The embryo of what would be the future of Camacha Experimental Theatre (TEC) is born in the summer of 1987. It emanated from an activity promoted by the local People's House that lasted in time, thanks to an invitation from Jorge Sousa to Basílicia Fernandes. Follow me thru this 25 year story, told in the first person, of an amateur group very unique.

My journey as an actress merges with the TEC. A good friend challenged me to join a theater group, because he knew I was pleased to participate in parish recitals and all these gatherings had stagnated somewhat. In a Tuesday, at seven o'clock in the afternoon, I arrived at the first day of rehearsals and found no one. I entitle myself responsible and the first goal I set was to raise people for the group. I spoke to my sisters who were very enthusiastic about the idea and managed to capture elements from the ballroom dancing coordinated by David Nobrega. We had no theater, but that did not dissuade us. We started rehearsing just a little text that we adapted for a huge play, allowing a speech by each of the 21 elements that we garner. The debut of the "Dumps class" was held in Gaula, in the refuge of the elderly. What happened is we play a lot in this piece, but it worked, the people loved us see the role of dumb students who owed nothing to its intelligence. And they embrace us right away. Mr. Vieira who was an actor and Maria dos Anjos is that the current rehearse of the choir, came to see us, and excited advice us to search for training. In partnership with Inatel, was created the first ever theatrical awareness campaign in 1988, in fact this institution has always been very important in the history of TEC because they have always supported us. However, we did not have a headquarters, the group rehearsed in the former premises of the House of the People when out of the blue a space was ceded to the Sports Association of Camacha. They adapted the upper floor in order to have a stage and we started our work there until today. 25 years later, I remember it fondly; it is wonderful to know that after all this time we are still standing. It was not an easy journey, there were difficult times, but the good times outweigh all the worst things that happened.

My name is José Ferreira and was 22 when was brought by Elsa Correia to the group. My first play was the "dumb class"; I do not remember what my character was. I came and rehearsed several characters, because all were distributed; only one of the actors did not show up at the end and I got one of the roles. Since that debut've always done theater. In 1992 I and Ilda Teixeira frequented a workshop for directors, in Inatel over three years. From there I began to stage, until then everything had been done on the basis of the soul and did not have any technique. I gained experience. The first play I staged was "Body and soul", although I made a few attempts before; all that was learned in the course was tailored to the group. I always remember fondly one mishap in a piece entitled "Antony Sailor." The characters were looking for a black bird that was from a certain point of the play was thrown into the middle of the scene, except that the stage had a porch and when they shoot the prop, it fell up, the actors were unaware of this and stood there lost, had to improvise and the public did not understood anything that was going on. It happens, but it was cute. Looking back, we never thought in terms of achieving a goal, these 25 years of existence. It arrived quickly and naturally and we hardly had time to prepare our anniversary. 2012 was a year filled with four productions and a theater festival, but it's good, because maybe we have reached the age of fifty in no time.

It is one of the most populated sites of Portugal.

The first image of the city is the sea. Of his rickety waves lapping against the white sand. Blue dominates the urban landscape filled with testimonies of defensive past, the ancient citadel, a stronghold, where stands the fortress of Our Lady of the Light, one, of the line of fortifications on the right bank of the Tagus, from its tall walls still lurk the horizon. Scenario of skirmishes and battles over the centuries, the city gained a real status, favorite place of sovereign and gentry who went to the baths since then has gained a reputation of elected and the poor became rich, the status remains until our days. Along the coast one can see the mansions that once harbored the finest nobility and society of Portugal. The historic center is a confluence of alleys and side streets bedecked with grocery shops. Small craft fairs color, at the end-of-week, the streets filled with curious and tourists

Situated in Vila do Bispo, in the Algarve and worth visiting.

