LAVINIA ZAINEA

Fado Nights

     I have noticed that people who graduate from a faculty of foreign languges tend to identify themselves with the culture thay have studied. They form tight little groups that meet every now and then on several occasions related to their borrowed nationality and engage in conversations related to their so-called motherland. They don’t necessarily keep in touch, but they know each other and like to keep track of each other’s trajectories.The characterization above is particularly true for former students of small languages, or rare ones. Truth be told, you can never really know even by face only the people who have studied English in your generation, let alone form a tight little group with them. There are much too many, specialized in different fields, more detached from each other.
     I had the occasion to make all these observations first hand, a few weeks ago, while attending a fado concert, where I ran into most of the Portuguese students from my generation, as well as the teachers and the familiar faces I had come to know throughout the four years of university. I was certain I had escaped the germ that made one become part of this closed caste. I liked Portugal when I visited it, but I was not particularly impressed. I liked the language, but I was not fascinated by it, as others seemed to be. I liked everything abstractly, from a distance, without ever referring to Portugal as “ the country”, without viewing Lisbon as a Mecca. But I did go to the fado concert, I did drink Port wine and talked about the Bairro Alto and Fernando Pessoa, I did study the faces of the people around me and I was happy to find familiar ones. I didn’t feel at home, but I did feel halfway there. Ultimately, maybe we all are a little of what we learn, and knowing about some things sets one apart from the rest. I might not be who I am now if I had not walked at midnight through the streets of Lisbon, listening to fado and smiling at Portuguese jokes.