Portugal the remeder 3
3. Day 2 Walking in Izeda
The following morning, the elderly woman in charge of the house arrived and was surprised to find no vehicle parked in front of the entrance. After I explained the situation, she collected the form, and we discussed some aspects of cleaning and maintenance. She was friendly and helpful.
The few non-alcoholic beers ran out quickly, and I decided to go out, intending to buy some and get to know the village.
Izeda feels like a ghost town. There were hardly any pedestrians or vehicles to be seen. Like any village, it boasts its characteristic Portuguese church. Its streets are laid out in an irregular pattern of houses, built here and there, somewhere between logical and chaotic. Many houses are empty, half-ruined, and in a state of disrepair. Few suggest any economic stability; those that do exist are more likely working-class or agricultural. I quickly grew tired of the walk after remembering the Portuguese lunch schedule and how strictly the grocery store kept it. It started to rain, so I went back to the house. After lunch, I returned to the supermarket, which turned out to be smaller and less well-stocked than I had expected. The employee seemed rather rude, and I would rather not ask too many questions after seeing her lack of interest in helping. I ended up buying alcoholic beer and flour.
Since I didn't have any packaged churros, I decided to make them myself. Not a recommended experience if you don't have the necessary equipment, and that's how I ended up with some “churros” (a Spanish expression for something that is truly mediocre or lacking in quality).
Getting used to solitude isn't difficult if that's your goal. That's why time passed at its natural pace.
The night promised to become that “military” routine of following a pattern. It was time for a movie, and I chose Out of Africa. At first, I didn't recognize the film, which I had seen years before, but this time I was able to better appreciate Meryl Streep's performance and the model of the independent woman. I've always been fascinated by women in this role. The second discipline was reading before sleep came to claim me. As I said, the reading wasn't a novel, and it didn't quite capture my interest. I shouldn't force it too much, either; a few weeks earlier, the ophthalmologist had detected high eye pressure, something that could further complicate my vision. The night was less tiring than the previous one, but not pleasant either. There are dreams that keep recurring. People who belong to my real past. I've always been curious about why they appear in my dreams, what they're trying to tell me, what debt I owe them, or why the brain retrieves this disjointed information without it having been previously relived in the present.
That afternoon, I'd spotted a building from one of the upper windows that looked like a hotel. I checked Google Maps and discovered it was a penitentiary just seven minutes from the house! All my alarm bells started ringing, and my imagination began to race: How could a family with children possibly spend a few days here? What would be the first house an escaped prisoner choose to hide in? It didn't keep me up at night, but my panic button remained on.