close family member and have felt distance and diminishing contact, I need to be clear that I don’t care how much love there has been or how strong the bond, anyone in my life that thinks ‘Make America Great Again” is a good thing should not reach out to me. Clearly some of you are too stupid to know why you vote the way you do, but I know many of my so called “family members” know exactly why they deny the January 6, 2021 attack on the capital was a threat to American democracy. I’m not so sure you’d feel the same way if you lived in Russia or other authoritarian parts of the world (last two paragraphs are new) .

Definition from Urban Dictionary and why it resonates:

Family

A group of people, usually of the same blood (but do not have to be), who genuinely love, trust, care about, and look out for each other. Not to be mistaken with relatives sharing the same household who hate each other.

The words I love here are “genuine, trust, and look out for.” I am fortunate to have family members who check all the boxes. I also have friends whom I can say those things about; I consider these friends my extended or chosen family. None of my true family members are jealous of or would begrudge me of my chosen family. I believe those who love me for and despite who I am, love me no matter what. I didn’t always realize how much genuine love I had or have in my life; this came with maturity and experience.

Not unlike anyone else alive and breathing, I have family issues. There are family members that are as much strangers as the individual walking down my street that I have never laid eyes on before today. It would be easy to beat myself up and blame myself for family “stuff.” They don’t like me because I’m fill in the blank. Since we’re all so different and complicated, trying to figure out why people behave a certain way toward you is bound to cause trouble. Speculation is often dangerous and inaccurate; especially when it’s about family. Our expectations of family members is not the same as what we expect from friends or strangers. We’re often less forgiving when it comes to family.

This thinking that family should be held to higher standards sets us up for failure. In reality, we’re all human and therefore, we make mistakes, we say stupid things, we take others for granted. With a friend you might sit them down and ask them if everything is okay or if you can talk about it. For some reason with family (I suspect it has to do with deep emotional ties) we are quick to allow our anger and resentment to make us dismissive. This does not include the issues I outlined earlier.

Some of the statements we might make to ourselves:

  • He/she should know better.
  • He/she never invites me to family functions.
  • They’ve turned their children against me.
  • He/she never calls me or I always have to be the one to call.
  • I’m so tired of being the one with all the answers.
  • Am I the only one who is taking care of mom/dad?
  • I wouldn’t be friends with this family member if I met him or her on the street, so why should I expect to like this person?

Immediate Family

I have created a life where my immediate family consists of me and me alone (I’ve added Paco since publishing this blog). I could easily share my thoughts on why this might be the case, but I think I’ll spare you the psycho-babble. I would imagine that the larger your immediate family is, the more complex your life might be; I could be wrong. Growing up, there were nine or ten of us living in the house at any given time. Daily drama and breakdowns were a way of life.

I think that most individuals could point to a time when family loyalty was tested. I believe it is during this time or these times, when we shape our opinions of family members and evaluate how deep we believe their love to be. Can one be wrong in their assessment? Absolutely. Judgment can easily be clouded by an argument, a particular incident, and/or a betrayal by a jealous family member(s).

Estranged Family

It seems like everyone I speak to have family members that they do not see or communicate with. The first thing I always think is:  how sad. Then I realize that there are family members I do not speak to and again I think, how sad. But as we all know we don’t get to choose family and we either accept them for who they are or we don’t. I once believed that all family deserved to be forgiven no matter the transgression, however, that is no longer how I feel. I now believe that there are people around us who are toxic. Keeping them around us is unhealthy and unwise. What I have learned over time, is that confronting certain people will only make the situation worse. It’s like the old saying about putting salt on a wound; best not to go there sometimes. There is nothing wrong with self-preservation.

Can an old wound be healed? I think it’s possible to mend a relationship, but both parties have to want it. It is similar to divorce, in that, emotions are often strong and anger deeply rooted, finding middle ground is near impossible. The older I get, the more inclined I am to walk away. It is important to consider regret and the outcome of your actions. You have to ask yourself several questions:

  • Did I do everything possible to reconnect with this family member?
  • How deep is the wound?
  • Do I even remember the cause of the disagreement?
  • Is pride getting in the way?
  • If I choose to forgive, can I forgive?
  • Can forgiveness pave the way for a healthier relationship?
  • Is making the first move possible or will you lose self-respect?
  • Will my estrangement affect other family members?
  • Are their beliefs so backward and divisive, that being associated with them is hypocritical?
  • Are you being true to yourself?

Let me be clear that I am not pointing fingers. I did not have a family member in mind while writing this. I have made many mistakes. I have turned my back on family more than once. I have behaved immaturely and jumped to conclusions. I have avoided conflict and I have looked the other way. I have made excuses. I have placed blame. I have suffered in silence and I have made assumptions.

I am in the process of acknowledging my limitations and I am attempting to figure it all out. I imagine in that way, that I am much like everyone else.

When I wrote this blog a few years back I was deeply hurt by a few family members who turned their backs on me because of my political beliefs and values. I questioned those beliefs and started to doubt myself. I’m happy to say that those feelings are all behind me. I have come out of this stronger and more resolute. I am determined to fight for: personal freedoms, for those who cannot defend themselves, for those who have been denied the tools to help/better themselves, evangelicals who impose their values on others, and anyone who believes that sexual orientation is a choice. The fight is exhilarating and life affirming.

Travel

Liverpool, UK at the end of March, Toulouse and Bordeaux mid-April and Berlin the end of April. Most COVID restrictions have been lifted in Europe; therefore, travel should be a bit easier.

There are other planned trips, however, I’m realizing as I get older, travel can often take its toll. I am re-evaluating the length and substance of my travel.

Posted on by CP · 4 Comments

Cuba Part II

Havana

Gorgeous from above (Parque Central Hotel rooftop)

My State of Mind

No doubt I will disappoint a lot of people with this post. I never thought of this trip as a pleasure trip. I had read about, saw things and heard about injustices going on in Cuba my entire life; seeing it for myself has been something I felt I had to do for a long, long time.

This blog will not provide a great deal of information on sites to see or restaurants to visit (I will include some of that). It will be more about what I saw with my own eyes and what I learned speaking to the people who live in Cuba. Jet lag will play a role as well — moving through time zones has always been an issue for me.

