Nuvem de recordações

A doçura dos meninos da Bolívia: “Ei, amigo!”. A cordilheira Real, vista da Ilha do Sol. O calor das inúmeras fotografias de grupo e os abraços apertados. Chá com arsénico. O sorriso do Phil quando me viu na praça Murillo, em La Paz. A espera no aeroporto de Santiago e a conversa que mantive com a Liliana no GChat. As fotos do Professor Galileo que enviei para a Liliana. O globo insuflável a saltitar de mão em mão, ao som dos gritos de felicidade dos meninos e meninas da escola da Ilha do Sol. O cheiro da cidade de El Alto. O cheiro do avião. Os edifícios em tijolo e as casas em adobe. As wara-wara. O ar sereno dos feiticeiros Callahuayas. A câmara do Diego quando cheguei para almoçar. O sorriso do Diego por detrás da câmara. As lamas e as alpacas do hotel em Huatajata. O cheiro das lamas. O vento na cidade de Tiwanaku e as nuvens de pó que nos cobriam. As cruzes femininas. A corrida até à casa-de-banho para um xixi de dois quilómetros, após visitar as ruínas. O azul intenso do lago Titicaca. Os colibris da Ilha do Sol. A alface no dente da Pilar. A Pilar a corar. As luzes à noite, na cidade de La Paz. Truta com batatas fritas. A vista sobre Copacabana e o lago Titicaca. O som do lago. A Pati a chorar quando saiu do carro e se apercebeu que estávamos lá. O sorriso da Eugenia. A alegria do grupo quando conheceu o Professor Galileo. O pó da sala de aula da escola de Tiwanaku. A vassoura tipo bruxa que a velha, muito curvada, usou para varrer a sala. As casas de banho das escolas e o ácido que enchia as sanitas, a rasgar-me os pulmões. A água castanha, malcheirosa e repleta de insectos mortos, no balde da escola da Ilha do Sol, que supostamente deveria ser usada para lavarmos as mãos. Os coloridos telescópios de papel. O céu boliviano e a última noite na Ilha do Sol. Arcturus, que afinal era Orion. As estrelas cadentes. O Jorge a chamar-me de mentiroso, ao som do seu sorriso com sotaque canário. O momento em que me apercebo que tudo começa na Ilha do Sol. A paragem do tempo e o rosto de anjo a preencher-me os olhos. A cabeça dela repousando no meu ombro, enquanto atravessávamos o lago Titicaca em direcção à Ilha do Sol. O embalo da sua respiração e o esforço que fiz para impedir que o peso das pestanas me vencesse. Os sorrisos brandos e honestos das crianças da Bolívia. As ovelhas e os cabritinhos a deambularem pelos caminhos pedregosos. O Diego quando tirava fotografias com a cabeça tapada. Eu a imaginar o Diego sem cabeça. A escada do Inca e o caminho interminável até à pousada na Ilha do Sol. O menino a pedir dinheiro. O rap do Professor Galileo. Brother Dario, brother Nuno. O casaco de alpaca. O branco e negro da fotografia com as freiras. O pôr-do-sol dourado a fazer lembrar a Lagoa do Fogo na Ilha de S. Miguel. A pizza brasileira com cerveja, longe de Greenwich. A despedida, em Copacabana. Os abraços sentidos do grupo e as lágrimas dos de La Ventana. ArséEeEEnicooOOo! A Lua cortada pela metade, por cima do pico da montanha quando regressávamos da Ilha do Sol. Os burricos. A bosta dos burricos a reclamar o seu espaço. Os fósseis nas pedras do caminho. O bife de lama. Os meninos a agarrarem o boneco do Professor Galileo enquanto perguntavam se podiam ficar com ele. A menina a dizer o seu nome em Aymara. Chá de coca. Mate de coca. “Quiero mi café!”. O pequeno-almoço no hotel de La Paz, com sabor a infância. “Alô, Estefan! Atento, Estefan!”