I met the tip of Sagres by chance, was one more stop on my wanderings around the country, but this small tip of land, a promontory sacred to the Romans, the extreme westernmost of the inhabited world in the antiquity, became one of most important symbols of our nationality in the fifteenth century. It was the starting point for one of the greatest adventures by the Portuguese that begun sailing by seas never navigated before. It is precisely here where the land ends and the sea begins, as sang by Camões, that Prince Henry the face of discovery, decided to found a naval school, right along cliffs like if he never wanted to lose sight of the purpose of it holdings . The fortress of Sagres is not impressive for its architectural beauty, quite the contrary, has a practice side without major construction luxuries, because here its main aim was to study

It is the tale of the largest civic demonstration in our country. It was a historic moment, I was proud to participate for that reason I leave a record for future generations.

Today my country is dressed in red running blood and hit the streets. The anonymous people cried loudly for its righteousness: The people dictate its rules! Enough! Leave thieves! F... the troika. We want our lives back! The slogans echoed in every corner of the nation, from north to south to the other side of the Atlantic, on the islands, the anthems of rebellion were heard loudly. Thus is how it happened, on the Infante Square, before the gaze of a daring Dom Henrique, symbol of a bold spirit who crossed seas never before navigated and conquered the fear of the unknown, thousands took the first step on a road in search of justice, social fairness, political integrity and above all the freedom to choose their own destiny.

It is situated in the center of Portugal and owes its existence to its thermal qualities.

Caldas da Rainha was born at the expense of its stench. It is the purest of truths. It's a town that owes its name to a Portuguese Queen Dona Leonor, who discovered its sulphurous thermal by chance according to legend, in the fifteen century. Since then, the city gained a royal status that grow up over time until the present days in the form of a thermal hospital surrounded by a bucolic park, with the name of another sovereign, Dom Carlos I . Another of the curiosities left by her majesty, is the Church of Our Lady of Pópulo, erected to save the souls of the sick, guarded by zealous gargoyles, has within a very interesting set of tiles of Moorish-inspired. Currently, in addition to this area of ​​physical and spiritual healing, there are many buildings inspired by Art Nouveau in its swarming arterial roads, due to the enrichment of the bourgeoisie over time.

It is the capital of knowledge and music in our country.

It was the city chosen by King Don Dinis to found one of the oldest universities in Europe. It was also the scene of major historical moments and passage of the greatest figures in literature and arts of our nation over the centuries. Coimbra is the capital of knowledge and as such, its narrow streets are populated by the so-called bats, which are nothing more and nothing less than college students dressed in the black academic clothes made of wool. Everything revolves around the university. At the top of the hill it is mandatory to visit its palace, where stands the goat, the clock, that starts classes and is one of the highlights of the university festivities, the burning of the ribbons. But we are not going there just yet, bare with me. Before that, it is interest to mention the Johannine library, next to the law school courtyard. At first the simplicity of the exterior of the building does not denounce the opulent interior. It is a baroque monument coated with gold and decorated with Chinese motifs, which houses 70,000 volumes over three floors. It's hard to know where to look; such is the beauty of its architectural nooks and many of the books that lodges in. Following the narrow winding road towards the river, we disembogue in the Old Cathedral, one of the key points of the academic week and one of the finest examples of Romanesque in Portugal.

It is one of the most remarkable places of the Portuguese history.

Santarem is a cross between the past and present. Its name is indelibly associated with two great historical figures of Portugal, Dom Afonso Henriques and Salgueiro Maia. First things first, facing the famous gates of the Sun the King longed to expand his territory towards the sea, this was his dream. The first step to achieve this chimera was crossing the river Tagus. The city dominated by Muslims was not only rich, but also facilitated the entrance to Lisbon a vital strategic landmark for his conquest scheme. Santarem was taken by the King himself in the dead of night with a small army of 120 men that caught the Moors by surprise; they were decimated and humiliated with such audacious victory, thus contributing further to the mythical aura of the sovereign warrior. One of spoils of that bloody battle is the castle that still dominates the city's landscape until today. From its towering battlements we can lose our sight on the view, in all its might and splendor, the green fertile banks of the Tagus and the older houses. What once was a place of death and pain is now the preferred site of sweet valentine's with their vows of love and also the amorous glances of the newlyweds.

