Jardim

Sunday morning, having tubed in with Niki to an area called Rato, at the end of one of the underground lines, I sat down on a park bench in the Jardim Principe Real … The sun dappling its light on the palm trees and Jacarandas flowering in purple (which made me feel very much at home); children playing in the little playground to the side; dogs walking their owners; birds singing all around me. Different kinds of bird – birds I haven’t heard in a long time … sparrows, mainly, and some pigeons, swallows. Some people are lying on the grass, snoozing, reading; others are chatting or minding their kids.

I feel quite happy in many respects, especially with and around Niki – we’re getting on very well, very loving, caring, making real what until a little while ago, we felt was too amazing to be true. But I also feel cramped by the city around me – a feeling which I had increasingly been experiencing in the last few years every time I went back to Amsterdam, London or whichever other city I happened to be in. More people, less space – and it makes me appreciate the abundance of natural space in Pearces Creek; the uninterrupted vistas; the lack of artificial sound … I don’t think I can ever get used to ‘just’ city … I’ll always need a balance between the two, and it pleases me no end to know that Niki is also attracted to the countryside (by buying the house in the mountains).

I also feel a bit lost in language, or rather the lack of it … many Portuguese do speak some English, but the Portuguese I have is very limited as yet. I feel a bit like Gregorius Mundus, in Night Train to Lisbon, who battles through what to him is an unintelligible language to understand and explore the mysteries of this city and its people, prompted at the spur of a moment by a mysterious Portuguese woman. Knowing some Spanish helps a bit, but the two languages are quite different, both in terms of pronunciation and intonation, as well as vocabulary. I’m sure I’ll get into this, but it’ll take some time.

A man has sat down beside me, smoking, reading his newspaper. After a while he leaves to sit with some other people, then comes back. He seems to ‘belong’ in this park, but I’m a bit wary of him, coughing his lungs out, smoking.

I’m settling in to a few more pages of Miles Unger’s Magnifico about the Medici family in Renaissance Florence, a fascinating account of the people, the country and the time, before Niki comes and collects me to go and have some lunch in a café in the Jardim.