I studied Sociology and I have an endless appetite for observing and taking apart human behavior; especially group think. Cuba, as I expected it would be, is unique and special in so many ways. Many people fled the country after the 1959 revolution (click for history) and more have fled since. I don’t want to make this a white paper on Cuban politics and how the United States places in all of that. Still, I’d like to make a few observations and share some thoughts on current conditions. You may sense some strong emotions; it’s still very raw.

Hotel

My travel agent gave me two options for my four nights in Havana. I decided to spoil myself for the housing part of the trip.

SO/Paseo del Prado, La Habana, was probably the most beautiful chain hotel (Sofitel) I have ever stayed in. Five star luxury with some kinks to work out. The property had been closed for a long while because of COVID. They were understaffed and the details were not attended to: no towels or water in the gym, one front desk receptionist, not ready at breakfast, etc. The view of the Atlantic from my room and the location of the hotel, made it a good choice. It is in the Malecón district in Havana.

Image result for malecon havana

https://www.lahabana.com › guide › the-malecon

First named Avenida del Golfo, is Cuba’s most famous sea-side avenue. The project was undertaken by Don Francisco de Albear, Cuba’s greatest engineer at the time. Albear came up with a complex but smart design for the seawall, which was to be a lot more than just a promenade.

SO/Paseo del Prado

Be warned: hotels in Cuba are owned by both private companies and the government. I believe the government has a 51% ownership, but I’m not 100% certain of that. You cannot use Cuban Pesos (CUPs) in hotels; you are have to use your credit card or ATM card and you are charged in U.S. dollars. This troubled me while I was there. I prefer not to get into the politics of the matter. I spoke to several hotel guests who disagree with the policy, but they shrug and say they have no control or say. I did, however, learn that individuals who work in these properties are State workers and they earn a bit more money than most people working in Cuba. Breakfast at the hotel was delicious; especially the made-to-order omelets. The pastries were just okay — probably better for me in the long run.

The other thing to mention was that I asked to remain in my room longer because I had a 11:30 p.m. (horrible time to fly) flight to Madrid. I was told it would be $50 for three hours or $250 till 7:00 p.m. Crazy to pay that kind of money; instead I used a “transit room” which had an ocean view and very comfortable furniture. It was secure and free of charge.

The hotel could exchange your dollars or euros, however, the rate is the government’s exchange rate (24 CUPs to the Euro) and I got 95 CPUs to the Euro on the street. People trade money on the street all over Havana. I don’t know how they get away with it or how it works, but it’s good for them and for you. I was told the government turns a blind eye to this practice. One of many oddities in Cuba.

Eateries

A vast majority of the restaurants in Havana are traditional and very basic. You will not see chain restaurants (a good thing) or a variety of ethnic non-Cuban restaurants. I did pass a couple of Italian restaurants with limited menus and I saw a Chinese restaurant, however, I’m pretty sure it was closed. Many restaurants were permanently closed all over Havana.

La Macorina, @LaComidaCubana, has live music on weekends and the food is excellent and well-priced. Higher-end traditional Cuban fair.

Elizalde, Empedrado, e\ Avenida Belgica y Villegas, La Habana Vieja, is in the Old Town. They have a more extended menu than most and the food is very good — extensive and excellent cocktail menu.

I had several other meals in Havana, however, I would have to say that the cuisine was not remarkable. I had lobster tail in one restaurant and although I was told it was fresh (off-the-boat) and local, it was overcooked. It’s almost a sin to overcook lobster, but I think the dish was $8.

It’s also important to keep in mind that food is scarce these days; I would imagine that restaurants have to fight for product. I did see many corner produce stands with decent fruits & vegetables displayed.

I did not travel to Cuba for the cuisine. I’ve been told that the best meals are prepared in people’s homes. Perhaps because of COVID, only one of these opportunities was presented to me and I thought 30 Euros was a bit high for a home cooked meal in Havana.

Music

Live music is everywhere; on the streets, in bars, in restaurants and coming from homes. Cubans love their Latin beats and so do I. I was extremely pleased to hear and see musicians throughout my trip. See Buena Vista Social Club later in this blog.

Art

Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes is located in the center of the city (near the Parque Central Hotel). Filled with Cuban art dating back to the 16th century, this is a must see. It’s a modern building where you can easily spend hours strolling many galleries.

Local artists were either featured in galleries or had their own galleries throughout the city. Most of what I saw was commercial art designed for tourists, but there were some galleries displaying expensive and magnificent art. I did buy a tile piece (see end of blog).

Two Excellent Tours

I booked an Airbnb walking tour for my first day in Havana. I had just come from a 2.5 ride from Varadero and I had many questions about what I had seen along the way. I also wanted to learn as much as I could about Cuba and Havana. Daniel was an excellent guide. A group of five Austrians had booked the tour, but they were no-shows. It was one of those tours where you pay a small amount and then tip accordingly. It basically means more money in the guide’s pocket as a result of a lower Airbnb service fee. Brilliant for Cubans who earn very little income.

https://www.airbnb.com/experiences/343802 (URL for the tour)

Daniel sold this as a two tour. It was causal and informative. Daniel is a journalist who had recently graduated from university. He was candid and very much in love with his country. It was clear he had some strong thoughts regarding U.S. politics, but he was polite and checked-in before saying anything controversial. He got a large tip.

The second booking on my second day in Havana, was a Cigar and Rum Experience. Abel and his wife have just recently opened Café Virgo where the experience took place. I ended up being the only taker for this 1.5 hour tutorial. Good for me, not-so-good for Abel.

I had a slice of homemade buttercream frosted vanilla and chocolate cake at the café before the start of the experience. Abel was the perfect companion for my afternoon of learning how rum and cigars are made and why they pair so well — each compliments the other and both prime you for good conversation. It was relaxing and informative. Apparently, Romeo y Julieta are the primo cigars, made famous by Fidel Castro and other national treasures. I’m not much of a cigar smoker, but I now know how they are made and how to light them and smoke them. I also learned that a seven year old rum is a mixed blend of barrel aged rum, the minimum barrel having been aged seven years; some barrels can be older than seven years. We drank a Club Havana Rum aged at least seven years; smooth and smokey. It’s about 23 Euros a bottle ($25.50) and considered to be one of the best tasting rums in the world. We drank it straight; my way to drink fine alcohol and Abel told me that it was the correct way to drink it. Café Virgo is a sweet little café across the street from the American Embassy. Side note: I would never have imagined that the U.S. had an embassy in Cuba. I wish I’d known this prior to my visit, I would have felt safer going there.

