29.07.2005 - 29.07.2008

A.T. called me tonight telling me that being in Antwerp amongst all those boxes of clothes and books, of our life was killing him, he said "it was bound to happen, i still hadn't realized that we're actually doing this" as i listened to him i noticed that i had never realized that this must be as hard for him as it is for me. he's always so together, everything is always so well, give 'im a beer and he'll get through it.

but how can any of the two of us get through this "just like that" when today is the 3rd year anniversary of the day we started something new together? how can we get past this day and not shed a tear, or panic, or remember, or even just think about what we've already been through, or imagine what will be next?

i remember so many things. i remember that first night when we arrived when it rained like there wouldn't be a tomorrow, how the thunder roared, how dark it was. i remember sleeping that first night on the floor of our living room, realizing that the window was so big i thought i was sleeping outside, i remember waking up and opening my eyes and seeing that horrible fireplace and thinking i had to cover it one day (that's how the search ended when i found a great window to put in front of it), realizing we still had so much to do in that small appartment. i remember 8days of non stop labour of painting, scrubbing, putting furniture together, cleaning and finally sitting down in our couch, looking at our masterpiece "the calendar" and realizing both of us "this is our home now"
for 3 years we added on to that white canvas, it was a continuous work, but it was a work of love. to me i'm sure worked as herapy, i was upset a lot about the bad weather, the cold almost made me deaf, but that appartment kept me going. everything i bought or made for it, made me realize the best thing of moving is being able to put your personality in everything you do. i'm sure people walked in and saw me and him in those colors, on those walls, on small details such as chairs, flowers, kitchen utensils, objects, anything really. i'm sure we were both present in that "home" even if we were out.

it is a shame that the friends we have in Lisbon or Milan didn't get to see this part of "us". they didn't see us as we are now, they saw us either individually or together but in situations that helped us get to where we are now... and that is the reason why i know Antwerp will always be better. it isn't a competition, it's just a fact. we had the liberty of chosing any city in any country to live in, and together we choose Antwerp, and it had nothing to do with the health system, or the salaries, or of course the weather... it just was. and i'm sure any other city would have given us as much pleasure and happiness, but because of our choices, Antwerp is now our "special place, our home" and that will always be with us.
so, my loving A.T., that is why it couldn't have happened any other day than today. we couldn't have chosen another day if we wanted than this one.
the anniversary of the day we chose ANTWERPEN.

dia delas

da Joana e da Fá!
beijinhos das filhotas

BOM DIA!

daqui

ao papá Luis e ao papá Alvaro!!

just for us...

visto faltarem 43 dias para nos vermos em terras irlandesas eu peço-te... tenta ir ver este filme, diz-nos respeito... eu farei o mesmo.
ou então quem sabe, o podemos ver juntas em Dublin no dia 03.04.2008

heath ledger... 28

então miúdo... o que é que se passou?

...se calhar pela idade igual a mim, mas isto hoje deixou-me um bocado atarantada... darjeling lembras-te das 10 things?


...boh

lisbon story 3

eu já te tinha dito muitas vezes que um dos meus filmes preferidos onde a cidade de Lisboa é protagonista, é o filme de 1994 de Wim Wenders, "Lisbon Story". até já tinha escrito aqui no blog algumas vezes posts dedicados á minha própria versão de Lisbon Story... dedicámos até o que pensámos poder tornar-se tradição, os passeios anuais do blog pela cidade que nos diz tanto.


os passeios em blogcompanhia não deram muito certo, funcionou 1aninho, no 2ano já ninguém respondeu, mas eu cada vez que volto a casa, faço muitas Lisbon Stories... não resisto. e há uns anos atrás, enquanto andava eu a passear amigos italianos pós-erasmus por essa cidade da qual morro de saudades, decidi fazer do passeio uma busca... a busca pelos cenários do filme.

as vistas, essas foram fáceis de encontrar. foram tantas que muito provavelmente vimos mais do que se devia para seguir o filme, mas é dificil tentar reduzir em número... Lisboa tem vistas que fazem parar qualquer um, até uma alfacinha como eu.

mas nada de se perceber qual era o cenário que serviu para a casa da personagem principal, e onde os Madredeus ensaiavam durante o filme... perguntei, pedi, implorei que alguém me dissesse se no longínquo ano de 1994 se lembrava de uns alemães terem filmado qualquer coisa por aqueles lados... houve quem dissesse "ai menina, aqui na nossa cidade passam a vida a filmar, nós já somos todas famosas de tantos filmes que já fizeram... já não consigo lembrar-me de todos!"

estive ali, a subir e a descer ruas, entrar nas lojas, nos cafés, até entrei na casa de um fotógrafo holandês que me deixou entrar no seu atelier e cozinha para ver se da janela eu ia conseguir perceber de onde foram filmadas as vistas do filme... nada... ele ficou mesmo triste porque até disse que Lisboa também o conquistou quando viu esse filme, disse-lhe que voltaria quando o encontrasse.

ter que ser no ano de 2008, em férias em Lisboa enquanto andava com o meu pai á procura de uma barraquita para talvez comprar, quem sabe, fui levada como nos bons velhos tempos pela sua mãozinha até ao Palácio de Belmonte. quantas vezes já passei por aqui, neste pátio semi-público para ir ao Castelo, ou pura e simplesmente porque faz parte dos meus passeios... entrámos, e pedi como arquitecta para ver o interior, já estava feliz por ter conseguido entrar ali, porque sem o meu pai nem sequer teria pensado nisso, mas fiquei ainda mais quando subi uns degraus e dei de caras com uma sala enorme, cheia de azulejos nas paredes, pareceu-me muito branca, como se já estive estado ali, mas não com as paredes tão limpinhas... perguntei ao senhor que nos acompanhou "mas... parece a sala onde filmaram o "lisbon sotry""
"e é mesmo. filmaram mesmo da recuperação do edificio para se tornar em hotel. que engraçado que percebeu"

"é só o melhor filme de lisboa para mim"



foi melhor do que conhecer um actor famoso... liguei ao A.T. que estava no meio da neve em Milão... quando lhe contei onde estava... silêncio.
acho que ouvi lágrimas...

bazaruto

if i hadn't been there myself not even the images of google earth would've made me believe it was true.
the island of Bazaruto takes literally your breath away... of course there were 50 degrees under the sun and that basically took out your breath. but the gigantic dune of sand (duh) in front of me seemed so amazing i couldn't stop laughing. there was nothing i could do but laugh... say "shit!" and thank God in a low voice thanking him to let me live long enough to see this.

i kept looking around me, almost as if to let the world know about it, i wanted to say "i'm here" "i've made it" and "it's real", i would've called everyone to let them know, but in a place like this there is no place for mobile phones... none whatsoever. the telephones were dead... and with that slowly i realised this was a moment in a lifetime where someone drops you off in a corner of the world and tells you to enjoy it to the fullest for 1 whole day.

i did...

