Monday, April 2, 2018

LISBON PORTUGAL 2018 - 3 - FROM ONE OF THE SEVEN HILLS OF LISBON

After a productive day at the conference yesterday, I feel comfortable taking another day off and revisit the places that I had been to before and visit more of Lisbon that I haven't been to. I would like to go to Barrio Alto today and visit at least the Gulbenkian Museum. Seeing that the metro red line that I catch right in front of the hotel is a block away from Gulbenkian Museum at its last stop, I decide to change the order of my pursuits.

One very sensual piece of art from Gulbenkian Museum

Calouste Gulbenkian is known to be a British businessman of Armenian origin, who was the first person to exploit Iraqi oil and somehow to open Middle Eastern petroleum reserves to the use and exploitation of the Western world. However, his Armenian family lived near Lake Van in Turkey as early as the 4th century. As they moved around Asia Minor, they lived in Kayseri, Talas and finally ended up in Istanbul. That is where Calouste's father became an oil baron mostly focusing on the oil in the Caucuses. It was the Ottoman emperor, who gave the Gulbenkian Sr. the right to Mesopotamian oil fields! Calouste was born in Istanbul but after completing his college education in Turkey, his father sent him to London to study petroleum engineering. Apparently the father was very strategic about how to expand the family's control over ever-expanding petroleum fields in the Old World. Calouste travelled and lived in many major cities of his time including Istanbul, London, Paris, and Lisbon.

A copy of Kuran acquired in Iran, which displays most exquisite miniature art, the art of Iran that Orhan Pamuk talks about in great detail in his book "My name is Red"

With the loads of money he made off of middle eastern oil, he must have wanted to own beauty from those lands as well. Thus, he collected lots of art pieces and furnished his home in Paris with these museum quality artifacts. Currently, the Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation owns all his art collections. The foundation not only preserves very successfully Gulbenkian's collection, but also continues to purchase modern Portuguese art to keep the museum dynamic. Apparently, throughout his life, Gulbenkian was involved with many philanthropic activities including the establishment of schools, hospitals, and churches.  

Tiles of all sizes, colors, and purposes from Iznik, Turkey, which is the tile capital of the country are abound in the museum

Although, commendable, I have become cynical about these good deeds when the very person(s) of such altruistic dedications have earned the resources to do such good by destroying the lands and at times lives of others. Koch Brothers, ExonMobil, Chevron, British Petroleum, I bet are all involved in numerous charity projects. Does that take away their responsibility in destroying the earth and along with it killing multitude of all forms of life from vegetation, to animals, to humans... Gulbenkian was not simply a rich man, he was RICH, big time. He as in one single man owned 5% of the Middle Eeastern oil reserves at the turn of the last century. He had a mansion in Paris, in which most of his own collection was displayed merely as ornamentation of the house.
Samples of tiles from Gulbenkian's house in Paris

Before purchasing an art piece, he consulted with multiple curators and collectors and had his finds valued.  He was able to afford that cost as well. One wonders then, was he doing this as part of his business dealings, expecting that they would bring a return of some sort? Although he had homes in Istanbul, Paris and London, he was essentially a nomad per internet entry and never had a home in Portugal and stayed at hotels as he visited. In 1942, he moved to Portugal, where he lived until his death in 1955. Thus, the Gulbenkian Foundation that he established and inherited all his fortune was able to found this incredible museum in Lisbon after his death.

Vases from far east displayed at Gulbenkian Museum

The foundation did fierce fundraising to build this two-section museum separated with beautifully designed gardens and a series of various sizes of ponds. One building houses the modern art collection and the other Gulbenkian’s own collection. In his collection are tiles, kilims, vases, bowls, and carpets from Iran, Syria, and Turkey from his earlier collection years. Later on, he continued collecting the same items in France, Spain, Italy as well. His furniture was Victorian style, beautiful elegant pieces, clearly carefully selected. Finally, he reached out to Far East and Egypt to collect exquisite pieces from every culture.