. A Porta do Sol. O monólito Ponce. Quínua. A palhinha esganada no saco de plástico de api amarelo e vermelho. As cascas de milho entre os dentes, depois de sentir o calor do primeiro trago. A cerimónia do feiticeiro Callahuaya e a miríade de nomes que o Manuel inventou até acertar no meu. Eu pensar que tinha sido amaldiçoado e que já não tinha salvação. O calor da fogueira a aquecer-nos a face. O Sol, bem lá no zénite, a tentar torrar-me a cara de forma a ficar da mesma cor da dos meninos da Bolívia. O chapéu andino. O sorriso puro e verdadeiro da professora, na Ilha do Sol, quando lhe disse que a bolinha que estava a observar era Júpiter, o maior planeta do Sistema Solar. Aqueles dez minutos que se seguiram, enquanto me apercebia de que a professora voltara a ser uma criança. O susto que a menina de Huatajata apanhou quando observou pelo telescópio a torre da igreja do “pueblo” do outro lado do lago e a corrida que ela deu, até a perder de vista. O encolher de ombros dos colegas. A música popular aos gritos, repetida interminavelmente no restaurante do D. Víctor. Os ouvidos a latejar e a desejarem que falhasse a luz. O menino de cabelo comprido, olhos cor de terra e ranho nos lábios, da pensão de Tiwanaku. O nariz do menino a desaparecer por detrás do copo de coca-cola, enquanto fechava os olhos e tentava coordenar os golos com a respiração ofegante, de prazer. O protector solar espirrado no sofá. A roupa estendida no corrimão do passeio. O carro a pedais. A bicicleta sobre um fundo azul. As pedaladas em ziguezague do Dario. O charme da Michi com o meu gorro de alpaca. A entrevista pateta no barco, a caminho das ruínas de Chincana. Os “Quê?!” do Phil em resposta às minhas perguntas. As palavras provocantes que troquei com o Jorge e com o Fabio. A cara de faraó e o simpático ogre (que só eu vi), esculpidos pelo Tempo, na rocha, e as pegadas do Sol. O doce e humilde gesto dos meninos do colégio de La Paz: “Buenos días, señor!”. A mulher, vestida de arco-íris, a desafiar o tom castanho do deserto enquanto acenava aos carros que de quando em vez por lá passavam. O receio de ser assaltado em La Paz, depois de policias e seguranças me alertarem que estava vestido à turista. As dores de cabeça lancinantes às duas da manhã, na primeira noite, e o alívio que senti após ter bebido quase um litro de água. O jogo de futebol a 4000 m de altitude. O golo que o Jorge me marcou. O golo que lhe marquei. “Amigo, amigo, aquí, acá!”. O caminho interminável desde a escola até ao hotel, em Huatajata. A conversa deliciosa com os dois meninos que nos acompanharam. A vontade de voltar a vê-los. As tranças negras das mulheronas da Bolívia. O brilho dos seus cabelos. Os chapéus que por magia se mantêm no topo das suas cabeças e os rendilhados a fazerem a ponte entre a ponta das tranças. A cabecita dos bebés a saltitar por entre a miríade de cores vivas dos panos amarrados às costas, pelas mães. As pancadas ritmadas na porta da sala de conferências do hotel em Huatajata, quando o Jorge chegou. A Michi e a Pati a correrem e a saltarem para os braços dele. As gargalhadas que soltamos ao ver os cones reflectores a dançarem nas cabeças do Dario e do Diego, a entrarem pela sala durante a madrugada e eu, tolhido pelo sono e pelo cansaço, pensar que tinha adormecido e que estava a sonhar com o Feiticeiro de Oz. O sotaque português do Manuel. Os dez minutos que levei para desenhar as caricaturas, enquanto me deliciava a imaginar as caras que o grupo iria fazer quando as visse. Os meninos e as meninas a observarem, através dos seus telescópios improvisados em papel, o filmezinho da apresentação inaugural, em êxtase. As figas e os esconjuros em Aymara da vendedora do mercado de Tiwanaku, quando se apercebeu que não ia comprar-lhe o gorro. O cheiro das folhas de coca. A colorida azáfama do mercado. O perfume das lojas. As gargalhadas do Fabio e as fotografias deliciosas que tirou. A sinfonia nocturna do Dario e o consequente ardor nos olhos, pela manhã. As balsas de totora no lago a baloiçar majestosamente ao sabor do vento. As massagens no barco e o susto que apanhei quando a mulher do lado tropeçou e caiu por cima de mim. A casa com tecto corrediço em Huatajata. A alegria da Eugenia quando, pela primeira vez, observou a Lua por um telescópio. A indiferença da lama quando a chamei para uma fotografia. O receio de que a lama me cuspisse. O cão, refastelado e com a lingua de fora a sacudir o ar, enquanto olhava de soslaio para os sapatos dos transeuntes. A recepção calorosa da Pilar, do Andres e da Celeste, no aeroporto…

