“The Turkish soldier will give his life for his country without hesitation. He is a tough and brave soldier, but, when a ceasefire is called, he is gentle and humane. He will bandage the wound of his enemy and carry him on his back to save his life. Such a soldier hasn’t been seen before on this earth.”
Portugal
Claire and I stopped, panting, at the metal rods that closed a narrow road to traffic. We had been given detailed directions and followed them closely but were lost, struggling to find the home of Ivone and Vitor Mascarenhas or the remains of a small fishing village that apparently surrounded it.
My mother’s friend Eugenia had bought a house in Portugal, near the beach, not long before our trip started. I contacted her, hoping (as budget travellers do) that she could accommodate us for a few days. She said she could, at her home in Lagos, and suggested that her parents, who live in Cascais, just outside Lisbon, might be as willing. Ivone and Vitor Mascarenhas are her parents.
I felt somewhat ridiculous, wandering through the traffic in Cascais without a map, searching for the home of a couple in their early eighties, who I had never met and was not entirely sure could speak English.
After retracing my steps, I found the house only a short walk from where I had left Claire and the bags, and rang the bell. I introduced myself – Ivone refused to shake my hand, insisting that I bend down and kiss both cheeks – and darted off, rapidly explaining that I had to fetch my girlfriend. Continue reading Portugal>>
