Café Crazy

Queria uma chinesa por favor? Almost everyday I find this phrase passing smoothly through my lips, and I can’t seem to stop it. I have very few vices in life; I don’t smoke, rarely drink and for the most part eat pretty healthy. Though I enjoy sweets every now and then, it’s rare to find me drinking pop, eating McDonalds or consuming a chocolate bar. I don’t crave this type of food much, as I’d rather bite into an apple, munch on cereal or drink a cup of tea. I can’t tell you why, but perhaps it has something to do with my active lifestyle.

Over the years my diet has remained the same, until I was introduced to Portuguese coffee. This rich, dark liquid has got a hold on me and the funny thing is, I don’t want to escape it. The smell, the taste – I find myself thirsting for it to touch my tongue, almost always giving in for a daily ‘fix.’

With a mother who gets up early and leaves for work at 6am three times a week, coffee has always been brewing in the Watson household. Every morning I woke up to the aromatic smell and perhaps, became immune to it. I never once felt the need to pour myself a cup and give it a try. Interestingly enough, my first real coffee tasting experience was in Italy. When my basketball team took a foreign tour in 2006, very early mornings were an everyday occurrence. With full days and tons of sights to see, I decided a jolt of caffeine couldn’t hurt. Noticing nifty espresso machines in every hotel room, I decided to use the appliance to my benefit and get a jump-start on each morning. An espresso a day kept me alert and allowed me to enjoy every sight and sound on our trip. Once I returned to North America I didn’t feel the need to continue my espresso routine, nor did I seek a replacement for my lack of caffeine. I moved on.

After growing up surrounded by coffee, experiencing it first hand in Italy and finally attending university in one of the coffee capitals of the world, you’d think I’d be a loyal coffee drinker. Shouldn’t I be like every other Seattleite who consumes local brews from one of the countless coffee shops that line each street? Why haven't I become addicted to the fragrant smell of fresh coffee beans until now? After countless nights spent studying at UVillage Starbuck(s), writing papers at Tully’s on Queen Anne and prepping roommates for tests at Peet’s by Greenlake, how was I not a coffee drinker? And why am I just beginning this relationship with coffee?

During these evening cramming sessions, I was the one my friends made fun of. While they were ordering straight caffeine to keep them lucid, I was ordering designer drinks to try to fit in – latte’s, chai teas or peppermint hot chocolates. Sometimes I’d be super adventurous and get my latte iced. Yes, I was a hardcore coffee drinker. It got worse during the summer months. While training hard to keep my basketball game on par, my friend Lindsey and I would create intense morning workouts. After we had run hills on Queen Anne, sprinted football suicides at local high schools, completed brutal weight circuits or pushed each other during basketball drills in the gym, we’d finish up by going to a nearby coffee shop for breakfast and coffee. Of course Lindsey would actually order a coffee while I’d play it cool and get one of my fancy drinks, eliciting a laugh from her every single time without fail. I just didn’t have it in me to be a coffee drinker.

Now here I am in Portugal enjoying my chinesa (large coffee with milk) while I type. I thought Seattleites were crazy coffee drinkers until I met the Portuguese. These people drink café (coffee) as if the bean is about to be extinct! Breakfast, lunch, dinner – as a snack or nightcap, even right before we step on the court for a game – it doesn’t matter. It’s ever present and everyone does it. Men, women – young and old, it’s part of the culture here. When experiencing new countries I like to try popular dishes, famous activities and the like. So after 2 days on this island I was trying my first bica (small, STRONG, shot like cup of coffee.) I watched my teammates as they poured 2 packs of sugar into their drinks and stirred until the huge amounts of crystals dissolved. Disgusted by the thought of drinking straight sugar added to a dark sludge, I decided to sip it straight up. Wrong decision! The café was so strong and bitter that I almost spit it out. How can these people drink this stuff? Further proof that coffee is not for me. Even after adding sugar to make it a bit easier to consume, I still couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about.

