Portugal: Goodbye São Martinho, Hello Armação

We noticed flyers about town, in São Martinho, indicating some sort of event at the fire-station. Most of the firefighters here are volunteers, so it’s pretty remarkable that they’d take even more time out of their lives to have an open-house. Of course, we just had to go! It was great to see the different vehicles all open for inspection.

For some reason they had a drum set for the kids to pound on inside, near the trucks. They had a little obstacle-course for the children, but best of all was the fire-hose. They had the kids, one by one, give it a try. I don’t think it was a real fire-hose, but it was definitely stronger than a garden-hose. The had a big thing shaped like a house. They had to get the stream through the window.

Out back they were loading up the grill for a pork rotisserie… probably a good thing they were surrounded by fire-fighters. They Invited us to come back that afternoon for pulled pork sandwiches. We didn’t make it, but I bet that would’ve been fun.

The police (GNR) showed up this last week as Sao Martinho started getting busy. I thought the GNR jamming past us with lights flashing looked pretty intimidating on his Vespa. I’m sure it wasn’t actually a Vespa, but it was about the same size.

This town really is a village. There’s no place to get to speeds higher than 20 mph. The other day we watched in wonderment when a testosterone-driven teen decided to speed around a corner. He just tapped the gas, but those big marble slabs that delineate an intersection are slicker than snot. He looked like he was on ice.

Before we leave São Martinho, I will tell you about something sad. Our friend, Antonio, was really upset the other day when we met him for lunch. He said they’d found another beheaded goat under the bridge in the river. Apparently, the goats are used in Brazilian and African cults for worship. That morning he’d spotted several beheaded doves on the shore nearby. He thinks it’s the Brazilians, but who knows. It’s always done in the middle of the night at various bridges, according to Antonio. Unfortunate.

We were packing up our belongings in anticipation of coming down here, to the Armação de Pêra, when I got a text from our next Airbnb. Raquel, an absolute sweetheart, was apologetic because the bathroom plumbing job wasn’t finished on time. She wanted to put us up somewhere else until it was finished—four days after we arrived. I said not to worry, we could stay there during a construction project. Absolutely not! She said it was covered in dust and not up to her standards. She was frantically looking for a place for us while I sat on a bus reading and relaxing. About two hours before we arrived, she found a place.

Sadly, she said that she’s not used to people being nice about things that go wrong. Firstly, I have to say that she was super nice and sorry about it. Secondly, I find that things go way smoother when I’m nice. Being an uptight snob doesn’t get you far. I took a deep breath and tried to imagine how stressed out she must’ve felt. I have to admit that I wanted to stay at more then one place, but it’s way cheaper to stay for a month in one apartment. Anyway, I got my wish. We’re at a place we’d actually seen from our balcony on another trip. I even posted pictures of it because it had pools on the roof.

Susana was waiting for us out front of this place. She gave us a tour and pointed out the one flight of stairs to the roof.

It’s a clean little apartment with good air-conditioning and bizarre tiled bathroom and kitchen. It’s on a busy road, so it’s kinda noisy, but at night it sounds like the ocean. At least that’s what we tell ourselves.

We went straight to our favorite beach restaurant and then walked down the beach. What a chore! Man, the sand is way softer here and our feet and calves were screaming by the time we got back.

The first morning I went to the roof to write while Joe worked out. I’m writing a screenplay based on my second Tattered Book. This one is about a woman, Susan, in her sixties. It’s a romantic comedy based in the States, Portugal, and Italy. I’ve made some good progress on it since we’ve been here. Joe came up with a great analogy for writing a screenplay. He said it’s like reducing everything in your house (the book) down to a suitcase (feature-length film). It can only have what it absolutely cannot do without. Fortunately, it’s not a short film—that would be a backpack.

Joe and I both felt a little yucky… you know, that achy tired feeling? We attribute it to being out in the sun all day… we’ve become accustomed to the cooler northern coast weather. Today we feel better, but decided to stay in the shade. We’ll head to the beach tomorrow.