It is a tribute to the people that help restore the dignity of those who lost everything

Humanism does not happen by chance. He lives within. He resides in the complicit faces, gaping smiles and open arms. Has no religion. Has no color. Has no party. Has no race. It has much less range or boundaries. It feeds on the goodwill of men. The anonymous who donate their little nothings. Their time. Their words of comfort. Their joy of living. Their attentive ears. After the fire that wrought the lives of many, the union was enforced and the ability of accomplishment will gradually compose in slow motion, the everyday of our lives that thought were ashes. And in the amid of the rubble hope was born with the help of 60 volunteers, coordinated by the board of Gaula, the day after the fire destroyed a large part of the landscape of the island, so, they set in motion a new world, less black, more color hope. Early in the morning, groups of people gathered the wreckage of a life time, before the sad eyes of those who saw death in the form of high flames. The removal and cleaning of seven houses was completely made in parallel with ten other housing half destroyed.

We are going to Sao Martinho do Porto at the sound of Zeca Afonso. It is a three and a half hour journey through the North national highway towards the South, hearing nothing but the revolutionary songs that did not reflect the holiday mood that we were in. Up until now I associated this songwriter to this location that is only 100 km away from the capital of the small rectangle that is my country. The houses that stretch along the valley are painted white, surrounded with lush colors and patios with manicured gardens. Everything is so intimate in Sao Martinho do Porto. The families who live here knew each other for several generations. All major holidays they converge for this tiny dot on the map, where any day of the week serves as a perfect pretext for gatherings, to update small talk, for parties and summertime loves. The beach is a natural small bay waves that provide gentle dips and where sails simply slide in its crystalline waters. It is necessary to walk a lot in their fine sands to lose your footing. It is also a safe haven for children's play, the idyllic setting for the first salty kisses and loving complicity, reinforced by the slopes of the dunes. In the town center, local commerce animates the streets with their colorful shops and terraces in front of the sea, the Portuguese sea, the blue.

Going south is Peniche. The Atlantic is loose. It is the city of the waves. It's rough sea that draws giant tubes in the beach. It is also a peninsula, one of its extremes is the Cabo Carvoeiro that ends abruptly with the ship of Crows, a rock that broke from the land buffeted by strong winds, in the background the Berlengas islands. To the southwest on the plateau of Cesaredas, one can see the caves of Malgasta, Lapa Furada and Cova da Moura, a quiet legacy of a time when men were sheltering in its depths. It is also one of the most important ports of Portugal. The fishermen are the masters of these troubled waters and every day they bring fish and seafood in abundance for auction. It is time for a stew them and a large complicity, as if we had known for a long time, all seasoned with the words of the brave, of the unparalleled Zeca to his friends.

It's my homage to the men and women in Madeira, the firemen and police forces who tried to save our homeland.

My world burned. Hell broke loose under the auspices of the flames that consumed the shades of green that dotted the terraces of the island. From the mountain to the valley, from the high tops to the sea, lute covers the landscape and our hearts. The fire consumed almost jealous all the lush vegetation surrounding the sharp relief of sinuous shapes and deep gorges. On the ground there is nothing else than ashes, debris of lives that were built with great sacrifice and are now lost forever. Excerpts from my childhood that simple disappeared. My grandmother's house where her twelve children were born, grew up and went away in search of the dream of abundance. The loquat of miss Mary that I gladly climbed to delight me with its fruits. The land of the neighbor covered with corn that I stole to bake with friends in the pine forest. The vines laden with American fat grapes the pride and joy of my grandfather and the fonts from which flowed fresh water that killed the thirst of our restless youth. Everything turned to dust. As if it never existed. Instead, a black mantle covers heaven and earth. The air is almost unbreathable. The olfactory memories of the burned pine, acacia and eucalyptus trees overwhelm our nostrils originating from the fumes that still exude their charred skeletons.