There are a group of us who walk our dogs in the park. If we are free, and so inclined, we walk our dogs at a particular time of the evening, meet up near a certain tree, and walk or hang together for a bit. One evening in late July, our neighbor Joana was missing. Her wife Andreia explained that she had to be at the fair – as a city deputy (like a commissioner), it was her job to be there for the fair opening. After a discussion of fairs in Portugal and the US, Andreia suggested we come to the fair with them. Of course, we agreed!
Feira Sant’iago has, its web site tells me, been held in Setubal for 400 years. It used to be held downtown, in the park-like area on Avenida Luisa Todi but is now held in Santiago Park. The names are a coincidence. The knightly Order of Santiago, founded in Spain, protected pilgrims to a site just north of the Portuguese border. After some fits and starts, a Portuguese off-shoot order settled in nearby Palmela, and there are many “Santiago”-named sites and entitites in our area.
We found the Feira Sant’iago to be different and yet very familiar. Neon-lit rides each blaring competing music, rows of booths with food and items for sale. Our conversation in the park had mentioned games, including one that sounded like skeeball, but we didn’t see them.
And yet, it looked and felt different as well. The food booths were all run by local businesses (and we noted a few to visit later!). There were booths selling merchandise, but these looked more like a craft fair than a carnival – celtic jewelry, clothing, even a second hand book and music exchange (where we found a Portuguese copy of a book by one of Bernie’s favorite authors). In an open space for traditional games we saw a grandmother skipping rope, and a family playing a game similar to horseshoes but played with wooden disks rather than metal horseshoes (and no backstops).
People lined up to ride the rides – but as children rode the bumper cars, parents gathered on the sidelines and chatted. Everywhere we went, Setubalense paused to greet friends and neighbors. Research tells me that 400,000 people visit this fair each year, four times the population of our city. And yet, everywhere we looked, people chatted; not “stopped in their progress through the fair” but rather “doing one of the things they do at the fair – connecting with their community.”
And in amidst the booths, a section was set aside for local businesses and community organizations. The city recently took over the previously-private water supply, and they had a large display showing the water cycle related to our local river, and sharing information about how they are managing this resource. This year was the 50th anniversary of the revolution and the “Women of the revolution” display we had seen on Avenida Luisa Todi in April was brought here, along with more displays about the Carnation Revolution, life in Portugal “before April 25” (under the dictatorship) and after. I puzzled out the gist of several, and took photos of others to bring home and examine more closely with my translator app and google search at hand.
When we stopped for dinner (I chose yummy bread of a kind traditional in Madeira, soaked in garlic butter), we were met by Andreia’s sister and her family (except their teenaged daughter, who at 15 is too old to go to the Feira with her parents!), and we remained a group for a while, wandering the fair and separating again when we all stopped at the book and music exchange, but Andreia’s nephew needed to go ride the rides! Because being at the Feira was about being with people – the ones you came with and others you connected with after you arrived.
As we made our way to the exit, I passed a black woman with vibrant Seahawk-blue braids. Her color looked awesome, and although there was no conversing over the blaring music of the rides that surrounded us, I got her attention and pointed at her braids, giving her a thumbs up, an enthusiastic smile, and mouthing “que linda!” (“pretty!”). She smiled broadly at the compliment, and clearly mouthed back “thank you.” I was amused to think that this American or British girl’s social media probably says “and a Portuguese lady complimented my hair!”
Perhaps one day I will be “a Portuguese Lady” who walks through the feira and everywhere finds people that I know. But for now, I am “an immigrant lady” who knows only a few people, and even so – I went to the feira with friends. We met other friends while we were there. And for a little while, we were very much a part – however fringe – of the Setubal community.
A good beginning.
