2008 Woodie Awards
Big trip to small country triggers old memories
Diana Vilares
Issue date: 2/1/07 Section: Perspectives
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They say that as we get older we start to value things we took for granted when we were young and more interested in how everything in life could benefit us. I guess they're trying to tell us that we're pretty selfish until we are capable of looking at the same thing twice and leaving with a deeper understanding of it the second time around…
I recently took a trip to Portugal with my mother to visit family we hadn't seen for a few years. For the non-geography majors, Portugal is located west of Spain and despite popular belief, its official language is not Spanish. Although small, Portugal is a country rich in history, and with the risk of sounding biased, a humble one.
I had made the trip plenty of times before and my 84-year-old grandmother was still the top dog in the kitchen cooking for 20 people in honor of her daughter's homecoming. But, still, things were different this time.
When I was younger, the majority of my summers were spent across the Atlantic with my family. Then, my main concern was how I could sucker my grandfather into buying me ice cream at the local café and letting me keep the change to play pinball.
I'd spend most of my time on the beach making new friends and answering childish questions that only made sense then about what it's like to be from another country. I was the "Americana" and I didn't mind it. I was different and I liked it.
My favorite thing to watch was the fishing boats come in at sunset with their gigantic fishing nets filled to their maximum capacity. The fishermen's wives were already there in their big aprons with that unmistakable bulge of rolled up money in their pockets waiting to haggle with the beachgoers.
I never haggled. Nah, I found that crawling into the swarm of people and getting my little hands on as much fresh seafood as I could without getting caught, way more appealing. I'd tuck them into my bathing suit and run as fast as I could back to my beach towel.
I'm sure now that I had been spotted running away guilty, but I'm thankful to the fishy smelling stranger that let me go knowing that my intentions were anything but malicious.
I recently took a trip to Portugal with my mother to visit family we hadn't seen for a few years. For the non-geography majors, Portugal is located west of Spain and despite popular belief, its official language is not Spanish. Although small, Portugal is a country rich in history, and with the risk of sounding biased, a humble one.
I had made the trip plenty of times before and my 84-year-old grandmother was still the top dog in the kitchen cooking for 20 people in honor of her daughter's homecoming. But, still, things were different this time.
When I was younger, the majority of my summers were spent across the Atlantic with my family. Then, my main concern was how I could sucker my grandfather into buying me ice cream at the local café and letting me keep the change to play pinball.
I'd spend most of my time on the beach making new friends and answering childish questions that only made sense then about what it's like to be from another country. I was the "Americana" and I didn't mind it. I was different and I liked it.
My favorite thing to watch was the fishing boats come in at sunset with their gigantic fishing nets filled to their maximum capacity. The fishermen's wives were already there in their big aprons with that unmistakable bulge of rolled up money in their pockets waiting to haggle with the beachgoers.
I never haggled. Nah, I found that crawling into the swarm of people and getting my little hands on as much fresh seafood as I could without getting caught, way more appealing. I'd tuck them into my bathing suit and run as fast as I could back to my beach towel.
I'm sure now that I had been spotted running away guilty, but I'm thankful to the fishy smelling stranger that let me go knowing that my intentions were anything but malicious.
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