SAUDADE

FIA

DE

ASE O F SE IN C V SE U

RCHIEF S KE TO É C N

TATE OF SA U ES DA ER

SAUDADE “Só os Portugueses conseguem senti-las bem, porque têm essa palavra para dizer que as têm.”

"Only the Portuguese can feel them well, because they have this word to say that they have."

Fernando Pessoa

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saudade

MIAS A CASA QUE OS MAIAS VIERAM HABITAR EM 50 LISBOA, NO OUTONO DE, ERA CO 06

CONHECIDA NA VISINH 100 ANÇA DA RUA DE S. FRANCISCO DE PAULA, E EM TODO O BAIRRO DAS 12 14 JANELLAS VERDES, PELA CASA D

O RAMA 200 LHETE OU SIMPLESMENTE O RAMALHET

18

CAMPESTRE, O RAMALHETE, 300 SOMBRIO CASARÃO DE PAREDES SEVE 22

RAS, COM UM RENQUE DE ESTREITAS VARANDAS DE FERRO NO PRIMEIRO AN 400 DAR, E POR CIMA UMA 24

ELLINHAS ABRIGADAS À BEIRA DO TELHADO, TINHA O 28 ASPECTO TR 500 ISTONHO DE RESIDENCIA ECCLESIASTICA QUE COMPETIA A UMA E 34

DIFICAÇÃO DO REINADO DA SR.ª D. MARIA 600 I: COM UMA SINETA E TO 38

PO ASSIMILHAR-SE-HIA A UM COLLEGIO DE JESUITAS. O NOME DE R 700 AMALHETE PROVINHA DE CERTO D’U 42

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Esay

Wanna live like comon people by JOĂƒO PAULO ABRANTES

Director

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Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you

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ber you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me. But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me.

B

ut I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a mo-

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Saudade is a deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing

ment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me. But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking

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ber you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position.

I

t took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me. But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to dis-

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tinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me. But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me. But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the

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cover

saudade

(European Portuguese: [sɐwˈðaðɨ], Brazilian Portuguese: [sawˈdadi] or [sawˈdadʒi], Galician: [sawˈðaðe]; plural saudades)

Saudade is a deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for someone absent or something that one loves. Moreover, it often carries a repressed knowledge that the object of longing might never return.

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by JOSÉ LU�S PEIXOTO

writer

P

Saudade

ortugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly,

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I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me. But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me.

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Sodade sodade Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable

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ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere.

The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me. But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese.

In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the struc-

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Até dia qui bô voltà, sodade Sodade sodade Sodade dessa minha terra, São Nicolau Sodade sodade Sodade dessa minha terra, São Nicolau Quem mostra’ bo esse caminho longe?

Quem mostra’ bo esse caminho longe?

Esse caminho pra São Tomé Quem mostra’ bo esse caminho longe?

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Sodade sodade

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by ANTĂ“NIO MARIA PIMENTEL

writer

P

ortugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me. But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that

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your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to

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recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me. But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me.

I

know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination. Portugal, I know that

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I love all that was All that is no longer The pain no longer hurts me The old and erroneous faith Yesterday the pain left What made joy Just because it was and flew And today is another day.

Fernando Pessoa

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I love all that was All that is no longer The pain no longer hurts me The old and erroneous faith Yesterday the pain left What made joy Just because it was and flew And today is another day.

Fernando Pessoa t, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me. But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the

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same language as me.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me. But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize

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that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me.

I

know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is

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lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

B

ut I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position.

It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me. But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture,

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AS AN ECHO THAT ONLY I AM ABLE TO LISTEN TO THESE WALLS

A

s an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me. But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture,

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my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me. But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without

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strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me.

I I love all that was All that is no longer The pain no longer hurts me The old and erroneous faith Yesterday the pain left What made joy Just because it was and flew And today is another day.

Fernando Pessoa

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know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head.

As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination. Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish

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the new discoverers

portuguese P

ortugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am by JOĂƒO PAULO able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain ABRANTES the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these Foodie/blogger unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable

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ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes,