But the café was not to be deterred. During my walking tours I often stop for a bite to eat. Eventually, I started to notice that there was a second size of coffee (there are 2 sizes/types of café here – bica (small straight shot of coffee) and chinesa (large coffee with the choice to add milk [leite]) so I decided on the latter, since there are no latte’s here! Big mistake. After the first sip I was hooked. If this is to be my one vice, so be it. It’s not like its cutting into my paycheck. At 0.80€ a shot, I think I can endure this small expense. What is also quite interesting is that there is no coffee ‘to go’ here. You drink your café at the table or bar in a glass coffee cup. There are no paper cups or venti size drinks. Size pequeno or grande makes your decision that much easier, while also helping conserve the environment. I’m in love with a chinesa…

Basketball update: last week we traveled to Coimbra to play Olivais. And travel we did. I can never get over how crazy travel schedules are in Europe. It’s insane and most of the time doesn’t make sense. With our game scheduled for 5:30pm on Saturday night, we were up at 5am that very morning to begin our adventure. By 5:45am we had left the gym and were headed to airport for our 6:45am flight to Porto. Arrival time: 8:30am. After collecting our luggage, we drove to a nearby mall and arrived just in time for opening at 9am. Here coach tells us we have 3 hours before we have to meet at noon. Ummm…ok. What are we going to do in a mall for 3 hours on gameday? Since the breakfast on the airplane was nasty, Dani and I decided to enjoy a nutritious McDonalds breakfast (ok, I’m a hypocrite, you caught me eating McDonalds!) With more than 2 hours to kill, we wandered the mall and ended up buying a couple of items neither of us needed. Tired and unsure of how we were going to have the energy to play 40 minutes that night, we spent the better part of an hour sitting in the food court people watching. Finally 12 o’clock rolled around and it was time to depart. Ten minutes later we stopped at a nearby hotel to sit in the lobby for an hour. No, we didn’t have rooms booked at this hotel, but we would be eating our pre-game there at 1pm. A walking zombie, I nodded off in a very uncomfortable chair only to find myself being shaken awake by a teammate who told me it was time to eat and I should wipe the drool from my chin. Nice. Lunch was from the hotel salad bar – where I found nothing of substance to give me energy for the game. Realizing I needed to load up on carbs, I decided to eat bread, and lots of it. I think I actually ate a whole loaf…Once finishing lunch, we again took a seat in the lobby for another hour. OMG! Can we please get a room to lie down in??? Dani and I were giving each other the eye the whole time, knowing exactly what the other was thinking and reminiscing about travel during our college days.

Finally, after drifting in and out of sleep, it was time to jump in the van and head towards Coimbra – an hour and a half drive south. Amazed that I hadn't gotten car sick or whiplash from our assistant coach’s erratic driving (can someone show this guy how to drive a stick please? Or even how to stay in one lane) I actually caught about 30 minutes of sleep. We eventually arrived in Comibra at 3:45pm, where we were subjected to watching the 2nd half of a young boys game before our locker room was cleared. Finally, we were led into it at 4:30pm, an hour before game time. And let me tell you, this was probably the most disgusting locker room I have ever seen in my life. It looked like a gas chamber. The floors were wet, but not from being washed and the bathroom had no door. The walls were a patchwork of paint and the place smelled like mold. Add that to the fact that the floor tiles were white and looked like they hadn’t been washed in months. Oddly enough, the gym floor was really nice and the rims loose, so it wasn’t all bad. With this being a big game – Dani and I pumped each other up with some good tunes and self talk, trying to wake ourselves up from 12 hours of travel.
Olivais is still in EuroCup competition and considered the best team in our league (we are one of the top 3.) They also employ former BYU star and WNBA draft pick Ambrosia Anderson. After a very disappointing performance at Vagos last week, it was time to redeem ourselves. Coach pulled me aside before the game and told me he wanted me to guard Ambrosia. I was up for the challenge, knowing she was left-handed and loved to shoot jumpers – from anywhere. With Dani playing on a bad leg, I knew we needed to get up on them from the tip, and we did just that. Ahead by 10 for most of the first half, they made a run and scored 2 points at the half time buzzer to cut our lead to two. The second half was a back and fourth battle, with Dani hitting everything she touched! She was in the zone, finishing 12-14 from the floor with 26 pts. Their posts couldn’t do anything to stop her. I had a solid game with 12pts and 11rbs, only shooting 7 times – I didn’t need to score. With Dani on fire and our guards shooting well from the outside, I was able to focus on the boards and defending their star. Even though Anderson scored 26pts, she only shot around 20% from the field, hoisting up more than 20 shots in the process. I thought I did a decent job, especially since everything runs through her and I was on her 40 minutes without a sub. Up 2 with 30 seconds left in the game, I hit 2 FTs to increase our lead to 4, stole the ball on ‘D’ and was fouled again. I hit 2 more with 7 seconds left to seal the game. Exciting! I was shocked the ref actually blew his whistle, as I did’t get a call all night under the hoop. As a foreigner on the court I’m used to not getting any sympathy, but when girls are blatantly hammering your forearms on lay-up attempts, you're bound to get a little red under the collar. Five of my 7 shots should have been called as fouls, but what can you do? Since college I’ve learned a lot as a player and am now good at keeping my emotions in check on the court. Refs are just waiting for a foreigner to react so they can light you up. I definitely gave a few death stares, but I feel my composure during the game allowed them to make the right calls at the end. It was a great win – making the long trip home much more enjoyable.

