One of the most impressive memories of mine is the one of Cabine Street, at Lapa do Lobo. It was where I spent a great number of my school holidays, in the house, at my grandparents’ grocery or at Vale do Boi, where my grandfather did his farming.
Everything changed. Today, there are no more regular meetings with friends and cousins, no family Sunday lunches, no more ball playing nor trailed trips to the field riding my grandfather’s bike, no smell of Kentucky cigarettes in the tavern nor football reports, and no older people conversations nor their wine cups to be washed.
My grandfather’s name was Fernando Ramos. I lost him in January 2013, already in the course of this work.