A couple of weekends ago, well on Thursday the 13th June to be precise, us lot living over here in the shadow of the mighty city of Lisboa all had the day off work. It wasn't a National Holiday, but kind of like a Local Holiday in honour of Santo António, which only the people of Lisbon celebrate, since Saint Anthony is their Patron Saint. Anyway, it's an important part of the culture and a very important day of the year for Lisboetas* involving a massively colourful celebration spreading throughout the city streets until the small hours. I did not, as it happens, partake of such revelry but I have seen the pictures on the internet of the dancers and the flowers and the grilled sardines and everything else that goes along with this huge festival. Maybe next year?
Instead, I stayed at home, where I could hear a smaller version of the party going on someplace, probably at some bar or other across the far side of the valley. The music, which seemed to be a seamless mix of modern upbeat pop and folk music, lasted until around one, leaving in it's absence a strange kind of eerie silence across the village. For three more nights it was the same, until Sunday, when the music finished a little earlier than it had on the previous evenings.
Then, last Friday, at around 5 or 6, the music started up again. The wind was quite fierce and so as the sound was pushed back and forth with each gust it was difficult to say where it might be coming from, but it definitely sounded quite a distance away. On the Saturday evening I stood out on my balcony and I listened. It sounded like it was coming from the bar just down the road. I had already made arrangements to meet up with a mate for a few beers and so I donned my shoes and headed out for my local. As I got closer to the bar that I though was playing the music it became apparent that I was wrong. The wind had obviously carried the sound farther than I had first thought and was coming from another bar further along the road. As I turned the final corner I realised that the music was being played from my local. And it was busy. In fact I have not seen the pub as busy as it was for quite some time; probably not since the last Benfica x Sporting match earlier in the year. And the festivities were in full swing! There was a trailer the type of which you would normally expect to be selling fast food, which was the source of the music and also the point of sale where one could buy Tombola tickets; 5 for a euro. The landlord's son in law (I think) was busy on the pavement outside grilling sardines on an oil-drum barbecue and the celebrants were spilling out of the bar into the road to dance to the music. My friend was there already, proudly waving around a plate that he'd won on the Tombola, picturing (strangely enough) a stereotypical English cottage!
A little while later, while we were at the van buying even more tombola tickets, we got chatting to a friend of ours. We asked him what the festivities were all about, and he was more than willing to explain: The first weekend was (as I already knew, but guessed the wrong bar!) to celebrate St Anthony, last weekend was for São João (St John) and this coming weekend is to celebrate São Pedro (St Peter). He also explained that the tombola was run for charity with all the proceeds going to an orphanage, situated just around the corner, for children up to six years old. My friend and I spent the remainder of the evening at a table just inside the bar, occasionally popping out to buy more of the tombola tickets, to then return to our table and unravel these very tightly rolled 2 inch squares of coloured paper. There were some good prizes on offer, but I must say, most of them were tat, but that was not the point! It was for charity, and moreover, it was jolly good fun trying to unroll them and discover if you were a winner!
And so the night wore on. Groups of people came and went. One group came in, bought what must have been 20 euro worth of tickets and then sat there at the table opposite us, with all four of them unrolling ticket after ticket after ticket. Across the bar, the cheers of celebration seemed to get louder with every winning ticket. The dancing started to spill back inside the bar, and it was I suppose inevitable that both my good friend and I were coerced into joining in!
Eventually, the shutters on the van were lowered and the music stopped. With probably a couple too many beers in our bellies and plastic bags full of prizes, we said our goodbyes and headed for home. A thoroughly good evening was had by all. Roll on the celebrations for São Pedro!
* Lisboan was my first guess at describing a native of Lisbon. Then I second guessed myself into thinking it could be Lisbonite. Finally, I looked it up, and the correct Portuguese term is Lisboeta.
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