This weekend we have back-to-back games Saturday and Sunday. I fly home Monday for the holidays! Our break is from the Dec. 16th – Jan. 3rd. Though Madeira has the largest fireworks celebration in the world on NYE, it's nice to spend it with the people you care most about. I hope to catch a UW men’s game on the 20th or 23rd and the women’s game on the 30th. This will likely be my last post until the New Year unless something exciting happens that I must report! That being said “Feliz Natal” (Merry Christmas) and “Feliz Ano Novo” (Happy New Year) to you and your families. Enjoy this time together during the holiday season.

Até logo,
-BW

Language – Living, Learning, Loving

Bonjour, Moi, Hej, Olá – Hello! Every time I travel to a new country, I’m continually amazed by how languages can be so distinct from one another. There are always some similarities, but it’s the differences that make them unique.

Growing up in a bilingual country like Canada, learning French was mandatory upon reaching elementary school. From grades 4 to 12 I studied the language on almost a daily basis and decided to continue with it for 2 years at the University of Washington. I don’t consider myself fluent, but if someone were to address to me in French, I would have a pretty good understanding of what they were saying. Speaking however, is a different beast. I’d have no problem asking questions, finding out directions or stating the obvious. But holding a serious conversation? That’s where it gets tough. It’s funny how quickly a language leaves you when you are not surrounded by it everyday. I suppose you could compare it to a sport like basketball. If you haven’t played for months or years at a time and finally pick up a ball to shoot, you’ll still have the skills – but they won’t be a sharp as they once were (unless of course you put in the time to practice.) If I could go back and do one thing differently, it would probably be having my parents enroll me French immersion at a young age. I wish I was fluent as French is a beautiful language.

That being said, my limited skills in French helped me quite a bit while I was in Sweden. Oddly, I found the language fairly easy to follow and picked the vocabulary up at a pretty good clip (though my accent murdered the language and was never on par.) Swedish seems to be a strange mix between English, French and something else. It was bizarre; teammates would be conversing in the locker room when suddenly, I’d cut in and say “I have a pen you can use.” Not only did I shock myself, but the girls would stop and stare – not comprehending how someone who had spent a little more than a month in a new country had understood what they were talking about. Personally, I thought it was a pretty good party trick…

Finland was a completely different story however. I couldn’t give you a phrase to repeat if my life depended on it. Finnish is an extremely difficult language to speak and understand. It’s like nothing I have ever heard before and comes across sounding like a robotic monotone. No disrespect to the language or country, but Finnish was nothing more than glorified gibberish and a strange slurring of words. (Remember, they do like their vodka there! ☺) This strange sounding language may be related to the fact that the Finnish use vowels like they’re going out of style, and love to pair up consonants. The majority of words are a minimum of 9 letters long with 2 a’s, i’s or u’s sitting together in a row not being uncommon. (Some examples of this confusing language: jääkiekko lätkä – ice hockey, myrkynvihreä – the color green and my personal favorite hyväntekeväisyysjuhlat – meaning gala. Seriously. I dare you to pronounce any of these words.) I remember one day Liz, Charlee and I were walking home from the supermarket when we came across a sign with a 25-letter word. 25 letters! Want to know what it meant? Bank. 25 letters to let the consumer know that the building they were walking into was the bank. Crazy! I wish I could tell you I learned simple phrases so I could ask how much something was or which way to the bathroom, but I didn’t. I lived in Finland for 5 months and was only able to pick up simple words like “moi” (prounounced like boy with an m, meaning hello), hyvää perse (who-va per-say, meaning nice ass ☺), pallo (ball), tyttö (two-ta, meaning girl), kiitos (key-toes, meaning thank you) and a couple of swear words. Beyond that, I draw a blank. If I ever return to Finland, I’d be as confused as the next person trying to decipher the language.

