The End (sob)

Well, I’m back. After 10 months in Portugal, I’m back.

June 30: I woke up at six am. I was so excited, I couldn’t sleep any longer (though normally, I try to resist all attempts at waking me until at least nine). Walking down those red spiral stairs, I noticed the lack of stuff. I could have gone roller skating in our tiny house. I counted our last Portuguese coins as some of our neighbors helped us load up our gear. We were on our way to the airport.

I noticed the tiled roofs and cobblestone streets fly by and remembered watching the Lancaster farms zip past us as we drove to the airport in Philadelphia. When we got there, my mom wanted to spend all the euros we had left. I got a couple pretty good key chains out of that. That made us a little late. After much slipping on the waxed floors and silently begging the passport people to hurry up, we just made the plane, five minutes before take-off—no wait.

On the first plane, there was no screen on the back of the seat in front of me. I fell asleep, which was probably good, because I was about to get time warped. Well, sort of. I just added five hours to my day.

In London, we had four hours to board our next plane. Four hours never passed so fast. We almost missed that one, too. Imagine the sight from the perspective of the crew waiting for the Allen family at the gate:

On the big plane, I got a kid’s British Airways pack: magazine, socks, and some postcards. I immediately turned on the entertainment system in front of me. I watched Toy Story 2, tons of Cartoon Network cartoons, the Lightning Thief, and How to Train your Dragon. By the time the last movie was done, my ears hurt too much to think straight. Not sure whether that had anything to do with landing.

My grandparents met us at the airport. I was pretty happy to see them. Well, actually, I was ecstatic. Actually, I was happier than you could really write on a blog. I did guinea pig impressions all the way home. Then I can’t remember putting my head on the pillow. The next morning, I woke up at six again, thinking it was nine.

I’m very happy to see my friends, family, and mac ’n’ cheese again, but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss Portugal.

Poptropica, Lightning Thieves, and Ruins, All at Once!

Taking a detour from the Portuguese, or rather, going back before the Portuguese conquest of the peninsula, I would like to talk a bit about ancient Greeks and Romans. My life is currently sort of themed Mythology, mainly Greek.

Wandering the Ruins: As a follow-up to our exploration of the ruins at Milreu (see my blog on the Algarve), my dad and I visited a ruined village, Conímbriga, north of Lisbon, close to the medieval city of Coimbra. It was really cool. There was an old villa that had a restored fountain and you could drop a coin in the slot to see it play. Unfortunately, someone had vandalized the coin machine. Perhaps a monster sent by Hades? We hiked all over the old village and saw the remnants of shops, courtyard pillars, and many mosaics. My favorite were the baths. They had lots of little brick arches underneath, through which the water flowed. There was also a wall which the villagers had hurriedly thrown up against invaders, just before the town was abandoned. Who were the invaders? I was hoping to find out, but I guess the people who run the ruins & archeological museum don’t know either.

Reading the Book: The Lightning Thief. It’s about a boy named Percy who finds out he’s the son of Poseidon, so he goes to this camp for kids who are half human, half god. Halfbloods. Then he has to go on a quest to bring the master lightning bolt back to Zeus and clear his dad’s name. Zeus accuses Poseidon. Everybody except Zeus says it’s in the Underworld and Hades took it; but did he really? If Poseidon didn’t take it, like Zeus says, and Hades didn’t take it like the staff at Camp Halfblood says, who did? It’s great; a real page turner. My favorite mythological creature: Cerby (Cerberus), who likes to play with red rubber balls (though they don’t last long).

Playing the Game: Ever heard of Poptropica? It’s a website where you can create a character and then try to beat islands by mastering different games with themes, for instance, Reality TV Island or Shark Tooth Island. I recently went on the site, to find a Mythology Island! You have to collect some sacred items for Zeus, or all of Poptropica will face his wrath. If you beat the island, you become immortal. Not you. Your character, I mean. Though, do I want to be immortal? It seems like the gods have a lot of problems. Take Zeus, he can’t even keep track of his thunderbolt... Losing track of your thunderbolt might be even worse than losing track of your transportation pass (though I don’t know, having faced the wrath of my dad when I leave that behind...).

