Who the Hell Has Time to Write?

no update since friday because as soon as the rest of the International Literary Program (ILP) people arrived on saturday, all bets were off. between eating, attending programing, workshopping (my group on writing the Luso-American experince with Frank X. Gaspar), hoofing it all around alfama, baixa-chiado, and other lisbon neighborhoods, getting to know talented writers from all across the USA (and some Portuguese ones too, including Rui Zink), eating some more, who the hell has had time to actually write, let alone sleep!
but this is about writing, and the writing is and will be.

brief rundown of happenings since last post:
sat night: get-to-know-ya group dinner at cervejaria trinidade, well known semi tourist trap former convent-brewery. good food but pricey. i had bacalhau in natas.

sun: gathering at the Centro Nacional de Cultura (CNC) to get the lay of the workshop land, then a sun-baked tour as an anglo herd through the alfama up to the plaza of S. Jorge church, whose vaulted gothic coolness invited a few of us in to contemplate after beers. then, trolley 28 back down to rua garrett and then back to the CNC for finger sandwiches and adult beverages, which, though tasty and appreciated, didn´t sate. bunch of us staying at the living lounge hostel had the homecooked 9 € dinner offered every night, and talked into the wees.

mon: snacks and chat with roommates at Pessoa´s Cafe´Brasileira before first workshop session. Frank X. set a tone of line edits bad, project purpose and how to fulfill it good. big picture stuff. finish finish finish your manuscript and get it out into the world will become his mantra. after workshop, CNC staff took us on a very portuguese (i.e. felt like reading footnotes) Fernando Pessoa walking tour. everything would be revealed about the man right down to his preference in underwear. i was dehydrated, hungry and still recovering from jet lag, so i cut out. back to the hostel to clean up for cocktails at the u.s. embassy.

or so my roomies and i thought. it wasnt the embassy but the private residence of the deputy counselor. this we learned after blowing some precious alloted euros on a cab ride to the embassy, where one of us then bothered to look at the program for the actual address, on the other side of town. more euros gone. the reception was lovely, but come on usa govt, why so unimaginative in the finger foodies? the same server with the same platter of drying pate on mini toast hit the group i was in four times before i suggested we move. a good move because we got to talk to the wonderful Rui Zink. the pate lady appeared again. soon, the alcohol dried up and that was everyone´s cue to leave. Frank Sousa, of Tagus press, wanted to go to the best (according to him) place for rotisserie chicken in town on the street of Portas de S. Antao. amy, melissa and i horned our way in. we were hungry, dammit. at the cab corner, i pulled a nyc move and snagged the first cab that came down the hill, practically tossing out some guy who tried to sneak in. no way buster. tony, frank x. and i ended up in the cab, me sitting in the front seat playing translator and listening to the cabbie sing the praises of Radio Amalia, which he had on, and offering up advice on the best places to eat and hear fado in town, which all the cabbies do. they´re all informal tour guides.

at the chicken place, i fell off the wagon and renounced my pesco-vegetarianism for the night. and you would too! the two Franks, Rui, Traci, Tony, Amy, Melissa and I gorged on frango, portuguese fries and got silly, a great way to get to know artistic eminences (i.e. me).

tues: are you kidding? i´m too exhausted from living la vida lisboa to get up at 11 am for a lecture and discussion about the state of portuguese publishing. please...i´ll sleep till 1pm instead then get up to go with roommated melissa to Maragrida Vale de Gato´s (name means Valley of Cat. may ask her later if she ever wished it was Vale das Bonecas) translation workshop at the Nova Universidade de Lisboa. holy shit, will that Margarida be impressive and that workshop more intellectually stimulating than a grad course at home. we will have our work cut out for us synthesizing theory and translating poems either into English from Portuguese or vice versa. Restitution indeed! I will choose to tackle Frank X. Gaspar´s poem´Ernestina, the Shoemaker´s Wife´. i´m not a wife but i wear shoes. I will buy a pocket dictionary at the rare book dealer´s table near the entrance and look up ´sapateiro.`
after the workshop, we proceed to the Luso-American Development Foundation (FLAD) near the basilica of Estrela to, in order of importance 1. filch as many of the free cookies, coffee and juice as possible, 2. hear Frank X. read his poetry and 3. listen to a panel presentation on the state of Luso-American representation in US publishing. afterwards, a bunch of us hoof it back to the street of the chicken place, this time to eat fish. an amazing brazilian street singer-guitarist entertains us. i buy a fedora.

wed: workshop in the morning, publishing panel in the afternoon, 20 minutes wait in the post office where there are no people on line to buy post card stamps, pit stop at a liquor store fora port wine tasting, off to hotel plaza lisbon to hear the franks talk about Tagus press and how it and the world needs our work, back to baixa-chiado for dinner sandwich on rua s. nicolau near the hostel, stroll to Praca Comercial and a toe dip in the Tagus, pastries at another of Pessoa´s cafes, to hostel to get comfortable, talk shop with colleagues, and now this, the writing i´ve made time for.
until we say bom dia again!