there were no colors except for blue, light blue, dark blue, pink blue, yellow blue, white blue, green blue, sea blue, turquoise blue, orange blue... whatever blue, it was there... i saw all the different tones of blue... actually i now believe there is only one color on this planet, BLUE... the rest humans created from it.

wherever you looked you saw space... almost but different as in Gorongosa, only here it was the ocean... the so beloved Indian Ocean my mother says it's the most beautiful she's ever seen... as i sat on that warm and soon-to-be very hot sand i took deep breaths and smiled, laughed, probably cried thinking i almost ended up missing this... and i was surprised by the tricks and trips your mind does when it's confronted with a place like this.
the first question couldn't be other than "what the heck am i doing in belgium?" and the next one wasn't a question... it was a goal "what if i lived here, would i see it like i'm seeing it now? is it possible to take this for granted? to forget that it exists? will the cold of belgium make me too sensitive for these things or will it make it dissapear too soon from my mind?"

i guess that's just up to me...
the same way my family always made sure i knew exactly what it was like to live here and how the dirt smelled, how the sun burnt, how the wind blew, how the trees swayed and how the monkeys laughed, i am trying to explain how blue the ocean is, how warm the sand felt, how far the horizon layed, how red i became, how happy A.T. was and how scary it was at first to jump in the water later on and snorkle for the first time...
see bicuka, it's not that scary they said... Antonio held my hand, this young dark guy, held my hand so i wouldnìt stay inside the boat... i wasn't scared of the water, i'd live in water if i could, it wasn't because i couldn't swim, i love to swim... but the thought of looking down upon another type of life felt like i'd be intruding on someone's life... and also because it's like being afraid of heights upside down... i'm not afraid of heights, but i can't, or couldn't conceive the idea of swiming with fishes... Antonio made sure i was calm... i saw starfishes bigger than my dinning table, goldfishes bigger that rocks and rocks that actually were just coral swaying slowly with the water... there were no sounds, no noise, no voices... just me and a chocolate colored hand in mine and billions of life beneath my body...

AND i found Nemo! i did, i did... he even winked at me.
it was probably the sun... he made me allucinate, but i swear it was Nemo.


tomorrow we're heading to Maputo... it's been a long month, a long trip down memory lane... and a great trip to my inner self.

vilanculos

i haven't been writing any dates on this "diary"... i wrote on the first post and then completely forgot... maybe unconciously i don't want to see how long it's been... but if i had remembered you'd noticed that between the last post, about Gorongosa and now, there has been a gap, a gap of almost 2 full days.

i'll explain why.
after fixing, or better, having had the flat tire fixed FOR us, by great people, i drove like a mad woman towards Vilanculos... between Gorongosa and Vilanculos there is the AMAZING DESERT of SOFALA... the desert of the SAVE RIVER, which on our way north almost left me out of breath, or at least until i discovered that the little jeep had airco.

the trip went well, no problems with the hotel reservations for on our way up we slept in the same hotel and reserved 3 more nights for a week later. the idea was to sleep 3 nights, 1 day for Vilanculos and 1 day for Bazaruto and Benguerra, after the 3rd night we'd get up very early and head to Maputo.

... i lost 1 day... or maybe i actually won one.

when we got to Vilanculos, already at night because no matter how many times i was told not to drive at night, it's almost impossible to arrive anywhere before 6pm, so, we got there with not a lot of trouble, i knew Vilanculos by heart now because of the other night and it made things easier to get to our own soft bed later. but A.T. was having a hard time with his stomach, he was wishing for a very private bathroom when there were still almost 200kms to arrive, and with that if you add a couple hundred craters in the middle of the road making easier for you to drive on the fields next to it than actually on it, you can imagine that all the shaking wasn't helping him. i tried, but i couldn't go faster than 11okm/h which was already a lot for such bad roads.

i laughed all the way though, A.T. was in pain and i laughed. talk about being punished for laughing at other people's suffering!!!!!
we arrived, A.T. used the toilet... which made me decide i'd go much later, let some air in, and we decided to go out for dinner earlier than usual. i was exhausted and i think he could use some sleep also, like children he can get a bit cranky.
so back to the main hotel restaurant and i ordered a hamburger... well the owners are from Zimbabwe, and i couldn't eat another "prego" or "frango piri-piri", and i ate it with apetite, very hungry...

it didn't take even 10minutes, i was in pain... my aunt Nelinha called me then asking the latest news, made fun of me eating a hamburger in Mozambique and wished me a good stay in Vilanculos... she was the last to talk to me before everything started going wrong. the pain in my belly reminded me of those awful period cramps i used to have before my surgery, and my head starting pounding worse than my daily migraines. i knew A.T. would've like to stay out a bit more, but my head starting spinning and i couldn't focused anymore.

back in out little cabin i couldn't figure out what was wrong so i took some digestive medicine, ENO, and hope i'd just burp this pain away. fat chance.
i had to lay down, hoping that it wouldn't make it worse, i started sweating and my head was pounding like there was a live concert of a bad band inside it.

sleep caught up with me after i think 30minutes, and i don't even remember A.T. kissing me goodnight, which probably also means he didn't but i hope he did. it didn't last long... i was awake at 00:00... ah ya, you don't know that i fell asleep at around 21:30... too early. anyway, at 00:00 i was turning and turning in the bed trying not to cry with so much pain... A.T. also woke up, upset telling me to just go sleep in the bathroom... i understand, i actually woke him up on purpose, i hate being awake by myself in the middle of night (don't tell him because he still thinks he wakes up by himself and voilá i just happen to be awake also), so i decided to swallow another spoon full of ENO, if i could just BURP!!!!!!!

in our room there were no spoons, vanished, so i dumped a "bit" of powder in a bottle of water, it was then i noticed the water i was drinking was the one i stole from the last hotel in Gorongosa, actually it was free but i still didn't ask if i could take it, it's name was NAMAACHA, so that's why there was no water in the waterfalls!!! i get it!
anyway... i drank that disgusting thing, and stayed for a few moments staring at the mirror praying that i would be ok in 5 seconds...
i burped...
i went back to bed.

01:30 - i woke up again with the urge of going to the bathroom, so i did... i was still walking ok. as i washed my hands and put some cold water on my face... my legs started shaking, i couldn't stand up anymore and i couldn't stop sweating cold sweats... i fell to the ground.
i don't recall exactly how long i was there, but i knew i was talking, i think i only said 3 words, "A.T." or "daddy" or "mommy", it was strange because i couldn't really understand what i was supposed to do to get up or to do anything... eventually he came in, he has this cappacity to just stand there as if it's all too wierd, so i know for sure that i got up on my own.

i also was able to walk back to bed, but i just couldn't stay put.
i had no strengh to fight the pain in my stomach and now the awful taste i had in my mouth...

4:00: i opened my eyes, stared at the ceiling for a second, decided to get up again and try again to go to the bathroom but stay up this time. no way jose!
i didn't even finish thinking of a strategy, that i was already on my side with everything i had eaten the previous day come out of me like a fountain. i even ran out of breath. i couldn't coordinate the vomit with my breathing so i started having an ashma attack and freaking out, trying to scream A.T.'s name and hoping he'd help me... tears even started coming out of my eyes, and in the meantime i was loosing my forces, i couldn't feel the arm that was holding me and my head from falling right in the middle of all that gooey stuff.