Pure silk embroidery from Japan

After I visit both sections, it is time to enjoy a cup of tea and a "pastel de nata", with almond based filling; delicious Portuguese treat watching the ducks in one of the ponds. Now it is time to head to Bairro Alto. Lisbon's Barrio Baxia, which it at sea level is the section of town where the old historic commercial and governmental buildings are located.  Since I visited Barrio Baxia the first time I came to Lisbon some years ago and decided "This is a place to visit one time" I will skip that. Barrio Alto on the other hand is a different story. I recall thinking when I had first visited it "I can come back here every time I come to Lisbon. And that is what I would like to do this afternoon. As you climb up to one of the seven hills that Lisbon is built on, you come across Chiado, which is the shopping district of Lisbon. Up further is Bairro Alto, the highest point of the west side of Lisbon across which you may enjoy vistas of the river.

The funicular up the steep street leading to Bairro Alto.

The San Jorge Castle and the rest of the city’s east side are very inviting from afar, alas won't be able to do it this time. When you go to Alfama, which is the eastern section of the city by the water, it rises up to the San Jorge Castle, from where you may view Bairro Alto, which is also an indispensable experience, which Bill and I had done in 2010. It was somewhat of a taxing climb for Bill, but he was always willing to try and had the greatest pleasure when we accomplished something physical together. Although there is a funicular that carries people up the steep hill from the Restauradores region up to Bairro Alto, I decide to hike up the cobble stoned street. To my surprise, although very steep, it is barely a quarter of a mile long. By the time I am up at the “terrace”, clouds have started accumulating, but sun is still shining in the distance and across from the valley. I am delighted to see that there is an outdoors café right on top of the terrace under linden trees. Although there is a very small kitchen area walled off of the terrace, they have a bathroom and they serve Vinho Verde!

Bare trees against the backdrop of gathering clouds on the terrace in Bairro Alto

Volla, this is my first stop up at Bairri Alto for sure. My server is a mixed-racial-appearing handsome young man named Ianick Helder Parvalho Mendes, who is happy to share his name with me. His family was from a small island under Portuguese control near Madeira off the African coast. He came to Portugal when he was 4 years old. He seems to be happy with what he is doing. He helps me get the best table to take in all the beauty the terrace offers, adjusts the outdoors heater, and brings me two fleece blankets along with my wine. I look like an Eskimo, but I am one happy camper…
Covered with fleece blankets against San Jorge Castle across the valley in Bairro Alto

After spending about an hour on the terrace, it starts raining, Ianick and his colleague are fast picking up the blankets that are scattered on the chairs to keep them dry. All customers find refuge under the huge umbrellas protecting several of the tables. It is about time for me to take off and perhaps find a true indoors place to visit and warm up a bit. One place I would like to find is the Café A Brasileria, which was once upon a time a place for all intellectuals of Lisbon, writers, poets, painters among others. After quite a bit of up and down walking, I finally find it after asking locals.
Café a Brasileria, the gathering place of the intellectuals of the last century in Lisbon

Although it has outdoors seating, I would like to see its inside. It is almost a hole in the wall, narrow, but deep. I find seating at the table at the very back of the café. Soup is the only thing I can think of at this point, both because I need warmth and I know there is no bad soup in Portugal. The soup of the day is spinach-bean soup. It turns out to be the regular delicious pureed vegetable soup that I so enjoy enriched with, most likely repurposed-left over, whole spinach leaves and chick peas! It is to die for and hit just the spot. When it comes to paying, I am about to fall off of my chair. This hearty and generous soup cost sonly E2.50!
The entrance door to Do Carmo Church in Largo do Carmo square

Three more days in Lisbon added to my undertraining of this beautiful city and its vicinity. My first time in Lisbon was also my first time in Portugal. Excitement was there, but with no previous understanding of Portugal, most memories slipped away from that visit except those that I cherished with Bill, who was with me when I had visited Lisbon the first time. As the days go by in Lisbon, missing him is more acute, his absence more tangible. I miss how we had shared our impressions of all the vistas in 2010 with deep thoughts and feelings. Sharing experiences with someone loved and trusted has always made the experiences deeper and more memorable for me and he was definitely that one for me last decade. He thought deeply and spoke and wrote eloquently. His use of his mother tongue, English always mesmerized me. My love of languages and admiration of those who use language of their choosing with artistry had found an object of enormous admiration in him.

I wonder how BIll would have described the juncture of the castle, one of seven hills of Lisbon and the ocean in the beautiful words of his mother tongue?

