The Hug...

“Can I give you a hug?” he asked. “It’s part of my initiation.”

Claudette said, “Yes!” And the somewhat rotund University of Coimbra student responded. The upperclassmen in their long cloaks laughed as I mimicked punching him out!

We were walking to the Coimbra market to get some sausage and cheese for our road picnics when the students approached us. We had only been in this Portuguese city of some one hundred thousand on the Mondego River for a few hours and had seen some of the student hi-jinxs in front of the Monastery de Santa Cruz. The Monastery is a national monument since the first two kings of Portugal are buried in it. We had been relaxing with our 1.5 € beers while watching the university upperclassmen instruct the yellow t-shirt clad freshmen on how to dance in a fountain. The 1.5 € beer was, of course, advertised as one euro but by the time it was delivered to our table it was 1.5. Something was lost in translation, I think.

At the market we bought our sausage and cheese, and then continued to the elevator which would take us to the top of the mountain. We were curious about the fee, but a student was quick to tell us that it was a free ride for old people. We smiled politely and thanked him. We got a great view of the city as the elevator soared upward. The lift shaft and car are of Plexiglas. At the top we were greeted by…cats, five furry felines. Not thrown away looking cats but well fed looking cats with their own food dish. Naturally, I had to take a quick photo of the cat person I’m married to with the cats.

We continued our walk onto the University of Coimbra campus past the anti-capitalism graffiti to the central campus where they were having a fair of some sort with many booths promoting various activities. We were accosted by some pretty female pharmacy students attempting to sell us ballpoint pens which resembled hypodermic needles. They were decked out in the black uniform suits with white shirts and ties and the ankle length black capes. Their English was excellent, and I have difficulty resisting a pretty face. So…yes, I have another pen. Will U. S. Customs have a problem with it? I don’t know. On our ride back to the lower town via elevator one of the passengers was blind, and the lift operator and passengers alike helped him out. It was good to see those fortunate looking out for the less fortunate.

Once back in the lower town we went about trying to find the location of the fado performance. Claudette approached a young man who asked, “French or English?” She answered “English” and he told her the performance called “A Capella” was held in an old church on a lane which was barred to traffic. On the way back to Hotel Dona Inez Coimbra we passed Sao Tiajo church, a small twelfth century Romanesque structure. The simplicity was interesting, particularly after seeing so many elaborately decorated cathedrals.

Once at our hotel the desk clerk got us tickets for the performance and arranged for a cab to pick us up. We took a nap and had a bite to eat before going to the performance. Nothing happens before eight or nine on the Iberian Peninsula. We simply told the cabbie “a capella” and off we went. About halfway up the mountain we drove down a narrow lane and walked a few yards to the small church. It was below street level accessed by stone steps to a courtyard set up for outdoor dining. Although we were early, we were invited in to a table in the front of the performance area. A DVD was playing and projected on the wall. This was our first introduction to fado. The performer featured was Mariza, whose video is below.

After the video a waiter brought us a pitcher of vino verde as it was time for the performance to begin. A guitarist sat in a chair about eight feet in front of us and began to play. I’m thinking,” What kind of a capella performance is this? With music?” He was joined by another musician who was playing what we found out to be was a Portuguese guitar. It has twelve strings and the appearance of a medieval lute. The sound of the music was very interesting and had sort of a “gypsy” sound. A rather good-looking fellow in a dark suit and white shirt sans necktie appeared and spoke to the audience in English, Spanish, and Portuguese about the origins of Fado de Coimbrs and of how the singing had originated from local townsfolk before being adopted by the students of the university. He said that the Portuguese word “saudade” best describes the music and there is no English equivalent. An audience member said it meant “nostalgic”. The guitarists began to play, and his baritone voice filled the chapel with a mournful song. After several songs and a break in which the singer visited the tables and talked with the audience members, the performance continued with the singer teaching us the chorus of one of the songs. We raised our glasses of vino verde and sang a sad Portuguese song in a twelfth century church with the audience. It was great fun. The singer, still shrouded in a student’s long cape, introduced the musicians and the show was over. Outside the chapel the performers chatted with the audience members of which there were about thirty.

We climbed the steps to the street and walked to a waiting cab. The driver was a surly, wiry young man with a shock of jet black hair who seemed anxious to get our business. He slammed the Skoda into reverse gear and backed rapidly out of the street. Claudette cringed. Then we went down a street crowded with students narrowly missing some of them

“Hey, you’re going the wrong way!” she says to the driver. Tires screech and the direction we are traveling is reversed. Upon reaching the hotel, Claudette complains that the fare is more than the price we paid to go to the performance by cab. I convinced her that we would not win an argument against the cab’s meter and paid the cabby. We would have been easily ripped off had we not known where we were. But tomorrow we would be in our rented Opal and leaving Coimbra after a, for the most part, fun filled visit. I took some photos and did some pretty good sketches in Coimbra.



Oh, yes, by the way, I found out that “a capella” means “the Chapel” in Portuguese.