"go to the bathroom!" he shouted.
"i can't, i can't..."
so he helped... but as soon as i sat down on the ground with my head stuck in the toilet, he was gone. i couldn't figure out why.

he was so disgusted, that he went outside of the cabin, sat down on the porch and only came in almost 1hour later when i had thrown everything out of me and more, cleaned the bathroom, and cleaned the floor in our room, washed the mosquitonet hanging above the bed (they are so long that of course it was impossible not to get it dirty, and only when i told him everything was cleaned he was able to walk in... he said "i'm sorry"... but to this day i have never felt so shocked. no matter how gross it could've been i would've never left him alone and i felt ashamed for having been sick.

of course, at that moment i only wanted to get back to sleep, try to at least arrive to the morning and hope that i could talk to someone who would know a great medicine to not let it happen again. and again i was wrong, i slept until 9:00, i think in total i slept 5hours and badly, i woke up with a fever and the right side of my boby completely numb. my neck was so sore and my head about to explode. there was no way i was getting out of bed.

malaria?

everyone who called me that day got the same report i just gave you, every detail because someone had to give me a clue of what was happening, i needed to get up so A.T. and i could go to the islands, it was my birthday present to him, but like this i just couldn't. i think i cried all day, when he wasn't looking i cried because i felt useless and i felt that i was stopping him from doing whatever he felt like. he can't drive, and doesn't want to learn how to, so basically means he was stuck with me... thankfully he went out to the beach for the afternoon, which was just 3m from our front door, while the owner of our lodge stayed with me, gave me cookies, gasless coca-cola, tee, water and some biscuits. and also a few drugs!

i couldn't wait any longer, called a few people, even without a voice and with all my boby aching i called a few people from Mozambique and Portugal and got a contact of a doctor here in Vilanculos, he was not working anymore and i'd have to wait for the morning to get a proper Malaria test.
Malaria????!!!! really?
oh goodness, that would mean that i'd have to miss out going to the islands, that A.T. was going to stay here bored one more day... i confessed to the owner of the lodge that i was feeling like crap that he couldn'te go to the islands, i didn't care anymore, all i wanted was to get back to Maputo and be close to people i know.
she was kind enought to offer to drive me to the hospital in Vilanculos the next morning, and pick me up afterwards. she also offered me a free night and she put our names in a list of the passengers of a boat that would be heading out to Bazaruto the day after.
basically she allowed me to still give A.T. his birthday gift, and allowed him not to regret this whole trip.

this meant that we stayed 4 night in Vilanculos. 1 day i was in bed all day, vomiting and not able to move anything on my right side. 1 day to visit what they call a hospital, having a blood test in the middle of dozens of people, they have beautiful babies by the way, you should've seen the hospital... gosh, there are things you just can't get them to understand... but then again, why worry about nurses who wash the patient bedsheets on the ground when they're all dying of AIDS? the day of the hospital visit, it was funny now that i think about it, i tried walking to the beach and getting a bit of sun, tried to explain to everyone that it hadn't been malaria but probably the water NAMAACHA which had been declared filthy for human beings, but i ended up drinking 3 litters of it! if felt good to go outside though... and seeing for the first that amazing blue people talk about when they visit paradises.

i found it to be beautiful... and i found out that the reason A.T. was gone for so long the day i stayed in bed, was because he had found already a new friend... another dog!

this time, i think his promise to take his driver's license is for real...

parque nacional da gorongosa

So until now, no sight of elephants, or lions for that matter... none whatsoever... where were these beasts? Weren't they supposed to just walk around amongst humans all over Africa? It's not like they can hide, can they??

After arriving at Gorongosa National Park, already after dark even though it were only 5pm... my goodness can night be dark in Africa... we ate and went into our cabin, but because after 9pm the park shuts off its generator, lights must be out, so all you can really do is either be inside sleeping, or outside looking at that amazing sky. It's hard to take pictures of such a sky, but I guess that's what and african sky must be like, it's only for those who look up and stay there staring... for those who take time to try to count how many stars there are, because here there are a lot more, so much more, you don't know from which to start wishing.

It tooks us about 20minutes to realise that we were still there, standing in the darkness, with our necks hurting from looking up... we were speechless, tired, exhausted, and speechless. no words in my vocabulary could start describing it... and the most beautiful thing of all was remembering something my daddy use to always tell us to make us confused "girls, the moon in Africa is always smiling!"

Again, he wins... the moon smiles every single night. It stays there for hours on end with the biggest smile... he was right, he was lucky to have seen it for so long... he was able to make us jeaulous, but I was able to see it for myself.

Life at the Gorongonsa starts early... be it because you sleep so early with the lights out, or be it because those freaky monkeys wake you up with their wild parties right at around 4am... you know... I thing I like them better in the zoo!

They tell us not to feed the animals that might come near the cabins... and I thought monkeys would only come for food if they were taught to get it from humans... not really, it's in their instinct to smile and do funny-monkey things to steal food from you... so in reality, in the zoo, when they steal stuff from your hand it's not a trick they've learned from the zoo keeper... it's in their blood!
Anyway... enough about monkeys. We decided to do our first SAFARI. Yeah... I never thought I'd do such a thing, kind of makes me feel ridiculous sitting in a jeep with a lot of people trying to spot animals... all I wanted was to see an actual elephant.
The jeep was empty, just Jonathan the driver, a blond blue-eyed Zimbabweian, me and A.T. It looked even more weird to be in such a big "car" where you basically jumped from side to side whenever you drove through a tough road... ALWAYS!
We saw a lot of birds, Joanathan tried, but sorry birds aren't really my thing, but I did spot a lot of different ones, sometimes I did it on my own... nevertheless I was just looking for elephants. Bambis were also all around us, they get scared of turists, so out of the 200 I saw I was only able to photograph about 90.
Also Pumbas (well it's not my fault you haven't seen "the lion king", just the best walt disney old-fashioned movie ever) were following us, also scared of turists, but I was able to photograph them more... but boy, are these creatures UGLY!!!! really, besides being actually of a dark gray color, with long rat-hair, they also walk around with dry mud all over their bodies to capture the bugs that live on them... they also run like girls shaking their hair out of their eyes, and they should go to a dentist... really, such a dissapointment... I really thought I would get an autograph from the Pumba in the movie, but I was glad we were far away.

Crocodiles... yes, I did see one... well I saw one, and then next to it I saw another pair of eyes, which probably would mean there was another one next to it, but because I'm really scared of crocodiles, I like to think it was just 1.
Monkeys, of course... so many it was almost too much, I made a few movies, and really these animal are very funny at times... there were a lot of mommies with tiny babies on their backs. good to know they're keeping themselves busy out here.

Lions? none
Giraffes? not even one
Buffalos? there aren't any yet
Hippos? ...
Zebras? do they actually exist?

