What happened next was somewhat of a blur. As they entered the courtyard, a cacophony began. A dog rushed out from somewhere and began yapping and making a big fuss of Demetrio—a fuss he gladly returned—then an old woman followed, grabbing Demetrio’s face between her hands and placing a kiss on each of his cheeks before unleashing a torrent of Portuguese Libby couldn’t even begin to translate. All she could surmise was that both the dog and the woman were pleased to see Demetrio—and she didn’t need verbal language for that. In this case, body language spoke volumes.
A rapid conversation took place between Demetrio and the woman. The woman then approached Libby and took her hand. “Forgive me,” she said, her English even more heavily accented than Demetrio’s. “I am Telma. Please, come try o