Abel Carmenate: Facebook and Instagram, Cuba Tailor Made Tours with Abel, 53 52811152 (whatsapp), abelholacubatours@gmail.com. I highly recommend this experience.

Abel Carmenate

And So This Happened

I started posting some of my photos while I was in Havana. But first, I wanted to share what I’d seen on the streets of Cuba that day. I wrote about seeing a theft and it disappeared before I could finish. Then I thought, well, perhaps I accidentally erased it? I tried posting it again and it was once again removed. I know it’s a conspiracy theory, but I think the government monitored internet, saw what I was posting and removed it before it could be seen by others. I imagine this sort of thing happens in places like Russia, China, and many Middle East countries. I take my freedoms for granted, because that is all I know.

The Theft

I was walking on a crowded Old Town street and saw a man grab a woman’s neck and then run. It happened quickly and I wasn’t sure what I’d seen. The woman who was attacked was breathing heavily and holding her throat. Apparently, a man tried to steal her gold necklace. Since it didn’t come right off, he ran. She was fairly shaken by the incident and in truth, so was I. I was carrying a man bag with my phone, credit cards, and cash. I moved the phone and cash to my pocket and held my man bag close to my person. I was going to walk around for a few hours, but decided to go back to my hotel instead; I just didn’t feel safe. The rooftop pool and a novel, became my afternoon activity.

The following day I decided to go out with a small amount of cash (CUPs) and my phone. The weather was decent most of my trip; a bit humid, but not too hot.

The Buena Vista Social Club, was an option I chose to ignore. I had seen the documentary a few years ago and my interest was peaked, but when I looked at the menu, I decided it was not worth the money. I had a few people in Cuba tell me that people go there for the music, not the food. Admittedly, if I did go, the food would matter; therefore, I stayed away.

What I Learned From the Locals (I’ll be brief)

Looking for milk: My hotel room had an espresso machine (always good because of my wake-up time). I like milk in my coffee and I had a small refrigerator in my room where I could store it. I ventured out about 30 minutes after my arrival and before my walking tour. I went to a small grocery store near the hotel, however, they were closed for a private party. This was the first time I have ever encountered a grocery store closed for a party, but that’s Cuba for you. I asked the person who came to the door if it would be possible to purchase a small container of milk. Her English was poor and my Spanish is worse. She told me that I wouldn’t find leche anywhere in Havana. I laughed out loud and went back to the streets. This is when I discovered that people ran small businesses out of their homes. They will sell you just about anything they have, but no one had milk. They either shook their heads or said “no leche.”

I was out for about an hour looking for milk; during this time I was approached by no fewer than 20 people. They asked me where I was from and why I was there. While walking, I noticed all of the buildings were run down and the odor from many of them was foul. I engaged with some of these people and learned that milk might or might not be available the next day. I said, what about babies? How do babies get milk? I was told that they got milk when milk was available. This blew me away. Most of the individuals who approached me were looking for a handout. Honestly, I believe they truly need the money.

I went back to the hotel feeling sad and disappointed. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask the bartender in the lobby if he was selling milk. I was given a large glass of milk free of charge — he too received a large tip.

I was hounded by driver’s of the old iconic cars you see wherever you go. They all asked if I wanted a ride. I had no desire whatsoever to spend 30 Euros or more just to ride around Havana in an old car. I know that this is how these men made their living and that it is part of the tourist experience, but it’s not my sort of thing. I’m just an old cynic.

In the days that followed I spoke to several Cubans. I was surprised to learn that they, for the most part, are very happy people. Havana residents mostly live in once beautiful and opulent mansions with a large center courtyard. They are all now divided into many small living spaces. The buildings are mostly falling apart. My tour guide told me that the government (the State they call it) is responsible for repairs, but there are too many in need and no money available to get the job done. There were many unemployed people spending time on the street. I guess few people own cars, making for no traffic in most places. The Cuban government blames the American trade embargo. The United States is one of many countries who will not trade with Cuba. Yet still, Havana residents are happy and have great pride in their country.

Written the Morning of My Departure

I took this photo of the moon (see below) outside my window a few minutes ago. I am extremely emotional today. What I have seen over the last 10 days leaves me with with sobering and conflicting feelings. Although I was born in poverty and lived with little my entire childhood, what I experienced in Coney Island was nothing like what I have seen in Cuba. The poverty here is not so much about money; it has more to do with freedom; the freedom to find work that is fulfilling and feeds the family, the freedom to love freely (homophobia), the freedom to . . .

Yet, so many people I spoke to expressed happiness. Many told me that although they do not have much in the way of material things, they have life, they have loved ones, they have friends, a bed to sleep in, food to eat most of the time, and they have hope. Who am I to say they’re wrong or misguided. For most in Cuba, what they have is all they’ve ever known.

My tour guide told me that religion was forbidden after the revolution. I don’t know enough about this to address it. I did pass a couple of churches, but I do not believe they are currently used for worship.

I found this on the internet:

Is religion banned in Cuba?

The constitution provides for freedom of conscience and religion and prohibits discrimination based on religion; however, the Cuban Communist Party, through its Office of Religious Affairs (ORA) and the government’s Ministry of Justice (MOJ), continues to control most aspects of religious life, June 27, 2019.

Home

I know that it is the combination of weary travel and the abject poverty I just experienced, but am so happy to be home in Portugal. I chose a home where social democracy allows for people to live knowing that they will have food, water, healthcare, housing and a government that supports their freedom. Portugal is not a wealthy country, but most people here are well cared for.

It amazes me that I have to leave home to appreciate just how beautiful home is.

What I Purchased (besides rum)

She’s glued together

This is a ceramic tile I brought back, unfortunately, in four pieces. I told the gallery owner that I was afraid it might break and she assured me that she had packed tiles a thousand times and that it would not break. Someday I will listen to my own inner voice. Anyhow, here it is glued back together, a forever reminder of my journey to Cuba.