"...I really just came for the elephants. Jonathan could you please call one to show up just for the picture, really it's a bit embarassing going back to europe and having no pictures of my favorite big animal...
by the way, what's that gigantic hole in the ground, has there been a meteor shower here lately??? ah ah ah ah"
"that is an elephant footprint"

"AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH RUUUUUNNNNNN!"

Ok so I panicked, you should've seen the size of that thing, I don't care if I never see an elephant, I'll just tell my kids the only elephant they should see is Dumbo.
...a few days amongst the wild creatures of Africa. So all I actually got to see to be proud of, were 2, I mean 1 crocodile and too many monkeys for 1 human being... and a giant Dumbo footprint.
Not bad. I guess it takes 2 trips to Gorongosa to see more.
The Carr Foundation is making sure anyone who ever visits this beautiful place will one day see what they always dreamed of seeing, the real wild life of Africa. They have 30 years to do it, we have all our lifes to make it happen, and why not even help them. Just going there and learning of the amazing work they're doing already helps so much.
Plus, the 1rst class treatment you get at the CHITENGO lodge, is worth all the rest, such as monkeys in your front yard, Pumba's breaking through the fence of the lodge pool and the funny flat tire I found on my jeep the morning I had to drive 600kms to Vilanculos.

I guess in Mozambique, you can't really predict too much, we wanted to leave at 5am, we ended up leaving at 8am... I didn't even have to sweat and lift a finger (which just basically means I still can't change a tire, I'm one of the best woman-driver parking ;), but don't ask to change a tire... I didn't even see it was flat!), there were about 6 men doing it for me.
Ah the beauty of holidays!!!

...little did I know that holidays sometimes have very non-beautiful moments... i'll see you in Vilanculos.

machipanda

Before lifting off from Lisbon to Maputo, I warned Aldo and hugged him, I told him he'd have to be patience with me... or at least for what could be me in such an important place. You don't control your emotions, and I knew somewhere in this endless country I would shead a tear.
I guess I imagined it would be in the great beaches of Tofinho, or the 1920's house in Beira, probably not Maputo, but maybe even Manica with the big pool... no. I was wrong, and looking back, Machipanda was the place it had to happen.

This was the town that made me cry. (great for a book title)

We were driven there by this Canadian colonist wanna-be, a funny man, wearing socks 'till his knees, with the weirdest accent I've heard, A.T. only smiled, sometimes worried he's be saying "sim" when he should've said "não senhor". This.... oh, I forgot his name... hmmm, I hope it comes back to me, anyway he drove us there in his wear-out jeep, one of those with the continuous seat in front and an open back... well, dargeling, girls, if you ever sit in a jeep such as this one, remember: THE SHIFTS ARE IN THE MIDDLE! yup, I sat in the middle, thinking it'd be cool to sit there... not when the driver needs to put the 4th shift!!!!!! really, it's really scary to have someone suddenly going with their elbow straight to your... well, you know. Actually on the way back, A.T. sat there... he says boys shouldn't either!!!!

Mr. What's-the-name drove us there, asked by the guy who thought he's in charge, to give me a tour of what I could find once belonged to my past. As you drive in this town you literally see the entrance and the exit, you see it's limits, and you understand how small it is.
It did remind me of my mother's parents' town in Portugal, Soalheira, close to Fundão in the Serra da Gardunha (i think). Around Machipanda there are amazing big hills, just around the corner is Zimbabué, it looks peaceful from here...
I think I was able to count 3 streets... a few roads, about 20 houses, and the thing they're so proud of, the train station. Now, this station was once the connection between Zimbabué (Rodésia) and the Indian Ocean, it made it possible for the english merchandise to reach the port of Beira and from there the ports of the world. Not bad for such a tiny town.

My mother was born in Beira, just like her sister, but they lived here all their childhood... as you can see, I did this backwards. This is where I thought she lived with lions, and elephants and snakes... but all I saw were a few fat chickens and a bunch of scary-cat monkeys. Really, monkeys! again...

I guess, until you see where they live, and where they grew up, maybe the school where they did all sorts of bad things, and where they learned to read, the pool where they swam, the beach where they dreamed, the tree where they kissed or the road they had an accident, all you can do is smile, take the photo and tell them "it's still here mom, really your elementary school desk is still here!"

...but when you walk into a place, a place such as the "11th November" bar that my grandpa built and served in as his hobby giving free drinks to my mom's friends (not to the boyfriends) when they visit. the bar my granpa gave to a man when he decided to run away from what would be a very long war and revolution. He gave that man his bar, all the papers, gave him a transfer of ownership, gave him money and told him to try to make his living on it.

what happens when you walk in a place like this and recognize from the pictures the bar, the dark wood bar with the high stools and see this small man with light gray eyes looking at you... behind him 20 bottles of whisky... there was nothing I could do but say "bom dia, I'm the grandaughter of Mateus Paulo Duarte"

"ah menina, a sua mãe esteve cá no dia 17 de fevereiro de 2004. lembro-me muito bem. sabe devia dizer ao seu avô para cá vir. eu queria que ele visse que tenho tomado conta disto."
("ah, your mother was here on the 17th of february of 2004. I remember it well. You should tell your grandfather to come here, I'd like him to see how well I've taken of this bar.")

of course you can't say these things to me and not think it wouldn't touch deep in my heart... because if you did, you don't know me. I cried... not just because it was a surprise to hear this man speak of my grandfather not knowing he has been dead for 12 years... but because I didn't even expect to see anyone on this trip who'd speak of him... he spoke like grandpa Mateus would be there in 5 minutes... he even added "you should also tell him that we have save all these years the trees he planted.."

ok stop... it hurts now. I cried in front of him, and in front of the kids who were there, because I missed him so much right then and there, I remembered him, and for a few minutes outside of that bar and looking out at his lovely cute small house I could hear him calling me, I could almost smell him. I actually think he was watching me. Hard to explain, but almost as if everyone, my mom, aunt and grandparents somehow found a way to make me really realise that all of this was real. I guess I hadn't understood how much this could affect me... but it did.

You can never doubt the importance, and the power of small towns... Machipanda is tiny, has a long name, it's also my mother's email address, but it's the biggest place in my heart in all of this travelling.

The canadian also drove us to Penhalonga... the most secretly kept botanical garden. trees longer than the distance from earth to heaven. Green leafs greener than mother nature. Air as pure as I never thought possible... I even choked with it... city girl!

We didn't stay long, almost as if there was a timer there telling us to leave so that the secret could still be kept within those hills and trees... it's a pity, but then again, it's a secret I know about now.
I couldn't stay long so I asked to drive us back to Manica where we were sleeping, Chimoio, ex-Vila Pery was our next pit-stop, I had to go in search of my mother's Boarding School, ah ok... now let's go.
We were heading towards our first non-family-related visit, the National Park of Gorongosa, we were about to see the real savanah, or we hoped.
They tell you knot to drive at night, but it was during that night, actually at 17:25, pitch black already, that I reached my 2000kms.

and I'm still alive... my butt though isn't.

