Porto

Porto, Portugal.  A city I heard about often while living in Mozambique and later had a chance to visit.  This picture was borrowed from here.

Furadouro

I can smell it, can you?

Portuguese Sweet Bread

Once again I traveled down memory lane to my Portuguese roots and smelled the scent of pastries and rich, sweet breads from all the Portuguese places I have lived in. Kelli made this recently and directed all us Africankelli groupies to her friend's blog for the recipe.

It was well worth the search. My two loaves.

I was afraid of the results as I watched it rest and rise. I don't have a history as a baker, you see.

This was way too much fun.

I kept watching the clock to see when the 10 minutes were up.

My taste buds were happy and my soul grateful for a piece of my history I could make myself. Obrigado cara amiga.

Matrecos

These tables are staples in all Portuguese social clubs and cafes. The sounds of the game are unique.

We are novices, but this level of expertise must take many years to develop.

The game was invented by this guy, and there's also a human version. Some people are really fanatics.

All in all, this is part of my childhood experience which I can share with my family as we did at a party yesterday.

Papoilas

Poppies are a symbol of the revolution that took place in Portugal in 1974. In Mozambique we learned many songs too but if a different kind. I learned about the poppy through this song. I love the word PAPOILA. They are vibrant, regal, noticed, and eventually run their patch of land like this one I found in The Valley as I went on my morning walk.

Pretty.

Almost there.

There was a bee around here somewhere.

Glory.

And more.

78

Today she would have been 78. She's the tall one of the group.

I celebrate privately.

Honoring a mother

L.S., my mother's mother.

Bacalhau - Part 2

It hydrates in the water. It's thicker.

In the pan with potatoes, egg and later some greens. This boils until cooked (30-40 minutes).

Remove from the water. Drizzle with olive oil and serve hot. The cod here was still a little salty. As I said yesterday it is best after soaking 48 hours.

I've rejoined the multitude of bacalhau lovers.

:-)

Where in the world are the Vieiras?

My Mozambican family. And just like most Mozambicans who left in the late 70s, they have found a way to maintain their African roots. The Internet has lessened the sense of loss felt by those of us who unwillingly left.

Cheers, primos!

Summers past

by Ana

Furadouro, Ovar, Portugal

I lived on that beach the entire summer of 1976. Culture shock levels were still high, but living 100 meters from the beach was memorable. We were one of two groups of the extended offspring that had set roots in Mozambique. Everything about Portugal was different from Beira. I still remember the only black man in town. I suspect I was in denial about the permanence of the exodus from Mozambique. I learned to think of Furadouro as a piece of my family's history. I hold on to stories of the fishermen bringing in fish that supplied my grandmother's business, the smell of salt coming from the long vacant tanks in the "armazem". The cemetery was the final resting place of a long line of Troias. In Ovar I saw more elderly than ever before. Most of the family never left there. And me? Do I belong to one part of the world?

Peixinho fresco

Furadouro, Ovar - Potugal

Furadouro

by Ana

Remembering the summer of 1976. Living by the beach is heaven.