the tipi times

And she's back!

I won't get into the specifics of exactly how Tipi Valley came into my life or how I was able to be there for a week in higher middle of this vision quest but, in one overly simple word: INCREDIBLE.

Six beautiful strangers, seven glorious, sunny, sandy, beachy, calming, action packed, hilarious, blissful, exhausting, empowering days. Yoga every morning and evening with surf instruction in between. Coffees and pasteis de nati daily, cold Sagres, beach side cafés. Breath taking sea views, undeveloped landscapes, fresh caught fish on the grill, crisp local vino verde. Tan lines, outdoor showers, sand and salt in our hair. Shelled peanuts, mosquitos, meditation, more bruises, more arm muscle, and laughing more than I can ever remember laughing. Off grid and so happy. Strong women, true inspiration, endless conversation... incredible.

The days passed slow and fast. And today.... sad to leave, sad to say goodbyes. This is always the way because it's the way it goes. We had an amazing week, so many of us at pivotal points in our lives, we hope it's just the beginning of these friendships, at the very least he next chapter of our lives.

Now, back in civilization, I'm admittedly breathing a sigh of calm relief to be solitary for the first time in over a month. No set schedule, catching up on connectedness, taking my first truly hot shower in so long I can't even remember. But I'm also missing Becky's quick laugh, hilarious stories, our inside jokes, our late night chats in the moonlight. Babs's easy nature, dry humor, perfect tan, and general fearlessness. Leela's sensitive and thoughtful wisdom, her yoga expertise, our forever orienteer and timekeeper. Lou for just about everything; a gentle and kind inspiration and badass, perhaps my future global partner in travel or seaside living, role model for girls and women everywhere. Owner Laurie for his squinty good nature, brilliant storytelling, prowess on the "barbie", and our final double-down dinners at "Señor Service" and an Italian restaurant seemingly dropped out of the sky from the Hamptons and the weary from sun-and-surf heavens. There's Ricardo and his tireless positivity towards our spastic surf attempts and eventual and meaningful praise for doing things my way. Roger for being the most soulful surprise surf instructor on our final day and for those magical and equally surprising espressos we shared just before I left town.

Life. Sometimes it really does feel like a movie or play that you have conjured in your mind as though it were a dream.

Who knows. Some of these characters that dot the camp and the town I just might see again. I'm flinging myself around in the coming days but I have it in my heart to return down yonder when the time is right, either to help out in the valley or to live the dream seaside however possible. You never know.

However I get there, however I got here, it will be the right thing to do. Life, Portugal, tipis, and espressos. Keep em coming. I'm going to continue to be so grateful.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

goodbye but not goodbye

Today it's goodbye.

Goodbye to a place that started to feel like home. To a family that came to feel like my family.

This morning I woke up early with a feeling of quiet in my heart. Yesterday was very much the opposite. Overwhelming sadness at the countdown upon me, the ticking clock that will rip me away from a place that has begun to feel so safe to me. Me, after all my talk of change. It's still so hard.

The fact is we have recently made a plan here such that I will very likely be back in a month or so. So we are saying today that it's goodbye but it's not really goodbye. But why does it still feel so much like it is?

Once again, the unknown awaits me. This afternoon I'm traveling a bit further south to see another long ago made plan through. Of course it might be really good, a holiday within a holiday, near the beach, described as all the things I love to be around and do. New people, new experiences. How bad could it be even if it was?

But. I know I will miss it here and it's admittedly hard to feel like I will be missing out on things. All the projects I have my hand in, the meals, the conversations, the rhythm and routine. As always, all will go on without me. I am, in so many ways, so used to this.

Right now, as the early morning sun slowly consumes my bedroom inch by inch, I want every minute to pass slowly. I will be fine, change can be good, this is goodbye but it's not goodbye. Breathe. I will tell myself all these things. And soon enough, I hope, immerse myself in whatever is next.

I am in fact going to be going off grid so I won't be online for a week. The blog will be slightly more quiet for some days with a plan to update as extensively as possible upon my return to the modern age. Stay turned.

Until then: goodbye?

(above: the most beautiful yoga studio I have ever known, will ever know, or ever will be. originally posted on Instagram)

 

 

 

special delivery

The past 48 hours are summed up by 8 tons if wood.

