Cardinal sins and other sundries

Giving a penalty kick on an iffy at best foul is one for starters. Not liking beer or football in a country that expects both of those things, another?

Juli, Kristina, Sarah and I have been, if separable, at least great companions, and steadfast visitors to the festival de Cerveja on game days. On the 4th I offered to the gods the gift of no longer biting my nails if only they would let Italy win, and drank far too much Sagres for my own good, but, well, we were having a good time, and it was mostly free because we have made friends with the guys running the show. And the gods responded. Two truly gorgeous goals in the last minute of extra play. The Portuguese were not so lucky though. Perhaps because I didn´t up the ante, offering my second born child or something of the like... Portugal played much better, and yet, lost with dignity (a cheap penalty goal hardly counts, only it does). So, I believe it is quite clear who must now win.

I don´t like soccer, our new friend Daniel affirms, or beer. Neither do I, but the World Cup is different, and because wine was not an option? Well, it is time that I at least learn to tolerate beer, right? Learn which are better and which are worse? Probably for about as long as the Cup continues, and then I shall lose interest.

The town is tiny and we are now running into familiar faces in the plazas and parks. Clearly we spend 90% of our non-class hours roaming the streets and being louder and more obnoxious than we would like to admit. Last night we spent 3 hours standing at the foot of the bridge on the side of the Rio Mondego opposite the Convento da Santa Clara in which the image of Isabel the Rainha Santa and Coimbra´s patron saint is housed. We are in the middle of her festivities, and so felt that out of sheer curiosity we should stand uncomfortably and watch for something, anything, to happen. Eventually it did, children dressed as medieval kings and queens, dispersed among many devoted, candle-bearing adults and few pilgrims crawling on their knees wound their way for hours towards the Rua de Sofia until finally the Rainha (not much to look at, in all honesty) was stopped twenty feet from us, a sermon broadcast over the darkened and hushed city, followed by an A capella liturgical chant by men whose beautiful voices boomed across the silent plaza. What we weren´t expecting was perhaps the most spectacular display of fireworks that I have seen in years. We shall ignore the fact that our backs, knees and feet ached from standing in one position for so many hours. The festivities only happen every other year, and we felt obliged to be there.

Friday, sexta feira, has come and promises to go with equal relaxation. I honestly can´t remember when I have felt so at ease, at peace with the world around me. Granted, I have stayed far from newspapers and television, so the outside world doesn´t dare to depress me in all its brutality and impossibility. It is as if I were in an enchanted temple to nothing but the pursuit of knowledge, and knowledge for its own sake, with no pressing deadlines, nor required attractions, no expectations. I may take a riverboat by myself this afternoon, feeling the desire to be alone for a bit, write some postcards, have a galão, wander through the park. I was tempted to explore another city by myself this morning, but decided that hand washing was a more pressing necessity, and besides, I can always do that Sunday with my friends.

There is a forgetting that I needed, that I didn´t know, or maybe did know subconsciously that was necessary, a letting go of self-imposed tensions and anxieties, responsibilities to others. I am finding how to be responsible to and for myself again.