Faço girar uma gravação da obra “Contrastes” do Zenamon. Do outro lado da janela, vejo uma nuvem de flocos de neve a flutuar sobre um dos mercados de Natal de Munique. Começo a sentir o perfume dos cajus, das castanhas assadas e do vinho doce com canela. A magia do Natal bávaro é forte. Convida-me a sair para brincarmos juntos, eu e a neve. Olho para as minhas luvas e começo a imaginar os beijinhos que os flocos darão na minha face. Tentador… Mas, mal fecho os olhos, aqueles oito dias invadem-me o pensamento. Percebo que parte de mim ficou na Ilha do Sol e que um dia tenho de lá voltar, para um reencontro, para uma viagem a dois. Apesar da alvura, do encanto e da delicadeza da neve, decido-me ficar pelo quentinho do colorido, da brandura, dos sorrisos e da ternura das gentes da Bolívia que habitam o meu coração. As memórias apoderam-se da minha vontade e fazem-me iniciar nova viagem pelo planalto Boliviano…

Nuno Gomes

— oOo —

Nube de recuerdos

La dulzura de los niños de Bolivia: “Ei, amigo!”. La cordillera Real, vista desde la Isla del Sol. El calor de las fotos de grupo y de los abrazos apretados. Té con arsénico. La sonrisa de Phil cuando me vio en la Plaza Murillo, en La Paz La espera en el aeropuerto de Santiago y la conversación que tuve con Liliana, en GChat. Las fotos del Profesor Galileo que mandé a Liliana. El globo inflable rebotando de mano en mano, debajo del sonido de los gritos de alegría de los niños y niñas de la escuela de la Isla del Sol. El olor de la ciudad de El Alto. El olor del avión. Los edificios de ladrillo y las casas de adobe. Las Wara-Wara. El aire sereno de los brujos Callahuaya. La cámara de Diego, cuando llegué para el almuerzo. La sonrisa de Diego detrás de la cámara. Las llamas y alpacas en el hotel Huatajata. El olor de las llamas. El viento en la ciudad de Tiwanaku y las nubes de polvo que nos cubrió. Las cruces femeninas. La carrera hasta el baño para hacer un pipí de dos kilómetros, después de visitar las ruinas. El intenso azul del lago Titicaca. Colibríes de la Isla del Sol. La lechuga en el diente de Pilar. El rubor de Pilar. Las luces por la noche en la ciudad de La Paz. Trucha con papas fritas. La vista de Copacabana y del Lago Titicaca. El sonido del lago. Pati llorando cuando dejó el coche y se dio cuenta de que estábamos allí. La sonrisa de Eugenia. La alegría del grupo cuando se reunió con el Profesor Galileo. El suelo polvoriento de las aulas en la escuela de Tiwanaku. La escoba tipo bruja que la vieja, muy curvada, usó para barrer la sala. Los baños de las escuelas y el ácido que llenaba los retretes, rompiendo mis pulmones. El agua castaña, maloliente y lleno de insectos muertos en el cubo de la Escuela de la Isla del Sol, que se suponía que iba a ser utilizado para lavar nuestras manos. Los telescopios de papel de colores. El cielo Boliviano y la ultima noche en la Isla del Sol. Arcturus, que después de todo era Orión. Las estrellas fugaces. Jorge llamandome mentiroso, usando el sonido de su sonrisa con acento Canario. El momento en que me doy cuenta que todo empieza en la Isla del Sol. La parada del tiempo y el rostro angelical a llenar mis ojos. Su cabeza reposando en mi hombro, al cruzar el Lago Titicaca hacia la Isla del Sol. La seducción de su respiración y el esfuerzo que hice para evitar que el peso de las pestañas me ganase. Las sonrisas amables y honestas de los niños de Bolivia. Las ovejas y las cabras deambulando por los caminos rocosos. Diego, cuando tomaba fotos con la cabeza cubierta. Yo imaginándome a Diego sin cabeza. La escalera del Inca y el camino interminable hasta el albergue en la Isla del Sol. El niño pidiendo dinero. El rap del Profesor Galileo. Brother Darío, Brother Nuno. La chaqueta de alpaca. El blanco y negro de la fotografía con las monjas. La puesta del Sol dorada que recuerda al Lagoa do Fogo, en la isla de San Miguel. La pizza Brasileña con cerveza, lejos de Greenwich. La despedida, en Copacabana. Los abrazos sentidos del grupo y las lágrimas de los de La Ventana. ArséEeEEnicooOOo! La Luna cortada por la mitad, arriba del pico de la montaña, cuanto regresábamos de la Isla del Sol. Los burricos. El estiércol de los burricos reclamando su espacio. Los fósiles en las piedras del camino. El bistec de llama. Los niños agarrando el moño del Profesor Galileo mientras preguntaban si podían quedarse con él. La niña diciendo su nombre en Aymara. Té de coca. Mate de coca. “Quiero mi café!”. El desayuno en el hotel La Paz, con sabor de infancia. “Alô, Estefan! Atento, Estefan!”