Madeline L’Engle is one of my favorite authors. Besides the fact that I enjoy her writing and stories, she has a talent for setting her worlds just next to ours -- everything is exactly the same and exactly right, except that she adds in a tad of history or geography that is not quite real. Her characters all inhabit this world with six degrees of separation, giving it a realistic texture. This particular novel is set in Portugal and has a chase scene that winds through the streets, museums, and monasteries of Lisbon. So, of course, when I found myself running through the streets, museums, and monasteries of Lisbon, I thought of Adam and Joshua.
Two things from the book stuck out in my memory. First, that Portuguese is a difficult language to learn, even if you know Spanish. It was a true God-send the amount of English that had permeated the culture in Portugal. Most young people we encountered spoke English at least passibly, some very well. We learned please and thank you and a very few other words before reaching Portugal, but they have a whole bunch of sounds that don’t resemble English or Spanish. So I ended up being able to read it enough to get by, to understand it enough to feel like I almost should be able to know something, and to speak it enough to look like a fool.
One of my favorite linguistic encounters came with a nun in Fatima. We wanted to go on a tour of the gift exhibition (they display votive gifts that people have left for Our Lady of Fatima). We asked the nun at the desk, “Fala ingles?” She did not, but offered us French, Italian, and Spanish as alternatives to Portuguese. So I got the information for the tour in Spanish, which was clearly not a native tongue for either of us.
My next favorite linguistic encounter was with a taxi driver who spoke no English. He was clearly a boisterous and friendly man, however. The Captain pointed to a map to show where we wanted to go -- “Oh, monasterio -- Geronimos!” He then began a conversation about how cold it was outside. It contained more laughter than substantial communication. When we approached our destination, he pointed out to us where we wanted to eat pastries and coffee as well as how to get to another historical site nearby -- all with hand gestures, sound effects, and our half-dozen words of Portuguese.
The second aspect of Portugal that stuck out to me from L’Engle’s book was the warm, light, airy feel of the country. This feeling was partly true. The warm is a thing. We only had temperatures in the mid-50s, but a few people we met assured us that this was cold -- January weather. Which means that plants stay alive because there is little, if any, frost. Flowers were still bravely in bloom, oranges were ripening on trees, and markets had planters of herbs springing into the walkways. The wind whipped away whatever heat might make it out of our (wind-proof) jackets, but the sun reassured us that it was not as cold as we thought.
As for the lightness and the airiness… we were in cities and they felt like cities -- just with narrower roads (and sidewalks) than we were used to. And many of the roads and sidewalks were limestone cobbles -- prettier than pavement at home, but worse on ankles that bricks. I saw many many women braving them in high heels, which seemed to be a very particular talent. In both Lisbon and Porto (the two cities we got to know), we embarked on lengthy walking tours across this sidewalk and saw houses in an array of light colors. Many sported the colored tile that is a hallmark of Portuguese architecture. Almost all were roofed in red clay tiles. So while the city seemed city-ish when walking through it, when looked at from above or afar, almost every Portuguese town or city we passed looked light and airy.
I want to reread The Arm of the Starfish and see which monastery hosts the end of the chase scene. We visited one monastery in Lisbon and looked at one from afar. The monastery was a huge, ancient stone building that held ornate religious art and the earthly remains of long-gone monarchs. The tabernacle was large enough that Jesus’ earthly form could have been inside it, holding His cross -- and it still would have looked too big to do the job. But I’ll get into more details about monarchs and monasteries in another allusion. (Teaser: the First Amendment.)
Two things from the book stuck out in my memory. First, that Portuguese is a difficult language to learn, even if you know Spanish. It was a true God-send the amount of English that had permeated the culture in Portugal. Most young people we encountered spoke English at least passibly, some very well. We learned please and thank you and a very few other words before reaching Portugal, but they have a whole bunch of sounds that don’t resemble English or Spanish. So I ended up being able to read it enough to get by, to understand it enough to feel like I almost should be able to know something, and to speak it enough to look like a fool.
One of my favorite linguistic encounters came with a nun in Fatima. We wanted to go on a tour of the gift exhibition (they display votive gifts that people have left for Our Lady of Fatima). We asked the nun at the desk, “Fala ingles?” She did not, but offered us French, Italian, and Spanish as alternatives to Portuguese. So I got the information for the tour in Spanish, which was clearly not a native tongue for either of us.
My next favorite linguistic encounter was with a taxi driver who spoke no English. He was clearly a boisterous and friendly man, however. The Captain pointed to a map to show where we wanted to go -- “Oh, monasterio -- Geronimos!” He then began a conversation about how cold it was outside. It contained more laughter than substantial communication. When we approached our destination, he pointed out to us where we wanted to eat pastries and coffee as well as how to get to another historical site nearby -- all with hand gestures, sound effects, and our half-dozen words of Portuguese.
The second aspect of Portugal that stuck out to me from L’Engle’s book was the warm, light, airy feel of the country. This feeling was partly true. The warm is a thing. We only had temperatures in the mid-50s, but a few people we met assured us that this was cold -- January weather. Which means that plants stay alive because there is little, if any, frost. Flowers were still bravely in bloom, oranges were ripening on trees, and markets had planters of herbs springing into the walkways. The wind whipped away whatever heat might make it out of our (wind-proof) jackets, but the sun reassured us that it was not as cold as we thought.
As for the lightness and the airiness… we were in cities and they felt like cities -- just with narrower roads (and sidewalks) than we were used to. And many of the roads and sidewalks were limestone cobbles -- prettier than pavement at home, but worse on ankles that bricks. I saw many many women braving them in high heels, which seemed to be a very particular talent. In both Lisbon and Porto (the two cities we got to know), we embarked on lengthy walking tours across this sidewalk and saw houses in an array of light colors. Many sported the colored tile that is a hallmark of Portuguese architecture. Almost all were roofed in red clay tiles. So while the city seemed city-ish when walking through it, when looked at from above or afar, almost every Portuguese town or city we passed looked light and airy.
I want to reread The Arm of the Starfish and see which monastery hosts the end of the chase scene. We visited one monastery in Lisbon and looked at one from afar. The monastery was a huge, ancient stone building that held ornate religious art and the earthly remains of long-gone monarchs. The tabernacle was large enough that Jesus’ earthly form could have been inside it, holding His cross -- and it still would have looked too big to do the job. But I’ll get into more details about monarchs and monasteries in another allusion. (Teaser: the First Amendment.)
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