My Father’s Alentejo
I heard the stories so many times they made my father’s Alentejo mine. Tales of men working in the fields and others harvesting cork on our cousin’s family cork farm were told and retold. If not from my father, I would hear stories from my grandfather, grandmother, uncle or aunt. It wasn’t just stories about farm workers, it was memories that evoked passion and “saudades” of the homeland. Memories of eating freshly roasted castanhas and favas ricas as a snack were always brought up.
Favas Ricas
Listening to his memories, I could hear the longing in my father’s voice, his desire to return for a visit. You could taste passion in his cooking and feel it in his soul as he vocalized memories of his hometown of Galveias. One could “see” the Alentejo countryside, the fields of sunflowers, wildflowers and wheat of Portugal’s breadbasket, swaying in the breeze. I can visualize him picking “pinhões” (pine nuts) and olives.
Life of Memories
Memories can take on a life of their own. I soaked up all the stories like a sponge. Then one summer, as a young girl, I finally got the opportunity to go with my grandparents and brothers to feel first hand these passion-filled memories I longed to comprehend. Finally, to really feel the memories and experience something different, something other than the crochet lessons of my grandmother, it just excited me.
Ana Patuleia Ortins sitting to the right of her father, Rufino Patuleia
A Dream Realized
My memories come flooding back too. I remember only too well the long ride from Lisbon over the Tagus River to my father’s hometown of Galveias. It is a small town just a bit south of Ponte de Sor. We traveled past the wheat fields and fields of tall sunflowers in bloom with their faces kissing the blue Alentejo sky. A precarious road, winding up what seemed like a mountain, required my uncle to toot his horn. This alerted any drivers and donkey carts around the sharp bend that we were approaching. The exciting ride came to an end as we entered Galveias.
Two doors down from the elementary school, in the town square, stood my father’s childhood home. Made of stone, it had a humongous fireplace in the kitchen which served basically for heating the tiny house, as well as for cooking over the open flames. A single faucet of running water came in from the street-side wall. I remember thick wooden shutters covered the windows at night, however, they did not block the sound of donkeys passing by the window in the street.
Tracing Footsteps
In the days that followed, I got to walk the streets my father walked, feed the chickens and breathe in the Alentejo life. We often joined the workers in the fields and really got an appreciation for their hard work. My younger brother found great joy riding one of the donkeys back to the town. We found laughter as the donkey shot out cannon balls from its backside as he walked. I remember at night, my brothers and I shared one of the bedrooms, sleeping on straw mattresses, shifting the hay until we thought we were comfortable. Is this how my father slept?
It was there in the Alentejo, at 12 years old, I learned about my father’s soul, There, I remember, is where I first learned to make Farofias, the Portuguese version of Floating Islands. It enhanced my new passion and enthusiasm to learn all I could of the food of my heritage.
Farofias – A Portuguese dessert made with poached meringues drizzled with a custard sauce and cinnamon
Passion’s Bite
Somehow, I can’t quite pinpoint the exact moment on that trip when my soul was touched but, I was bit. Not by a bug, from the straw mattress, mind you, but I was bit with this heart-felt, soul invading feeling for which I am at a loss of words. Was it finally the understanding of my father’s passion? Or was it the fresh air, the blue skies, the people, the food, the land of the Alentejo? My soul’s connection? All of it?
The Lure of Memories
Eight years later in the cold month of November, this feeling lured me back. As a young bride with new husband in tow, we went for a quick visit since, with so much to see in Portugal, time was limited. Not yet bitten by the bug of the Alentejo, my new husband, upon learning of just a single taxi and a single telephone mounted on a pole in the center of town, quietly whispered, “Is there any way out of town tonight?
In any case, we spent the night in that same old unheated bedroom. We slept on a straw mattress, fully clothed, coats on and huddled under blankets as we stared up at the roof tiles that exposed slivers of the star-lit sky. How is that for a romantic honeymoon night? Despite the fact the only external heat was in the kitchen fireplace and with only our bodies to keep us warm, we survived that night. I even enjoyed the experience of cooking in that old fireplace, making dinner with a chicken from the backyard.
Alentejo Then and Now
Today, chicken from the backyard might still be the norm in some places. The Alentejo, known for some of the best bread, olives, olive oils and cheeses, has expanded its number of vineyards which are producing wonderful new wines.
Basically, in my father’s Alentejo, cork farms such as my cousin’s continue to produce material not only for capping wine bottles but for the expanded use for handbags, cork floor and wall tiles, fabric, jewelry and so on. Expansion of farm products, updated transporting of goods and a multitude of business ventures are evident. In addition, lifestyles are changing with the young. It isn’t unusual now to see multiple bikers pedaling swiftly in a road race along the road while a horse drawn, hay filled wagon of gypsies is traveling by.
There is even a waterpark in my father’s home town. Now increasingly hotels are more contemporary in nature. Some newer hotels are providing spas and global culinary creations like at the L’and Vineyards Resort in Montemor-o-Novo, which serves ravioli with a spinach foam sauce (I think my Pai might be rolling over!).
Cork tree stripped of its bark in the Alentejo at harvest time
Passion’s Pull
We have returned many times over the years to my father’s Alentejo. My husband, whose family is from the island of Graciosa in the Azores, embraces our mainland Portuguese culture too. I may have been born in the United States, but my soul feels the passion. I feel the longing my father exposed me to. The indescribable pull like a siren’s song, a Fado, calls me home as though I had been born there.
With each visit, my passion for my father’s Alentejo grows with new memories and stories to tell. Each new visit to Portugal gives meaning to memories, especially from the Alentejo. The Alentejo land, the sunsets, the people, the food, the Fados, and my father’s memories and stories connect to my soul. They give me saudades, every time I leave.
Note* This article appears in the features section of the online Portuguese magazine Feel Portugal in the USA . Ana Patuleia Ortins