Portugal the redeemer 1

1. Day 0: The why

I don't know if Portugal is therapeutic for me, but being here, time feels different. My frequent moves seem to be a constant in my life. Now I wonder if it would have been the same if I'd been born here.

My time in Galicia wasn't a pleasant experience either; the house I bought in Barbantes, a village a few kilometers from Ourense, not only brought back memories of Ávila and the reserved, aloof nature of its people but also problems with a house in such bad shape. It was more profitable to sell it than to fix it. Perhaps it would have been worth selling if the adjustment had been as smooth as a river flowing, but instead, it was more like a river condemned to die lacking water. The warmth of others would have helped with the purely material difficulties.

As had become customary in every place I settled, the sweet mist dissipated, giving way to reality. I find living with others difficult, I admit, but I'll never understand the “rejection” from those who didn't bother to get to know me. In this sense, I like that old American custom of neighborhood welcomes in the form of a potluck or dinner; at least they offer the possibility of making informed decisions.

The mobility limitations associated with my poor eyesight prompted my decision to sell. They say there's a nest for every bird, and fortunately, a miracle happened.

The only thing I miss are those cats that used to roam around the house seeking food and the spectacular scenery offered by the terrace of the Miño River and its surroundings, on any day, time, or season.

I decided to rent a place in Cabañas Raras, a village in León, in the Ponderada district. It wasn't easy; I spent weeks searching for a place that met my standards for quality of life. Something independent and quiet. I didn't even know what I was getting into; I went in blind. At first, the pleasant fog lingered for almost two months, but reality set in again: cold, difficult, and selfish people who confirmed my theory of premeditated judgment against me. As always happens in these cases, the situation reached a breaking point, a point of no return where the monster inside me asserted itself, demanding to live in peace with the ferocity of someone cornered, fighting for survival. Throughout this tortuous journey, I always had the support of Rut and Antonio, a support of understanding, the kind one finds in selfless friendship. To this day, they are my only squires. They are like Sancho: even without understanding him, they are on Don Quixote's side.

So, the only alternative that had worked before was to seek refuge in Portugal.

Portugal had always welcomed me with open arms, like a mother you turn to in despair; you don't need to know why, her arms and her warmth are the answer to your salvation. Silent, maternal.

I spent a long time again searching for the right place, and there she was, waiting for me like a father for his prodigal son, asking for nothing in return, solicitous, silent: Izeda.