Brian... that's his name!!!!

manica

Manica is the name i'll give my child... not as a first name, as a second name... it's a name. Out of all the places I have been to in my life, there has never been a place where just as I pronounce the word I feel like I'm about to meet someone. That someone might just be my first little girl. She will inherit a second name that will make my mother and her big sister prouder than ever. She can do anything but with a name like that, they'll forgive them forever. With this, my good deeds in life will be done with! ;)

We arrived in this little telenovela lookalike town on my sister's birthday, the moment I saw that sign "MANICA" I knew it was the moment to say "happy birthday" to someone who'd understand why I'd have pick that spot. I was about to enter the real childhood of my mommy. Actually my mother did not spend her chldhood here, it was more her teenagehood, she went away to Boardingschool in Vila Pery, now known as Chimoio (which has already been chosen as our second child's second name if it's a boy... Umbeluzi just doesn't do it for us!), where she was VERY well behaved............ NOT!!!! while her parents lived in Manica. Not bad for spending your school holidays and ocasionally weekends, huh?
Was it fun waking up to this beautiful mountains and hills? Do you realize you simply forgot to tell me there were mountains in Mozambique? Africa? You always let me believe that you lived in places called "mato" in the sense lions were your pets, and elephants ate in your back garden... ok, you never told me that, but when you and Titi told me that you lived in places where you didn't even wear shoes, I presumed that meant you were part of the Tarzan and Mogli family...
no?
...hmmm... let me reprogramme my mind... ok, so I imagine that the pool you swam in on weekends wasn't a pond, huh? yes... I know, it was this huge Olympic pool... clean as you'd never imagined after 30 years, but still humangous. This was where you flirted with the town boys? This is where Titi gave her first kiss? I bet grandpa Mateus was happy for that, as he watched from his designed and contructed (yup, no architects in the family just wannabes!!) MANICA LODGE (known as MOINHOS back then) office window. I was very proud to see that whoever took it in charge, took care of it very well, the little windmill suites don't have their white sails anymore, but they look very cute, and in a country where Zimbabueians (??) are conquering all the hotels and lodges by storm, it was very conforting to know these people are keeping it comfy and cute, just like I'd imagine grandpa would.

I can't get over these mountains... was it always like this? Are you really sure mom this is the same Manica you lived in????? It's so wierd!!!

Oh... there's a monkey crossing the road!!!!!! aaaaahhhhhhhh ok, NOW, this is where you lived! uffa... I thought i'd have to give my child another name!

By the way, did I tell you my aunt had her 1rst comunion in this beautiful church (someone told me it was a cathedral... hmmm), abandoned... but on a hill. With a "via sacra", imitating the ones in Braga, really I'm not bragging, it was really like that, where you can see the whole town and almost a peek of Zimbabué...

and I thought this country wouldn't surprise me.
from city, to beach, to desert, to sweaty weather, to beach again, to smaller cities, to hills and to mountains... from total deserted places to green as nature should.

Manica touched me like any other place, in it's own particular way. Simply simple. The people I was in contact with weren't what I'd say, hospitable... actually I don't need to be nice, he wasn't at all the type of person I'b ever be around to, but my grandpa was his father's friend, really good friends, and of course I thought he would sit down with me and let me know everything I should about life back then. Well... to him, it had no importance what so ever... he showed the houses my family lived in, showed that church, showed the pool, showed the post office (?)... but from his car, driving at 200km/h, yelling at anyone who crossed our path, called people by their color, was rude, agressive, and surprisingly enough thought of himself as the king of Manica.
This I make a point to tell you because to me one of the saddest things I noticed in Mozambique, a lot of people who stayed after the independence, which I think is very honorable, believing in their state as a Mozanbican, now are most of it BOSSES, they just boss anyone around. All in the name of trying to impress. They didn't understand when I offered to washed my clothes by hand in a basin, he ordered the others to do it for me. I couldn't wait in line, because they'd make me pass in front of everyone, and couldn't understand when I'd refuse to.
"you're not very used to this are you?" they'd asked... well, not really and I'm in no hurry or in no place to be better or first than anyone... and it DOESN'T IMPRESS ME!

And to think so many people stayed to change the country from colonialism, and now, look where some are, doing eaxctly the same thing and even worse, not even looking around you. Of course probably for him he can afford to be like this because Manica is a tiny town... I guess you'd lower your little balls if you had to share!

Anyway... here in this green garden I saw a little bit of what people can really be in their worse, and apologizing to my mother, I told her that Manica dissapointed me. But I guess the people don't make the places, maybe places make people...

But then again, my grandparents lived there and were happy there for many years...
which makes me sure that because of that, my little girl will have MANICA in her name.
...will you still be her godmother?

beira 02

Beira is as delicate as the sand on it beach, it's soft to the eyes, to the heart, it's as gentle as the wind that you feel in the morning.
It may seem like a bunch of crap to you, but that's how it seemed to me there. It was so easy to imagine living there, with a small house, garden, kids running around, it's easy to imagine you'd be calm and relaxed over there.
I decided to stay a day more than I had planned, I needed to feel that peace for one more day... one more morning, one more very hot afternoon. I needed to still search for something... something I'd been dreaming about for a very long time.
No, it wasn't just that almost white sand, that soft feeling of being able to walk on it in bare feet... nor the extension of those beaches. It wasn't the presence of that adorable lighthouse, which at night fills the beach with it's warning light, or the abbandoned houses right by the beach front just calling out for us... or me at least. It's impressive how quick I can calculate how much money it would cost to leave everything and come and live here. It wasn't even the rotted ship Macuti, which was put purposely put in the sand in front of the lighthouse as to protect the sand dunes from overfloods, to save the beach someone ingeniously thought of picking up a sunken ship below water and put it back on earth... but with a lifesentence, to save the beach. It's motor is impressively big, you wonder how gigantic it was when you see it's detail... but, even in my mother's childhood photos, it's there... noone could tell me more.
Maybe you'd think it was the actual Macuti Church, made in the 50's or 60's, I think, I'm actually making this up, but it's from that era for sure, you can tell... built practically on the beach, it is falling apart because of the salt from the ocean. The staircase outside is hanging by a thread, literally and it's amazing how the steal columns are still holding the roof. Destruction apart... it is absolutely breathtaking. And, detail I love, has it's own outside church... prepared for every season! It serves as a school, and very lucky those kids are... unless it falls, which by the way, I offer my services to restore it... I'll do it for free, well actually, I'll do it for a couple of hours at the beach per day! good for me!

But no... I wasn't looking for things things specifically in Beira. In 1921, a little girl was born here, the first of my family to be born overseas, the cute adorable girl who dreamed of being a pilot and flying, just like those after her, daddy and me, and who because of her grandaughters, decided to give up her dream, put away those wings and take care of us. Well, as much as I appreciate all those "croquetes" you've made grandma, I'd prefer you flying me around the world!!!
Anyway... that little girl, 86 years ago (i won't say 86 and 1/2, because it's good to keep her young) was born in a house, she told me it was after a bridge, a steal bridge, designed by Eifel...

