Blizzard 2

The kitchen was warm from the radiating oven, the warm bodies, and the delightfully disconnected conversation. There were three people in the house which was more than the temperature reading outside. Dinner was on the table, complete with Portuguese beer tracked down and smuggled back from Boston. The beer slid down my throat slower than the kids racing down Browning Bowl, but just as smooth. It brought back all sorts of smoky memories that had been stored away for a day just as this.

There was the beautiful petite Portuguese photographer who rocked the gladiator boots, the quick trips to Pingo Doce to satisfy the craving for more beer, the Super Bock beer slushy from forgotten frozen beer, the overflowing broken washing machine, the uphill trek with a ten kilo bag of dirt, Largo do Mitelo, the boys with creeper stashes matching shorts and greased back hair, and the familiar freckled face of my landlord with his head-thrown back in laughter at the crazy american.

This last semester has helped me settle down and readjust to life here, I even thought that the roaming gypsy spirit that haunted my soul for so long had been put to rest. But as I sit after a wonderful night of laughter, friendship, and espresso I am restless to the bone. Gypsy is pulling harder than I've ever felt, to the point where my usual getaways aren't going to sate her.

So here-in starts another adventure. Who knows where I'm headed, all I know is that I'm going...