When it was over... bus reflections

The Portuguese countryside is breathtakingly covered in spring. Forest green hills awash with every color of flower. White and yellow daisies, thousands of tiny violet buds, patches of yellow and red stems. Unfamiliar deciduous trees that remind me of Black Hill's spruce with leaves intermingle with the millions of flowers. An tiny village, white with red tile roof catches me by surprise and I inhale sharply as Glósóli reaches a musical climax on my iPod. I remember what the guidebook said: "It is surprising that a land with such incredible beauty produced such great explorers." And this is only the highway.

Though in the interior of the country, I am aware the sea lies to my left. We are separated by not less than a few hundred kilometers and uncountable flowers, bushes, and trees. I remember what my Portuguese friends said yesterday upon seeing my complete joy for os pastéis de Belém - a traditional Portuguese pastry with a recipe known only by three people. My Spanish guidebook explained to me "Saben a gloria", they taste like glory. And they do. Creamy and flaky and cinnamon. Served warm.

Anyway, upon seeing my exuberance for said pastry, Vera remarked "Ellen, your soul is Portuguese." It still makes me laugh. Maybe it's true. If it wasn't before this trip, it is now.

Everywhere I go, I exchange a little piece of me for a little piece of that place. Even if I am not wearing my new Portuguese earrings or when I delete the hundreds of photos of Daniela and I running around Lisbon from my camera, I have memories that will always stay with me:

• Daniela picking me up at the bus station and explaining the neighborhoods as we drove through.
• sharing my first codfish - grilled with mixed vegetables and white Portuguese wine - with Daniela in a street café.
• Running around Barrio Alto with her guy friends from church and how we all laughed at their English and my feeble first attempts at mimicking Portuguese sounds
• sitting and looking a the city from a viewpoint at approximately 3 am Spanish time with my caipirinha - similar to a mojito - and feeling "in my salsa", like myself as I called Ricardo a "homem lobo" for howling at the moon.
• Seeing Daniela's house (flat) and realizing that in that moment, living in a flat was much more normal to me than living in a house.
• Running around one or two of Lisbon's seven hills with Daniela as she let me attempt Portuguese pronuncation
• Daniela's inexplicable love for street musicians.
• My inexplicable delight when I heard two Spanish men speaking in "andalú" behind me on the bus ride home: "Tío, menó má."
• Loving seeing Vera, Mafalda, and José near the river in Belém, next to the explorers' monument.
• Going to Portuguese Mass, dead tired, but loving sharing the peace and communion with my Taizé friends... singing together on the way out of the monastery.
• Going to Starbucks with Daniela and how it was IDENTICAL to an American Starbuck's.
• Sharing dinner with her family.