. La Puerta del Sol. El monolito Ponce. Quinua. La pajilla estrangulada en la bolsa de plástico de api amarillo y rojo. Las cáscaras de maíz entre los dientes, después de sentir el calor del primero sorbo. La ceremonia del curandero Callahuaya y los miles de nombres que Manuel inventó para acertar en el mio. Yo pensando que había sido maldito y que ya no tenía salvación. El calor del fuego calentándonos la cara. El Sol, en el zenit, tratando de quemarme la cara con el fin de obtener el mismo color que la de los niños de Bolivia. El sombrero andino. La sonrisa pura y verdadera de la maestra de la Isla del Sol, cuando dijo que la pelotilla que observaba era Júpiter, el planeta más grande del Sistema Solar. Aquellos diez minutos que siguieron, mientras me di cuenta de que la maestra había vuelto a ser una niña. El susto que la chica de Huatajata se llevó cuando observó a través de un telescopio la torre de la iglesia del pueblo del otro lado del lago y la carrera que se dio, hasta que no se alcanzaba a la vista. El encogimiento de hombros de sus colegas. La música popular gritando y repetida sin cesar en el restaurante de D. Víctor. Las orejas palpitante y deseando que faltase la luz. El niño de pelo largo, ojos del color de la tierra y mocos en los labios, de la pensión de Tiwanaku. La nariz del niño a desaparecer detrás del vaso de Coca-Cola, mientras cerraba los ojos y trataba de coordinar los sorbos con la respiración jadeante, de placer. El protector solar salpicado en el sofá. La ropa colgada en la barandilla del pasillo. El coche a pedales. La bicicleta sobre un fondo azul. Las pedaladas en zigzag de Dario. El encanto de Michi con mi sombrero de alpaca. La entrevista tonta en el barco, en dirección de las ruinas de Chincana. Los “Qué?!” de Phil en respuesta a mis preguntas. Las palabras de provocación que cambié con Jorge y con Fabio. El rostro del faraón y el ogro amistoso (que sólo he visto), tallada por el tiempo en la roca, y las huellas del Sol. El dulce y humilde gesto de los niños del colegio de La Paz: “Buenos días, señor!”. La mujer, vestida con el arco iris, para impugnar el marrón del desierto, mientras saludaba a los coches que de vez en cuando pasaban. El temor de ser robado en La Paz, después de que la policía y la seguridad me alertaran de que iba vestido de turista. Los dolores de cabeza insoportables a las dos de la mañana, en la primera noche, y el alivio que sentí después de ingerir casi un litro de agua. El partido de fútbol a 4000 m de altitud. El gol que me marcó Jorge. El gol que yo le he marcado. “Amigo, amigo, aquí, acá!”. El interminable camino de la escuela al hotel en Huatajata. La conversación deliciosa con los dos niños que nos acompañaron. El deseo de volver a verlos. Las trenzas negras de las mujeres de Bolivia. El brillo de sus cabellos. Los sombreros por arte de magia permanecen en la parte superior de la cabeza y los cordones haciendo el puente entre la punta de las trenzas. La cabecilla de los bebés rebotando entre los múltiples colores de tela atada a la espalda, por las madres. Los golpes ritmados en la puerta de la sala de conferencias del hotel en Huatajata, cuando Jorge llegó. Michi y Pati corriendo y saltando para sus brazos. Las carcajadas que soltamos al ver los conos reflectantes bailando en la cabeza de Dario y Diego, cuando entraron en la sala de madrugada y yo, tullido por el sueño y la fatiga, creyendo que me había quedado dormido y estaba soñando con el Mago de Oz. El acento portugués de Manuel. Los diez minutos que necesité para dibujar las caricaturas, mientras me imaginaba las caras que los chicos del grupo pondrían cuando las viesen. Los niños y las niñas observando, a través de sus telescopios improvisados de papel, el video de la charla inaugural, en éxtasis. Las higas y los conjuros en Aymara de la vendedora del mercado de Tiwanaku, cuando se dio cuenta que no le compraría el sombrero. El olor de las hojas de coca. La animación colorida del mercado. El perfume de las tiendas. Las carcajadas de Fabio y las fotos deliciosas que tomó. La sinfonía nocturna de Dario y el ardor consiguiente en mis ojos por la mañana. Las balsas de totora en el lago balanceándose majestuosamente, dejándose llevar por la corriente y el viento. Los masajes en el barco y el susto cuando la mujer a mi lado tropezó y se cayó sobre mí. La casa con techo corredizo en Huatajata. La alegría de Eugenia, cuando observó por la primera vez la luna a través de un telescopio. La indiferencia de la llama cuando la llamé para una fotografía. El temor de que la llama me escupiese. El perro, arrepanchigado y con la lengua fuera para sacudir el aire, mientras miraba de soslayo los zapatos de los transeúntes. La calurosa recepción de Pilar, Andrés y Celeste, en el aeropuerto…

