Armando Taborda's photos

A-dos-Ruivos

"Spirits of Amazon", Quinta dos Loridos wood carving, by Bia DORIA (press z to see in the lightbox)

Quinta dos Loridos (press z to see in the lightbox)

"Spirits of Amazon", Quinta dos Loridos wood carving, by Bia DORIA (press z to see in the lightbox)

"Ephemeral blossom of the rock-rose now her splendor is almost a fade: Light and white, the breeze takes she away and a not written stanza remains from her." (English translated by Armando TABORDA, 2018)

The mine closed the pyrite production in 1988. After the mine closing the village went into decay, but by the 90's, the Municipality of GRÂNDOLA and the Foundation Frédéric Velge started a LOUSAL revitalization program, creating a new territorial specialization based on cultural tourism: # Museu Mineiro do LOUSAL "LOUSAL Mining Museum", a dazzling organization and an enviable archaic industrial heritage; # Centro Ciência Viva do LOUSAL "LOUSAL Alive Science Centre", exemplary space for scientific and technological divulgation with several valences. High quality gastronomy and hotel accommodation are also at our disposal in this wonderful place which, so far as I know, has been annually visited for about 20,000 people, but deserves to be visited for many many more.

A princely restaurant --- even without MICHELIN stars ---, located at Aldeia Mineira do LOUSAL. High standards Alentejo cuisine, in a cosy and very well restored warehouse, with a reserved corner for Cante Alentejano "Alentejo Folk Song" --- UNESCO World Heritage --- , good service, all under the owner co-ordination, Fernanda CALADO. Morover the price of a meal is perfectly acceptable. ( * ) up side left photo - the four members/voices of the Cante Alentejano Group and the owner also have lunch, certainly

Aldeia dos Fernandos Coral Group

Rain tiptoeing on the roof of your van then quickening, the way you say I enter a room: deer-like, tentative then definite. I can't stand outside my body, see myself a shadow animal against the wall but I take your word for it, lie still on your chest and find you too beautiful to look staight at so I look at you the way rain touches the roof a thousand times lightly trace your shoulder the way drops move down the windowpane and when you turn to me, the rain falls through the night's thin skin and my skin is less than paper so by now I must be drowned must be an envelope soaked in warm water held to the light so you can see right through me, how I break and make the world seem solid. /// NOITE CHUVOSA Chuva leve no tejadilho do teu furgão e depois mais forte, tal como eu entro no quarto dizes tu; tipo corça, hesitante depois decidida. Não posso ficar fora do meu corpo, ver-me a mim própria na sombra dum animal contra a parede assim repenso as tuas palavras, ainda deitada no teu peito achando-te lindíssimo de se olhar directamente por isso o faço o caminho da chuva tamborila no tejadilho mil vezes docemente desenha o teu ombro da forma como as gotas deslizam na vidraça e quando te voltas para mim, a chuva trespassa a fina pele da noite e a minha pele é menos do que papel portanto agora ter-me-ia afogado poderia ser um envelope encharcado de água aquecida pela luz para que possas ver claramente através de mim como me rasgo e faço o mundo parecer sólido. by Helen MORT, British poet (b. 1985), in "THE POETRY REVIEW", Volume 108:2, Summer 2018 (Portuguese translated by Armando TABORDA, 2018) (photo taken from Internet; edied by Armando TABORDA)

"Sweet Patato Museum", Algarve, Rogil - if you go through there, even if you don't take a meal you can look around and see the natural products they sell in the shop, and taste the sweet patato regional confectionery

Algarve, Alvor

And she laid the table and she asked everyone to sit around and she prayed with her eyes shut and she thought we prayed with her and he looked at her and then looked at me looking at him and warm blood overspilled the shopping board and the knife went in and I didn't want to see and he said to me "don't be so gay, no seas maricón" and I looked at my empty plate and pressed my hands under the table and ate my words and they tasted to burnt barbecue and Mother thanked the Lord with her eyes shut and we thanked the Lord after her /// CERIMÓNIA FAMILIAR E ela pôs a mesa e pediu a todos para se sentarem à volta e rezou de olhos fechados e pensou que estávamos a rezar com ela e ele olhou para ela e depois olhou para mim a olhar para ele e o sangue quente derramou-se na tábua de cortar e a faca penetrou e eu não quis ver e ele disse-me "não sejas tão maricas, no seas maricón" e eu olhei para o meu prato vazio e apertei as minhas mãos debaixo da mesa e comi as minhas palavras e elas souberam-me a churrasco queimado e a Mãe agradeceu ao Senhor de olhos fechados e nós agradecemos ao Senhor depois dela by Leonardo BOIX, Argentinian poet based in London, in "THE POETRY REVIEW", Volume 108:2, Summar 2018 (Portuguese translated by Armando TABORDA, 2018) (photo taken from Internet; edited by Armando TABORDA)