It is an island which lies in the central massif of the Azores archipelago.

In the middle of the ocean was a prosperous country that had trees with laden with fruit that covered all the mountains, limpid streams that serpentine the green fields and fish that jumped to their networks. In this lost kingdom somewhere in the Atlantic lived a king. This ruler of the land and sea had nine children, all male and friends of each other. Azor in his infinite wisdom, not wanting to break this harmony, offered a pick to each child. All the brothers were pleased with this gift from their father and decided to meet once a year. Until one day. A lesser god jealous of all these happiness caused a large earthquake that sank the territory, killed the king and many of his subjects, but Neptune decided to intervene and nine peaks emerged, the same ones the king had given to each son. The brothers were so close that each decided to cut trees, built boats and learned to sail the seas to embrace whenever they could escape of the responsibilities of their islands, the enchanted, nine of which are now the Azores. This is just one of the many legends that feed the imagination of the Azorean

It is one of the coastal regions of Portugal's most visited by tourists.

The wild sea pervades our gaze. The echoes of the waves hitting the beach clamors for our bodies. A single dive awakens an intense current that warms us on the cold water, which reminds us of our meaningless existence before a tidal wave that engulfs us. It is the force of nature that manifests itself in the currents that insist on pushing us out against our will. Strong stroke lead us back to the bay that only protects us from the cold winds of the Atlantic, where the ocean is omnipresent. On land, we quiver of cold while we hear the stories of sailors who speak of generations of men who launched themselves in the waters, knowledgeable of its generosity and its unpredictable personality that demands in exchange some of their soul that holds in the depths of its being. In women the ocean makes its mark on their faces, furrows traces of anxiety and tears, their hair covered by a flap black flaps, flags of their endless pain and callused hands, which fix the networks in silence. Their look is harsh when face the water. They know that beyond the horizon, everything is uncertain. The sea gives, but it also takes away, they say. It's your fate, our destiny, heed it with humility and a certain resentment, many loves have been lost forever in the immensity of blue. Just look at the black robes that contrasted with the golden sands. But what good serves by crying out for revenge? They just know this salted existence, drowned in the unshakable faith of better days, the daily mute prayers and the pleas for a save return. Fishing is their life and livelihood. Now, there are also tourists who invade each year the sands of the beach that was once only belong to the Nazarenes. They come looking for the generous waves, fish and abundant seafood are brought to earth, the sea gives they utter again like a litany.

It is one of the most fortified cities of our country and is now a World Heritage Site by UNESCO.

Welcome to Elvas, the quintessential frontier town of the kingdom of Portugal, a banister of Portuguese nationality and that was the scenario of major battles over the centuries. What remain of those warriors echoes is an architectural heritage of undeniable beauty. The first image the we hold in our memory are the city gates, the whiteness of its buildings, a mark of deep Alentejo, as a counter point of the gray walls that surround it. This city has the largest collection of the world's bulwark. The fortification of the city had its beginning from the time that the Lusitanian armies expelled the Muslims from the territory, in the year of the lord of 1166. The Christian conquest left a legacy in stone that is the castle of Elvas. The landscape from the hexagonal towers confirm its military legacy, one can see endless fields that define our vision until exhaustion and also confirm its strategic importance, we can imagine the sentinels on the top of these walls, seeing with no great margin for error, the marching of the enemy armies of the kingdom.

It is one of the most ancient of cities of Portugal.

The remains of a very rich historical past are scattered throughout the city. Starting by its name. Chaves has always been an ideal strategic place for various civilizations. In particular, for the Romans, who conquered for two millennia these fertile lands and built fortifications along the periphery, walls to protect the settlements, bridges that led to exploration of minerals and encouraged the use of the boiling springs, a habit that still lingers until today. This locality of Portugal was elevated to city status since the year 79 BC by Titus Flavius ​​Vespasian, then comes the old Roman name Aquae Flaviae, which remains as the name of the inhabitants of this town, "flavienses".

Due to its strategic location and border situation, Chaves has always been the scene of major clashes over the centuries, both in raids by the barbarians, either in wars between Christians and Moors. Only after the year 1160 the city officially incorporates what would be the nation of the Lusitanian and again as a precaution, Dom Dinis, King of Portugal, built a wall and a castle that stands up to the present day. The city is one of those places frozen in time. Every corner, every nook, every granite façade have an ancient history that is perpetuated for centuries and never seem to wear out with the passing years. Strolling through its streets and monuments we can literally trace their origin from almost its beginnings. It is also a green town green, surrounded by the valley of Tamega, a bucolic and romantic postcard one can see from the viewpoint of St. Lawrence. The dining experience is one of the great qualities of this city. The mythical pastel de Chaves, made with puff pastry and meat, is one of the things not to miss, or live without, eaten soon after been out of the oven. The hams and sausages are other crown jewels of this region of the North and finally, the transmotano stew is a delicatessen for any good fork. Just try and let yourself go by the people of the north!