Hago rodar una grabación de la obra “Contrastes” de Zenamon. En el otro lado de la ventana, veo una nube de copos de nieve flotando sobre uno de los mercados de Navidad de Munich. Empiezo a sentir el olor de los cajús, de las castañas asadas y del vino dulce con canela. La magia de la Navidad de la Baviera es fuerte. Me invita a salir a jugar juntos, yo y la nieve. Miro mis guantes y empiezo a imaginar los besos que los copos darán en mi cara. Tentador… Pero, tan pronto cierro los ojos, aquellos ocho días invaden mi pensamiento. Me doy cuenta de que una parte de mí se quedo en la Isla del Sol y que un día tengo que ir allá de nuevo para una reunión, un viaje para dos. A pesar de la albura, del encanto y de la delicadeza de la nieve, decido mantener en el calor del colorido de la blandura, de las sonrisas y de la ternura de las gentes de Bolivia, que habitan en mi corazón. Las memorias se apoderan de mi voluntad y me hacen empezar un nuevo viaje a través del altiplano boliviano…

Nuno Gomes

— oOo —

Cluster of memories

The sweetness of the children of Bolivia, “Ei, amigo!”. The Real Mountain Range, watched from the Island of the Sun. The warmth of the group photos and the squeezing hugs. Tea with arsenic. Phil’s smile when he met me in the Murillo Square, in La Paz. The wait at the airport in Santiago and the conversation I had with Liliana in GChat. The photos of Professor Galileo I sent to Liliana. The inflatable globe bouncing around from hand to hand, under the sound of screams of happiness of the little children in the school of the Island of the Sun. The smell of the city of El Alto. The smell of the aeroplane. The buildings of brick and the houses in adobe. The wara-wara. The peaceful appearance of the Callahuaya sorcerers. Diego’s camera when I arrived for lunch. The smile of Diego behind the camera. The llamas and alpacas in the hotel of Huatajata. The smell of the llamas. The wind in the city of Tiwanaku and the clouds of dust that covered us. Female crosses. The run to the toilet for a pee two kilometres long, after visiting the ruins. The intense blue of the Lake Titicaca. The humming birds of the Island of the Sun. The lettuce in the tooth of Pilar. Pilar blushing. The lights at night in the city of La Paz. Trout with french fries. The view over Copacabana and the Lake Titicaca. The sound of the lake. Pati bursting into tears when she left the car and realized that we were there. The smile of Eugenia. The joy of the group when they met Professor Galileo. The dust of the classroom of the school of Tiwanaku. The witch type broom that the old lady, very curved, used to sweep the room. The bathrooms of the schools and the acid that filled the toilet, ripping my lungs. The brown and stinky water, full of dead insects, in the bucket of the School of the Island of the Sun, in which we were supposed to wash our hands. The colourful paper telescopes. The Bolivian sky and the last night in the Island of the Sun. Arcturus, which after all was Orion. The shooting stars. Jorge calling me a liar, under the sound of his smile with canary accent. The moment when I realize that everything started on the Island of the Sun. The stopping of the time and the face of that angel filling my eyes. Her head resting on my shoulder, as we crossed Lake Titicaca towards the Island of the Sun. The rocking of her breath and the effort I made to prevent the weight of the eyelashes to beat me. The gentle and honest smiles of the children of Bolivia. The sheep and goats roaming the rocky paths. Diego taking photos with his head covered. Me imagining Diego without his head. The Stairs of the Inca and the never-ending path to the hostel on the Island of the Sun. The boy asking for money. Professor Galileo’s rap. Brother Dario, brother Nuno. The Andean hat. The alpaca jacket. The black and white of the photography with the nuns. The golden sun-set reminding Lagoa do Fogo on the island of St. Miguel. The Brazilian pizza with beer, far from Greenwich. The farewell, in Copacabana. The meant hugs of the group and the tears of La Ventana. ArséEeEEnicooOOo! The Moon cut in half, over the mountain peak after coming back from the Island of the Sun. The donkeys. The dungs of the donkeys claiming for their space. The fossils in the stones of the road. The llama steak. The children grabbing the doll of Professor Galileo, while they were asking if they could have him. The little girl saying her name in Aymara. Coca Tea. Coca mate. “Quiero mi café!”. The breakfast at the hotel of La Paz, tasting like childhood. “Alô, Estefan! Atento, Estefan! “. The Puerta del Sol. The Ponce monolith. Quinoa. The straw strangled by the plastic bag of yellow and red api. The husks of corn between my teeth, after feeling the heat from the first sip. The ceremony of the Callahuaya wizard and the myriad of names that Manuel invented before hitting mine. Me thinking I had been cursed and that I had no salvation. The heat of the fire warming our face. The Sun, up in the zenith, trying to roast my face in order to get the same colour as the children of Bolivia. The pure and true smile of the teacher, in the Island of the Sun, when I told her that the dot she was observing was Jupiter, the largest planet in the Solar System. Those ten minutes afterwards, as I realized the teacher had become a child again. The scare that the girl of Huatajata felt when she observed through the telescope the tower of the church of the “pueblo” on the other side of the lake and her running far away, out of my sight. The shrug of her colleagues. The popular music screaming, endlessly repeated in the restaurant of D. Víctor. My ears throbbing and wishing a power failure. The little boy with long hair, earth coloured eyes and snot on the lips, in the pension of Tiwanaku. The nose of the boy disappearing behind the glass of coca-cola, while he was closing his eyes and was trying to coordinate his gulps with his breathing, panted of pleasure. T he sunscreen splashed on the couch. The clothes hanging on the railing of the walk. The pedal car. The bicycle on a blue background. The zigzag cycling of Dario. The charm of Michi with my alpaca hat. The goofy interview on the boat, on the way to the Chincana ruins of. The “What?!” of Phil, in response to my questions. The provocative words that I exchanged with Jorge and Fabio. The face of Pharaoh and the friendly ogre (I was the only one seeing it), carved by time, in the rock, and the footprints of the Sun. The sweet and humble gestures of the children from the college of La Paz: “Buenos días, señor!”. The woman, dressed with a rainbow, challenging the brown of the desert, while waving to the cars that passed once in a while. The fear of being robbed in La Paz, after the police and the security alerted me that I was dressed like a tourist. The excruciating headaches at two in the morning, during the first night, and the relief I felt after drinking almost a litre of water. The football match at 4000 m high. The goal that Jorge scored to me. The goal I scored to him. “Amigo, amigo, aquí, acá!”. The endless path from school to the hotel in Huatajata. The delightful conversation with the two little boys who walked with us. The wish to see them again. The black plaits of the Bolivian women. The brightness of their hair. The hats that, by magic means, remain on the top of their heads and the laces making the bridge between the tips of the plaits. The little heads of the babies bouncing around among the myriad of the vivid colours of the cloths, tied to the backs, by their mothers. The rhythmic knock on the hotel’s conference room door in Huatajata, when Jorge arrived. Michi and Pati running and jumping in to his arms. The great laughs when we saw the reflective traffic cones dancing in the heads of Dario and Diego, entering the room during the dawn and I, paralysed by the sleep and tiredness, thinking that I had fallen asleep and was dreaming about the Wizard of Oz. The Portuguese accent of Manuel. The ten minutes I took to draw the cartoons, as I was delighting myself imagining the faces that the group would make seeing them. The little boys and little girls observing through their improvised paper telescopes the videos of the inaugural presentation, in ecstasy. The curses and swearwords in Aymara of the seller in the market of Tiwanaku, when she realized that I was not going to buy the hat. The smell of coca leaves. The colourful bustle of the market. The scent of the shops. The laughs of Fabio and the delicious photos he took. The night symphony of Dario and the consequent burning in the eyes in the morning. The totora rafts on the lake swinging majestically on the wind. The massages on the boat and the fright the lady on the side gave to me when she stumbled and fell over me. The house with the sliding roof in Huatajata. The happiness of Eugenia when she first observed the Moon through a telescope. The indifference of the llama when I called her for a photograph. The fear I felt the llama would spit on me. The dog, sprawling on the floor and with its tongue lolling out, while looking sideways at the shoes of the passers-by. The warm welcome of Pillar, Andres and Celeste, at the airport…

