Parallelisms: The Pinoy and Portuguese psyche

(Author’s note. This is rewritten from my book, Wings and Wanderlust, the Art of Discovering Yourself.)

It was early spring. I hitchhiked from Spain to a quaint border village in Portugal, Vila Franca de Xira. It was early evening, rush hour for drinkers. The first thing I encountered was a noisy bar. Everyone was screaming drunk, all men, not a single woman around.

As soon as I entered, there was a sudden five seconds of eerie silence as they all stared at me in disbelief. I was wearing a dirty canary-yellow ski jacket with many repair stitches, hair to my shoulders, a backpack, and a guitar — a weird-looking 26-year-old Filipino. After five seconds, they screamed and dragged me to the bar to sing a song.

Even though it was April, I chose a short easy song, “Ang Pasko ay Sumapit” (Christmas is Here), a bouncy, happy native song with simple chords, Am-Dm-E7. After the song, everybody screamed once more. Somehow, I had triggered their adrenaline. Remember, everyone was violently drunk. A huge mug of beer slid across the bar and screeched to a stop within six inches of my nose, courtesy of the bartender, who winked at me. Next came a sandwich.

Someone grabbed the guitar and they started playing native folk songs while I drank and ate ravenously. After hitchhiking the whole day from Cadiz in Spain, I was tired and hungry. After just three mugs of beer, I was as drunk as everybody. I wish I was able to record their quaint Portuguese folk songs.

Someone asked where I was going to sleep that night. I said I didn’t know and everybody laughed. A guy offered to let me sleep at his place. I said okay. But another guy said I should sleep at his place. I did not know what to say. A quarrel ensued. The two guys started a brawl. Everybody was cheering the two guys. I felt so good that they were fighting over me. But then again, I felt bad because of the brawl that I somehow triggered.

At a certain point, I winked at the bartender, and sneaked out with my guitar and backpack unnoticed, because everyone was watching the boxing match. The Portuguese are as warm as Filipinos — drunk, noisy and violent.

I ended up in a nearby park — from pandemonium to sacred silence. I was ready for the cool spring night. I had an expensive sleeping bag which could withstand open-air snow.

I could not sleep because of the awesome experience of meeting such warm Portuguese folks, my first encounter. My adrenaline was up. Good thing I was drunk and finally fell asleep under the stars.

On the road, I had such bizarre encounters. They became a permanent part of a soul hungry for adventure. The guitar was magical. At times, I was worried because I had such an attraction for danger. At times, I was looking for it, just to spice things up. I realized how similar the Pinoy and the Portuguese were — boisterous, spontaneous, warm, devil-may-care.

To this day, I remember every detail of that experience; it was serendipity, an “accidental” adventure on the road. Serendipity shadowed me at every turn of my three years on the road, hitchhiking through Western Europe and North Africa, which I called eastwind — the wind from the east.

The book, “Wings and Wanderlust — The Art of Discovering Yourself,” is available on Amazon, but if you are in the Philippines, you can buy a cheaper hard copy delivered to your home by courier. Email your request to redgate77@gmail.com.