A crowded bar, my back is the backrest of the man at the table behind me. An older gentleman sits one table over and seems to know everyone. The ceilings are low and the walls are covered with hoosits and whatsits. The crowd greats each other with two kisses and talks loudly over carafes of wine and traditional Portuguese soup of the green variety. My word that soup is the best we have ever tasted, and it should be, they have been making it for a 100 years! A simple medley of potato broth, kale, and sausage seeps into your taste buds and flows straight into your heart. The lights go soft and the room falls silent. A women who is leaning casually against a pilar begins to sing and my attention is tunneled only to her. How is it that a language I don't understand can cause me to feel so much. This place, this culture, makes me jealous. I want to experience this place that causes such vulnerability in it's people. The older gentleman claps just before the end of every song, it is obvious he is there every night, a part of a larger family that is Lisboa.
This is just a snippet of our spontaneous Christmastime in Portugal.
Merry Christmas form us and Happy New Year!
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