Artist: Manuel Henández Valdés

Posted on by CP · 9 Comments

Cuba in Two Parts

“Cuba may be the only place in the world where you can be yourself and more than yourself at the same time.“

Pedro Juan Gutierrez

Part One

MELIÁ INTERNACIONAL VARADERO
Varadero, Cuba

I’m going to do something a bit different this trip; I’m going to write about it in two parts. Part One will be while I am in Varadero and Part Two will be after I leave Havana.

Not many things give me more satisfaction than to rant, therefore, I will begin with one that will placate my soul.

Impressions Thus Far

I don’t like to fly east when I’m headed west. There are over 25,000 commercial airplanes and more than 5,000 airlines in the world and they couldn’t create a more direct route to Cuba? These days when you have to vaccinate, no triple vaccinate, test, inform governments of your whereabouts, spend hours and hours at the airport while airlines drag you through the tedious process of checking-in; making sure that every ridiculously random requirement is met , mask up for the entire duration of a flight (but no worries, the virus doesn’t show itself when 400 people are eating their much anticipated airline food), deal with angry people who resent having to go through this tedious process so that they can finally hug grandma after two years of waving on Facetime. After two flights and 12 hours suffocating in a petri dish in the sky, I arrived in Cuba. “They’ll be someone outside the baggage area holding up a sign with your name on it;” at least that’s what the travel agent told me. So after taking an Uber to the train in Faro, and then another train to the Lisbon station, followed by yet another train to the airport, a three hour wait for a flight to Madrid — chaotic and way out-of-the-way mind you, another long wait for a flight to Havana, the last thing I wanted to do at midnight in a different time zone, is look for my name among hundreds of frustrated tourists and thick tropical humidity I haven’t experienced in several years. Nope no Christopher Papagni or Chris Papigmy or Mr. Pagannini, C. Papa, Papadopolous, none of the above. I was delirious and asking random strangers if they knew that I was coming to Cuba. It was another one of those “he must be American” moments. After dozens of fruitless inquiries, I came upon a very relaxed gentleman holding up a “Travelplan” sign. I approached anticipating rejection and and rigorous head shaking . He asked me my name and then said, “Yes, I’ve been waiting for you.” How the fuck was I to know to look for a sign that read Travelplan. I took and deep breath and followed him. We walked for quite a bit. When you’re that tired your mind starts to come up with all sorts of possible scenarios. If I’m murdered in Cuba will the American government try to find my body? I am still American after all. Come on, I thought, the Cuban MIssile Crisis was a long, long time ago and Fidel Castro is no longer a threat. We arrive at a large transport bus and I ask if that’s how I’m being taken to Varadero — no reply. I’m handed over to two Cuban gentleman who inform me that I am the first of 18 passengers going to various hotels in Varadero. I said, no, no, no, I’m going to take a taxi. I was informed that Varadero was 2.5 hours away and that a taxi would run me quite a few pesos. The bus driver said, “No te preocupes, la tuya es la segunda parada.” (Don’t worry, yours is the second stop). In my deranged and irrational mind, my travel agent was, at that very moment, being roughed up by a thug or two in a dark alley in Warsaw. The bus driver told me to have a seat in the bus while we wait for the remaining 17 passengers. I could see in the distance that the hundreds of people waiting outside of the terminal, were gone. Holy shit, I thought, these people we are waiting for could be on an early morning flight. I boarded the bus and prayed that an early death would come and put me out of my misery. I dozed off and was awakened by Russians chatting all around me. Yes, the other passengers were Russian and they seemed to have a lot to say. One of the two Cubans I had originally encountered approached me and and informed me that if I wanted Cuban pesos, I had better get them from him. He pulled up the government’s exchange rate on his phone and told me that my hotel’s rate would be even less to my advantage. He could give me a 35 pesos to one euro rate and that my friend is one hell-of-a-deal! At that point I was happy to have something good come my way and I handed him forty euros; in return I received 1400 pesos in small bills. I’m going to momentarily take a detour and share that my bellman at the hotel offered me a 70 to one exchange rate only hours later. It was a minor con job, but my lifetime belief that I am a savvy traveller has forever been shattered. I digress a bit, but you see, I am jet lagged and broken. The bus ride to Varadero took an eternity and all I could think was that I paid for this night at the hotel and wouldn’t be using it; this is not some flea bag spot in an obscure location, this is a five star, all inclusive resort we’re talking about. Was it a late check-in or an early check-in? A question that will haunt me for the rest of my life.

I should tell you tell two things: 1) I normally do not do travel agencies; I love the process of doing research and finding bargains and gems, and, 2) I don’t do all inclusives.

But this trip was different. I couldn’t just book a trip to Cuba when I lived in the United States. The government made it difficult to go and my one solid opportunity fell through when I was volunteering with the James Beard Foundation. The owner of The French Culinary Institute informed me that she needed me more than I needed Cuba. So for years, this journey has been calling my name in the wee hours of the night. By being a Portuguese National, I could get a visa and finally go. I started searching on the internet; where to stay and how much it would cost me, however, I quickly learned that the information was convoluted and confusing; I’m pretty sure that’s on purpose. A travel agent who could navigate the confusion was the only way to go.

So yes, I finally made it to the resort close to sunrise. I entered my very beautiful room on the straits of Florida (the body of water outside my window). I was told that breakfast would be available in two hours, but I figured sleep was more important than food; I drew the curtains and closed my eyes for 45 minutes. Despite my comatose state, I was too excited to sleep.

First Impressions

I need to begin with a disclaimer:

As a result of my position at The French Culinary Institute in New York City, I have travelled extensively and wined and dined at some of the most famous restaurants in the world. This has made me a food snob and I make no apologies. I also had a father whom I still consider to be one of the finest cooks I’ve ever known. Hence, the reason I despise all-inclusives. I prefer dishes prepared for one person or a small group of people, to those prepared for the masses. I also live in Portugal where hospitality standards are high and the people who provide services are exceptionally nice. And the food in New York City where I was born, is hard to beat as well.

In addition to all of this snobbery, I also like what I like and I prefer to sleep on a good mattress and not have to worry about bed bugs. Judge me as you wish.

And . . . people always say take lots of pictures. Let it be known that I am practicing living in the moment; that usually does not include picture taking — I will try my best.

Keep in mind that I booked this trip over two years ago and it’s been postponed three times. Getting to Cuba has been more difficult than running in the New York City marathon and that was painful, emotionally trying, and mentally exhausting.

