Freaky!

Sintra, Portugal

Sometimes fact is stranger than fiction. In any case, I have found it to be so on many occasions, and in the town of Sintra in Portugal I was provided with yet another experience that could comfortably fall under that heading.

It all started with T.J.

Our tour had included a tour of Sintra’s royal palace following which we had a bit of free time to wander about the town (very charming, by the way). Naturally this means that we all have to muster back at the bus stop at a specific time.

Now I am always on time. However, I didn’t want to waste my “Sintra/Portugal time” on waiting beside a bus. Therefore I returned to the bus only a short time – i.e. maybe 5 minutes at best – before our departure.

When I got there Antonio had a treat for us! (Good thinking Antonio… entice your flock back with sweets). It was another “cultural discovery” (remember I said they were often ‘edible’) – a wonderful Portuguese almond pastry.

At the same time I got back T.J. called me. “Hey Saskatchewan!” he called. “You have a fellow Canadian over there.”

He pointed to a man sitting on a nearby bench decked out with a wonderful bright red cap with the Canadian flag on it. T.J. also pointed out that I was ‘letting the side down’ by not having with me or on me any sort of Canadian insignia at all.

Initially, of course, I was more intent upon getting my Portuguese almond pastry than I was in the old man, even if he was Canadian. However, once I had secured my treat I did wander over to him.

I told him I was a Canadian too, from Saskatchewan. He volunteered he had taught art most of his life in Saskatchewan and asked where I had lived. I said Regina. He said he taught in Regina.

I said, “What school did you teach at?”

He said, “Campbell Collegiate.”

I said, “WHAT’S YOUR NAME!” You see, that had been my high school.

“Mr. McGregor”, he answered.

Yes, you guessed it. I had had him as one of my art teachers! (Although only for one semester, usually I had Mr. Woodward.)

I introduced myself and he did remember me. Yes, usually it's students who remember teachers and teachers can’t possibly be expected to remember students since they have 1000’s over the course of their careers. However, actually despite it being 40 years on, in this case, the fact he remembered me isn’t all that remarkable.

I, along with my siblings, were ‘the orphans’ of the school – “those kids who lived on their own without parents”. Moreover, my father – until his death during the summer between my 8^th & 9^th grade – was a member of the staff, a history teacher there. Consequently, teachers always, always, always remember me – even those who never had me in a class.

As Antonio was passing – beginning to shepherd people onto the bus - I said, “Hey Antonio!”

He paused and looked over.

I said, “This is one of my high school art teachers!” pointing to him.

“NO!” said Antonio.

“Yes,” I said.

Still, to run into an old high school teacher 40 years later on the streets of a small town in Portugal is incredible - freaky or what?

T.J. was the one who thought to make sure I got a photo.

See it below along with other shots from the town of Sintra. As per usual, click on them for best viewing.