After a fun and somewhat chaotic year in Lisbon, I am spending a year living in different towns in Portugal. I want to get to know this beautiful country and its people even better and to experience life in different areas. I am eager to see what the next chapter might look like…and where it will happen.
As I finished out my time in Viseu, I realized it was very much in the “Friend Zone”
Still Haunted by the Festival Life
After my long weekend back in Lisbon, I settled in for my final two weeks in Viseu. One afternoon, I emerged from my palace and headed down the hill to hang out with the common people and have my afternoon ice cream. As I walked into the square, I noticed a big red sign in the corner with the words “São Mateus” in the middle.
While hearts are usually signs of happy times, this one sent a chill up my spine. My mind flooded with flashbacks to my time in the apartment in Braga, conveniently located above the nonstop parade route for the chaotic Festival of São João. While I wanted to live in denial, I knew that Viseu was about to start building the stages and setting up the food and beer stalls for an epic blowout celebration of long deceased São Mateus.
Oh holy hell. Please don’t let them have parades. And if they do, please not on my street. I did my time already. As I considered the routes the disruptive drumlines might take, I thought I might be safe as I lived up a steep hill and the July heat had been particularly oppressive. If the weather was mild, I’d bet my life savings on those determined drumlines, but the heat might just give me an advantage.
The Hunt for the Mysteriously Popular Viriato
One day back in Braga, while I was hiding in the back of a cafe trying to escape the insanity of the Festival of São João, two couples came in. They were searching for seats to add to the table beside me that had been looted of three of its four. Since the voices in my head don’t require seating, I offered them mine.
After they settled in and ordered, we began chatting. They were all from the Spanish town of Zamora, and were all big fans of the place, talking enthusiastically about life there. When they found out I was heading to Viseu, one of the women lit up as she began enthusiastically talking about “Viriato”. Apparently old Viri was a warrior feared by the Romans, who due to inaccurate historical records surrounding his birthplace, was claimed by both Zamora and Viseu. The woman described a statue of Viriato in Viseu and strongly recommended I find it and pay homage to him. As she repeated this tip several times, it began to feel like more of a homework assignment than a sightseeing suggestion.
While I have a modest level of curiosity about history, I was not in the least bit interested in trekking 15-minutes in the hell of July heat to find a statue of a warrior that might or might not have been born in Viseu. Perhaps it was a combination of the sheer number of times the woman had repeated the suggestion along with how often I had seen his name on shops, streets or parks that compelled me to venture out on a “Viri Scavenger Hunt”.
As I walked in the furnace that was Viseu that afternoon, I guzzled water from the large bottle I brought along, to fend off immediate dehydration. Finally, as I got closer, I kept getting re-routed due to street work and the construction of the festival grounds of São Mateus, which was certain to bring a fresh new hell to my life.
As I ran out of water, I thought to myself, “This better be SOME statue. And it better be surrounded by a fountain in which I can jump in and cool off.”
Suddenly I’m Fluent!
Viriato, while an impressive statue and surely a fierce warrior, was not in a fountain. Close to dehydration, I snapped a few obligatory photos and headed on to a cafe I had read about with red velvet cupcakes and hopefully large bottles of water. Along the way I had to cross a busy (for Viseu) intersection. As I was stepping into the crosswalk, I saw a bus coming. I quickly stepped back onto the sidewalk as I don’t yet have the confidence locals do to stride confidently into the crosswalk without looking, trusting traffic to stop.
While crosswalks are not as plentiful as they are back in the US, drivers must stop at each one, always yielding to pedestrians. This is one of the reasons driving here makes me crazy as I don’t always notice these crosswalks. Let’s just say, as I have driven around the country, there have been some close calls where I’m quite sure some undeserving locals have had to go home and change their underwear. But I digress.
Back to the bus driver. He saw me, stopped, and began waving, which I interpreted was a sign for me to cross. Before I’d made it three steps, he began blowing the horn, hanging out the window, and yelling at me.
I don’t think you have to be fluent in Portuguese to understand the message his words were trying to impart. The waving motion I’d interpreted as an invitation into the crosswalk clearly had another meaning. So I once again returned to the sidewalk.
Meanwhile, the lunatic was still shouting and waving. I just stood there, not sure what the clearly deranged man wanted out of this situation. As he continued yelling and blowing his horn, unwilling to drive on, I became concerned this might be the moment I get my 15-minutes of fame in a viral video.
I finally started to cross, hoping to bring the situation to an end and save my big moment for a more worthwhile time. This did not calm him as he was still screaming like a spoiled child who had deservedly gotten nothing from Santa Claus on Christmas morning.
And then it happened. If this was going to be my 15-minutes of fame I was going to be the star. I stopped in the middle of the street and yelled back at him as I motioned from the street to the sidewalk, “PARAR!!! ANDAR!!! PARAR!!! ANDAR!!!”, which I was pretty sure meant “STOP!!! GO!!! STOP!!! GO!!!.” Unfortunately the words for “Which do you want??” did not come easily so I spit out some gibberish while wildly gesturing, trying to match his insanity levels. I think he got my point and finally shut up.
In that moment, despite the insanity of it, I was incredibly proud of having confidently spoken that little bit of Portuguese without hesitation. I arrived triumphantly on the other side of the street and noticed the audience that had gathered for the impromptu afternoon show. Not sure if I should take a bow or not, I returned their smiles as I headed down the sidewalk searching for a bit of shade, a gallon of water, and my much-deserved cupcake.
Viseu Is in the Friend Zone
While I was skeptical of Viseu at first, I’d come to like the town. Despite the occasional bus driving idiot, it’s comfortable here. I have my morning cafe, a pub where I can watch games, a park I like to sit in and have an ice cream, and a kebab place. Heck they even have decent pizza. The festival was a little loud but there were no incessant parades past my apartment. What more did I really need?
But it’s not love. It’s like that guy who is so nice and takes you on proper dates but you just cannot bring yourself to love him? That is Viseu to me.
Viseu is in the friend zone.
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