Tag: Saudade

Saudade

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about that quintessential Portuguese quality called “saudade.” A bittersweet yearning…a tender sadness…the presence of absence evoked in fado music and singing, dance, poetry. Qualities represented by this photo I took in Andalusia five years ago.

Last night, while eating dinner at our favorite Portuguese-Spanish influenced cafe, saudade stirred. Even before we entered, I felt waves of nostalgia for those times three years ago when eating in Portuguese cafes along the Camino, or in the tapas bars with Sig in Malaga, and that sweet match-box sized vermuteria we stumbled upon our last sunny Sunday in Sevilla.

Maybe it was yesterday’s summer-like weather inviting us to relax after a day working in the yard and garden, readying it for more outdoor living. Feeling the sun warm on our backs and faces, no jackets, gloves or toques, each of us remarked over the pleasure we felt not needing to brace against the cold.

Certainly, it was evoked by the cafe’s newest Sunday night addition, a Spanish singer-guitarist. Several of his songs so moving, I was almost brought to tears.

The longer I sat within the mood of the moment, I realized that this for me is particular to Portugal and Spain. That as much as I love being in Italy – and to date have visited many of its regions – I don’t recall being stirred in the same way.

I was to have returned to Italy this fall to again walk la Via Francigena with a small group of women. But due to no registration, I needed to cancel. I am disappointed. But I wonder if saudade is calling. And if one day, I’m to make another long-distance walk in Portugal and Spain. Not so much an “exterior” pilgrimage to Santiago, but the “interior” one to my soul. The outward destination not really the point. The journey that matters, experiencing anew what evokes and stirs.

Feeling saudade, the proof that I loved and lived,
dreamed and remembered… even if for a moment.

Much love and kindest regards, dear friends.

The Presence of The Absence

There is a word in Portuguese that has no direct equivalent
in any other language: “saudade.”
It is not just longing. It is more.
It is longing mixed with melancholy,
with expectation,
with tenderness and with a gentle sadness.

It is longing for something that was. . . or maybe never was.
It is absence with the scent of memory.
It is love that did not have time to end, but neither to continue.
It is music that echoes in the void left by someone.

In fado they sing saudade.
In our long silences, saudade is hidden.
In lonely walks,
in lost glances out the window,
in letters never sent.

Saudade does not want to leave.
It doesn’t heal, because it doesn’t hurt completely.
It doesn’t break you, but it doesn’t leave you whole either.
It’s the sweet wound of souls that feel deeply, beyond words.

Carrying saudade within you is proof that you loved,
that you lived,
that you dreamed… even if for a moment.

~ Waves of Life, Facebook, May 4, 2025 ~

singing fado on the steps in Lisbon, May 2022

Exactly three years ago I was walking the Portuguese Coastal Camino to Santiago. During my first evening in Lisbon, I encountered the essence of “saudade” in a young street musician strumming her guitar, perched on stone steps across from our hotel, singing “fado,” the Portuguese equivalent of the “blues.“

Once home, in preparation for writing about my experiences, I heard a Portuguese guide refer to fado as “the presence of absence.” This inspired a poem which was published later that year in 100 Caminos, an annual Chilean anthology celebrating Camino poetry:

. . . now my memory mends and fills
those cracked and empty places
with jasmine perfume and birdsong
blistered heels and sun kissed faces

Saudade captures much of how I’ve been feeling this year. Tired from the moral outrage I’ve felt in response to the incessant displays of blatant evil. . . disappointed with life events that didn’t quite become as I’d imagined. . . I feel “the longing for something that was . . . or maybe never was.”

Disillusionment giving way to letting go. Discernment that comes with age.
The proof that I have loved and lived and dreamed.
The presence of the absence acknowledged and allowed.
And what is asking to emerge next.

Life’s unfolding along its silver thread, invisible until it’s not.

Much love and kindest regards, dear friends. It’s nice to be back after several weeks’ absence.