I’ll start with the negatives I have experienced thus far:

The coffee in the dining room (breakfast and lunch) at this resort is like subterranean mud served with watered down milk. I am seriously addicted to caffeine, therefore, I have no other option but to suffer in silence. Starbucks would be a good option and I hate Starbucks. The pastries taste like cardboard covered in way too sweet cream. Savory dishes have very little seasoning and the bread is . . . let’s just say, an imposter — looks can be deceiving.

There are small children everywhere. I was pretty certain I would be in Cuba while school was in session all over the work, on-line or in-person. Aren’t these people at all concerned about COVID and/or the attainment of knowledge?

The hotel does not take Cuban pesos. I know. I’m in Cuba and I was conned into a shady exchange, but nobody told me I couldn’t pay with the countries currency. I asked the receptionist who checked me in and her reply was: “This is Cuba.” I have since heard the same words uttered 63 times and it’s only my second day in the country. Fortunately, they prefer euros and I did bring some of those.

As promised, the resort does have “free” WiFi. It’s setup so that you can only be connected on one device at a time. The username is 18 characters and the password another ten. If you move 15 feet, you are disconnected and you have to sign in again. I’ve signed in so many times in 48 hours, I know all 28 characters by heart and my memory is not one of my strong suits. I can’t get into many of my accounts or go onto secure sites; I can only guess why that is. Life without Spotify is meaningless.

One more gripe and then I will share some good stuff. I have come to an all inclusive high-end resort. But . . . you know how it feels when you’re sitting in the first row after first class on a plane? You see things through the crack of the curtain, the curtain designed to protect you from the reality of your economic status. Lest not my hotel remind me that I am middle class and on a retiree budget; you see, they have this thing called “the level.” If your wealthy enough to afford it, you stay in an “adults only” section of the hotel, dine in separate spaces with elevated cuisine (I think the food is better), and enjoy other amenities I have chosen to block out. I have seen several guests go there; not to be seen or heard from again. To this I say, let them eat cake.

What I Love So Far

The Cuban people I have had the pleasure to meet, are gracious, proud, lovely and they appreciate that you have come to their country to enjoy yourself and spend money; money they badly need. They cannot do enough to make you happy. It’s genuine and sincere. This alone was reason enough to come.

My mattress is unbelievable. My bed is firm and cushiony at the same time and the linen on my bed is buttery soft. The pillows are equally as comfortable and numerous. My room is spacious; the ocean can be viewed from my bed or the large balcony. When I close the door to the room or balcony, I hear nothing; open and the waves soothe any thoughts of the outside world.

To my pleasant surprise all beverages were included in the price I paid. Gratuities are welcome, but that I am happy to oblige. The wine is Chilean and actually quite good. Cuban rum flows like water and you don’t have to wait long for anything. There are numerous beautiful and tasteful places to enjoy the sun, a cocktail, and a good book. The beach is directly in front of the resort; the sand is powdery soft, and the turquoise sea is warm and calm.

I was not told the following when I booked the resort or when I checked in, but I get to eat at two of the four restaurants onsite (an alternative to all-you-can-eat) for dinner. I have already talked my way into a third. They do this sort of thing on cruises; it’s designed to make you feel special and that you have an abundance of marvelous choices. I admit it’s nice to have options. There is also a 24 hour snack bar just in case you become peckish between. You know how much energy it takes to sit by a pool or walk to and from the dining hall. I would have preferred quality over quantity, but my opinion doesn’t matter, I am alone in this world.

The weather is close to perfection; you get an abundance of sun and then a fantastic downpour at the end of the day (the case so far). The Algarve doesn’t get much rain, therefore, when the sky opens here, I rejoice. The warmest part of the day goes up to about 85 degrees and the nights are pleasant. There is a bit of humidity, but I tell myself it’s better for my skin.

The resort has live music day and night. The gym is excellent. They fill your mini bar twice a day — also included in the price I paid.

I found a beautiful painted tile by Manuel Hernandez, a well-known Cuban artist (see photo in my next blog; it’s all wrapped up for travel). I will cherish it and it will always remind me of this journey.

No excursions until I get to Havana. This part of the trip is about resting my mind. Swimming with dolphins and party boats have their time and place, not now.

Prologue: I had dinner at Casa Nostra, the Italian option, last night. It may be considered Italian in Littlerock, but I expected better from a five star resort.

Reading

I am reading The Every by Dave Eggers. It takes place about twenty years into the future; it’s foreboding and way too realistic. Social media, government intervention, political correctness; it will scare the shit out of you and you will laugh your ass off, but only because we are headed in the direction Eggers writes about. I highly recommend this read.

Side note: Today I tried the snack bar as an alternative to the buffet lunch. Unless it were 3:00 a.m. and you couldn’t pick yourself out in a line-up, you’ll want to stay away.

One of the many reasons I wanted to come to Cuba

Forgive any typos or unkind remarks, I have awful jet lag.

Posted on by CP · 2 Comments

A Question With Good Intentions

Innocence Quotes. QuotesGram

Humanity

We’re funny creatures aren’t we? We do so many things naturally, but keep them to ourselves or judge that discussing them is taboo. I’ll name a few:

  • Our true feelings — deep, dark, sincere feelings
  • Our bathroom habits (e.g., a majority of older men have trouble urinating due to prostate issues); we don’t talk about it.
  • Our fear of death and failure
  • Our sexual habits and desires
  • Thoughts of suicide when feeling alone or desperate
  • Our true nature

Let’s face it, we are a repressed people. And, we have no one to blame but ourselves.

A Funny Story (names will be withheld to protect the innocent and humble)

I recently attended an extremely satisfying dinner party. I say satisfying because I’m normally uncomfortable and apprehensive about even attending them in the first place. I get all anxious and threaten cancellation at the last minute. But this one was different. There were eight of us: three Americans, two Canadians, one Swede, one Finnish and a Brit. Probably all left leaning, although I cannot be 100% certain. What I do know is that all eight of us were there to have a good time and a good time is what we had.

I’ve been out-of-the-closet for a long time; therefore, discussing my sexuality is not usually an issue or concern. My current attitude is simply, take me as I am or don’t take me at all. What seems to be more of an issue for others, is that I’m single. When I’m in a group situation and my status comes up, I usually state that I am “happily single.” I say this because so many people, gay, straight, and undefined, seem to believe that I am in some way unhappy or unfulfilled and that this state of being is directly correlated with being single.

