Undefeated in Ireland

2004 was a special year in Portugal, particularly in the summer during the European football championship which was hosted in the country. June was a great month in most of the host cities. Lisbon looked like the capital of Europe. There were people from all over, enjoying the game, the good weather, having fun. Being crazy about football (or soccer), the population was celebrating each win of our national team like I'd never seen before. There wasn't a window without a national flag, even some iconic monuments in Lisbon like Christ the Redeemer, the Tower of Belem, or the Aqueduct were illuminated by red and green floodlights. We portuguese are like that. Most of the time we are so laid back and perhaps so worried and suspicious of each other that we lack the energy to make something good of our lives. But give us a common goal, and suddenly all the people come together in a burst of energy that I've seldom seen in any other country in the world.

I was no exception. I exploded with joy when Ricardo, our goalkeeper, scored the penalty that put us past the english team on the quarter-finals, and celebrated with my friends and lots of other people when we reached the final after beating Holland on the semis. Unfortunately, I would not be able to watch the final in Portugal, because I had already booked my flight to Ireland on that same day.

When I entered that flight, the portuguese scarf was tied to my backpack, and all I could think of was that I had to find a place to watch the game. As soon as I arrived, with another little guy, we left the airport to Wicklow, a small town a few kilometers south of Dublin, put our bags in the hotel, and started looking for a pub, which, let's face it, is not a very hard thing to find in Ireland. We found the place, grabbed some pints of Guinness, and settled for what I was expecting to be a memorable afternoon. Once the game started I got more and more nervous with each play. Every time our team picked the ball I hoped some magic would happen and we'd score. Most of the people in the pub were supporting Portugal, but there was a young guy in the table next to mine that was shouting "Go Greece ! Go Greece !". I had no idea if he was really supporting Greece or if he was doing it just to annoy me. In the end Greece scored and we didn't and we lost the opportunity to win a big soccer competition. I was annoyed and I turned to the guy next to me and asked him why he was supporting Greece. "After all we kicked out the english, you irish should be supporting us". The guy laughed. "You're right, you know. Normally I would be supporting you, but me dad placed a bet on the greeks and said I could have the money if we won the bet". That was the first lesson I learned about the irish: they're a joyful people, out to have fun, and they love betting. "Don't worry, mate. Two years from now, Ireland and Portugal will both be celebrating in the world cup !" he said, and we said farewell to each other.

After talking to this boy my mood suddenly changed. Suddenly I was not as angry for losing the game, I said to myself that it was just a game, and that it shouldn't ruin the trip. It was like the joyful spirit of the island started to take over me. We grabbed our backpacks, picked up our car, and started driving. Light was still good so maybe we could get a few shots somewhere. The ruins in Glendalough looked like the right place.

Glendalough Monastery was founded in the 10th century A.D. by St. Kevin, a descendant of the royal house of Leinster who abandoned his life of privilege, choosing to live as an hermit at Glendalough, and devoting his life to the tending of the sick, and to copying and illuminating sacred manuscripts. When we got there though, illumination was something we did not find, because the sun was already setting and the good light was over. The twilight, however, was right to experience such a place. There would be plenty of time for photography the next day.

That evening, the old graveyard with its round tower, the ruins, the high celtic crosses, had gained a special calm after all the tourists had left. We could hear nothing but some birds in the distance. After the excitement of the afternoon, walking around the ruins made me feel at peace, undefeated, and that was the spirit I had in the rest of the trip in Ireland. And not even the remarks that everyone we met made about the european championship when they found out we were portuguese ("Oh, you're portuguese ? Too bad about the euro..."), moved me from that state of mind.

Travel without moving

Some years ago, while working, I was listening to some music and I had a Chieftains CD on my desk. A colleague of mine noticed it and said something like "if you like this, you have to listen to some of the stuff I have". At the time I did not know he had his own band (At-tambur), nor did I know he was the webmaster of a world music site. I just listened to his stuff, which included some bands and artists of whom I later became a fan, and started my own voyage in the world of world music.

A few months later I became an active contributor to his website, writing articles and short stories on albums I had listened to, and concerts I had seen. Some of these concerts took place in Sendim, a small village in the northeastern corner of Portugal, near the Douro river gorges, which serve as a natural border with Spain. For two years in a row I covered the annual celtic music festival that takes place there, being able to watch artists like the swedish band Hedningarna, or even talk to members of the irish band Dervish, just to name a few. The festival is a wonderful mixture of cultures, both on the stage, where artists from several countries transport us to their homelands through the sounds of their unusual instruments, and off the stage, where people from all over Europe gather together to magically transform the small village of Sendim into a traveler's meeting place.

Such is the power of music. People from all over the world have used it from the very beginning of times to express emotions and pass on knowledge from generations to generations. Through music we can learn about distant cultures, either by listening to songs in different languages, learning about faraway stories, or listening to strange and uncommon instruments. Who cannot picture a scottish glen when listening to the wail of a bagpipe ? Or imagine a majestic indian temple when listening to the strings of a sitar ?

Some people often tell me that they wish they could travel as much as I do. I don't think I travel much physically (not as much as I'd like to, that's for sure), but I'm always traveling in spirit. Sometime ago, I attended a workshop on travel photography by my friend and brilliant photographer Antonio Sa. One thing he said keeps going through my mind: "traveling is not an action, it's a state of mind". Music can play a big part in helping us reach that state of mind. And what better music genre for a traveler than world music ?