"When everything else has gone from my brain ... what will be left, I believe, is topology: the dreaming memory of land as it lay this way and that." Annie Dillard
If you listen to Fado in Lisbon, you hear women croon mournful tunes. But if you listen in Coimbra, as I just did, you hear men serenade women and sing songs that celebrate the places they love.
Played with a special 12-string guitar and accompanied by passionate vocals, Fado has been called the soul of Portugal. And after tonight, I'd have to say I agree.
Labels: travel
posted by Anne Cassidy at
5:26 PM
I’m a writer and editor, the author of "Parents Who Think Too Much" and a freelancer published everywhere from the "New York Times" to "Woman’s Day." I’ve been scribbling my thoughts in one tattered notebook or another for most of my life, but this blog is the first time I’ve gone public. I'm glad you've landed here, and I hope you visit often.
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