The party host was unfortunately recently widowed. Since it has been a little more than a year, I can see that people who care about her, are interested or secretly hopeful, in seeing her paired-up. Why do we do this to one another?

With all of the not-so-subtle comments or questions that surface during a gathering such as this one, it was refreshing and poignant to be on the receiving end of a genuinely sweet and innocent question. I should be clear about two things: first, the individual asking the question is an ordained minister, and second, the question was directed at the two single individuals in the group; the host and myself.

It is true that the host and I have an outwardly symbiotic relationship. We laugh a lot, touch a lot, and although we only know one another for a couple of years, it is clear that there is a lasting bond between us. I knew her husband, in addition, I had the pleasure and good fortune of knowing them together. They had one of those rare and touching partnerships that makes you believe in love. Although I felt her loss deeply when her husband passed, what I feel today is hopeful. I see an individual who has embraced the notion that life goes on. She seems to know that although nothing will or can, ever be the same, living with the memory of a joyful and loving life partner, can be a force in experiencing current and future happiness. I’m not an expert on these matters, but nothing speaks louder than a real life example — she is my litmus test, my proof.

Back to the question posed: the minister, female, late fifties, early sixties, appropriate at all times and allow me to guess, a role model for most; looked at the host and I with an unassuming smile, slightly raised eyebrows, and an empathic tilt of her head (adorned with a gorgeous fedora), and asked: “Couldn’t you two get together and fulfill your sexual urges?“

Honestly, I’ve been exposed to open minded people my entire life, I have had innocent children ask me questions about my bald head, I have been asked about my favorite sexual position, but I have never been asked a question quite as pure and loving; bold and judgment free.

The space the eight of us filled became notably silent for about two seconds — two blaring seconds. Seven of the eight of us needed to replay the question asked — to process and ponder. The golden silence was followed by tremendously loud and raucous laughter. Did we hear the minister correctly? When we all realized that we had heard the same thing and that what we heard was clearly a serious question, years of taught appropriate behavior and political correctness, shook us all to our collective core. Did someone innocently and politely address the unspoken truth? Yes, we have sexual urges, yes we had the body parts that biblically match, and yes, we genuinely care for one another.

The idea that all of that would be enough to sexually join together a fairly recent widow and one very out homosexual, was cause for true unbridled joy. At that moment, I fell in love with the minister. The zero judgment attached to the question, the caring way in which she asked, and the reaction she unknowingly provoked, informed me that this moment was one for the “this only happens once in a lifetime, this is your life,” living journals. I will hold onto it until I can no longer remember my name and I suspect our host will as well.

Finally, allow me to add, at a time when we have been forced and advised to isolate ourselves from others, it is moments such as this, where social interaction and human kindness collide, that I personally realize, why it is essential that we come together. To be human is to be with one another; to laugh, to cry and to love. No judgment, just good intentions.

Travel

As long as I test negative for COVID-19 on Sunday, Cuba is finally happening. You’ll read all about it in my next blog.

Be well, and be with the people you adore and admire and those who feel the same way about you.

[I tested yesterday so that I could pack and prepare with some degree of confidence. Negative results were not a given. Having achieved negative results, I will be isolating for the remainder of this week.]

Posted on by CP · 2 Comments

How’s That Spontaneity Going?

Spontaneity is a meticulously prepared art. — Oscar Wilde

I’m plugging this bit in before publishing: After writing and updating this blog, I have come to realize that I will always be a planner; one who is rarely, very rarely, spontaneous. I think I’m okay with that. As a matter of fact, I know that I am okay with that.

An unplanned and lovely, long weekend in Alvor, Portugal — met up with friends, old and new.

This is Roger. We meet a couple of years at a boat graveyard in Faro. Roger is a very interesting chap with a history that can entertain for hours. By chance, Roger just happened to be docked in Alvor for the winter. We had two spontaneous get togethers over the course of an unplanned weekend.

So How Does this On the Fly Thing Work?

I blogged this statement over a year ago . . .

Spontaneity is a goal I have been striving to achieve since I could spell the word. Seriously, I could teach the armed forces a thing or two about order and precision. I want to be unpredictable, but that’s not likely to happen anytime soon.

Why Routine and Checking Boxes Work

We are creatures of habit and we find great comfort in routine. For me, it’s waking up, playing ‘torture Paco’ in bed, and quiet time with my morning coffee out on the terrace (weather permitting). It delights me so; it gets me out of bed in the morning excited to start the day. I add the gym and a trip to the market to the mix and I am thrilled to be alive, but that’s not good enough.

My “To Do” list also offers great comfort. Chores and projects I am eager to check off as completed. It provides a sense of accomplishment and a satisfying feeling. I don’t like how good it makes me feel because like any addiction, it’s hard to stay away from the things that make you feel good.

Don’t try this at home: I actually fill my hourly calendar with small chores (i.e., feed Paco, tighten eyeglasses) so that it makes me feel like I have a lot going on. Throughout the day I delete these items and each time I remove something from my date book, I get a little adrenalin rush — sick right? And I’m only sharing part of it.

The Benefits of Spontaneity

I have been telling myself that being more spontaneous and less scheduled, is good for me. When I have been able to break out of my daily routine and do something just because I felt like it or because someone called and said let’s do xy or z, it was more often than not, very satisfying.

There have been several unforgettable moments in my life that I can happily recall; the irony is, many of these moments were unplanned. If this is the case, why do people like me spend so much time mapping out every minute of their lives. The satisfaction I get from checking boxes on my to do list doesn’t come close to the positive feelings I have taken away from an unplanned outing. The only explanation I have is that the routine is daily and the unplanned is rare. The mind is so powerful, it forces your “go to” behavior right back to the safe, the familiar, the known. Like any other thing in life you are committed to, you have to work hard to change it.

What I force myself to consider:

  • The feeling I have when a surprise is exciting and new.
  • What occurs in my life when something unexpected changes my day. The snowball effect of positivity.
  • How changing things up takes your mind away from the small/minor things that bog you down.
  • How short life truly is and how the mondaine can eat up your time.
  • My desire for adventure and change.
  • How much I believe other people enjoy my spontaneity.