I put on a recording of Zenamon’s work “Contrasts”. On the other side of the window, I watch a cloud of snowflakes floating over the Christmas markets of Munich. I begin to feel the perfume of the cashews, the roasted chestnuts and the sweet wine with cinnamon. The magic of the Bavarian Christmas is strong. It invites me to go out and play all together, me and the snow. I look at my sleeves and begin to imagine the kisses that the flakes will give me, into my face. Tempting… But as soon as I close my eyes, those eight days invade my mind. I realize that part of me stayed on the Island of the Sun and that one day I have to go back for a reunion, a trip for two. Despite the brightness, the charm and the delicacy of the snow, I decide to stay upon the warmth of the colouring, of the gentleness, the smiles and tenderness of the people of Bolivia who inhabit my heart. The memories take over my will and make me start a new journey through the Bolivian plateau…

Nuno Gomes

— oOo —

The passion about Astronomy increased over the years. I kept drinking inspiration from books, mainly from Carl Sagan and Isaac Asimov, and from TV documentaries and series, like Cosmos. At 18 I decided to study Astronomy at the Faculty of Sciences of the University of Porto. I interrupted my degree after the first year to study music (a great passion in my life), while I worked in the Planetarium of Porto and lectured classical guitar, physics and mathematics. I also made part of an astronomy outreach project named GIRA, which was very active in Portugal for about six years. A few years later, I finished my degree as an Erasmus student, at the National University of Ireland, Galway. After returning to Porto, I started my Doctoral Programme and in February 2009 I left to Garching, Germany, to develop my thesis at ESO, in the VLTI group. I’m currently finishing it in Porto (Portugal), and the subject relates to interferometry and star formation.

While in Germany, I was introduced to the team of GalileoMobile and I immediately felt in love with the project. I truly believe that science is a powerful way to inspire people and awaken the critical thinking and curiosity, and that this can lead the world to a better place. Therefore, I think it is of utmost importance to shorten the gap between the technical scientific knowledge and the society, not only because knowledge is the first product of research in pure sciences like Astronomy, but also because the work developed by astronomers is directly or indirectly sponsored by governments (in this sense, outreach should be on the list of duties of a researcher). GalileoMobile seemed to be a beautiful opportunity to inspire kids, especially those that usually do not have access to outreach programmes. After more than three years making part of the team, I learnt many lessons on the professional and personal level, and I keep uncountable good memories of the experiences I lived so far with the project (the week I spent in Bolivia in the 2009 trip, for instance, will always be in my heart).

But the most important of all, were the friends I met. In my spare time, I play the guitar, sing in a choir, dance Lindy Hop, play sports and I do volunteering with an autistic kid, using the Son-Rise programme. Every time I can, I ride my bike and I travel (two other passions in my life).

My name is Nuno, by the way, and I come from a little town south of Porto, named Fiães.

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The GalileoMobile team wish you all a Merry Christmas and a wonderful 2013. May we all have clean sky, full of stars shining and inspiring us to continue working to spread the wonders of the Universe to people all over the world.

My passion for science began when I was a child. You know, I loved going to the beach at night with my family to see the sky adorned with stars, some of them big, some small, some very bright, others pale, but all of them doing company to the awesome moon. I remember spending hours and hours counting the stars, but always ended up losing count of them. But not only observing the sky was one of my greatest passions as a kid, I also enjoyed reading. My favorite genre: science fiction. The taste for it started the day I followed my mother to the supermarket and while she was shopping, she left me in the area of ​books and magazines. I scanned the area quickly until a book stole my attention, “Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea” said on the cover. I took it and started reading and imagining the bottom of the sea drawn by Jules Verne.