Battleship

My dad homeschooled me this year, which allowed for some creativity in my work. For this answer, the question was, Write a story problem that includes charting data on a graph.

Battleship

Belated Blogs: Math, Myths, Moving

Well, I'm finally home, but you will hear of that soon enough. Right now, I have some really really really really really really overdue mythological and mathematical blogs I need to post. Just so you know, in this picture I am listening to fado with a lolly pop (or a chupa-chup) in my mouth.

If You're Dreaming of a Vacation, I Have Just the Place...

This is a cartoon of my recent vacation to the Algarve, the southernmost region of Portugal.

A few notes to help you make better sense of it:

End of the World – This is the place Europeans thought was the end of the world before the Americas were discovered. It’s a long strip of land that juts out into the sea. You can walk right out to the very end, peer over treacherous overhangs, and see the waves crashing on the rocks below. Between you and the sea, little signs that warn you that the ground might just cave in, a few sinkholes where it has, and a long fall. No, we didn’t really fall in.

Enthusiastic Restaurant – This cartoon was no exaggeration; in fact, they had dozens more signs and far more froofra than I could draw at the little restaurant just up the street from our beach house! They were right about the best “puddings” in the Algarve (did I mention all the Brits and Aussies around? who knew that “pies” were “puddings”?). Not your typical Portuguese desserts, much more creative. All the Portugese restaurants have the same desserts (not that I’m complaining about arroz doce, leite creme, or bolo de bolacha—can’t get enough of them, mainly because my parents rarely “splurge” on sweets after dining out), but this place had stuff I’d never seen before. My favorites: Strawberry Shortcake Cake with Raspberry Jam, Triple Chocolate Pie, and Lemon Lime Tart.

Chickens in the Cloister – In the Serra de Monchique (inland, mountainous region, full of natural springs), we hiked, hot and sweaty, uphill (no springs) to see an old ruined convent. From the outside it looked mysterious. Mysteries to be discovered after we clambered through a hodgepodge horta (veg. garden) to get in: The groundskeeper seemed to have set up camp in some rooms. He had dumped crates, tarps, and broken scooters all over the place! He had a chicken coop in the cloister. I walked into one room full of old car parts and pet bowls, and a bloodthirsty dog shot out of the corner, probably intending to kill me the way he was growling. Good thing he was on a chain. On our way out, there were smelling salts, dried herbs, oils, and bits of cork for sale (we didn’t splurge). And, when we were done, the guy wanted a tip. What, for ruining the ruined convent?!

We spent every other day at beaches: mostly our own Praia da Luz, just a couple minutes walk down from the house, with cliffs on one end, rocks to climb on at the other, stretch of sand between, and freezing waves. On some days, if you stood in front of a breaking wave, you could get blasted far up the shore, dragged back out sideways with the current, and then left with a mouthful of salt and a bikini bottom full of sand. But we also went to the wild beaches on the Costa Vicentina, the Praia Dona Ana at the bottom of cliffs with caves and rock formations surfacing like mermaids and monsters from the waves, Ria Formosa—a natural preserve over towards Spain, full of birds (several “life sightings” for my Dad and for me, though I’m not exactly keeping records) including a little tern, diving into the water for fish or crabs. We saw storks nesting, too, driving to and from the Algarve, in the Alentejo.

Now, I just wish I could go back and dive into the waves. It’s about a million degrees hotter now than when we were on vacation! I might just survive if we open up our pool here on the quinta...

