In the Depths of the Doldrums

August in Portugal is like…

Sailors feared it for centuries, the band of windless water near the equator where their ships would stall for humid weeks with not a breath of motion in the sails. They call it the “Intertropical Convergence Zone” now because all modern names are boring, but this stagnant seascape used to be called the Doldrums.

I know nothing of sailing, I have to google it all, but I do know doldrums. I know the feeling of heat in your head, the sluggish circles in which your thoughts swim all through these scorching weeks.

In the States, school has resumed and my social feeds are dripping with First Day photos of my friends’ children, from the littlest wobblers with brand-new backpacks to the near-adults dredging thrift stores for a sagging couch for their off-campus squats.

Class is in session from east coast to west but here in Europe, férias reign supreme. School bells don’t ring until mid-September in Portugal — in fact, we don’t even yet know what day my daughter returns to school. September 16th-ish?

August in Europe is synonymous with summer vacation. No one can be counted on to get a damn thing done. The skies burn blue, the winds blow hot, and everyone ends up wet somewhere: pool, pond, lake, river, sea, ocean, whatever waters we can reach.