It's another page in the already huge curriculum of dancing with the difference, by choreography Paulo Ribeiro in co-creation with Leonor Keil and Drumming GP, of Miquel Bernat and Antonio Serginho.

The room is gradually invaded by a rhythmic sound of clear bodies whose metal claws mark a constant-syncopated beat. Until the moment repulsion breaks this order, this stiff model that left little room for freedom, for the imagination. It is a new musical score that unfolds before our eyes and suddenly a dissonance takes over their out of tune lives that fill the stage with their inconsistencies, their differences and inequalities. Wish to be seen with abrupt gestures that come in unequal confrontation. From the strongest to the weakest. From the smallest to largest. From the males to the females. And in the midst of this organized chaos emerges a female voice, soft and enveloping crying: If you say my love that I am out of tune / Note that this causes immense pain to me / Only the privileged have hearing equal to you / I own only what God gave it to me. The verses cry silently in the lily souls who walk the space and install a new rhythm, revealing little by little gestures of a past of chains and slavery exorcise through the bodies thru the candomblé.

This time is a trip thru one of the most beautifull cities of Portugal in verse

City of the sea, of salty moons
Traditions, heritage, Carnival,
Overlooking the river and lagoons
where joy is essential!

In the Furadouro I rest my eyes
On the deep blue sea,
While the seagull glides
Leaping over the waves.

On the beach I see the fishermen
Among networks, and jumping fish
Far ahead, the ox pull ashore,
The boat, the nets, and the wandering dreams.

The city reflects the light
Under the sun, fog, moonlight,
In tile façades
That decorate the "soul" of Ovar.

Here, Julio Dinis wrote,
Stories ... the story of Ovar
And thus was born the House-Museum
To tell your legend today!

The parish, church and chapels,
Mercy, Calvary, lady full of Grace
Show the people's devotion,
When they saw storms or disgrace.

The seven chapels of the steps
Report the Passion of Christ
and people live in procession ...
His last moments, his last contention!

It is the second oldest city in our country.

Strolling through the city of Penafiel we are confronted it memory made by granite that marks all the monuments of the city. That accompanies us through the alleys and streets. It is the sign of an ancient land, which was ruled by the Roman Empire, which deserves a visit through the Romanic route. Also of the ecclesiastical landlords who immortalized his existence with monuments that focused on prayer, the temple of Boelhe is such a beautiful and austere example and the homes of medieval nobles that dominated the agricultural landscape. The erosion of time, little or no marks left, since we can enjoy all these signs of civilization to some extent throughout the city and beyond. But, the modern is also here, under the aegis of new buildings and new architectural interventions in the fabric of the city, in the case of transformation of pedestrian access. Under the motto, we will make history in the historic district; the city council is slowly turning the sidewalks in areas accessible to persons with physical disabilities, so that the city can be also theirs, without disturbing its granite feature. Another of the curiosities is the "papa chiclas" is a deposit for chewing gum that annoy the soles of our shoes and is used by local people as I saw it. Penafiel is one of the cleanest cities of Portugal.

It is a European project. A partnership between "dancing with the difference" and other similar groups of different artistic areas. It was an invitation from Germany with the participation of Lithuania, Estonia and the scenarios were in charge of Poland. The result was a unique show and I took a peek at the last rehearsal. Join us.

We enter in the intimacy of the group always noticed at the beginning, but soon, forgotten, since the attention of the dancers follow a unique presence, a voice, Henrique Amoedo, who calmly talks about what he expects from this rehearsal. They created a circle around the choreographer that states the last positioning of the various interpreters. The sound of his waving voice is almost the only sound, as a female voice transmits the same advices in a English version at the same time, the show is multicultural. A quiet excitement fills the space. They clap at the end, the rehearsal starts... The bodies rub up in random rhythmic movements, expanded thru the stage, clamoring for attention. The voices are warm up, sounds, echoes are perpetuated by the stage and without notice, appears a black figure, slender, hunted by a mist, stands out from the crowd with the following verses of the Muse: Our Love Could Be forever. And if we die, we die together, and I, I say never, 'cause our love will be forever. Attracted by the music, all dance, lost in endless gyrations and turns until the last accord of a reality in disguise.

It is the journey of Nirvana Studios and its alternate universe told by one of his mentors, Alex Michel.