Although I aspire to reach that level of command of English, I know well that being one of Turkish origin, who moved to the USA in her late 30s, now ready to leap to her 60s, I will never be able to reach his level of use of English. Albeit, despite my annual visits to Turkey, with the lack of reading in Turkish, I am subtly but continuously losing my once impeccable command of Turkish, too. Yet I always take refuge in  "Change whatever you can with your best effort, accept with compassion, calm, and embrace whatever you cannot, and be wise enough to know the difference between the two..." This blog is my humble effort to do my best to change, hopefully, and possibly what I desire to change...

Colorful, sweet, tasteful, tasty Portugal...
 

 

 

Wednesday, March 14, 2018

LISBON PORTUGAL - 2 - INTERNATIONAL STREET BAND IN SINTRA

After an unforgettable afternoon at the Moorish Castle, I savor every moment of descending into Stirna downtown. With vistas of the Stirna plains extending all the way to the ocean, the doors and windows and the walls of buildings and churches that stood against time through centuries some millennia...

The façade of a beautiful architecture, despite its age, elegance is still there

When I get to the central square, I find a tiny corner bar with outdoors seating. I love the wooden stool I perch on with the sense of safety my back that touches the wall of the bar emanates. Right across from the bar is a group of three young men and a woman along with an elderly man. They are sitting under a tree and on the cobble stoned square floor carelessly...  All seem to be off the rat race with a hippie-ish touch including the older man. One of them is playing a very long blow-instrument that makes a sound much bolder than that of an oboe. However, as, who turns out to be Scott plays the instrument, it almost sounds like a small orchestra is playing. I am so intrigued with the instrument, I can’t wait to finish my delicious Vinho Verde to approach them to learn more about them and this instrument.
Sintra square hosting an ad hoc street band

I learn the names of two of the musicians: The instrument Scott is playing is called “didjeridoo”. Its origins go back to Australian Aboriginals. Scott  explains to me that the indigenous Australians let termites eat through the pulp of this particular tree, then “burn” it so that the hollow lumen becomes smooth. Finally, they attach three pieces of different caliber in this telescope style. Scott, moves these pieces to set the key, and blows into the pipe to create the harmonious sounds I have been enjoying. “Who travels not who reads more knows more ” is very apt for this situation!

Alejandro playing a lovely tune on his accordion

Alejandro, who is from France plays the accordion, I enjoy his music for a while when Scott is resting. The only female in the group is also from France, but I miss her name. Alex is from Portugal and is just hanging out just like the female. I watch her rolling a cigarette with what seems to be tobacco out of a pouch. I hope it was just tobacco. Had my daughter been here, I know she would have found her seat next to them with her drum. My coins join the rest of theirs they have been collecting in the didjeridoo case as I wish them all well on my way back to the train station.
 Alex and the French beauty hanging out                                                                         This time I take a different route, which gives me a glimpse of what this town looks like behind the façade trimmed well for the eyes of the tourists. On the off-the-beaten-path streets of town, I see multiple old mansions that are falling apart, windows and doors broken, exterior deteriorating, roofs in shambles… I hope they preserve these once must-have-been lovely buildings. As I walk through more modest neighborhood streets I come across working class people fixing up more modest homes on streets of the maze of Sintra.
Away from tourist eyes, the other Sintra

Finally I find myself on a street behind the train station, where I get a huge mango and citrus for the duration of my stay in Portugal since I cannot survive without fruit. Citrus fruit turns out to be the most delicious and juicy I have had for a long long time. When I am back on the train, I feel a serene fulfillment of visiting history, connecting with people, learning more about Portuguese culture. Although initially, I was planning to go to a Fado place in the evening, I decide against it as I approach Lisbon. I would like to savor the day instead, and leave Fado to my next visit following a very wise friend’s recommendation: Always leave something unexplored to come back to...
I might come back to visit the National Palace in Sintra

 

Tuesday, March 13, 2018

LISBON PORTUGAL 2018 - 1 - TIME TRAVEL THROUGH THE MOORISH CASTLE IN SINTRA


I have always loved Portugal, in all countries I have traveled to, I felt most connected to this land and to this people. Perhaps somewhat because, I don't feel like I have to change anything in me, when I am in Portugal to adjust, to be culturally competent, and to fit in effortlessly. Never have I appreciated Portugal more than this time.