Weeks late, but right on time, it arrived early morning via "The Man Truck". With one woman (hi!), much finagling and logistical reconsidering we managed to get it all here, no small feat considering the condition of these roads, the size of some of the beams, and space issues of the preexisting property. Hours later, it all sat safely in the front yard, our only issue then was how to get out the front door. More moving was required, we literally broke for meals and continued on until the very last light of day remained. But we did it, and it's here.

The future destiny for this wood is what David has been referring to, since I got here, as "the saloon". I had a vague understanding of the larger plans of this place but it wasn't until somewhere within the endless back and forth of taking ceiling planks from Point A to Point B I clarified that in Portuguese the homonym basically means large, glorious space; not a bar from a Western era. This will be more like a terrace, a workshop space, an event hall. Another glorious jewel in the property celebrating the expansive views... while also solving the drainage issues of the first floor, nestled into the earth such that the ceilings were molding. As always, where there's a will there's a way.

But what will we call it?

 

happy holidays

I took a momentary break from ditch digging (up to one a day as of late!) and Clara and I took ourselves back to the beach. It was a humble scene wherein we both kept most of our clothing on and did our best to warm up on the rocks as admittedly cold, sandy winds blew away all the visions one might have of us frolicking in the waves under the hot summer sun. I was told recently that the interior climate here rivals Southern California while the coast mirrors Northern. This notion was prattled off to me quickly, with the sense that there is apparently science to back this claim, I couldn't replicate the details if I tried....but, guess what, it actually seems true. In any case, it's beautiful and, as always, just being near the ocean and the sound of the waves is (almost) enough for me.

On this particular trip, we decided to take a leisurely journey to the top of the cliffs to see the town and there we enjoyed the view you see above, a plate of olives, and delicous Portuguese beer. This, by the way, cost me less than one euro, which basically means that I love Portugal.

In any case, this Memorial Day seems to be one of a very small handful of occasions celebrated back in New York that I can actually feel nostalgic for. The internet is making it all the easier to see the sunny fun going on without me; memories of Quogue, and friendship, and cold rosé on the porch are swirling. I can't exactly be jealous in the midst of my own current dream life, note, but it's a little sentimental to be sure.

Back at the homestead, it was business as usual. The top of the window frame that I neglected to white wash this morning, another dozen boxes of old tiles to move up to the storage garage. Joao is making quick progress building the greenhouse, Nubia's School inches along. The kickoff to the busy summer here happened long ago, this was just another Monday sans fanfare, but, as always, filled with its own kind of festive good vibes that I am forever grateful for.

Cheers to the summer, wherever we all are.

 

 

self help.

So much of this lifestyle is about fixing things yourself. The rain washes away the path to the pool? Use rocks and the leftover posts from the adobe house and build steps. Internet doesn't reach here? Maneuver a telecom box up a cork tree closest to the place you last got cell reception. Want organic produce in a country that doesn't seem to care about it at all? Build a glorious mandala garden on permaculture principles and eventually a greenhouse using over abundant eucalyptus trees and clay roof tiles. You break it, you glue it. You paint it, you saw it, you sand it, you size it. When you need help, you call a nearby friend, but usually it's completely self-help, ultimate DIY.

When I decided to leave my good job and my good life and make this first stop to Portugal, the question was always why and sometimes what. Why now. Why Portugal. What will you do. What are you thinking.

I didn't have good answers, I still don't. I knew I needed time, I knew I needed space. I knew I wanted to get my hands back in the dirt, that I needed nature to be the given in the equation, not the weekend exception to the rule. But once in awhile I'm able to articulate that I really just needed space. Physical space and mental space. To think a thought through to completion. To untangle my head and turn the volume down for a little while. Regroup to the core of whatever or whoever I am or want to be or am capable of. Remember what it's like to feel actually creative or to think critically about something bigger than yourself. To be yourself.

Self help.

Almost a month in to this chapter, I am already feeling so much closer, but I'm still not sure I could be an advocate for such a drastic change. I say this because am still in the midst of high-risk behavior. There's no safety net, no security here. There's really no set course. This is not reality (or is it?). But these thoughts? They are so much more often complete. They can wander as they see fit, but they can, when I want them to, proceed uninterrupted. I wake up peacefully in the morning and am able to lay awake and think about the dreams I have had rather than begrudgingly rushing for the snooze button, as I so often did. My daily tasks can often feel repetitive but they never lack purpose. My brain is starting to come alive again, in spite of all stimuli being minimized.

