1.
It was one of those nights when each star stands out clear against the cloudless sky. Against its deep midnight blue, the castle of Belver was aglow with lights. The breeze was just enough to give your hair a careless tousle. And the tingle of one of the best cocktails I ever had lingered in my mouth.
It was a shot of casshassa (my best comparison would be with tequila) mixed with strong chilly. The tavern man was in a friar’s attire and called it ‘water on fire’. We had our tiny ceramic shot glasses corded around our necks. As Andre and I put the concoction in our mouths, the priest placed his hands over our heads in blessing and rendered a solemn sermon. And finally, when I gulped, my soul was on fire.
The little stall was one among the many in the ‘medieval fiesta’ at Belver. Belver is about 12 kms from Mação and is perhaps slightly bigger a town. The castle looks over the houses and streets that spread downhill without arrangement. But it was not for Belver that we went. The Brazil- Ivory Coast match was on. And there was a Brazilian bar with its little television in the middle of the fest. We cheered and hooted to the rhythm of the music played outside.
2.
As I swore to revenge the Ivory Coast foul that sent Elano out injured soon after his goal, I remembered another match. This was about a month ago; the finals of the Portuguese league between Benefica and Sporting Braga that gave Benefica its first title. We were at Braga that day.
Several waves of history have touched this third largest city of Portugal- the Celts, the Romans, the Visigoths and the Moors. We did nothing but wander along the wide city streets, stopping now and again at the edifice of a Manueline church or the glassed remains of a Roman bath. Braga is unique in the way architecture from these different epochs’ blends into each other- shops and offices housed into the medieval stone structures. These structures have managed to bend the tiring similarity in the organisation of the super- market giants in each town of Portugal I have been to. But more on the city can wait.
The spectators gathered in the town square well before the match started. Banners and flags of the team fluttered in the air and each time the players appeared on the screen in intervals of the pre-game advertisements the crowd erupted in a loud cheer. The display was not a grand one and to be expected given the thinning population of the Portuguese towns.
In the midst a bunch of sari and dhoti clad European figures were attracting attention. They were on an endless chant of ‘Hare Krishna’s’ and spotted me by the unfortunate purple dot on my forehead. It was a Portuguese wing of the ISKON (Institute of Krishna consciousness). How venom of some sorts spread! If their centre in Delhi is a loud show of power, this was proof to the strength of their roots, spread so far and wide as to be encountered in the most unexpected circumstances half way across the globe!
It was one of those nights when each star stands out clear against the cloudless sky. Against its deep midnight blue, the castle of Belver was aglow with lights. The breeze was just enough to give your hair a careless tousle. And the tingle of one of the best cocktails I ever had lingered in my mouth.
It was a shot of casshassa (my best comparison would be with tequila) mixed with strong chilly. The tavern man was in a friar’s attire and called it ‘water on fire’. We had our tiny ceramic shot glasses corded around our necks. As Andre and I put the concoction in our mouths, the priest placed his hands over our heads in blessing and rendered a solemn sermon. And finally, when I gulped, my soul was on fire.
The little stall was one among the many in the ‘medieval fiesta’ at Belver. Belver is about 12 kms from Mação and is perhaps slightly bigger a town. The castle looks over the houses and streets that spread downhill without arrangement. But it was not for Belver that we went. The Brazil- Ivory Coast match was on. And there was a Brazilian bar with its little television in the middle of the fest. We cheered and hooted to the rhythm of the music played outside.
2.
As I swore to revenge the Ivory Coast foul that sent Elano out injured soon after his goal, I remembered another match. This was about a month ago; the finals of the Portuguese league between Benefica and Sporting Braga that gave Benefica its first title. We were at Braga that day.
Several waves of history have touched this third largest city of Portugal- the Celts, the Romans, the Visigoths and the Moors. We did nothing but wander along the wide city streets, stopping now and again at the edifice of a Manueline church or the glassed remains of a Roman bath. Braga is unique in the way architecture from these different epochs’ blends into each other- shops and offices housed into the medieval stone structures. These structures have managed to bend the tiring similarity in the organisation of the super- market giants in each town of Portugal I have been to. But more on the city can wait.The spectators gathered in the town square well before the match started. Banners and flags of the team fluttered in the air and each time the players appeared on the screen in intervals of the pre-game advertisements the crowd erupted in a loud cheer. The display was not a grand one and to be expected given the thinning population of the Portuguese towns.
In the midst a bunch of sari and dhoti clad European figures were attracting attention. They were on an endless chant of ‘Hare Krishna’s’ and spotted me by the unfortunate purple dot on my forehead. It was a Portuguese wing of the ISKON (Institute of Krishna consciousness). How venom of some sorts spread! If their centre in Delhi is a loud show of power, this was proof to the strength of their roots, spread so far and wide as to be encountered in the most unexpected circumstances half way across the globe!(cont..)
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