Tourada (or at least, what I remember of it...)

From the word go, I've found that being able to speak Portuguese has been a massive advantage here- the people on the island are all immensely proud of their culture, and can't wait to tell you all about it, or even show it you- all you have to do is ask the right questions. As Aleks and I both speak Portuguese pretty fluently, we were placed with a government worker called Duarte, who didn't speak any English, and whose 'work ethic' is pretty...relaxed...in comparison with what we're used to back in England. He basically just spent his days driving us round the island (at unbelievable speed), and last Monday, we spontaneously ended up at a small festa in the interior of the island. There was just a small community of people, a lot of free food, a barbecue, and an even larger amount of free beer/wine. Because we were able to talk with all of the locals, Aleks and I were immediately welcomed into the group, and we suddenly found large quantities of food and alcohol being thrusted at us by random old men with unintelligible accents.

From there, we ended up drifting over to Biscoitos on the other side of the island, where Duarte wanted to introduce us to the Terceirense tradition of uma tourada à corda (basically, they give the bull a load of beer than let it loose to rampage through the streets of the town until it knackers itself and gets put back in the box). After one bull had been returned to its cage, Aleks and I (thinking it was over) decided to go for a bit of a stroll, and before too long, we found ourselves face to face with another irate bull, and running as fast as we could in the opposite direction. The whole town went silent for a brief moment, and then there was chaos, with portuguese voices shouting something to the effect of RUN YOU IDIOT. We ran straight into some more government worker friends, and happily ended up going house to house around the town, chatting with the locals and stuffing our faces with as much free food and alcohol as we could lay our hands on.

After about 5 hours of this, we drifted to another festa just up the hill, where we heard some local folk music- a variant of Portuguese fado with improvised words forming an exchange or dialogue between two singers. Again, the occasion was marked in true Portuguese style- with a LOT of beer and wine. Eventually, Duarte drove us back across the island (despite his having already drunk at least 5 litres of beer by my calculation, and I suspect rather more). His family, friends, Aleks and I crammed into his car (I sat on his wife's knee- which made for some rather interesting conversation), and he drove us back across the island with the steering wheel in his knees; a bottle of beer clasped in either hand.

In hindsight I'm not sure which was more ridiculous- almost being charged by a drunk bull, or being driven home by a drunk government official- but either way, I engaged with a very authentic aspect of island life!