CARVSMARK

Welcome to my funny little blog where I share the comical misadventures of being a woman in a crazy world. Todays blog is about a so called “Fake Portuguese” in Portugal supposedly… which is me! I am hilariously navigating the delicate balance between two cultures, from sheep-feeding shenanigans to cat poop surprises in my father’s shoes growing up. Brace yourselves as this is a journey that started in a small town of Relvas and is still going in Cascais.

Picture this if you will: a sheep-feeding, horse-carriage-riding expert i.e. my Vovo, that’s how I used to roll in a small town called Relvas at 12 years old. Fast forward to present day and I’m strolling through the streets of Cascais, pondering the irony of being called a “Fake Portuguese.” Seriously, do I look like I’m hiding behind a disguise? Maybe I should rock a fake mustache like that of Joaquim Barreiros just to up my authenticity game! Or make sure I leave the pasteis nata for the tourists and get on a boat start fishing with the fisherman in the sea.

Let’s dive into this philosophical question of what it means to be a “real” or “fake” Portuguese.

Are we intruders on our own ancestral land or simply victims of our Canadian upbringing? Is it really about linguistic skills or is it just a fun game of cultural charades? One thing is for sure, we’re settling the score with a Portuguese dance-off. Time to dust off those rancho drums and fado moves! Lets talk about it.

My parents would tell of tales growing up in northern Portugal of funny things that would happen during Christmas in Portugal even though they had nothing they had everything they needed. My father would tell of the memories of putting shoes at the front door, hoping for some money or an orange. But always shared the hilarious tale of waking up to find his shoes not just filled with money, but also the uninvited presence of their dear cat’s gift. Who needs luck when you can have a bonus fertilizer for your new shoes, right? It’s a Christmas miracle my father would say! One like no other and a reminder as my brother and I opened the endless gifts how lucky we were to have what we had. On the other hand we had our own stories in Canada in the small town of Osoyoos. The local elementary school hill that no one had any hesitation to throw themselves down tobagganing even if it meant a few broken bones, or the midnight masses we went to knowing we were happy to go and listen to the one lady off key (like piercing sound of nails down a chalk board) sing “silent night” so we could open our gifts right after.

Embracing the Multicultural Blend as immigrant kids, we grew up embracing both cultures the good, the ugly, and even the cat poop in the shoes moments. Portuguese language, food, drama, folklore our upbringing was a hilarious mix of both worlds. Returning to Portugal feels like coming home, with the language, food, sights, and smells transporting us back to those cherished memories. Who needs snow and pine when there are chestnuts roasting and “boas festas” signs everywhere? Oh and let’s not forget the open markets filled with roasting chestnuts at this time of the year while the bars are still filled with futebol fans and Sagres at a Sunday afternoon match.

This “Fake Portuguese” is in Portugal and maybe an intruder as one could say but I have the benefit of being part of two cultures of both their own traditions, quirky customs, and the absurdity of being an immigrant’s child. Remember, it’s not about being “fake” or “real,” but embracing the cultural mishaps and celebrating the unique blend of our identities. So, let’s raise a glass of vinho verde and toast to the hilarity that ensues when cultures collide!

Boas festas and stay tuned for more laughter-filled adventures!