Coloring outside of the lines can be risky because you never know what the outcome might be. This makes whatever it is you are doing that much more exciting. The unknown can be titillating and growth fostering.

A short story: A few years ago I was riding the subway; the same train I squeezed myself into daily. After another horrendous day at work, I got home and thought something has got to give. I called a friend who had joined me on a couple of adventures and asked her if she might like to meet me in Belize. Without hesitation, she said yes. There was a Madonna song that I heard in my head a thousand times; the lyrics went like, “. . . last night I dreamt of San Pedro,” and that’s where I had to go. San Pedro is a small island. You can get to it by ferry from Belize City — it’s a very pleasant two hours on your way to paradise.

This trip was without a doubt one of the most memorable getaways of my life. I only had a short time to plan and hardly any of the details were mapped out (eg., excursions, meals). I decided to allow my days in Belize to be organic; to wake up naturally, to eat when I was hungry, and to do basically nothing unless I was moved to do otherwise. For the most part Kathy, who is much more relaxed than I am, and I, stuck to our plan. The resort was fairly quiet and clearly, this is an island you go to to chillout. This was a time in my life when chilling was medicinal and restorative. Keeping my mind and days uncluttered allowed me to think freely. I was able to take long walks with Kathy and spend quite a bit of alone time on an unspoiled, virtually empty beach. I returned home enlightened and resolute. It was during this time that I made the decision to resign from my position at The International Culinary Center and leave New York City. Possibly two of the best decisions of my life.

This is one of the many reasons I am convinced that spontaneity provides a space for out-of-the-box thinking. I believe we schedule ourselves to the max in order to avoid organic thinking; our fear of the possibilities life might present bog us down and keep us from truly being free.

Ways to Get Yourself to Loosen Up

Here are some of the the things you can do to be more spontaneous:

  • I know this will seem crazy, but you can pencil it in. Don’t write what you will do, but when you might do it. Say you open your date book or laptop calendar on on Thursday morning you’ve written “do something you’ve never done before.” It will force you to think of something on the spot and then follow through and do it.
  • Tell your friends you are trying to be more spontaneous and have them call you when they are about to do something fun or different. Although this never happens to me because my friends know that if it’s not planned in advance, it’s probably not happening.
  • Allow yourself days where absolutely nothing is planned.
  • Talk to yourself about the pleasures of discovering the unknown.
  • Wake up, pack a bag, and take a trip to a place you’ve never be.
  • Throw away the leftovers and go to a new restaurant (call someone and ask them to join you and then treat them).
  • If you have a guest room, do something as simple as sleeping in a different room in your own house.

Imagine a Life Where You Do What You Want, When You Want

Use your imagination to consider a world where you are free of the bondage you have inflicted upon yourself. We lie to ourselves to keep from doing something crazy. We tell ourselves we’ll get into trouble, that we have no money or that we’ll lose all of our money, that freedom will make us seem undisciplined, hard work is the only way to achieve happiness, that minor indulgence leads to frivolity and a loss of control, and so on and so forth.

I will, no doubt, continue to plan most of my life going forward. It’s not even about teaching an old dog new tricks, it’s about comfort — the older you get, the more you seek comfort, stability, and routine. Still, I figure if I keep reminding myself about Belize, I may occasionally surprise myself by choosing to hit the road less travelled.

Last bit before publishing: I decided today to do something that I’ve not done since moving to Portugal. I’m going to Tavira to play Mexican Train (a fun domino-like game). I’m taking the train to meet the group this morning. This is as spontaneous as I get; it should be fun.

Travel Update

It looks like Cuba is actually happening. This is literally my fifth attempt. I have plane and train tickets, hotels reservations (three different hotels: Lisbon, Varadero, and Havana), Airbnb experiences booked, and it’s less than two weeks away, but I have already started packing — this is not a spontaneous trip.

Liverpool in March and then back to Toulouse in April. I’m thinking of perhaps a couple of spontaneous three day trips here in Portugal in between.

Lots planned for the spring and summer, but I have learned that with our unpredictable virus, it’s best not to get too excited, too soon.

Do you think this is true?

Posted on by CP · 5 Comments

Living With Lies

How It Informs Your Life

(repost with revisions)

“There are only two things. Truth and lies. Truth is indivisible, hence it cannot recognize itself; anyone who wants to recognize it has to be a lie.” Franz Kafka

My mother’s lies taught me two things:  First, and most harmful, it was acceptable to lie, and second, secrets are impossible to keep and dangerous.

I had a beautiful half-sister who died a horrible premature death several years ago; she was in her mid-forties. Shortly before she passed, Grace found our brother Anthony, dead, with a needle in his arm; it was her birthday. She was already mentally and physically far gone by then and I’m certain, finding Anthony lifeless in her own home, must have sealed her fate.

My sister Grace or Gasha (the way we spelled it), as she was known to close family, was a troubled child. She wore thick glasses and was labeled “four eyes” by her siblings and peers. We also called her monkey because of her button nose; kids can be mean and we, her brothers and sisters, were the cruelest of all. I am not claiming innocence; in fact, I may have been the worst culprit. Perhaps it was the secret I held onto that drove me to cruelty.

My parents argued a lot; in fact, they argued night and day. My father would come home from work at midnight and my mother would dig in her hateful claws. Having been exposed to this behavior early on, I worked hard to tune them out and fantasize about a quieter world that I knew existed elsewhere. In fact, this is the reason I choose to spend a lot of time alone today. My memory of their relentless rage goes back to pre-school and a time when I was too young to understand the complicated world of adult behavior. One particular memory is vivid because it involved a lie I did not understand at the time; I may have been five or six years old.

Many angry words were exchanged during one very loud shouting match and most of those words were as difficult to comprehend as a foreign language. For some reason I held onto something my father said, “Gasha is not my child.” At the time I thought it was odd for my father to say such a thing and so, I dismissed those words from my thoughts. Every so often I found myself daydreaming and reflecting on what he said. As I grew older and more inquisitive, I continued to wonder why my father said this to my mother. I looked at my sister differently because of what my father said. I naturally wondered who her father might be, if it were not my father. I was not aware of an affair my mother had with her first husband while she was married to my father.