At school, Mathematics and Physics were my favorite subjects and I would always take part in science fairs with my colleagues with some experiment. Although the experiments were always when we had fun the most, I used to like reading about concepts and trying to understand how various phenomena happen. Although I loved Mathematics and Physics, another discipline began to get my attention: Communication. For me, it was very interesting to see how we communicate with each other and how important it is for our life in society and our progress as a civilization. At the end of my career, I started hearing about scientific outreach, and though the term was a little strange for me, no doubt I had seen scientific outreach in TV programs of Carl Sagan that my brothers and I used to watch when we were kids or those science magazines that my father occasionally brought home. Then I started to be interested in communication of science, because I saw in it a great opportunity to bring science closer to the part of society which is not familiar with science topics. So, then, I can combine my studies in communication and my passion for science.

This year, 2012, I started a research residence in Brazil, where I came to learn from the experiences Brazilians have had with the popularization of science. Here I met Meghie, another member of GalileoMobile, who told me and introduced to the project. The idea of ​being part of the team and “bring the moon and stars” to the young people seemed like a great opportunity to contribute to this great work.

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]]> http://galileomobile.wordpress.com/2012/12/20/meet-the-team-milagros/feed/ 0 galileomobile http://galileomobile.wordpress.com/2012/12/11/meet-the-team-jorge/ http://galileomobile.wordpress.com/2012/12/11/meet-the-team-jorge/#comments Tue, 11 Dec 2012 11:31:56 +0000 GalileoMobile http://galileomobile.wordpress.com/2012/12/11/meet-the-team-jorge/ Seguir leyendo →]]> Let me tell you about a year with two spring seasons, the year I joined Galileomobile.

The first time I heard about GalileoMobile was in late 2008. I just moved to Munich. During a Christmas party, two friends – Patricia Spinelli and Eva Ntormousi – were telling me about this project they were involved. They were planning to travel around South America, teaching astronomy to children in small villages. Such a crazy and beautiful idea! I was very attracted to be part of it. However, at that time, my major concern was trying to get used to my new life in Munich and especially how to survive to the upcoming winter. Believe me, that is a major concern for someone coming from the Canary Islands!

Spring came and during May 2009, Silvia Bonoli convinced me to attend to a GalileoMobile meeting. “We need people that speak Spanish” – she said over and over again. Italians can be persuasive, at least she is.

At that moment, the project was more than a beautiful idea and I could not wait any longer for joining the project. I also was very attracted about the idea of documenting the trip with a movie, so I joined the newly formed team to produce a documentary about the project. Ever since I was a kid I always wanted to make movies. I thought I would kill two birds with one stone because I had the chance to combine the two things I like the most.

Summer went over so fast, millions of things to take care of before the trip. So many days working along Miriam Campos and Eva Ntormousi on the documentary to get everything ready. My memories about that summer are pretty blurry but I am quite sure the soundtrack was from The Beatles. I was quite obsessed about them back then.

The official project kickoff finally arrived in early October and for two weeks I changed a snowy european autumn for a warmer spring. I visited schools in Bolivia and Peru around the Titicaca lake area. Many good memories are still imprinted in my mind, one from each of the children we met during the trip.

I guess that the only thing you should know about me is that being part of GalileoMobile changed me! Such a cliché you would say but that doesn’t make it any less true! It also made me realize the importance of properly communicating science in order to bridge the gap between scientific research and the general public.

Three years have passed since then and GalileoMobile is still alive. Two more expeditions have been made to India and Bolivia during 2012. I am still glad of being part of it and I can’t help smiling every time I remember about that year with two spring seasons.

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A friend of mine had just forwarded me an email. The email. A guy named Phil had in mind a crazily cool project: going around South America speaking about astronomy with children in small villages.

“WOW, this is exactly what I want to do at some point in my life!” I should have thought something similar while reading about this project. At that time I was about to start my PhD in astrophysics in Stockholm, that I have completed a few weeks ago.

I am italian, from a little town called Campobasso, and by that time I had never crossed any ocean in my life. Although I had spent my first 30 years in Europe, my dreams couldn’t avoid to go far away from there. Reading Neruda, Sepulveda, Borges, Bonatti, seeing images of the Andes and of the big astronomical observatories located in the Atacama Desert, studying what happens in the sky, far away in space and time, were the best food for my mind and the best fuel for let my imagination traveling.

So, the love for the south American continent, on one side, and for the multitude of objects that populate our universe, on the other, were growing and growing. It took no more than a moment for me, to decide to join this project called GalileoMobile.

Now that I’m writing these lines I am in Sicily, another land that I cannot do anything else but love, another land that has been, throughout the history, the meeting point of different cultures, and still keeps this characterization. Meanwhile I keep running after my imagination that is still faster than me. Hopefully one day I’ll overtake it!

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Some years later, when I was eight or nine, my mother helped me to build a model to explain the seasons of the year for a school project. At that moment I decided that I wanted to be an Astronomer. More years had passed, and when I was in high school, I found out that I enjoyed maths and physics very much. That, I probably inherited from my father. Then, I decided I wanted to be an Astrophysicist.