In 2003 we had a caravan of 30 vehicles for our exhibition tour. One truck had a breakdown and in that unplanned stop we saw a large sign announcing an auction. The field was huge, partially covered with vegetation and it had a ruin. Was auctioned and we thought: let's all join us and bid! We were a nomadic community for too long and needed to settle. It all happened there, in that moment in time. We showed up, bitted and they accepted our proposal. After that was the usual race to credits, see what there was to offer. We sell lots of cars, trucks, vans and rullotes. That's how it all started. It was the culmination of a quest for liberation, our nirvana. The name stuck. What remained of the old military barracks was only a shadow of its past. We put to all out efforts to work. We had to rebuild the space, open new channels, rise walls, everything ... there was nothing. Basically, all the experience he had accumulated to mount performances, scenarios, spaces, made us bit welders, blacksmiths, carpenters, electricians and plumbers. Life on the road teaches us these things, we are people of trucks, of the sea, of the stars and almost all are artists. It's sort of Templar's community that decided to build a cathedral. This was ours. The holy ground of our dreams and ambitions. The former barracks for our post-apocalyptic world.

We built his new space little by little, was a progressive vision. We did not stop being nomadic. We continued to take the road as our house. A part of the team returned to start to work and then came the rest. After a while we had our way back, again and again. Over the years, our exits star shrinking as our new home grew. This first phase we called studio eight to a hangar where we installed our multidisciplinary theater, where we do our shows, which houses the Custom Circus. Our reputation for alternative entrepreneurs, safe harbor, brought more people and more projects that helped to finance the construction of other studios devoted to the arts, are now twelve in total and today are designated Nirvana Studios, an area 40 thousand square meters. These independent zones are used freely, leased 24 hours per day; in fact, everything is built according to the projects. The artists, the collective comes to us and tell us: we need a space for our business. All that is integrated into our lifestyle, more underground, the most misunderstood people here is welcome and feel as a family, they come and end up staying. We have Zoe studio, which produces programs for sic radical and Gruvitar the best hardware store of batteries in the country, not to mention the rest. It is a global community. In total comprise approximately 700 people. Our universe involves a lot of these people, who are not directly linked to Custom Company, are peripherals projects that gravitate around us, but are part of our essence. The independence here is very encouraged. We promote the formation of collectives. There are no boundaries. Everyone knows and interact with each other. There is no segmentation. There is not a membrane, it is completely free, we get people from outside, and they develop a project and then go away. It is a very dynamic process.

An affections guide by the aromas and flavors from my childhood to adulthood.

There are aromas that remind us immediately to the warmth of the kitchen of our mother and our grandparents. Are the flavors of these affections that accompany us throughout our lives and from which we cannot live without. Our strongest memories accompany us to the kitchen. Where the same gestures are renewed in a circular motion and the stoves were populated with expelling smoke pots and unusual noises. The heart of a Portuguese house for sure, where everything happens, the family gathers, friends huddle and children learn through taste what is to be Portuguese. My guide has smell of the sea. Brings me to trips to the beach in the summer, where he picked up the snails stuck to the rocks that were boiled and then seasoned, had to be hunted with a needle, a difficult and thankless task, which took a lot, but worth the pleasure of repeating the same gesture over and over again, although was never satisfying. The limpets still in the shell just catch the end of the tide were sautéed in butter, garlic and lemon juice for the delight of children and adults. I remember my grandmother's kitchen where she always had soaked dried skipjack tuna in olive oil and vinegar, adorned with chopped parsley, onion and garlic. At first glance, this delicacy did not inspire great appetite for its blackish color that looked like splinters trunks, but once you overcome prejudice, you eat them and cried for more. Corn hot with fried small mackerel bathed in sauce will always be a classic of my childhood in cold winter days. I remember the great iron cauldron bubbling merrily up until the flour was cooked; still boiling was poured over many dishes to cool off. What was left was cut into squares and fried to be eaten with a salad of watercress and meat. It just makes your mouth water, just to remember.

In adulthood, the taste of the north was established in my stomach. Large "feijoadas" of the Minho decorated with all kinds of meats and sausages filled the eyes and the belly. The cellars smelled of Douro wine and smoked ham. The intense aromas and flavors make way to warm thoughts and heavy sleep. In June, the popular saints sharpened the taste buds. It was the reign of salted sardines accompanied by peppers that were pressed into pans of coal. The city was invaded by smoke and cheerful conversations soaked in fresh sangria served in makeshift tables in the street. The famous food "francesinhas" was the end of the evening college parties, with its red color anticipating its spicy nature and heavy calories. An unbeatable classic. The vacation was the ideal time for the daydreams of the soul that led us to the south. To Alentejo food. With their soaked tender meat macerated in clams and coriander. The sweets made from almonds remind us of a distant past, Moorish, made of stories and legends and aromatic wines that are savored in good company toasting the end of another beautiful day. And all this talk opened my appetite! Goodbye!