It was a very mysterious day of warm chance greetings with strangers who felt like friends...
Firstly, there was a chance meeting with the excellent English speaking Portuguese bus driver who shared all the important travel details for a one- day tour of the mysterious UNESCO village of Sintra that would cost less than 10 euros. Secondly, there was the older friendly Italian doctor and wife who enthusiastically offered to take my picture at the Pena Palais and were eager to hear about my presentation the day before at the MAIS conference in Estoril--pulling me into conversation which ultimately ended in sincere congratulations for my new role as a vice principal in Morocco. Their curiosity to discuss innovations in education with me as the American, was energizing. Their efforts to speak English charmed me as well. The overall encounter reminded me of a rendezvous when I was 14 years old (in 1980) and had met up with my father's college friends, Walter and Helga, when I visited Europe for the first time. I had taken a train alone alone from France to Holland and friendly college aged strangers had helped me get off the train at the right stop (I didn't speak or understand any Dutch!).
Then later while I waited at the bus stop near the Moorish Castle and the autumn wind of enchantment blew over the hills, I met Florica and Neagu, from Bucharest.
In a broken French, “Fleur” asked me if this was the bust stop to Cascais and we fell into a delightful conversation seeking vocabulary in the common language of French that we both might know. Her gentle smiling face and tender gestures reminded me of my Grandmother Clare Mae, but more active. Neagu was energetic for any age and referenced the several tourist attractions they had already visited. They were shocked to learn that I had only one day to visit the area and were eager to escort me around. They felt it was important for me to see Cabo da Roca (the most western point of Europe) and Boca do Inferno (a cave in Portugal). Neagu also knew just the bazaar where I could buy a local made handmade craft as a souvenir.
Though the afternoon was overcast on the evergreen hill and the day was fading, the youthful energy from this elderly couple swept me away into hours of timelessness. There was one moment, when I mentioned I was hungry and that maybe I would stop for a bite to eat on my own and we would part our ways for the afternoon and Neagu pulled out a plastic bag. Carefully unwrapping a simple cheese sandwich, he insisted that I have it. I sincerely tried to say no but then succumbed, feeling that I was being rude if I ignored his offering. Stopping at a cafe was also not an option. They had made the sandwich in the morning during breakfast at their hotel, and would have wine in the evening. There simply was no need to deviate from the agenda. I wondered how old they were and what their interest was with me. Did they have an ulterior motive? Why is it that they would be willing to walk on and on with me towards a closing bazaar? Was I being paranoid? or was my intuition trying to give me a message? I focused on the view of the coastline however, my curiosity of the situation was growing.
We toured the Town Hall, the garden, the Boca do Inferno, walked past the statue of Pope John Paul IV, and finally made it to the bazaar where I bought a precious little hand-painted teacup and saucer depicting a working woman crying in a garden scene, and a miniature red rooster, all for nine euros. I gave the rooster to Fleur because she had pointed the live red roosters out to me in the garden and told me a story about how her neighbor’s rooster wakes her up every day at 3 a.m. I didn’t have the language to tell her that I knew the same rooster who had woken me up every day when I lived in Nagykovásci, Hungary. Fleur smiled with appreciation, but Neagu was angry. It was clear that I had insulted him by giving them the 1 euro item. They asked me in French, “Don’t you have a child to give it to? Aren’t you married?” I felt that I had to give them a little personal information so that they would truly accept my gift. I explained that both my children were in college and I lived alone. From their eyes and faces, I could see that their quiet response held no judgement; only concern and curiosity.
We made it back to the bus stop by nightfall and while we rode, Neagu scribbled their address in black ink on a small thin piece of paper he kept in his guidebook. They didn’t use internet but would love it if I would write to them and hoped that I would visit them one day. In parting, our hugs and kisses were warmly sincere and almost emotional. I kept their address for a long time, hoping that one day I would meet them again and then I would determine the motivation for their kindness and connection. However, over the years, I lost their address. All that remains of that day and the mysterious encounter is the tiny cup with saucer, and this photo below.
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