My people in Portugal, the most beautiful, inside and out, colleagues and friends from University of Porto

I wonder if it is a terrible thing to feel so at home in one culture and not so in others. I recall Tara Brach's teaching "Compassion has two wings, one for yourself, and one for others." I can't help but think I need to take care of myself now in Portugal where I feel safe, physically and emotionally. I am sure, my compassion for Ugandan and African fellow human beings will increase over time when I have given myself some space from it. I can't help but wonder, though, how it would have been if I had chosen to live in Uganda... Would I also have had to learn all the tricks to protect myself from harm and exploitation?

This is how Tara Brach describes the two wings of compassion or lack thereof...

Wasn’t this need to constantly protect myself from corruption, injustice, and not knowing what the next day would bring that made me leave Turkey even when all of these were not as deeply ingrained in the culture as it seems to be in Uganda and worse in many other African countries according to my friend with whom I spent three days in Entebbe just last week?
A street vendor selling roasted chestnuts, can't pass that, so much like home!

I repeat and will continue doing so, to myself that everybody wants to be happy including those fellow men and women in Uganda.  I send them my compassionate wishes, but I am not sure if I can ever live in Africa and now I would like to make sure while donating to NGOs in Africa that the service they promise indeed goes to people in need not only to the salary of professionals. It is too bad that I have come to this point with only 4 days in Uganda and mostly with what I heard from my friend, whom I trust 100%. Put it on the side burner for now and keep an open mind for the next time I will find myself in Africa. That is the best advice I can give myself.
Two of the most loving, kind people Portugal has raised, Teresa and Augustino, my dear friends and colleagues...

My love for Portugal started with my dear colleagues from the Institute of Legal Medicine Porto branch, when they invited me to teach in Porto. I fell in love with Porto and Gaia and the Doro River in between these two sister and rival cities that created a mini Istanbul in my mind and heart. Dear Bill was with me the first time I went there. Teresa and Agustino and other staff of the institute took such good care of both of us. We fell in love with everything about Porto. Every time I went back, I felt so at home that I never felt anywhere else in the world, not even in my own country of origin any more (at times)! It warms my heart that Augustino decided to attend the conference in Lisbon, where both Teresa and I will be presenting, just because of meeting again after several years of hiatus since our last reunion around one training or another. This is why I like international training more than anything. Human connection, recognizing that we are all the same when we feel safe physically and emotionally. All suffering and discrimination in fact is bred by fear... Not with these people...
Even the make-shift cafe staff takes good care of me on top of Alto Barrios

I take the metro from the airport to the hotel where the conference will be held and all speakers will be staying. Just as Daniela told me, it is a breeze, very easy to find the station, to get the ticket with the help of two lovely young tourists, and true, the exit from the metro is right across from the hotel! The hotel staff is as friendly and humble as the ones I recall from my previous visits. Good, globalization has not corrupted Portuguese people, at least, yet. I have very little free time in Lisbon, but I have a plan. On my only, totally free day, I am planning to go to Sintra and stay in town the day after my lecture at the conference and enjoy Lisbon some reminiscing those areas I had already visited and liked and some finding new gems to explore.
Beautiful cobble-stoned Sintra: Where my hike to the Moorish Castle starts

Trip to Sintra is also a breeze. I had bought a ticket that would allow me transfer to train to Sintra, it was a good plan. 45 minutes after I leave my hotel, I am at the train station in Sintra! Everybody is walking toward Sintra downtown, I follow them. A meandering road with cobble-stoned side walks is climbing up toward our destination past the Municipality building. Finally, we reach the town square on the right of which is the white-washed-yellow trimmed National Palace. This is the best-preserved medieval royal residence in Portugal, I learn from Wikipedia. Apparently, it was inhabited more or less continuously from at least the early 15th century to the late 19th century. This palace apparently was one of the two Moorish castles in Sintra, mentioned in historic text as early as 10th century. However, nothing in the castle from Moorish era survived. Instead, rebuilding of the palace in the 15th century created today's National Palace. I might visit it if I have enough time after I visit through and through the Moorish Castle overlooking Sintra from the top of the majestic hills surrounding the city. 
I love the use of tiles to mark streets, in Portugal

