Happy New Year! Hey, I come home this year!
Jenna came by and we rang in the New Year on our own terms - lacking any method of figuring out the real time - the three of us (including Nanosh) arbitrarily decided around midnight that it was midnight and we did our own countdown, then went out for drinks in full view of haphazard fireworks and sparkler displays.
More Portugal...
We found our hotel in Faro very easily, right as we got off the train. We arrived at night, Christmas Eve, and were glad we had checked to make sure the place was open. The hotel was nice, but clearly frequented by upper-middleclass tourists - probably many Americans. They had available Internet, Port samples, and an automatic bell whenever anyone entered. After our previous few hotels - quaint, old and empty - this had a completely different feel.
Eric and I ate Christmas Eve dinner at a Chinese restaurant (a good one) as it was about the only one open. We wandered around town for only a little bit, then retired.
Christmas morning was pretty lonely, as the streets were barren and it was a tourist hotspot, but in the off-season. We were still able to appreciate some historical areas and a neat fountain, but it sort of felt like the twilight zone (or a Stephen King movie). At about 2 in the afternoon, the city quickly awakened and we poked around places we had become familiar with in the preceding few hours. There was a nice downtown area with Christmas lights hanging above (as every city had, some more elaborate than others) and a red carpet marking the pathway under your feet. There seemed to be quite a few decent restaurants and I insisted that we get pizza (which was delicious). Some more fruitless wandering and we were very ready to move on from Faro the next morning.
When we arrived in Albufeira, about 30 minutes away by train (but made an hour by construction delays), we were quite confused as to whether we were actually in Albufeira. Eric asked a woman who was boarding if it were the stop we wanted, and she said it was.
In the travel books, we had read that Albufeira was a wonderful beach town, and a must-see on any tour of the Algarve. But we were staring at a very industrial railroad station that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. Oh, well, we figured, town must be a little way off. So we started to get our bearings, and following road signs, headed to Albufeira.
Now, I'm used to the New England convention of marking directions for the center of town with the town name, even if you're already inside of it. I thought, and Eric did as well, that we were simply away from the center of town. It was warm, so I took off a layer (leaving two) and we humped our packs a couple of miles.
We started to realize that we weren't seeing beach AND we were still seeing signs for Albufeira. Worse, there seemed to be a bus system but no buses running. A couple of miles later, we were seeing buses, but also hills that we were sure led to beach.
Well, they did, but another mile and a half later! After our one-and-a-half-hour hike, we weren't winded, but not quite in the mood to price every hotel. I navigated us through town to a three-star hotel, and though it was relatively pricey, we decided things wouldn't get much better.
We started out in town, seeing Albufeira - a sort of Portuguese mini-New Orleans - toured mainly by Germans and Scandinavians - and getting continuously, hopelessly lost. It's built on hills with gently curving roads and few clear landmarks. Individually, Eric and I get lost fairly easily, but together we had Portugal down to a science. Except Albufeira. No matter what we did, we could never find where we wanted to go. Wandering in thismanner, we found a bar that served Guinness on tap. After our hike, lack of food, and thirst for a good pint, we left the bar with a very pleasant buzz and a renewed spirit for making the most of our second-to-last day. We hit the beach, I found myself in one layer for the first and only time (meanwhile, there were many Northern Europeans sunbathing), threw the Frisbee around, and appreciated why it was that the Algarve was famous. Though it was a nice beach, we both agreed that the States often affords sports much prettier.
We grabbed dinner at a touristy place, and it was a good, but clearly not carefully prepared, meal. Tourist food seems to be marked by tasting good and safe, but not going the extra mile to make sure you come back over and over again.
Afterwards, at the hotel, we decided that we had to hit the clubs. Hearing that things didn't pick up till about midnight, we bided our time until we couldn't take it anymore, and hailed a cab a few minutes into the new day. Talking with the cabbie, he let us know that the club we wanted to hit didn't get going until about 3 AM. So we went to a well-populated dance bar, tore up the floor, then at 3 (when the bar closed) moved on to the club until 5:30ish, continuing to show everyone else how Americans party (more specifically, how Eric and I party). It was a wonderful time, and something I really needed after, well, everything. Eric seemed to enjoy it equally well.
