Wanderlino
Arruda
When
Wladenia
turns
eighteen
she
is
able
to
vote,
goes
to
driving
school
and
is
simply
ecstatic
with
the
fact
that
she
is
finally
an
adult.
Her
happiness,
which
is
also
mine
and
her
mother’s,
has,
in
me,
an
additional
effect:
a
feeling
of
missing
Lisbon
and
other
good
memories
of
the
trip
I
made
to
Portugal
with
Antonio
Ramos,
Dona
Flora,
Dulce
Sarmento,
Joaquim
Correia
and
Jose
Almeida.
It’s
that,
when
we
made
that
trip,
in
l966,
Wladenia
had
just
been
born,
and
being
the
first
female
child
to
be
born
in
our
family,
she
was
bringing
such
joy
to
our
home,
that
Olimpia
wasn’t
feeling
the
least
desire
to
travel.
She
preferred
to
stay
at
home
and
take
advantage
of
her
sweet
newborn
baby.
If
I
wanted
to
go,
I
would
have
to
go
by
myself.
Now,
eighteen
years
later,
this
trip
comes
back
to
me
in
waves
of
wonderful
memories.
The
eighteen-hour
flight
was
aboard
a
four
propeller
Constellation.
At
Recife,
where
we
had
to
make
a
connection,
we
met
Fina
and
Dr.
Hermes
and
later
at
Salt
Island,
nearing
the
western
coast
of
Africa,
we
met
some
other
Brazilians.
Upon
arriving
in
Lisbon,
in
the
late
afternoon
we
leave
the
plane,
receiving
the
smart
slap
of
the
cold
early
Spring
breeze.
On
leaving
the
airplane,
the
entire
Brazilian
caravan
of
the
Elos
Club
joins
together
on
the
runway
for
the
usual
group
arrival
photograph,
with
smiles
on
all
faces
and
warm
welcomes
from
the
Portuguese
people,
friends
and
brothers.
Shortly
after,
we
were
conducted
through
the
customary
hubbub
and
noise
of
the
international
lounges
and
the
customs
department
of
the
Portela
de
Sacavem,
the
most
geographically
occidental
airport
of
the
old
world.
More
pictures,
more
hugs,
more
welcomes…and
we’re
on
the
way
to
downtown
Lisbon,
the
taxis
glide
through
modern
neighborhoods
such
as
Moscavide
and
along
spectacular
avenues
like
the
Liberdade
and
Brazil
avenues.
We
also
pass
by
elegant
squares
like
the
square
of
the
Teatro,
the
Alegria,
the
Rocio,
and
the
Terreiro
do
Paço,
and
through
streets
like
the
Ouro
and
Prata
streets.
In
the
distance,
the
sentimental
sight
of
the
river
Tejo,
the
medieval
fortress
of
São
João,
the
Largo
do
Comercio,
the
Ladeira
do
Chiado
and
the
Alfama.
When
the
driver
passes
near
the
illuminated
fountains
and
restaurants,
he
shows
us
a
statue
of
the
emperor
Dom
Pedro,
and
proudly
states:
There
is
our
illustrious
Dom
Pedro
IV,
your
Dom
Pedro
I,
really
one
of
the
greatest
heroes
of
Portuguese
History.
Dona
Flora
and
Antonio
Ramos
have
seen
these
pleasantries
time
and
time
again,
frequent
visitors
that
they
are.
Jose
Almeida,
from
the
north,
had
only
passed
through
Lisbon
once
on
his
way
to
Brazil.
Our
friend
J.F.
Rodrigues
Correia
had
studied
in
Coimbra
as
a
child
and
had
been
away
for
forty
years.
Dulce
Sarmento
and
I
were
thrilled
with
the
beauty
of
the
city
for
the
first
time.
No
one
can
imagine
what
a
sweet
and
delicious
sensation
it
is
to
set
foot
in
the
motherland,
feel
there
our
people’s
creed,
our
cradle,
the
origin
of
the
majority
of
our
traditions,
a
place
that
is
anything…except
foreign.
And,
how
well
we
Brazilians
are
received
in
Portugal,
in
Lisbon,
In
Santarem,
in
Belmont,
in
Porto,
anywhere!
That
night,
my
first
walk…
strolling
about
that
enchanting
world
of
wonders,
of
the
Metro,
the
Praca
da
Alegria,
of
Se,
of
the
cafes
do
Chiado,
the
Subida
das
Ladeiras,
our
curious
window
shopping
at
goldsmiths
and
other
superb
shops.
We
visited
glorious
illuminated
fountains
of
all
colors
and
all
sounds,
more
beautiful
than
anywhere
else
in
the
world.
Through
those
historical
streets
and
squares
had
also
one
day
passed
Eca
do
Queros,
Alexandre
Herculano,
Antero
de
Quental,
Florbela
Espanca…and
Fernando
Pessoa!
Along
those
ways
had
also
passed
our
most
famous
Brazilian,
our
cherished,
always
revered
Juscelino
Kubtschek.
He
was
so
honored
there
that
when
he
arrived
anywhere,
be
it
the
theater,
cinemas
or
cafés,
everyone
demonstrated
respect
and
friendship.