To the left is a very steep and narrow cobble-stoned street going up the hill, this must be the turn according to what a store-keeper had told me a while back. Sure enough the signs point to Pena Palace and the Moorish Castle. The travel books recommend taking a bus to go to the Pena Palace, which apparently is a Disneyland-like a palace that one of the very flamboyant kings in Portugal had built. They state, it is much easier to get down to the Castle. But luckily, I still do not have any problems with my physical condition, in fact I seek topographies that involve climbing up heights. Besides, I have no interest in going to a Disneyland-like a structure when history is calling my name. Again my white hair gets in the way and whoever I ask about walking up to the Castle, they almost try to talk me out of it. Never mind Resmiye, and starts my day hike...
Beautiful old architecture is everywhere during my climb up to the Castle

The steep climb starts on a very good footing. Every time I need to catch my breath, I discover a spectacular scenery unfolding below us, the road and I. After all the Pena Palace turns disappear and the road is closed to all traffic but those who are on foot, the scenery also becomes very meditative. Green and light blue are such calming and relaxing colors. Green is all around me, in some places, the colors and habitat reach rain-forest quality. Grass and flowers are exploding through every crack on the road, on the walls and between cobble stones. And as I reach higher elevation, slivers of blue emerge in the distance, majestic Atlantic...

The place will almost utter "My name is green"
Half way up to the castle, I feel like I am on the Black Sea coast of Turkey climbing up to Sumele Monastery. The green, the lush, the climb, all are almost a de ja vu… All rocks are covered with moss, through every crack shoots life in all shades of green. In a bit, the terrain turns into a staircase. A wide trail goes up in steps with a variety of height, width, and depth. I wish I had counted them. The de ja vu now is of a different place, again in Turkey: Ihlara Valley in Cappadocia in Turkey, to which one has to go down via some 500 steps from the main road. That was also quite some experience.

Sintra starts unfolding as I ascend toward the Moorish Castle
The castle itself is very similar to all other castles I have visited all around the world, the one in San Juan in Puerto Rico, those I visited all along the Agean, in Greece are some that come to mind. The higher I get the more breathtaking the views get, the National Palace looks like a monument of purity, although, who knows what kinds of conspiracies, plots, and schemes among colluding sects of the ruling class might have taken there betraying its pure whiteness. That is cynical Resmiye for you upon encounters with remnants of ruling class of any era in history...
National Palace and Sintra down below  from the castle itself

The Atlantic in the distance is as inviting as any body of blue has ever been for me. There is a vague difference between the color of the sky and the ocean, horizon barely discernible. From this distance the ocean seems to be stretching all her expanse into eternal limitlessness in peace and with serenity. Who knows what is actually happening at her surface from close up... At every turn with changing ambience, I do visual meditation, focusing now on the ocean, then on the lush green all around, or the Pena Palace that comes to view as I approach the highest point of the castle.

From one of the highest points of the Castle
The castle consists of two rings of walls surrounding it, the second wall being built at lower elevations: The signs report that the second layer was built after the first enclosure became inadequate to house and protect increasing number of residents that had settled within the castle. The trail up is within the outer ring of walls. Thus, I walk up with the outer ring to my left and the inner ring to my right. It gives one quite a sense of security. As I move closer to the entrance to the inner fortress, the boulders appear to grow larger. These are clearly bedrocks of enormous size that make the place even more mesmerizing.

Bed rocks and inner castle walls integrated

Just before I enter the actual fortress, that was built in 8th and 9th centuries, I come across a glass dome that allows the display of well preserved skeletons: This is the burial site of the castle. I learn from the internet that Sintra among other territories was left to Christian rule to establish an alliance with the ruling King's army to provide the settlers security. However that becomes the first step in Muslim Iberia losing its power to Christianity. Moors eventually lose control of the castle. However, the King allows the settlers stay in the castle as long as they work with the King and his army to provide security to the area. Collaborate with me, I will let you live...
Burial site at the Moorish Castle

There is a chapel at the entrance to the outer ring of walls. I learn from the internet that this chapel in fact served all three religions that were practiced in the region, first Muslims, then Christians, and finally Jews that probably were fleeing the inquisition of Iberia at its peak. Once I enter the actual fortress things change dramatically. The well preserved/renovated walls of the castle overlooking the plains below  are impressive, emanating power and control, security, but also isolation, loneliness, a sense of being cramped. I wonder if the settlers of its time felt any of that. After all, their limits were the sky above them and the expanse of land and sea as far as eye could see, as long as they didn't wish to go smell and touch and intermingle with any of those.

