24 September 2011

Goooooooooaaaaal!

I accomplished my second goal this week. A tourist took a secret candid picture of me thinking I was local. It didn't happen at my window, as I expected, but rather at a friend's apartment. I was standing on the first floor balcony (see how I slipped in the Euro-first-floor-not-ground-floor-educational-reference there) of an 18th century building. A group passed and one woman, wearing a sweater tied around her neck fidgeted with her digital camera. I pretended I didn't notice her while screaming of excitement on the inside. She did a terrible job of pretending to not take my picture, which included a "look left, look right" and some fancy quick snapping.

Little does she know she got a picture of an American. I hope she's German. Better yet, I hope she's from Wisconsin and thinks she got a picturesque shot of Portuguese in the wild.

In talking with people that live here, taking pictures of people without their consent is an assault-worthy offense. They'd like to be asked first. I wanted to argue that perhaps we don't ask because there is an equivalent guilt of not speaking the language. We are in a lose-lose. But instead I feigned shock despite feeling proud someone snapped one of me. What?! Just taking pictures of you without asking!? Then nerve!

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