back home...

I was back in Lisbon, and from the moment I was in the airport, I felt a sense of familiarity, which gave me comfort and in an odd way, felt home. The feeling didn’t dissipate, and rather, became stronger by the hour. As I waved down a Mercedes taxi ( >95% of them are), I asked the driver how much he would charge for the trip. Obviously trying to rip off a naïve American girl, I told him what I knew it would cost, got in the car, and confidently gave him directions to the dorm. He dropped me off, after having paid him what was on the meter, plus a tip, and I smiled. It was official. I was now part Portuguese. I ran a few errands afterwards, getting back into the routine of “living” in Lisbon. I started becoming accustomed to some constants, which in their own special way, added that much more meaning to the experience. Every day I come back home from the metro, I see the same bushy-haired woman looking outside her window on the fifth floor, observing people as they pass by. On my way to the medical school, I anticipate seeing the dog that has been in the exact spot wagging his tail and staring me down every time I’ve passed.

It was time to get back to work. And from then until the end of my stay, I was playing catch up. I spent a couple more days at the Pulido Valente Hospital, working in the Cardiology Dept. I’d spend most of the day going through patients’ medical charts to determine if they meet the criteria for qualifying to be a part of Dr. Rodrigues’ Metabolic Syndrome study. As if physicians’ handwriting isn’t illegible enough, try deciphering it in a foreign language. If patients qualified and accepted to be a part of the study, we referred them to the medical school where Dr. Rodrigues would begin his series of tests. I tagged along for rounds in the morning, as 12 fifth-year medical students followed the attending from room to room. It was educational, to say the least, to see the subtle and not so subtle differences between the American and Portuguese medical and educational systems.

It is my last full day in Lisbon, so I decided to make the most of it and go to the beach. I am in Cascais, sitting atop a flat rock, looking down to beautiful calm waters, an insanely busy beach with people swimming, teens smoking and jumping off dangerous rocks, lovers oblivious to their surroundings, and an odd-ball that sticks out in jeans, a laptop and DSLR (i.e. me).

This month has been incredible in so many ways I cannot even begin to describe. Just as I was starting to become accustomed to the so-called constants we find comfort in, I must move. This is life isn’t it? We are merely travelers, wherever we consider home. I’ve had a blast this month, to say the least, and look forward to continuing to learn from this experience, as I further reflect upon it in the days and years to come.

As I came home from the metro the other day, I thought about this concept of constants, and told myself it didn’t always have to be so. I looked up at the woman looking at me, stopped, smiled and waved. It put a smile on her face and she waved back. There. How about a happier constant?

I will miss this place, for reasons I didn’t even think possible.

Alhamdulilah for this wonderful opportunity and blessing. I am forever grateful.