She, and any of us, really imagined that 86 years after, that bridge, the one she claims was very close to her house, would end up collapsing, and being deslocated to the other side of town, or at least, if you stand where the bridge is now... there is no way you'll find that house... so, I decided to call her LIVE... but then I thought maybe it's better, if I have to spend so much money calling home, then I need the call to be efective: I called her sister. She's 10 years younger, almost, and has the memory of my huge exterior hard disk, she's a walking encyclopedia and my "google" for any subject... and I even found out that also her was born in the same house.
I expected the simple confirmation of "yes it's close to the bridge" or "no it's not". But like google, she'll be precise if the subject is interesting. "where are you?... ah, ok, so turn left at the bridge, go to the end of the street, you should find a white tower, it looks like a firemen exercise tower, but instead it was built to be the bell tower of the first Catholic Church of Beira, but apparently was never constructed, way before our time, it's white and it used to have a flag I think, now if you are standing in what seems like the front of it, then you look to the left, and you should see a house with an antique zinc roof..................."

Well, one more minute and I'd practically could've walked in and found my way to the actual bed they were born in... but the it was... still standing... filled with people who evaporated giggling as soon as I asked if they wanted to be in the photo, colors all over the place, but there it was.
I have a picture of my greatgrandfather, and his little girl, sitting on it's front steps... and here I am, 86 years later, standing in front of it's door... was there one???
I guess there are things in life you will never be able to explain to others, things like knowing where people you have grown to love have been... my children will probably never do this trip themselves, they won't probably fly off to Mozambique in search of their mother's, father's, grandparents', uncle's, aunt's, friend's past here, but they will know all the stories I lived, and if one day they come to Antwerp in search of this tiny appartment I'm in, then I want them to feel like this. That in one second, that second... it all made sense.

Beira made sense... it always will.

beira 01

this won't be an easy post to write... too much information and too much pressure on making Beira sound like the best place we were in on our trip. well truth has it's way of creaping up on you and i cannot lie.

if i had to give an Oscar for surprise, then Beira would have it, definetely. It's not a busy, busy city like Maputo, maybe even a bit too stresless, too quiet, too small, but Beira is from another time, Beira wasn't created for 2007, it was made in 1907 and it keeps it's 10' and 20's look.
if you've ever been to Portugal dos Pequeninos in Portugal you'll know what i'm saying when i say that Beira, has a different scale, in all aspects.

I just can't get pass that wonderful smell of fruit trees, of the ocean right at your door step, houses that look old but so charmful, people who smile as you walk by without trying to sell things you'll never use, SUMOL on outside "esplanadas"'s tables, pastéis de nata made in the Riviera, beter than any other i've tasted... except the Belém ones of course (still portuguese!).

Beira is a... feminine city, just like Maputo would by my standards, be without a doubt a much more masculine place. Beira is feminine because when the wind blows, all the trees move like a light 1920's dress would, slowly. Maybe that is because i grew up with no other than 4 Beira women, it should be 5, but my dad's sister was only born there and moved when she was 3 to Lourenço Marques and declares herself completely "laurentina" (she's probably now telling herself that she won't get me anything for my birthday because i just said Beira is better!), and they are from different generations but to me Beira suited them perfectly.

there was another "woman" in Beira that made me sigh, the Central Train Station. well, we had to fight to be able to get these photos, ridiculously I had to use my influent family to be able to go to the director of the station and tell him that his boss allowed me to take photos... and surprising enough it worked. i swear i never used family this way... hmmm actually i did, when i had a blue card that allowed me to park anywhere, but anyway... (can't talk about it). they melted before me and allowed me to be by myself with A.T. in this amazing, empty, simple atrium where probably once had hundreds of people catching trains and now sadly is forgotten. they're doing a very good job in repairing the railway tracks all over Mozambique but the trains still don't move, and to this day there are no "people's trains" in this gigantic country. sadly... i'd prefer having travelled a bit on those trains, my grandfather would've loved it.
soon... i hope soon.

there are a lot of intelectual architectural phrases i could linger on with about this station, but the picture, i believe, speak for themselves. i tried so hard to capture that beautiful emptyness... i can't put all of them in here but maybe once you'll have time to sit with me and look at them carefully.
as i said before the women who grew up with me are from different generations, my grandmother (the pilot) and her sister, my mother and her sister (there a few more but not on a birthday and christmas basis), there are about 30 years separating them, and of course things were probably very different for each, but i bet they saw somethings the same way... or at least the same things... some of which i saw like they still remembered, others not really...

the Cathedral is back to it's original color, (next to the Radio PAX buildind and the Artes e Oficios School, on the radio they use to play "menina salta para as minhas costas"!!! translation by the deejay of the song "baby come back" it used to crack me up when my mom told me this story with "black/protuguese" accent!!!) my mother saw it 3 years ago and it was old and let go, but this year they repaint it and it's pure white, it was nice to get married there, right grandma? my mother's and aunt's former high school is still standing, grandious and still separated between boys and girls, who by the way have kept their side of the building spot clean and tidy. some of the girls asked me a lot of questions about Lisbon, about what it was like for my mother to study there, if i liked Beira, if i'd been to the beach because turists loved the beach eventhough they themselves never go there, if i and my husband (A.T. i presume) had children waiting for us back in Lisbon... and most of all they said something that i will keep forever with me "aaaahhh é tão bonita, parece uma actriz de telenovela"... ya, i know, it's hard for me! (ok, it's not from the cinema, it's just soap opera, but still, the idea was the beautiful part) ;)

i found Aunt Dana Michaelis on a restaurant wall, it's good to see family like that, she's been gone for a while now, but her drawings are spread out amongst art galleries, museums, family houses and in our hearts. it was amazing to see such a beautiful drawing, from one of her best works, the Mozambique collection in pen drawing.

and of course other buildings around town, where people use to shop, where people use to take sunday walks, such as the municipal square, or the walk toward the lighthouse where now a few abbandoned buildings creep up on you, and the mitical Grande Hotel, with it's own world inside, noone knows how many people now live there, but i counted from my far away standing point at least 5 trees, green and small, still, but so strong growing in between the walls of this massif building. apparently it use to be luxurious, it use to be magnificent, it didn't last long, the pool though, where now people wash their clothes in the water that is provided by the rain, was of public domain, but the building itself was always meant for the rich, well, i guess you should laugh at the contradictions of life sometimes, but this times, it's scary.

you wonder how they survive, the building eventhough still standing tall is loosing it's imponence, it's dying, the structure will one day give in, it windows are gone, the corridors bare, rats live amongst humans and you imagine what will happen... looking at it i knew in my heart we have to find a solution soon, those people one day will need something else, there are now 3 generations already living or have lived there, intire families, children who know nothing else. is there a sure solution? i have no clue, i hope maybe COOPI.it can help us find something to do, maybe they'll have ways of making it better. and i wanna go!

praia do tofinho

one advice... experience speaking: whenever you travel and there are people you know who you will visit and they happen to say "i heard you're travelling north towards Beira, if you'd like you can sleep half way in a house i have at the beach"