When I turned nine, there was a lot going on around me; my only living grandparent passed, my mother was divorcing my father and marrying my stepfather, and I was repressing my sexuality (I remember having some strong feelings toward one of my mother’s male friends). My mom and I would occasionally spend quality alone time together — rare because she had seven children. On one of these occasions, I decided I would ask her about Gasha. My mother had a way of drawing me in as a close confidant and then shoving me away. I can’t blame alcohol because she wasn’t a drunk, but her father was an alcoholic and physically abusive; perhaps it was his influence. As a child I longed for the kind of closeness where you felt honest love and affection — not likely to get it from my mother, but I never stopped trying. Psychologists would say that I will continue to search for this love until I die; I’m fairly certain that is true.

We were sitting on her bed watching an old black and white film and she was running her fingers through my hair. I may have been as happy with my mom at that moment as I would ever be. I thought it was a good time to address my curiosity.

Ma, who is Gasha’s father?

My mother pushed me to the edge of the bed and said, “Where do you get these ideas?”

I told her that I had overheard an argument she had with my father a few years earlier; she told me that I was imagining things.

“Who would Gasha’s father be if it wasn’t your father? Honestly Chris, I worry about you.”

I wanted to believe my mother, so I let it go . . . until a few years later when this happened:

I was having dinner with my father at the restaurant where he worked; a once a week ritual. Our meals were very special to me. We spoke openly and earnestly. I’m pretty sure I was in my teens at this point. I had accidentally seen my parents marriage license and came to learn that my mother and father didn’t marry until I was three years old. I’m not sure why, but it didn’t bother me. My dad told me that they couldn’t marry because my mother’s first husband was in prison and there was a law about divorce and incarceration back then. He said that they married as soon as they legally could. I shrugged and decided this would be a good time to ask about Gasha. I sort of tricked my dad and acted like I knew for certain that Gasha was not his biological daughter.

When I asked him who Gasha’s father was he said, “Joe is her father, but I adopted her and so she’s legally my daughter. How did you know about this? Did your mother tell you?”

I shared that I had overheard an argument between the two of them when I was a kid and he grabbed my face and squeezed my cheeks; something he did to show affection. He hardly ever said anything negative about my mother; I wish I could say the reverse were true.

When I asked him how she ended up with Joe while married to him, he said, “Your mother has always been a bit wild.”

Truer words had never been spoken. Now that I knew my suspicions about Gasha were true, I had to consider what this meant for my relationship with her, how I felt about my mother lying to me, and whether or not I should share the truth with Gasha and our siblings. I knew early on that it would not be fair to share the truth with her. It was my mother’s place to tell her. I was tormented by the lie. I did not approve of my mother’s infidelity and I could not understand why she denied the truth all those years ago. In my mind, I could never truly trust my mother again — in truth, I doubted her always. I’m also certain that I felt betrayed by my mother and it has had an affect on every loving relationship in my life.

My mother did eventually tell Gasha who her biological father was. I’m not sure when or where it happened. My brothers and sisters found out at some point as well. It seemed to me at the time that no one cared about the indiscretion or the lie. I questioned my own reaction to it:  had I made too much of it? Did it really matter? As an older adult, I am still questioning the lies I faced as a child and young adult — there were many others.

I recall often looking at Gasha and wondering who she resembled. When she would behave a certain way that was odd to me, I would explain it by considering who her father was or was not. Gasha had a severe eating disorder and made several bad choices in her life. She was angry, she isolated herself from those who cared about her, she refused to acknowledge her disorder, and she trusted no one. I cannot help but wonder if the knowledge that she was conceived during a torrid affair, had had a huge impact on her life and her ability to cope. Knowing her biological father was willing to allow my father to adopt her, must have tormented Gasha throughout her life; her self-worth was shattered.

My mother had a very complicated relationship with her and Gasha was resentful of the way she saw my mother treating the rest of us; she seemed to always feel slighted. I was aware of both the way she was treated and the way Gasha perceived it. I had conflicting feelings about my sister. There was a part of me that believed she didn’t belong and I’m not proud of those feelings. At the same time, I felt sorry for her.

Gasha’s downward spiral was difficult for me to watch. She married trailer park trash and she had a child with him. Her husband shot himself in the head early on in their marriage. I remember visiting her in Knoxville, Tennessee and thinking that there was hope that she’d come out on top of all the drama in her life. Unfortunately, I was wrong. Bulimia took hold of my sister in her early 20s and never let go. All four of my mother’s daughters suffered from some sort of eating disorder as a result of my mother’s obsession with weight. Gasha lived in complete denial — the disease and the consequences of starving one’s body of nutrients eventually ended her life. Her two children suffered the most; watching her abuse herself on a daily basis, had to be impossible to observe. Out of respect for my niece and nephew, I will refrain from commenting on their current lives.

The question is, was it the lie that destroyed Gasha’s life or was it her personality and the circumstances of her illness? I guess we’ll never know for sure. What we do know is that shielding her from the truth all of those years was not productive or right. If her biological father had stepped up and assumed his role as her father, might she have been stronger and felt more loved? I have to believe she would have embraced her father and adjusted to her circumstances. After all her two oldest sisters had the same biological father. But after being adopted by my father, Gasha, was instead forced into a situation she did not ask to be in and was prevented from being with a father she might have grown close with. I’m not a psychologist, however, I am fairly certain that Gasha was thrust into a situation that would have caused anyone pain and anxiety. It was a lot for a young person to take on, and in truth, she had to endure the ramifications of this terrible lie, on her own. It’s a small miracle she was even with us into her forties.

When faced with the reality of a difficult truth or keeping a secret, always go with the truth. As hard as it is to share that secret and cope with its consequences, that reality is far better than living a lie — that’s my truth.

“When you check your own mind properly, you stop blaming others for your problems.”

Thubten Yeshe

I have grown to love Alvor, Portugal and have returned to the same hotel room several times. Peaceful sounds of nature never disappoint.

Travel

So far Cuba next month is a go. There will be testing on both ends. I know there will be additional hassles, but this is something I have wanted to do for a long time. I couldn’t travel to Cuba when I lived in the States, so now is a good time to make the trip. I promise a blog or two when I return.

There are scheduled trips to France, Italy, the UK, Northern Ireland, Germany, the U.S., Singapore, Thailand, Vietnam, and Hong Kong, in 2022 and early 2023. COVID-19 has put the kibosh on many planned trips over the last two years; I can only hope I’ll get to go.