The expanse of the fortress, the plains, and the ocean

I am impressed with how diverse the international visitors are although, the castle doesn’t seem to be extremely crowded. All kinds of languages are abound, some I can easily recognize, some not at all. I even bump into a Turkish couple, which I recognize from the intonation of the language they speak from a distance that doesn’t allow me discern the words. They are as surprised as I am, the man works in Morocco, and the woman is his wife. They are on vacation, I see them later in town as well. On both occasions, I catch them in a disconcerting interaction, when they didn’t know me witnessing their interaction:

Looking back from the highest point on the walls.
On both occasions she was demanding her husband act a certain way or do something she asked him to. He was in a passive aggressive mood. All that was left to her was scolding her husband with a “You’ll see what will happen” attitude and expression on her face. I am put off with this abrasiveness and feel sorry for both of them, curious about what makes them settle down to a who knows how long of a relationship. This is so common way of an interaction between couples in Turkish culture. I have always wondered why they can’t express their innermost desires and discontent more openly and lovingly, I know understand that the answer lies in how courageously we may accept our vulnerability and embrace it in our close relationships.

Pena Place from the Moorish Castle

There is a huge cistern within the inner walls, very similar to but a bit smaller than the one in Istanbul from the Ottoman era. Two ceiling chimneys allow the entry of rain water apparently.  It is cool inside, quiet and serene. I sit on the elevated platform that creates a long bench on one side of the cistern. I meditate for 15-20 minutes. Again, I indulge in loving kindness meditation. I accept and embrace my frustrations with some of my experiences in Uganda. I move away from being judgmental against myself for not being able to embrace everything I experienced there.

Every time I think, I have reached the highest point, there seems to be more elevation to be gained

I then move onto contemplating somebody I love dearly in loving kindness. That is most of the time my daughter. She has worked very hard in her medical school tenure and has applied to Psychiatry residencies. She is awaiting to match in the spring. I send her all my love and wishes for her to reach her goals and serve homeless people by bringing mental health services to them in their communities. One would wonder why we waited for so long to reach out to populations that are least likely to seek health care in our well adorned facilities... I trust, she will join the handful of practitioners, who are pioneering this work in the US.

This is it, there is nothing but the sky from this point on in the fortress

Then I contemplate somebody, who is neutral for me, like the guy at the entrance, who greeted me in Turkish! It was a sweet touch, which makes it easy for me to cultivate loving kindness thoughts for him. The most difficult is to contemplate loving kindness for those that make our lives difficult, for whom we feel disdain, aversion, anger, even animosity. I haven't managed to cultivate loving kindness for Mr. Trump for instance, yet! The recommendation for being able to think of such difficult people in loving kindness context is to imagine them when they were a child, innocent, pure,  not corrupted, yet, with scars of trauma... It really works. And, loving kindness meditation is the best of meditation techniques, never have I left a loving kindness meditation without feeling good inside and out feeling the positive energy exuding from my skin...

The cistern in the fortress, must have been renovated in the 1800s since the castle was already in ruins by that time

Time to go to the gift shop. There are well preserved storage spaces on display close to the gift shop. I buy a book on Portuguese poets and their poetry. Just as I am ready to leave, a necklace catches my eye that has the same design as the ear rings my dear Portuguese friend Teresa had given me years earlier. I had been looking for something like this to match my ear rings with no avail all these years. Here it is before my eyes... I can’t pass this opportunity; I learn later on that the style is called “The heart of Vienna” and is very typical jewelry in Portugal. My lonely earrings now have a matching pendant I can wear together especially when I come to Portugal. Teresa will notice and appreciate it lovingly right away the next day when I meet her at the conference. That loving expression on her face is worth anything...
Almost identical to the pendant I bought at the Gift shop of the Castle

As I start heading out, I can now enjoy more of the architecture on the way down. The two very old churches, Sao Martinho and its "twin" Sao Miguel that are a block away from one another on the way to or down from the castle are both from 11-12th century AD. They were in fact a collaborative congregation. However, they are not used for either masses, nor are they open to visitation, a pity. I just peek through the fences and appreciate the once Romanesque later replaced with Gothic style. I recall, how lovely it was to visit the Old Church in Amsterdam from the same era, which was renovated beautifully and open to visitation. It was also used for all kinds of cultural activities, where I had seen a photography exhibition of the history of Judaism in Netherlands and another on the history of gypsies. Memories are the most precious treasure we may preserve...

