Dedicated to the loving memory of my grandparents and grandmother.
And to my other grandmother, still holding the fort.
It is funny how our mind works. Most of the times by mid afternoon you already forgot what you had for lunch, but some childhood memories stick forever, ingrained in the back alleys of our brain.
My grandparent had a horse pulled wooden cart. I used to love riding it, sitting on top of the hay. I felt so proud and grown up each time he passed me the reins.
I also remember just sitting underneath a tree, playing with rocks and ants, enjoying those blissful childhood moments.
At night, I sometimes sat with my grandmother by the fireplace, listening to her tales of the old times. I’m not sure I ever really understood those stories, but the sound and rhythm of her voice would rock me to sleep.
I have great childhood memories, and many of them come from this tiny little village called Tolosa, nested deep in rural Alentejo. Not easy to spot unless you go there on purpose. A few houses, a church, a bandstand, the obligatory tavern, and that’s it. But in my heart this is the place where love and good memories come from.