My First Paycheck & the Pains of Becoming a Professional Illustrator

A few months ago, I sent in a cover letter and sample drawings to try to become an illustrator for a magazine called Stone Soup, where kids write and illustrate poems and stories. Two hundred and fifty kids send in stories or drawings each week, so I knew I had a really rough chance of getting in. But after a few weeks, I heard back from them and I had the job! Well, in theory, I had the job. I was on board as an official illustrator. That meant my drawings were in the files and I could be called on anytime in the next couple years to illustrate a story. Or not. But then, within just weeks, I got an assignment. This blog is about illustrating for a magazine in just 12 simple steps.

I wanted to do the first drawing in one hour, one day. Well, let me tell ya, THAT sure didn’t happen! My first drawing turned out to be one of MANY sketches.

Step 1: reading. I read (and re-read) the story and the note on which scenes I was to illustrate. Stone Soup’s editor suggested details and characters to include. In brief (because you don't want me to give the story away and my preliminary sketches will give you a glimpse): back then and far away, a girl, a masked ball, a bird.

Step 2: research. Back when my parents had unlimited internet access and I HAD internet access, a.k.a. before the quinta, I got on Google images and searched “clothes from the 18th century.” What I got were video game characters, people dressed in garish polyester based on 18th century clothes, and two pictures I wanted. I also looked up furniture and bluebirds.

Step 3: my first illustration, or rather, sketch. This was the one I thought was THE ONE and wasn’t.

Step 4: more sketches. I drew blue crayon pictures and showed them to my mom. Almost all my work goes through my critics/editors, a.k.a. Mom and Dad. My mom’s the art critic and my dad is the copyeditor. She says, “I like this and this. But Gemma is the main character; are you SURE you want her in the background, behind the chair, in profile? This is the most exciting moment of her life, after all. Those aren’t exactly period chairs. What you could you do with this empty space. If these two things were in the same picture, it would be perfect.”

Step 5: drawings. I drew LIGHTLY, in pencil, in perspective, in detail all the things that we had liked in my many blue crayon sketches. I showed the drawing to my mom: “What about making the window bigger? And what do you see through the window? Can you see through the curtains? Are they blowing? Oh, I thought we liked the OPEN window.” I revised, filled in, finally finished the drawings.

Step 6: color sketches. I made copies of my illustrations and tried different color schemes, methods, media (settled on markers and pencil), and asked for feedback from my critic: “Yes, yes. No, no, no. Wait, I like that yellow. Pink, silver, black? But that will blend in with the wall. We won’t see your details.” She liked the painterly look on the pics hanging on the wall. The reflection in the mirror (which you can’t see in my sketch) was tricky.

Step 7: color. Looking at the color sketches, I colored in the pictures verrrrrrrrry caaaaaaaarefully. I used up all my MP3 player’s battery while doing this. Most listened to tracks: “Pavement” by Lindsay Mac and “My Song” by Brandi Carlile.

Step 8: Mailing. We packed off the drawings, my cover letter, and a photo of the illustrious illustrator (ha!) and sent it registered mail. “É o mais rapido e seguro,” we were assured at the post office. (Translation: this is the quickest and safest way to send your work.)

Step 9: Tracking. It was NOT the quickest or safest way to send it. Days later, many exchanges of e-mails with the editor later, many calls to Portuguese and US postal offices later, etc., it was still stuck in customs in NYC. Why?! What did they think I was trying to smuggle in?

Step 10: Panic. The production schedule might be held up.

Step 11: Whew! We made it, by a day.

Step 12: My first paycheck, ever!

Now we have the finished product. But YOU have to look for the July-August issue of Stone Soup (probably available any place they sell magazines, by mid-June, I think) to see it!

Maybe my next blog will be about the pains of posting blogs or getting them past two critic/editor parents.

Convento dos Capuchos (or, The Convent of the Caped Monks)

Capuchos means capes or hoods. Capuchinho Vermelho: Little Red Riding Hood. Os Capuchos: hooded Franciscan monks.

I just visited Capuchos, an old monastery made out of cork and rock. It's a labyrinth, full of little nooks and cranies. In my comic, you might learn about the monks' life there.