The infamous chapel of the Moorish Castle

Time to head down to Sintra itself. I would like to visit the town itself, engage in people watching, pause for brief periods of time to drink something and take it all in. On the way down, I take pictures of beautiful old homes with dilapidated facades, doors with intriguing knobs, door handles: One has used the head of an ancient Roman figure. Beautiful gothic style window frames, the top portions of which are ornamented with shimmering "gold" metal work. Worn out two-panel wooden doors separating and protecting walled in homes from the outside world. Tiles used everywhere: Trimming on street walls, enveloping public fountains, providing the support for benches on the road side, sings for any and every purpose... For some reason, the use of tiles in this type of urban setting gives me a sense of cleanliness, is it because it is much easier to clean tile than any other material... As I approach Sintra, I feel as if I have gone on a time travel. When I think about it, I indeed did. For several hours now I lived with Moors, breathed in the air they once breathed in day in day out, saw what they saw up above and extending all the way to horizon. Time to get back to real time...  

Public Fountain in Sintra on the way to Moorish Castle

 

ENTEBBE UGANDA 2018 - 6 - COLONIALISM AND ALL

My last 14 hours in Entebbe. My destination today is the Botanical Garden. On my way to the gardens, I can’t help but stop by the textile vendors and purchase multiple pieces. Loose pants for restorative yoga sessions for myself and my dear friend Jeannie; and a dress for my daughter.

Beautiful textile may be found in these simple stalls in Entebbe

Botanical garden is an oasis away from all the dust and crowd. I bump into a group of African youth, guided by two young white men, a bit older than the group, perhaps volunteers from Europe, who are teaching the youth how to play a team game. I watch them for a while making a mental note of how sweet their bonding is; they trusting their white guides and the guides loving and caring for their students. Why can’t this happen all over the world? Why is all the racism alive in pockets of communities and societies?  It’s all about fear, mostly unjustified, exaggerated, coupled with narcissism and locking hearts into our own bubbles...

The sign to the Botanical Garden is too humble, but the Garden itself is spectacular...

I make my way to the waterfront to find a spot to meditate. On the way, I bump into a South African bi-racial appearing young woman, who has a hired choffeaur driving her on the dirt roads with stops at sites of interest. The driver is local, clearly. I wonder what she does to be able to afford such luxury commodity. We visit the rainforest section of the park together, she offers to take a picture of me against the backdrop. As I continue my exploration in the rain forest, I discover couples who have retreated to the solitude of the forest to make out. I respectfully leave them alone recalling my time at that age…
In the rainforest section of the Gardens, I look like a mini-truck with all my gadgets!

On the way to the beach I come across interesting structures around tree trunks. They look like fairy chimneys of Cappadocia, almost. They are of various sizes, pierced into numerous mini-caves and tunnels on its surface. When I ask a young man, who is also watching the group playing the game, he tells me that an ant builds those structures. An internet search merely gives me information that they are called giant termite hills, no more. In fact, I see a large black ant that looks like a carpenter ant that comes out of one of the tunnels, which quickly disappears back into the same. Apparently, a 3-foot high hill as the local young man tells me takes 50 years or more to create. He didn't know what the purpose of these hills were other than clearly housing thousands and thousands of ants. Do they harm the trees that they are built around? Do they live in a symbiotic relationship? No information on the internet, either.
One of many giant termite hills I observe in the Garden 
Finally, I am on the beach. I am pleasantly surprised that there are several mini-bars and picnic tables on the beach to which these bars serve drinks. As I situate myself on the bar at the very end of the beach, I notice that one of the guys selling local food items is a boy, who looks like 10-12 years at the most. Skinny, not too tall. I ask him his name, it is James. He is 14 years old. He has never gone to school, too expensive, he doesn’t know how to read and write. He actually works at the bar and gets paid 80,000 Uganda Schillings per month. A 2x2 inch bag of peanuts that I purchase from another boy costs 1000 Uganda Schillings, then I can put it in context! He makes enough money to buy 80 such snack bags by working the entire month.
Close up of a giant termite hill
                                                                          
How difficult would it be to give a Kalashnikov to him and recruit him into militia, down the road, when he is and will remain a nobody all his life with what life dealt to him? My friend told me that Kalashnikov is the most precious commodity in Africa, especially in war-torn countries. Kalashnikov is what keeps them alive, what gives them power, what allows them have connections, food, and sex. It is an unbelievable framework of survival. How much of this is their own doing, how much is the West’s intervention to keep wars and arms sales going? It’s a blur... My friend told me that his veteran African friends, who are all human rights fighters are divided in whether this can be resolved in the short run or not. I try to share positive thoughts and wishes for my human fellows on this continent, but there is a knot in my gut not knowing what good this can do for them.