Unfortunately, I did not have the chance to learn more about what Scientists do while dreaming to become one. This is because I was born and raised in the small city called Caxias do Sul, in southern Brazil, and no science outreach events took place there at that time. (A parenthesis here: it snows there. Many people don’t know it’s possible to snow in a tropical country, but it happens once in a while.) Thus, I actually had no idea on how a Scientist spends his/her time while working.

I started my career path when I was 17. I moved to Porto Alegre, the city where I did my undergraduate and masters studies in Physics at UFRGS. During my masters, I spent three months working at the Durham University, in England. This experience gave me the courage to apply for a Ph.D position outside Brazil, something I hungered very much, since I always wanted to go to another country for a cultural exchange.

When I was 24, I moved to Munich, Germany to do my Ph.D in Astrophysics at LMU. Today, it has just been a little more than a year that I completed my Ph.D degree and I currently hold a post-doc position at the University of São Paulo in Brazil. I study galaxy groups and clusters using the technique of gravitational lensing. (Another parenthesis: from that, you may guess that I am currently 29. )

Academic career path was very far from easy, but it was during my first year as a Ph.D student, in 2008, that my academic life has changed and I started doing science outreach. I received an exciting e-mail from Philippe Kobel about an itinerant project to be taken place during the International Year of Astronomy 2009. That was the beginning of the GalileoMobile project, which I am very proud to say I am part of since the very first meeting, and which has given me the motivation in pursuing my dream to become a Scientist.

With GalileoMobile, I get to share my passion of Astronomy with young people, who like me as a child, have no access to science outreach programs. I believe Astronomy is very inspiring and can help to awaken the curiosity and critical thinking of students all over the world.

So here I am. Telling you how I became a GalileoMobile team member!

But well, I am not all that nerdy person who only talks about Astronomy. I like traveling and the world diversity. This is an advantage of being a Scientist: there are many conferences in cool places that we get to participate. I also love dancing (almost dropped the idea of being an Astronomer to become a professional ballerina). Today, I am still in dance class – but just for fun, I am not that good – and I practise yoga regularly. Like all Brazilians, I play volleyball. Yes, volleyball, not soccer. Brazilians are much better at volleyball than soccer. I also like to experiment mixing up food. Normal people call that cooking. I call gAstronomy.

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When I finished school I left Valencia to go to Tenerife (Canary Islands) to study Astrophysics in the Universidad de La Laguna. It was a very attractive place to go, and probably you are thinking, “Yeah, an island, close to the equator, beaches everywhere, sunny all through the year!”, but I thought, “Woah! The highest peak in Spain! With the observatory of el Teide! With the biggest institute for Astrophysics in Spain! I’ll be surrrounded by Carl Sagans!”. Exciting! And it turned out to be very exciting for both reasons above even if the second one always came first. At the end of my studies I came to realise that nowadays Astronomers and Astrophysicists work more with computers than looking through a telescope. But even if looking through a telescope is a very tempting and romantic concept many people have about our work, it is nevertheless exciting because it still consists of learning and discovering new things. And since I still craved for discovery, I decided to continue my studies in research.

When I finished my university studies I left Tenerife to do a PhD. This time I wanted to jump further, try a different country and a different life style. So I came to where I am currently living: Göttingen, Germany. Not far from this city is a very remote village called Katlenburg-Lindau where a Max Planck Institute for Solar System Research resides and where I have been working for the past 4 years and a half. A year ago I defended my thesis in Solar Physics and now I am continuing my research in the same field and will continue to do so for at least the next 3 years. Still exciting!

During my time as a PhD student I came to know about the GalileoMobile project from one of the members that happend to be a student here too (Phil). The moment he told me about it I was in love with the project and couldn’t wait until the moment when he would invite me to join, so I tried hard to show him how interested I was about it. It took a while… until he finally invited me! Working in this project was (and still is) very inspiring. It gives me the chance to transmit the passion, curiosity, and excitement that I felt as a child to the children of today, both in the expeditions to South America in 2009 and to India earlier this year 2012. And to witness that moment gives me a great happiness and pleasure. I am only sorry that Carl Sagan is now too old for them. Fortunately, I am not!

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All my life I have been trying to follow my dad’s advice. That is why I studied Physics in Madrid, so I could better understand the world I live. And that is why I decided to go on with a scientific career and came to Munich to do my PhD in 2010.

Apart from Astronomy, my other passion in life is traveling. And, actually, thanks to Astronomy I had the chance to visit some of the most spectacular places in the word, the astronomical observatories. For me, it is such an incredible feeling to be up on the mountain, literally in the middle of nowhere, working at one of those big eyes that watch the sky night after night!

When I knew there was a project called GalileoMobile, which aims to bring Astronomy closer to children and young people from all over the world, to encourages them to wonder about the Universe, I knew I had to be part of it. Popularizing Science is, for sure, very important, but for me the principal thing is to make other children to look up the sky, to awake their curiosity and encourage them to always, no matter what, search for the stars.

I am very happy to work on a team of people who share my dream and I can only thank them for letting me be part of this amazing adventure!

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