And So It Begins...
After several months of obsessive blog reading, I'm finally making my own debut. Maybe it was the conversation with my friends this weekend, when one of them mocked another friend for using "blogging" as a verb...and I defended him. Or maybe it's because, now that the election's over, without enough to read and next to no real work to do, my afternoons are filled with downtime. Or maybe it's just because it's nice out today, so I'm feeling energetic.
Whatever it is, here I am. Ready to share my otherwise useless observations on pop culture, marketing, and Baltimore, alongside my book topics du jour. Which really do change daily.
This week, I'm all about the origins of the Festa de Sao Joao celebrations in Porto, Portugal. Last June, I spent ten days in Portugal, on my honeymoon. We were lucky enough to be there during a) the Euro 2004 - soccer fans are nothing if not lively and entertaining and b) the saints' festival season. We were in Sintra for the Festa de Sao Pedro (an odd carnival full of acid washed jeans and inappropriate prizes for the kids' games) and in Porto for the Festa de Sao Joao.
The Sao Joao night was unlike ANYTHING I've ever experienced. It's a city-wide celebration that lasts all night, with fireworks and street stands and general craziness. But what really makes the holiday are the hammers and the garlic.
Somehow, for some reason, the tradition of the night involves tapping people on the head with stalks of garlic (flowers attached) or cheap plastic hammers that squeak like dog toys. This is, apparently, for good luck. And it really is in good fun - everyone's smiling and laughing, strangers tapping strangers, a general feeling of good will. I was absolutely beaming when I got a tap from a little old lady and her tiny grandchild early on. It's that kind of night.
In America, of course, I can only assume that the combination of heavy drinking and plastic hammers would end in riots. But in Porto, it's a beautiful experience, ending with an impossible walk to the ocean (several miles out of town) for sunrise. Cooper and I missed that walk - we retired around 3:30 am - but we did come home with a couple of hammers in our suitcases. God, it was great.
Now that we're home, though, I'm dying to know - why the hammers? I just don't get it. I've looked on the web, asked my Portuguese friends, even visited the Loyola College library to see if I could unlock the big secret. No dice. I can't find anything on this anywhere.
So I guess for now, that mystery will have to go unsolved. It makes for an alluring book topic, of course, since I don't actually know enough about it to have to write anything. I do love procrastinating in the name of curiosity...
Whatever it is, here I am. Ready to share my otherwise useless observations on pop culture, marketing, and Baltimore, alongside my book topics du jour. Which really do change daily.
This week, I'm all about the origins of the Festa de Sao Joao celebrations in Porto, Portugal. Last June, I spent ten days in Portugal, on my honeymoon. We were lucky enough to be there during a) the Euro 2004 - soccer fans are nothing if not lively and entertaining and b) the saints' festival season. We were in Sintra for the Festa de Sao Pedro (an odd carnival full of acid washed jeans and inappropriate prizes for the kids' games) and in Porto for the Festa de Sao Joao.
The Sao Joao night was unlike ANYTHING I've ever experienced. It's a city-wide celebration that lasts all night, with fireworks and street stands and general craziness. But what really makes the holiday are the hammers and the garlic.
Somehow, for some reason, the tradition of the night involves tapping people on the head with stalks of garlic (flowers attached) or cheap plastic hammers that squeak like dog toys. This is, apparently, for good luck. And it really is in good fun - everyone's smiling and laughing, strangers tapping strangers, a general feeling of good will. I was absolutely beaming when I got a tap from a little old lady and her tiny grandchild early on. It's that kind of night.
In America, of course, I can only assume that the combination of heavy drinking and plastic hammers would end in riots. But in Porto, it's a beautiful experience, ending with an impossible walk to the ocean (several miles out of town) for sunrise. Cooper and I missed that walk - we retired around 3:30 am - but we did come home with a couple of hammers in our suitcases. God, it was great.
Now that we're home, though, I'm dying to know - why the hammers? I just don't get it. I've looked on the web, asked my Portuguese friends, even visited the Loyola College library to see if I could unlock the big secret. No dice. I can't find anything on this anywhere.
So I guess for now, that mystery will have to go unsolved. It makes for an alluring book topic, of course, since I don't actually know enough about it to have to write anything. I do love procrastinating in the name of curiosity...
posted by Kit Pollard at
2:33 PM
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