From the rainforest section of the Garden: Symbiosis or parasitic relationship is not clear to me...

I order fried potatoes, apparently called Irish potatoes here, Keith will tell me that if you order potatoes here, you most likely will get sweet potatoes. Just as I relax waiting for my fries to arrive, Keith, the British tenant of my hostess Clair appears on his bike! What a serendipity. He orders a beer and a sprite mixing the two into what he calls “Shandi”. First time, I am trying this, but it tastes pretty good! After our potatoes arrive, we now share both the food and the drink, we move to a picnic table to hear each other better. Keith is over 80, pretty fit; the key to this combination is using his feet or his bike for transportation most of the time and eating healthy. When I tell him, I notice a totally different life style in Africa, he tells me when you know the ways to handle the ins and outs of day to day operations in Uganda, nothing is a problem. He doesn’t use a credit card here for fear of identity and card theft. He only uses cash and cash transferred to his Ugandan bank account via exclusively UK lines of connection.
One of the tables around the make-shift bar on the beach, we enjoy at the Garden

He speaks some Lugandan to get by and to suggest to Ugandans that he knows this culture to divert them from exploiting him. He tells me stories about how people that he knows ask for financial support, such as paying for their child’s educational expenses. Since he raises funds and supports only the students that his foundation takes care of, he feels comfortable to say No to such people, but is not surprised when such requests arise. The more we chat, the more it becomes clear that he in fact is a right wing old aged Westerner: He voted for Brexit. When he starts explaining why, I am appalled, I had never heard such brutal honesty from anybody, who doesn't care a bit about political correctness:

The above-the-ground roots of many trees in the Garden has this interesting appearance

Keith believes, European free flow of populations bring to UK "Pakistanis, Afghanis, and Africans, who are lazy. They don’t work. Most of them are on welfare. Even if they work, they do so in their own under-the-table community economy and don’t pay taxes.” I tell him Trump and his circle claim the exact same thing for Mexicans. He exclaims “Oh, Trump is a racist!”. I ask him how is it that Brexitists are not racist when Trump is. He changes the subject. He believes the only way to fix African problems is to bring back British to administer, manage, and rule Africa without corruption! He makes sexist comments as well about Africans. Is that enough to see this man as a hidden racist, sexist colonialist? How can I feel compassion for him?
Africans enjoy themselves in Lake Victoria that we Westerners are recommended not to touch due to fear for Billharziasis

I feel like I have had enough of him and courteously ask for leave to finish my tour of the gardens.  As I walk away, I can't harbor positive feelings toward him. Somehow I can’t trust people with a discriminationist, racist, and exploitative politics to have a big enough heart. I don't even know how he can do the kind of altruistic work he claims he does. Just as I had never trusted a colleague of mine from the US, who is a theoretician of republican even libertarian politics in his “caring interest” in visiting developing countries to get connected with people of other lands…
Announcements like this cover all electric posts in Entebbe

At 2:45 am, Ismail arrives in his van to take me to the airport. Claire is up to say good bye to me. Ali is at the door. I bet this is a very similar picture from centuries ago, when the white woman is ready to go, all Africans in her service to be up and about with great respect. It turns my stomach, I wonder how much of this respect and care is due to  the natural human connection, how much due to intergenerational transmission of colonialism-imposed duty, and how much of it is capitalism-imposed? I give each of them a warm hug with a moment of hugging meditation, telling each of them to find peace and joy in life. I hope they do, I hope they recover from the historical trauma that inundated Africa for centuries and still is. I hope we in the west manage to pressure our governments to such an extent that they cannot continue exploiting Africa and supporting wars in Africa with their arms sales. Everybody in the US, France, UK, Sweden, Germany, among other countries is responsible for that. I will meditate on that for some time to come.
I hope blacks and whites do integrate all over the world to enjoy life and friendship on this beautiful earth soon.