A friend of ours asked for a wedding coordinator recommendation . Does anyone know such a person they would recommend . Or other resources for someone from the US who wants to have a destination wedding in portugal. Thanks in advance, Phil P.S. wish I would cross post into food , wine and good times

Would you live in a 'community' in Portugal?

In the spirit of "nothing about us, without us", here's a conversation with Roxy, a Venezuelan living in Portugal, in Europe since 2008. The mainstream news narrative is one thing. Speaking to real people having real experiences, who share from a personal POV, is another level. Thanks to Roxy for her bravery and openness. And to Juan in Spain from yesterday. too. This is one of what I hope will be many conversations with our diverse community of immigrants in Portugal, speaking of and from their native culture, and speaking of their life in Portugal.

Jim Matthews, a native of Birmingham, spent his formative years holidaying in the picturesque coastal town of Polruan, in Cornwall. Though my acquaintance with him was brief, Jim’s departure on November 18th, 2016, left a void, yet he allowed me to share this beautiful poem with the world: a testament to his depth of insight and literary prowess. Emily, the bookworm Emily is audacious, yet kind and adoring, Loves to go searching, tunnelling and boring. She’s not at all shy or easily embarrassed, Shocked, frightened, overawed or harassed, For she reads D.H. Lawrence, all of his sleaze, “Piano,” “Sons and lovers,” “Ulysses.” Looks through dictionaries in search of a word, Polyandry . . . polyglot and others as absurd. She nibbles at peers in boring “Debrett,” Worms her way around the “Bloomsbury set,” And sleeps between sheets, seldom read, A Shakespearean sonnet beneath her head. In the mornings she’ll greet the new day, Wrapped in a witty Oscar Wilde play, Feast on Coward, Eliot and Sassoon, A Shropshire Lad in the afternoon; “Then wander lonely as a cloud,” Reciting Wordsworth thoughtfully, out loud. She’s fished with J.H. Hartley, Understand timetables . . . but only partly. Has sailed away with Darwin and Cook, Reads chairman Mao’s little red book, Kubla Khan, the golden bough. “The friendly bombs that fell on Slough” And Granchester, “where waters fresh Lean to embrace the naked flesh.” Sometimes, when reading late at night I imagine Emily all loving and bright, Sharing my pages, consumed with passion, Wearing the latest illustrated fashion, Learning together when thoughts entwine, My fingers caressing her lovely book spine.