Marsha Scarbrough

 

The Summer Solstice, June 20 this year, is the longest day and the shortest night. That's in the Northern Hemisphere. Those of you south of the equator are celebrating the reverse. Happy winter to you!

 

The longest day brings maximum light. All is illuminated. We feel the heat. Our gardens are in full bloom. Fruit and vegetables swell on the way to harvest. Human beings set off on vacation with dreams of basking in the sun, swimming in the sea, and taking luxurious naps.

 

My vacation came a bit early. At the end of March, International Living asked me if I could present at their Fast Track Europe conference in Portugal to replace the usual Spain correspondent who had to drop out because of a family emergency. Since I had never been to Portugal, I agreed and spent the next two weeks putting together four PowerPoints and memorizing the scripts. On April 11, I flew to Faro in the Algarve of southern Portugal. I took a taxi to the Grande Real Santa Eulália resort in Albufeira. It was perched right on a beautiful unspoiled beach that reminded me of Laguna in the 60s. Here's what it looks like: 5 Star hotel in Algarve - Grande Real Santa Eulália Resort Hotel Spa (realhotelsgroup.com)

 

I spent the next three days surrounded by 300 people who are considering moving from the US to Europe. I made four presentations and spent the time between them sitting at a table in the exhibit hall answering questions. We enjoyed buffet lunches alfresco beside the pools with a view of the sea. At dinner, I joined my colleagues to catch up on professional gossip. I slipped away to my private villa to get as much sleep as possible before early morning buffet breakfast. I walked down to the beach once.

 

 

After the conference, I took a bus to the seaside town of Lagos, which is on the southwestern corner of the rectangle that is Portugal. The town oozes charm with tiled buildings and plazas paved in black and white mosaics of fish, octopi, and other denizens of the ever-present sea. I had great sunny weather. I stayed in a simple, clean, recently renovated hotel for €55 a night including breakfast. I took a walking tour from a local historian. I took a boat tour along the rugged coast that slipped into grottos and cruised around sea stacks. I breathed in the ocean views as I walked the boardwalk that runs along the top of the yellow sandstone cliffs. I ate fish, shrimp, octopus, spicy piri piri chicken, and more fish. On my last night, I went to see Fado, a popular type of Portuguese music. I shared a long table with a party of four French tourists and a woman about my age from Germany who lived in Lagos. She told me that she'd been a piano teacher in Germany. When she retired, she bought an RV and traveled all over Europe. She loved the sunny weather in the Algarve and particularly Lagos, so she rented an apartment and settled there. When her kids came to visit her, they loved it too, and they moved there. She was fit and tan and seemed really happy. Fado involves acoustic music and a female singer draped in a fringed shawl who sings melodramatic songs of lost love and happier songs about village life in Portugal.

 

The next morning as I was heading for the bus, I saw my German friend on her way to the produce market. She was wearing a bright purple sundress and a big hat. We greeted each other and laughed. On the bus to Faro airport, I met another woman around my age originally from Poland, who had lived in Berlin for 40 years. She was also lively and fun, heading home from a beach vacation. She asked me if I thought prices were cheap in Portugal. I said I thought they were about the same as Spain. She said she thought they were about the same as Berlin. I flew back to Madrid feeling relaxed and refreshed. The next day I came down with a terrible cold. No worries, I'm fine now.

 

Summer in Spain is scorching. Not everyone has air conditioning (I don't). The city strategy is to stay inside with blinds drawn and fans on during the day. Madrid looks like a ghost town with shuttered businesses and deserted streets. As soon as the sun goes down, blinds go up, and people pour out of their apartments. Cafes are crowded and convivial. Families with children picnic in the parks. Free concerts start at 10 pm. Life is lived at night.

 

Since all workers get one month of vacation, many people leave the city and head for second homes at the beach. Others go back to their pueblo, the village where they lived before they moved to the city. They spend August with grandparents, parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Family ties are strengthened. Parents spend a month of quality time with their children. Some businesses close and send all their employees on vacation at the same time. During August, you might go to your favorite restaurant only to find the doors locked and windows covered with brown paper. A note on the door will give the reopening date. It's usually sometime in early September. In Spain, life trumps work every time.

 

I'm still working on finding an agent for my memoir, 20 Years in Hollywood: Tales to Tell. I'm taking an online class from a literary agent, Lucinda Halpern. She is the author of a book called Get Signed that goes into a lot of detail about what authors need to do to get an agent. I've finally come to understand that agents and publishers are more interested in how many books they think you can sell than how good your book is. That's OK. I'm learning those ropes.

 

Being on this learning curve reminds me of when I was learning to be an Assistant Director. My second assignment as a trainee was a movie called Paternity with Burt Reynolds. On my first day on the Paramount lot, the Second AD asked me to "bring Burt to the set." Still feeling like a newcomer, I was honored to be given the responsibility of notifying and escorting a leading actor on my own. I knocked on the door of Burt's dressing room trailer. He opened the door. I said, "They are ready for you." He smiled, stepped out of the trailer and closed the door. We walked side-by-side toward the stage.

 

My mind started to race. I was gripped with fear. I didn't know the protocol for entering a door with a major movie star. He's a man. I'm a woman. Should I wait for him to open the door for me? But he's a very important person, and I am on the bottom of this movie's production team. Should I open the door for him? If he opens the door for me, should I defer and allow him to enter first? I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to make a grand faux pas on my first big job. I was panicking. When we reached the door, I froze.

 

Burt reached around me and opened the door. He put his hand gently in the middle of my back and pushed me through the door in front of him, then followed me onto the stage. I appreciated that push and his always amicable professionalism.

Sometimes we all need a gentle push in the right direction.

 

I've been all over the Internet lately. Check out these links:

 

Why U.S. Retirees Like Marsha Scarbrough Are Leaving the US (youtube.com)

La Primera Exiliada: Why I Moved to Spain After 2016 US Election — InternationalLiving.com

I'm a 77-Year-Old Retiree: Here's How Much Money I Saved by Moving to Spain (yahoo.com)

How to Move Out of the US Workshop (youtube.com)

https://abbeyalgiers.substack.com/p/hollywood-medicine-men-and-tapas

 

What's been going on with you? If you have a few minutes, tell me about your life.

 

If you need a beach read, try these:

 

 

 

Medicine Dance: One Woman's Healing Journey into the World of Native American Sweatlodges, Drumming Meditations and Dance Fasts

Honey in the River: Shadow, Sex and... by Scarbrough, Marsha (amazon.com)

 

 

Please share this newsletter with any friends you think may be interested. Invite them to go to my website and subscribe. Marsha Scarbrough - Author - Hollywood Insider - Spiritual Seeker - Roaming Crone