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Francisco de Paula, e em todo o bairro das Janellas Verdes, pela casa do Rama 200 lhete ou simplesmente o Ramalhete. Apesar d’este fresco nome de vivenda campestre, o Ramalhete, 300 sombrio casarão de paredes severas, com um renque de estreitas varandas de ferro no primeiro an 400 dar, e por cima uma timida fila de janellinhas abrigadas à beira do telhado, tinha o aspecto tr 500 istonho de Residencia Ecclesiastica que competia a uma edificação do reinado da sr.ª D. Marivenda campestre, o Ramalhete, 300 sombrio casarão de paredes severas, com um renque de estreitas varandas de ferro no primeiro an 400 dar, e por cima uma timida fila de janellinhas abrigadas à beira do telhado, tinha o

oportunity

somos Francisco de Paula, e em todo o bairro das Janellas Verdes, pela casa do Rama 200 lhete ou simplesmente o Ramalhete. Apesar d’este fresco nome de vivenda campestre, o Ramalhete, 300 sombrio casarão de paredes severas, com um renque de estreitas varandas de ferro no primeiro an 400 dar, e por cima uma timida fila de janellinhas abrigadas à beira do telhado,

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5 centurys

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photo essay

faces by JOÃO PAULO ABRANTES

Foodie/blogger

Mwe are tough, we are rough, aias A casa que os Maias vieram habitar em 50 Lisboa, no outono de, era conhecida na visinh 100 ança da rua de S. Francisco de Paula, e em todo o bairro das Janellas Verdes, pela casa do Rama 200 lhete ou simplesmente o Ramalhete.

Apesar d’este fresco nome de vivenda campestre, o Ramalhete, 300 sombrio casarão de paredes severas, com um renque de estreitas varandas de ferro no primeiro an 400 dar, e por cima uma timida fila de janellinhas abrigadas à beira do telhado, tinha o aspecto tr 500 istonho de Residencia Ecclesiastica que competia a uma edificação do reinado da sr.ª D. Maria 600 I: com uma sineta e com uma cruz no topo assimilhar-se-hia a um Collegio de Jesuitas.

O nome de R 700 amalhete provinha de certo d’um revestimento quadrado de azulejos fazendo painel no logar heral 800 dico do Escudo d’Armas, que nunca chegara a ser collocado, e representando um grande ramo de gi 900 rasoes atado por uma fita onde se distinguiam letras e numeros d’uma data.

...we are Portuguese

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aias A casa que os Maias vieram habitar em 50 Lisboa, no outono de, era conhecida na visinh 100 ança da rua de S. Francisco de Paula, e em todo o bairro das Janellas Verdes, pela casa do Rama 200 lhete ou simplesmente o Ramalhete. Apesar d’este fresco nome de vivenda campestre, o Ramalhete, 300 sombrio casarão de paredes severas, com um renque de estreitas varandas de ferro no primeiro an 400 dar, e por cima uma timida fila de janellinhas abrigadas à beira do telhado, tinha o aspecto tr 500 istonho de Residencia Ecclesiastica que competia a uma edificação do reinado da sr.ª D. Maria 600 I: com uma sineta e com uma cruz no topo assimilhar-se-hia a um Collegio de Jesuitas. O nome de R 700 amalhete provinha de certo d’um revestimento quadrado de azulejos fazendo painel no logar heral 800 dico do Escudo d’Armas, que nunca chegara a ser collocado, e representando um grande ramo de gi 900 rasoes atado por uma fita onde se distinguiam letras e numeros d’uma data. aias A casa que os Maias vieram habitar em 50

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Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old

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go do it, got to go through that doo There’s no easy way out at all Nova_BASE23x33.indd 43

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go do it, got to go through that doo There’s no easy way out at all

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guitar builders music

FADO by JOĂƒO PAULO ABRANTES

journalist

P

ortugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish

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me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speak-

22/11/16 16:35

Fado is the song of the Portuguese soul

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Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal.

As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is

lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal.

As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run ish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.czxczcx<zcxzxc But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to

Oscar Barbedo Cardoso portuguese greatest guitar builder Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go

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limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when

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Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me. But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that

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people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Poinvisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me. But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence.

Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position.

It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speak-

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Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages.

I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me. But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence.

Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere.

The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syl-

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labic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Poinvisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal.

As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me. But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical

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works on paper

galLery by JOĂ&#x192;O PAULO ABRANTES

Foodie/blogger

P

ortugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself.

Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself.

Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an

Nova_BASE23x33.indd 54

echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence.

Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me.

It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me. But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The

22/11/16 16:35

works on paper is one of the world´s leader art gallery

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Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about

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you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you

22/11/16 16:35

works on paper is one of the world´s leader art gallery works on paper is one of the world´s leader art gallery

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Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in

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works on paper is one of the world´s leader art gallery works on paper is one of the world´s leader art gallery

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food by JOĂ&#x192;O PAULO ABRANTES

Foodie/blogger

P

ortugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

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the will to win

There is something about food, go do it, got to go through that door Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s no easy way out at all Still it only takes time â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Til love comes to everyone.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about

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Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of

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him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel

22/11/16 16:35

There is something about food, go do it, got to go through that door Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s no easy way out at all

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself.

Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself.

Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

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Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself.

Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence.

Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me.

It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach

22/11/16 16:36

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of

Nova_BASE23x33.indd 64

him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel

22/11/16 16:36

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself.

Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself.

Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

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Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself.

Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence.

Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me.

It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach

22/11/16 16:36

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smell

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Where does saudade came from?

from the heart What does this man fell when he is away from home? SAUDADE?

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heart of

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viana

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As

Nova_BASE23x33.indd 71

a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able

22/11/16 16:36

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of

Nova_BASE23x33.indd 72

him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me. But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me.

Go do it, got to go through that doo hereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s no easy way out at all it, got to go through that doo

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architectural

photo grapher by JOĂ&#x192;O PAULO ABRANTES

Photographer

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Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself.

Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do

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Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself.

Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do

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Siza

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Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself.

Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do

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22/11/16 16:36

go do it, got to go through that doo Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s no easy way out at all

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself.

Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do

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Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen

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to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me. But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in

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go do it, got to go through that doo There’s no easy way out at all Secretary-General

guterres by JOÃO PAULO ABRANTES

Journalist

M

What does this man fell when he is away from home? SAUDADE?

aias A casa que os Maias vieram habitar em 50 Lisboa, no outono de, era conhecida na visinh 100 ança da rua de S. Francisco de Paula, e em todo o bairro das Janellas Verdes, pela casa do Rama 200 lhete ou simplesmente o Ramalhete.

Apesar d’este fresco nome de vivenda campestre, o Ramalhete, 300 sombrio casarão de paredes severas, com um renque de estreitas varandas de ferro no primeiro an 400 dar, e por cima uma timida fila de janellinhas abrigadas à beira do telhado, tinha o aspecto tr 500 istonho de Residencia Ecclesiastica que competia a uma edificação do reinado da sr.ª D. Maria 600 I: com uma sineta e com uma cruz no topo assimilhar-se-hia a um Collegio de Jesuitas.

O nome de R 700 amalhete provinha de certo d’um revestimento quadrado de azulejos fazendo painel no logar heral 800 dico do Escudo d’Armas, que nunca chegara a ser collocado, e representando um grande ramo de gi 900 rasoes atado por uma fita onde se distinguiam letras e numeros d’uma data.

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aias A casa que os Maias vieram habitar em 50 Lisboa, no outono de, era conhecida na visinh 100 ança da rua de S. Francisco de Paula, e em todo o bairro das Janellas Verdes, pela casa do Rama 200 lhete ou simplesmente o Ramalhete. Apesar d’este fresco nome de vivenda campestre, o Ramalhete, 300 sombrio casarão de paredes severas, com um renque de estreitas varandas de ferro no primeiro an 400 dar, e por cima uma timida fila de janellinhas abrigadas à beira do telhado, tinha o aspecto tr 500 istonho de Residencia Ecclesiastica que competia a uma edificação do reinado da sr.ª D. Maria 600 I: com uma sineta e com uma cruz no topo assimilhar-se-hia a um Collegio de Jesuitas. O nome de R 700 amalhete provinha de certo d’um revestimento quadrado de azulejos fazendo painel no logar heral 800 dico do Escudo d’Armas, que nunca chegara a ser collocado, e representando um grande ramo de gi 900 rasoes atado por uma fita onde se distinguiam letras e numeros d’uma data. aias A casa que os Maias vieram habitar em 50

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Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me. But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful

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and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me. But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in

22/11/16 16:36

There is something about food, go do it, got to go through that door Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s no easy way out at all

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself.

Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself.

Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I

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met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself.

Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence.

22/11/16 16:36

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without

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strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me. But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence. Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me. It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish

22/11/16 16:36

There is something about food, go do it, got to go through that door Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s no easy way out at all

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself.

Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself.

Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself.

Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like

Nova_BASE23x33.indd 89

an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack of feel you lack is that your subjective body, that your air, your size, in your physical presence.

Sometimes, in the places where I spend, when I remember you as now, when you fill me eyes, I seem to see you everywhere. The senses deceive me.

