Yesterday evening, I spent four and a half hours at the house of my former neighbors, 5 kms away from the place where I am currently living.
I had been asked to kid sit two 8 year old twins who are also friends of my niece and nephew.
I decided to walk there, as the weather was pretty nice and I felt I needed some exercise.
Oh and for your information, walking in this rural part of Portugal is more like hiking - unlike in The Netherlands, where I spent the majority of the first 36 years of my life - so a walk can turn into a serious workout.
As I usually the case here, I bumped into a couple of familiar faces, along the way, which provided me with some welcome breaks.
A friendly old man in a pickup truck offered me a ride, but I told him, in Portuguese, that I enjoy walking. He smiled, we shook hands and he drove away.
I realize that I took few pictures, along the way, as I merely tried to be in the now and wanted to take in the landscape, but I sure enjoyed the walk!
It was warmer than expected and I worked up a serious sweat but that was exactly what I needed.
I have always liked this house and not because I am a fan of the color pink. It is being said that there's actually people living there and that they make it look bad from the exterior, so thieves/ burglars think there's nothing of value to take from inside the house.
I can also tell you that there's hardly any burglary going on here, one of many reasons why I like it here.
Two thirds along the way, after about 45 minutes of mainly light climbing, I went for a pit stop, at what used to be my favorite bar/café for about two years.
not a great pic but here's a sign of this village, just before I entered it. The rio Alva is an important river in this area and barril means barrel ( like in wine barrel ).
After having devoured a toastie with grilled cheese and tuna and some apple cider and having cooled down a little, I continued my way towards my former neighbours to be there in time for dinner.
*After 5 years in Portugal, I am still trying to be punctual.
guilty of being Dutch
I arrived two minutes late, had dinner with the 8 year old boys and, soon after, their mom left for a dancing workshop, with a guest that was staying in a tipi in their huge ( 5.5 hectare ) garden.
After dinner, I walked through the shallow water bordering their land, accompanied by the boys and their dog. The twins, R and S, went for a swim and I barely managed to keep my clothes dry, trying not to slip on the many stones beneath my wet feet and carrying their semi soaked clothes in my arms.
Around 9PM, I put the kids to bed. And - instead of reading them a Dutch classic called 'Pinkeltje' - I signed a printed copy of my book Hypersensitivosaurus and Cold Turkey for them and decided to read that for a bedtime story.
I soon discovered that my written English was a little too complicated for them, so I ended up reading some chunks of English, translating parts to Dutch, explaining a bunch of things and kind of scanning through the book, probably reading 50 percent of it, until I had made it to the end.
It was exciting to find out how much they enjoyed it.
Even more, as they have known me for almost 3 years and spent 1 year and 9 months having me as a ( writer ) neighbor. Therefore, they even recognized the background in some of my illustrations, as its part of the landscape around them.
I finished reading around 9:30PM, wished them 'good night!' and - as soon as I pulled the bedroom door behind me - they were quiet, likely dreaming of friendly dinosaurs and running birds :<)