We woke up ridiculously early to take advantage of the free breakfast, surrounded by Germans. It was a strange experience, being in another country but among foreigners that weren't Americans - and homogeneously so. But now I know what other Europeans complain about when they go to an American-infested hot spot. It didn't feel like Portugal, or what we had come to expect of Portugal.
We took a taxi to the train station (smart), found our seats after waiting several hours for the train to arrive (as we had to check out of the hotel, but didn't want to wander around with our tired dancing legs), and as soon as the conductor took our tickets, we passed out. Arriving in Lisbon at night, we checked out a couple of close two-star pensaos and found one that seemed fine.
Very familiar with Lisbon, and having smelled a great Indian restaurant on the way, we had the best dinner of our trip that night, sleeping very well in spite of having to rise at 6 AM to get Eric to the airport.
Eric and I said our farewells at about 9 AM - I tried not to get sentimental as I know it will be only 11 months or so until I'm back.
Having some time to kill before checking out of the hotel, I decided to walk to the metro station close to the airport. After getting directions from a cabbie, I found myself in an open-air market (where I bought some gifts for people here) and according to the map, close to a metro station. Well, I spent the next hour close to a metro station, but not finding any. I gave up eventually and took the bus to what I knew would get me to a metro station and ended up arriving at the hotel with only 30 minutes to shower and pack up.
I strolled through Lisbon, fully loaded, for a couple hours, sitting and taking in the people and general atmosphere. Then, I took the metro out to the zoo, where I wrote the 12/28 entry, and having soaked in as much Europe, sweet-smelling, affluent and manicured as it is, I declared myself ready to go. I hopped back on the metro and found a big station close to the airport. Walking out, I realized I had stumbled on a large stadium (Campo Grande, where Sporting plays), so I budgeted myself 30 minutes more and walked inside. A brilliantly laid out stadium with bowlingm food courts and shopping made less like a mall than the outer rim of a futuristic arena, I was thoroughly impressed. It was a good final impression, and I didn't let the salty cab driver who got me to the airport, ruin it!
Apparently, Peace Corps has been in the news the last few months as being an unsafe, irresponsible organization. Though I'm not about to even touch that subject, there has been interesting commentary relating to the fact that the Peace Corps experience is a lot more watered down and less intense than it once was. Many volunteers (like many in Moz) have cellphones, Internet access, and regular media contact. Purists, as the original volunteers (and maybe even up till the 90s) can be called, denounce this as nonsense and that a volunteer isn't the same in the new millenium.
I agree.
But, likewise, the world is not the same place. Mozambique, 30 years ago, would have been somewhere where months would pass without communication, self-medication would be necessary, and all the stereotypical hardships would be present. But Mozambique, like the world, is changing. Within the last 5 years, cell phone use has become the norm and Internet Cafes are easy to find. Living a purist's experience would require living below the level of the community and interestingly, outside of the community.
The goals cannot be forgotten - we're here to help, not to suffer. And I think most every volunteer will say that the conditions - electricity, water, food, etc. - you can grow accustomed to with no problem. It's all of the factors that don't depend on money or random circumstance, such as the nature of your job, necessary emotional distance from your friends and family, mood swings, loss of familiar cultural cues, and many more things that make this experience inevitably difficult.
Maybe it's not as hard as 30+ years ago. But does that mean a volunteer should feel that they haven't accomplished as much because they haven't suffered enough? It's a very Judeo-Christian principle, and I don't buy it. I'm very concerned with how I can best help Mozambicans. If I'm suffering, then Moz will receive a half-assed job because I can't focus on what I'm supposed to do. Maybe the purists can look at their suffering as allowing the current volunteers certain luxuries so we can do our jobs that much better.
Month by month, what to look forward to:
January - New school year, mid-service conference
February - Avocado season (guacamole time)
March - Health trainees arrive and prep begins
April - See more of Moz during school break
May - Winter begins
June - Canadians leave. Health volunteers arrive.
July - Dad comes
August - City day and general debauchery
September - Birthday
October - Last classes, exam prep
November - finalizing plans, schoolwork
December - finish!
Why the emphasis on the Health volunteers? Well, they'll be learning Changana, and I should be pretty involved in that process. I feel like my Changana is not improving as fast as I'd like, but I need to still be patient.
Peace
John