It begins to look like me, for example, that people there in the background are speaking in Portuguese. In the distance from them to distinguish the vague enthusiasm, but not to identify the structure without strict syllabic division, it seems to me that they are speaking in Portuguese, approach me hopeful and suddenly, I realize that is not, for a moment, all in me is unjustified: my posture, my position, my position. It took this distance to recognize the privilege, so evident, being surrounded by people speaking the same language as me. But I also know, Portugal, that a huge part of that lack

22/11/16 16:36

why not?

azores by JOÃO PAULO ABRANTES

Traveler

There is something about island, go do it, got to go through that door There’s no easy aias A casa que os Maias vieram habitar em 50 Lisboa, no aias A casa que os Maias vieram habitar em 50 Lisboa, no outono de, era way100 out Still takes time outono de, era conhecida na visinh ançaat da all rua de S. it only conhecida na visinh 100 ança da rua de S. Francisco de Paula, e em todo o Francisco de Paula, e em todo‘Til o bairro das comes Janellas Verdes, bairro das Janellas Verdes, pela casa do Rama 200 lhete ou simplesmente love to everyone.

M

pela casa do Rama 200 lhete ou simplesmente o Ramalhete.

Apesar d’este fresco nome de vivenda campestre, o Ramalhete, 300 sombrio casarão de paredes severas, com um renque de estreitas varandas de ferro no primeiro an 400 dar, e por cima uma timida fila de janellinhas abrigadas à beira do telhado, tinha o aspecto tr 500 istonho de Residencia Ecclesiastica que competia a uma edificação do reinado da sr.ª D. Maria 600 I: com uma sineta e com uma cruz no topo assimilhar-se-hia a um Collegio de Jesuitas.

O nome de R 700 amalhete provinha de certo d’um revestimento quadrado de azulejos fazendo painel no logar heral 800 dico do Escudo d’Armas, que nunca chegara a ser collocado, e representando um grande ramo de gi 900 rasoes atado por uma fita onde se distinguiam letras e numeros d’uma data.

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o Ramalhete. Apesar d’este fresco nome de vivenda campestre, o Ramalhete, 300 sombrio casarão de paredes severas, com um renque de estreitas varandas de ferro no primeiro an 400 dar, e por cima uma timida fila de janellinhas abrigadas à beira do telhado, tinha o aspecto tr 500 istonho de Residencia Ecclesiastica que competia a uma edificação do reinado da sr.ª D. Maria 600 I: com uma sineta e com uma cruz no topo assimilhar-se-hia a um Collegio de Jesuitas. O nome de R 700 amalhete provinha de certo d’um revestimento quadrado de azulejos fazendo painel no logar heral 800 dico do Escudo d’Armas, que nunca chegara a ser collocado, e representando um grande ramo de gi 900 rasoes atado por uma fita onde se distinguiam letras e numeros d’uma data. aias A casa que os Maias vieram habitar em 50

22/11/16 16:36

go do it, got to go through that doo Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s no easy way out at all

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Go do it, got to go through that doo Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s no easy way out at all

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22/11/16 16:36

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able

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go do it, got to go through that doo Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s no easy way out at all it, got to go through that doo

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Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that

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Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As

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Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As a huge empty space, like an invisible ghost, the absence of that I was strolling in you, Portugal. As an echo that only I am able to listen to these walls and these streets still retain the image of him that I, the illusions that had all these unrecoverable ages. I met old new go limping by these places and do not distinguish me in their memories, children who were not born to run pass by these places and do not distinguish me in your imagination.

Portugal, I know that part of the fault that I feel about you is lack of myself. Sometimes I mix myself with you in my head. As

Go do it, got to go through that doo hereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s no easy way out at all it, got to go through that doo

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write a letter...

Putting SAUDADE in an envelope and return it to whom I sent it without authorization.

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SEVEN FACTS ABOUT THE FIANCÉS KERCHIEF: The origin of Valentine's Handkerchief refers the cities of Viana do Castelo, Vila Verde, Telões, Guimarães and Aboim da Nobrega, all in the north of Portugal, in the Minho region.

Before becoming this pattern we see in many souvenirs, was embroidered in squares of linen or cotton (still currently produced), which could not have a perfect cut.

The phrases, often with themes of longing and love, were embroidered by women in love and delivered to your loved ones to conquer them. But for those who already had a couple, he also served as a reminder to fellow that left towards the sea.

As the main Portuguese embroidery, the Valentine scarf also has its registered standards. Only craftsmen who meet the requirements can officially sell the products.

A legitimate scarf is between 40 and 60 cm. Among the official symbols are flowers, birds, hearts, keys, butterflies and letters. All colors can be used, but the prevalence is primary.

Although the tradition is no longer then it offers employment opportunities and success to the Portuguese. There are few craftsmen who use this embroidery to make a living. Today it is bought by men and women, Portuguese or foreign, to be offered to people you love - not only to lovers.

The misspellings are part of their culture and poetic. Originally, they were made by embroiderers with little literacy. So its popular expressions became a rich document of the time. It is common to see the "go" replaced by "bai" or "kiss" by "veijinho", for example.