ALWAYS, i repeat, ALWAYS accept it!
i don't know if i've made myself clear on this, you should never think twice, ok so there are sometimes really bad surprises (i will make sure you know of a bad result later on in the holiday report), but mostly, it's free, which means GOOD, and most of the time, cosy... well... after Xai-xai i could only hope it'd get better, because i regretted not having stayed there for a week.

but, how shall i put this... i'll explain it this way. I'm driving, tired, exhausted, because i haven't told you how hard it is to drive in Mozambique, not for the lions and elephants crossing my path (those i could probably handle) but because of the grand canyons in the middle of road that just happen to be in my way right after a slope or a turn... so we'd fall, feel our stomachs detatch from our bodies, think we were dead, realise we weren't and congratulate me for being such a great driver! i also had to deal with another type of creature, popping out of everywhere, CHILDREN... i think in the 3244km i drove with my "FÔBÁFÔ" i didn't drive for more than 5km without seeing people on the road side... walking, and walking, and walking... i wondered where they were going... but they walked for miles i believe, kms i mean. anyway... children are let out free. this doesn't mean i think children should be put on a leash, it means they should know the difference between laying down on a corn field enjoying the "dolce fare niente" and laying down in the middle of the asphalt, i mean the road! i had to use my horn to scare chickens, goats, turkeys (who by the way suffer from deafness i believe), cows, "pumbas" (watch the lion king), monkeys, and the scariest of all, human beings. "if i was your mom..." i'd yell... no use... it's like in Antwerp, trams rule the streets, but in Mozambique, children do!
...of course... when i'd get close to them angry because i thought i'd kill them, A.T. knew i was just making plans as to adopt them or not. i swear, if there were no laws, i'd have a football team here by now.

....oooohhhh sooo off the subject.
so, you accept this offer of a place to sleep for a few nights... hoping it's close to the water, at least. but because of the "highways" and the fact that "FÔBÁFÔs" could indeed be slower than you'd hope, they just drive through anything, making your promises of arriving anywhere before the sun goes down (17:30!!!! making the children on the road scarrier than ever) a complete failure. and there we were, in the middle of this sand dune road, 18:30, pitch dark, eyes and teeth the only thing you could identify in the dark, panic because there are no lights on the road and you know people are waiting for you. Sr. Manuel waited for us...
as soons as i turned off the engine i was off to the dinner table, and then bed. the bed part i leave out because i can't describe all the squishy creatures i found in that house... i hate animals smaller than cats!
even knowing of all the creepy things that were crawling around our mosquito-net-protected-bed the only thing that actually annoyed me throughout the night, was this thundering sound of waves crashing on the beach... i can't believe this but in that pitch dark night, i could only say "i hate being so close to the ocean"!!!

well... well... the night went and morning came (at 6:00a.m.) and fate has it that i don't fall asleep after my eyes open. let's take a walk outside and see what awaits us...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!! breath, breathe... 1,2,3,4,5, AAAAAAA. TTTTTTTT!!!!!!!! i know he hates it, but he had to look out the window... the ocean wasn't far away, it was below our feet!!!!!!!

kms of beach, empty...

the sun looked as if it was there to please ME,

the dogs were there to befriend A.T.,

the CAPULANA's market was put there for us,

the fish we ate for days were created for US...

and i could feel that those amazing sunsets were sent by you...

(i know you wanna know, the word "FÔBÁFÔ" is a new word in my vocabulary, it should mean QUATRO POR QUATRO, but if you translate it to english FOUR BY FOUR and slightly... actually no, completely add to it a portughese/mozambican accent, you get something like "FÔBÁFÔ"... remember the "FOGE DE LÁ"?, well, that's my life story i guess, people speak to me knowing i will eventually know what tey're saying... it takes effort though. )

xai-xai

when i was a kid, my winter holidays were spent in Lisbon.
when i was a kid, my winters were cold.
when i was a kid my christmas day i wore a sweater... and tights, and boots, and a coat.
when i was a kid, my new year's eve, when i was allowed to stay awake, was freezing cold (well at the time i thought that was the coldest i'd live), but everything was in Lisbon.

my daddy, on the other hand, spent his winter holidays in Xai-Xai.
my daddy would drive north out of Lourenço Marques, enter the Province of Gaza, probably like us buy some cajunuts on the way by the road (or probably not, but by the way they're yummy), cross the Limpopo river bridge (you only pay it on the way south) and arrive to a little paradise on a hill where the horizon is very far away.
my daddy as a kid had his summer holidays in what would later be my winter.
my daddy as a kid spent his christmas days swimming in the Indian Ocean.
my daddy as a kid would transfer to Xai-Xai to the little house on the hill built by his daddy.
my daddy... (uffa, how frustrating...) was allowed to be awake on New Year's Eve, the Xai-Xai hotel looking over on the great big ocean, and kms of sand would probably help you make childish dreams and hopes for the new year come true...

jeaulous?

yes daddy, i am... i was and now i'm even more. no matter how abbandoned the hotel looked, and how many times you'll tell me, "it was different in those days" i'm still jeaulous. the house is still there, i saw it, i for 10 minutes stood in that garden and saw the Indian Ocean just like i believe you had back in the days... i loved it...

no house in the Algarve will ever have that effect. and no Christmas holiday in Portugal will ever be like those you lived in Xai-Xai.

by the way... maybe we could just buy the house from whoever has it now and just move there, all of us... we could live off of the fishes A.T. catches, and my children would have the same images you had.
i'll make the plans, you convince grandma!

umbelúzi, boane e namaacha

do you remember when at school your teachers or your little elementary school friends would ask where were your dad and mom born? strangely enough i never said "they're from mozambique", my daddy has always been from UMBELÚZI.
wierd huh? well i never got positive reactions like "so is mine!" or "wow", i got mostly things like "huh?!", "where?" or just blank faces. while all my friends on holidays would go away "p'rá terra" i could only do that on one side of the family, but on my dad's side, things were mostly reduced to Lisbon, fine with me, but why couldn't i go to Umbelúzi?
"well bicuka, it's very far away, and our house is probably gone by now." i always thought it's be gone because they'd use it as a battle field!
my dad was born in Lourenço Marques, but on his 2nd day of life he moved straight to Umbelúzi, my grandfather was the director of the IIAM-estação agrária de umbeluzi for a long time, in two different times, the first of which my dad grew up in a colonial house, did his primary school in a colonial building, watched plants grow, gigantic trees become his hideout, a far away horizon... it would have been the best place for summer holidays.
the house was in every picture, every album. my grandmother has always had in her front hallway, as soon as you walk in her house, a big drawing of this house hanging on the wall. noone is indefferent to it, no one cannot past by it without looking twice, and i was always jealous that i had never seen it. my grandfather used to tell stories about it, of course to make us scared he told us about every bug, insect and disgusting squishy animal you could find in their garden... it'd scare me, but he would always say "if you had been there like your daddy and played with all these things you wouldn't be scared" and i'd cry because i didn't like being NOT from Umbelúzi.