I stumbled upon a pretty cheesey but potentially accurate metaphor yesterday while building the aforementioned pool steps with David. I told him that in many ways I feel like the rock that was flung across the canal in order to get to the other side - arguably the rock that came loose from the cable only to narrowly miss breaking windows and assorted planters. But it's like I have thrown myself as far as possible, hoping to stay attached, hoping that the slow tow back to center will come with basic, simple rewards and clear reception.

In the meantime: peace and purpose. Quiet. Conversations. Healthy food, sunshine, clear thoughts. What I needed more than anything.

Ultimate self help.

 

extra.

Today became a day of extras.

Extra hours spent at breakfast, extra time tacked onto yoga, an extra coat of varnish, extra snacking, extra drinking, extra dust and fumes in my lungs.

The sun returned, and we felt grateful, though it didn't make itself known until midday by which point the pace was set.

These still feel like stolen days somehow. By which I mean we stay busy but it's currently quiet and uncrowded here, we have the luxury to indulge the extras just because. Suddenly our table is six and not thirteen. I'm waking to the chickens and not the carpenter. In the middle of work this afternoon, following an already extended lunch, David and I decided to take a brief sidetrack on the way back from hauling another load of debris to the garbage bins in town in order to see more of the area, or maybe just for a change of scenery. Driving through the the hills dotted with cork trees and jungle like back roads, forever discussing this and that, all while sharing a bag of salty, delicious potato chips for whatever reason, just because. Upon returning we spent extra time in the kitchen with Clara, the olives were brought back out, the salty goat cheese just because we'd been talking about it, another small glass of wine from the carafe. Afterwards we swept and scraped and piled more down at Nubia's, I think the topic was drug law or immigration or...who knows. I tacked on another coat of the ridiculously odorous varnish needed for a few of the new doors and cabinet fronts, all while listening to Fleetwood Mac's Tusk as though it was the first time (it's not). Dinner, a split beer in the extra warm evening with Clara, another documentary.

And another extra lovely day passes here in Portugal.

 

 

torrential toil

And in the morning, the rain continued....

Storms with breaks of surreal sunshine followed by more storms and supposedly even hail. I stood repeatedly in the doorway of what we call the canteen and watched rain that seemed to be falling in two heavy directions simiultaneously. Buckets and flowerpots full to the brim, soil and rock washed away within minute, projects left mid task fully compromised. I ask you how can one of the driest places I have ever come to know could be capable of this level of precipitation? And for it to be so cold outside! The Dutch man staying here for the week informed me that, for the record, Portugal is known to be "cold land, hot sun". Short and sweet but, trust me, totally accurate.

Sun would in fact intermittantly greet us only to run away again and, for the second day in a row, fool me into thinking productivity could be mine for an extended length of time.

David and I ventured out after lunch for yet another chapter of the now-endless saga of Getting Electricity to Nubia's School. I can't and won't even begin to describe the specifics and endless meters of heavy cable involved in this task, nor do I feel I fully understand the McGuyver-like shenanigans entailed, but suffice to say I have touched and grappled and hauled every inch of it, through rock, flora, canal, and stream. Literally in circles and tangles and everything else, only to (literally) do it again the next day. But we finally got all of it to our side of the canal. And I will acknowledge that I also benefitted from another hilarious installment of a lasso technique being implemented in order to do so with, once again, predictable laughter to the point of tears.

Even with the sun out, the wind blew and reddened my cheeks and the rain would come and go and spit and spat and let us know it still ruled the day. We postponed tomorrow's wood delivery, we ate two bowls of soup instead of one. Rain. It's so real here. An apparently this is just a (literally) cold, hard glimpse as to what winter would be like, really just a hint of, because in winter it never stops.

But, easy does it, it was admittedly cozy going to sleep in the new chill, sort of nice to take it easier in the morning with perfect excuse. We ended up getting the cable over the canal, I like to think my arm strength is almost bordering (relative) remarkability. We got plenty done in spite of the elements, we had enough energy for another documentary and then some. Eventually we know the sun will return to its dehydrating, plant scorching, sometimes flesh burning glory. We might even miss these gloomy days. Just like we might, one of these days, actually get the lights on at Nubia's School.