Arriving in Portugal, I figured I would have an easy time picking up the language. Knowing Portuguese is a language similar to Spanish, I decided it couldn’t be that tough. Even though I’ve never really been around the Spanish language – how hard could it be? Most of my American friends have a fairly good understanding of it and have been known to incorporate words such as: “de nada,” “amanhã,” “una más,” etc. into their everyday vocabulary. I had even found myself saying “hola” to my friend Kelly everytime she came home from gymnastics practice. Well, it looks like I set myself up for failure. Portuguese is a language that is spoken very rapidly with a lot of nasally and phlegm-y sounding words (you know, the noise you make with your throat when there is something in it, and/or you’re trying to get something out of it? That’s the noise I’m talking about.) Additionally, enunciation is extreme and the language is loud. When others around me are speaking, I almost feel as though they are yelling at each other. It can be pretty entertaining. I’ll sit there watching, smiling because I have no idea what’s being said. For all I know, my teammate Nadia could be making fun of my mother to others in the room while I just sit there grinning like an idiot. It kind of makes you feel like a powerless child. I am however making an effort to learn. I’ve picked up essentials like “olá” (hello), “queria” (kee-ree-a, meaning I would like), “quanto” (how much), “fala inglês” (do you speak English?), “obrigada” (thank you) and “boa noyte” (good evening) among others. More will come, but right now, the majority of it is going in one ear and out the other.

Thinking about all this, if there has been one think I’ve learned during my travels, it’s that no matter what country you are from, and what language you speak, there is always some way to communicate. That being said, you have to be willing to make the effort. Personally, I think it’s extremely ignorant when someone is a visitor to another country and automatically assumes that the person they’re about to speak to can speak/understand English. I believe that when you’re guest in another country, you should be the one trying to assimilate. It shouldn’t be the other way around. It’s rude to think that no matter where you are in the world a person will understand you – even though they might. In my experience, by making an effort to try and speak the native language, you’ve already made a friend. Even if you butcher the language, read it from a phrase book or pronounce words in ways they never knew existed, it means something because you tried. Often the person will chuckle and respond in English while smiling. The fact that you made an attempt is meaningful. I’ve had the price of products I was shopping for decrease 50% because I tried to speak in the native language – true story.

Through my life experiences and travel, I’ve found that majoring in Communication was the perfect degree for me. I love communication and I love meeting new people, conversing with strangers (well, the ones that look friendly…) and making new friends. I’ve learned so much more about this field by getting out of my comfort zone and striking up conversations with people from all walks of life. Whether I’m in Canada, America or Europe - there is always a way to exchange ideas, feelings, thoughts, wants and needs. Body language can make or break a potential conversation; hand gestures if used in a non-threatening way can display what you’re looking for or where you want to go. Smiling with your eyes often breaks down barriers. You also have to be willing to learn as well as willing to make concessions. People sometimes don’t realize how far a smile will go. Every so often it can even break down the grumpiest of old men who don’t speak a word of English. I like to test this theory by walking by with a big smile on my face and saying “bom dia” (good morning). Seeing the twitch of his mouth curve upwards makes me feel as though I’ve accomplished something.

Many native Madeirans speak English well enough that any pressing questions I’ve had can be answered. This probably has a lot to do with the fact that Madeira is a very touristy island and English is a useful skill. However, there are always exceptions. A few of my teammates speak very little English, making it difficult to communicate at times. Nevertheless, we always find a way to understand each other with a smile. What’s hilarious to me however is that these same teammates who can barely speak a word of English, can recite every Tupac song or sing the newest Beyonce word for word when it comes on the radio! Ah, the power of music…

My Portu-English and handy Portuguese phrasebook will continue to be my best friends for now by helping me along until and I feel comfortable enough to leave them at home. Hopefully by then, I’ll be confident enough to attempt speaking this foreign language without aid…

Basketball update: we lost 68-61 last week at Vagos (near Porto.) We shot terribly and shouldn’t have given up this game. Up 15 in the first half, we hit a rough patch in the 2nd and were never able to recover. It’s probably worth mentioning that this was the coldest, ghetto-est gym I have ever played in. I’m not joking when I say there was no heating and we were playing in 2°C (35°F) weather. It was like we were outside for a football game or something. I could see my breath when I paused on the court and was shivering during timeouts – where I put on a puffy jacket to keep warm. You could literally see the steam rising from our skin. The air burned my lungs when I was running down the court, making it hard to catch a breath. Half the time I couldn’t feel my fingers. You know when NBA players blow in their hands to look cool? Well almost my whole team was doing this out of necessity to keep circulation flowing. I’ll blame my cold (pun intended) shooting percentage on this, even though I realize the opposing team had to deal with the same conditions (however, they do practice and play in this gym on a daily basis.) I finished with 11pts and 9rbs. Not a very good outing for me. I expect more from myself, especially because of the skill level of this league. Apparently a lot of the gyms on the mainland are like this, which is not something to look forward to. How can it be legal? Players could get sick! I’ve never played basketball in conditions like this before. I was thinking of investing in some under amour to keep my extremities warm – but you aren’t allowed long sleeves under your jersey. Great, I guess I’ll just have to bring a canister full of hot chocolate to keep me warm next time…

Adeus,
-BW