the house just takes your breath away, it was there in front of me, big, huge even, restored, still standing with the beauty i always imagined, if not more, it's still part of the IIAM, noone lives there, just offices, the garden is so colorful, the trees are bigger than i thought possible, the imbundeiros are just too big to discribe... but what i couldn't stop thinking about, thinking that i would even end up crying with emotion, instead i couldn't stop smiling, i was standing on the veranda of the 1rst floor where my dad would ride his bike around the house. which kid wouldn't love that? a veranda that would turn into a highway for your bike? of course there seemed to be enough land to bike on, but especially when the river would flood out and the helicopter would pick up my daddy to go to the city, then the veranda seemed big enough. actually it's huge!
a bit later in his childhood after a year or so in Lisbon, where the kids at his school would make fun of him because he'd wear shorts and my grandmother wore pants, they came back to Umbelúzi but this time to another house, a very portuguese looking house from the 60s.
it was the cutest thing! so adorable i wanted to buy it... i never thought of buying a house, of course if i had the money i'd buy the big one, but i could make that one my library/coffe shop/baby school/movie theater/architecture studio project and this one my little hide away. this house felt mine. i looked into every window, every door, didn't find one piece of furniture, no tables, no beds, nothing... I HAD A CHANCE!
wrong again! this very smiling couple poped out of nowhere, and scared me sooo much.
at first i was a bit jealous. they couls live there. they said they had no money to buy anything so they slept on the floor, had a few clothes, no electricity, no warm water, but their smile was bigger and whiter than i'd presume people could have living on so little.

o Sr. Teixeira garanteed me that even without much, the house was still up and running. he has taken care of it and to him it looks beautiful. with a lot of love and care he reasured me his kids would run around like my daddy once did.
i didn't have the courage anymore to tell him i wanted to buy the house, i thanked him, asked for a photo to give to my grandmother and i left on my voyage knowing that that doll house will always be in good hands.
Boane, (which by the way A.T. has already chosen as the second name for his first boy child... sometimes i hope it's not with me :/) is a little village right next to Umbelúzi where my dad was baptized in the chapel you see in the picture, it's very very cute. but all it had was the chapel!

Namaacha, for those who are thinking of going to Mozambique is a waterfall location, that is if you go in the african summer, known as the wet season... because we didn't see any water falling from the hills, we only saw all the swazi children trying to get money from us by diving into, what didn't seem so clean water, and showing how uninhibited they are. we didn't give money but they loved how we kept taking pictures. i'll go back one day just for the waterfall and maybe then i'll dive myself!

...there are also photos of a huge dam we passed on our way back to Maputo, i can't remeber the name, but i'll remember how i had to duck beside a wall when the wind picked up and tried to take my skirt and eyeglasses out of my body...

to be continued

from this

this...

to this...

it's fu***** cold and I am too tanned to cover myself up.
as you can see I didn't update you on anything from my trip, I will soon, now in europe it's easy to get access to a computer with internet... which in the middle of nowhere in Mozambique I had a hard time finding.
let me just get a grip on this cold, and pretend I will survive.

pilates works

a 15 dias de me meter noum avião durante 10 horas para ir pela primeira vez ao continente africano... caraças fica mesmo lá no .. de judas Moçambique! decidi inscrever-me num curso de PILATES.

há quem chame "yoga" outros "ginástica" outros ainda "slow aerobics"... ora, eu antes de começar fui ver umas sessões, e relaxei mais nesses escassos minutos que nos últimos 4 meses. desde que "encomendei" os bilhetes de avião para Moçambique que ando nisto, não relaxo, não me sento a descansar, não penso noutra coisa... a emoção é tal que a minha hora do almoço é passada a escrever no meu MOLESKINE o que não me posso esquecer, o que devo ver, quem tenho que conhecer, rever, que praias não posso perder, que comidas tenho que comer, que cautelas devo ter, que estradas devo tomar, que jeep alugar, que botas comprar, que protector levar (atenção que eu nunca ponho protector solar, fiquei admirada com a quantidade de escolha!), que medicamentos não equecer, ...

enfim... poderia continuar mas o objectivo era contar-te sobre as minha sessões de PILATES. ora são 60min de pura paz... e dor!
como é que é possível que a Anne, a minha "teacher" me consiga fazer sentir tão bem e tão mal ao mesmo tempo. os exercícios são simples, ou seja, são lentos, nada de exageros... mas para um "roll-up" devemos demorar pelo menos 20 segundos. ora um "roll-up" é o ir da posição deitada a sentada completamente enrolada em nós proprias. eu nunca fui muito elástica (só para coisas que eu cá sei!) ;) demoro 3horas porque não há maneira de conseguir subir sem pedir ajuda. e lá vem a Anne com uma voz de avózinha a contar uma história e sabe-se lá como devagarinho, devagarinho lá me levanto eu, sem problema nenhum... assim que ela sai do meu campo de visão para ir ajudar alguém que ainda está pregada ao chão as dores chegam! e repito isto em todas as posições do manual.

o bom de todo o sofrimento é o "after feeling" de total levitação quando ao acabar a aula eu me meto em cima da Lillo (bicla) e pedalo até casa, vou sempre a sorrir, e não é só porque acho que tenho que justificar o dinheiro que gastei, mas porque parece mesmo que os nossos problemas se evaporaram para sempre.

até começar a subir os 3 andares belgas que me levam até ao meu chuveiro... começa a asma, as dores nas pernas, no pescoço, nas costas, o calor, o suor, e de repente numa rajada só começo a sentir de novo a vozinha mázinha a dizer no fundo da dor de burro...
"não te esqueças de ligar para marcar o hotel antes de 2feira"
"tratar do primeiro jantar em Maputo com os amigos e primos dos pais para celebrar os anos do A.T."
"caraças esqueci-me de ligar para o médico especialista de Malária para perguntar sobre os medicamentos!"
"amanhã envio um mail á prima para saber onde há postos de gasolina nas estradas da nossa viagem"
"não te esqueças de comprar botas no sábado"
"não te esqueças de comprar protector para os mosquitos no sábado"
"escreve as moradas todas de quem queres enviar um postal"
"ai e não te esqueças de apontar os aniversários para lhes ligares de lá"

"ah e nem penses beber água da torneira!"

...eu espero que as 6 aulas de PILATES me resolvam estes pormenores todos, senão não há quem me faça entrar no avião!
(enquanto isto o A.T. diz-me: "olha, descobri que em Moçambique vais ter que conduzir do lado direito e as mudanças do lado esquerdo. lindo!"

ANNE!!!!!!!! SALVE-ME!!!!!!!!

4 anni di...

NOI

português vs. italiano vs. inglês vs. holandês

"bicuka, com o cabelo molhado não posso meter a cabeça no PILÃO.."


risota de 3 horas... depois de descobrir que PILÃO era a tradução do meu fofo italiano da palavra inglesa PILLOW para a sua nova língua: português!
como é que se explica de onde vem a palavra ALMOFADA???

(também podes comentar... no ás cegas aqui ao lado)