Latest news with #José
GMA Network
29-06-2025
- Business
- GMA Network
Solidaridad Book Shop of F. Sionil José up for sale
Described as 'the best little bookstore in Asia', the Solidaridad Book Shop of the late National Artist for Literature F. Sionil José, in Manila is now for sale. According to the Varsitarian, the plan to sell the 59-year old bookstore along Padre Faura Street in the Ermita district was confirmed by Antonio José, one of José's children. Citing Solidaridad's age and the challenges faced by the National Arists' heirs in managing it, José told the Varsitarian that he hopes whoever buys the store would continue its operations The decision was announced a few weeks before Solidaridad turns 60 on July 20. In the nearly six decades since it opened its doors, Solidaridad has been a welcome haven for book lovers, academics, intellectuals and the writing community. F. Sionil José, who opened the store in 1965, passed away in 2022. For those wishing to visit what is considered one of Manila's cultural and historical landmarks, Solidaridad Book Shop is open Tuesday to Saturday from 10:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m.—RF, GMA Integrated News
Yahoo
22-06-2025
- Business
- Yahoo
The latest thing millennials feel priced out of: a midlife crisis
José has a stable life and career. He wishes he could blow it all up. The 42-year-old has worked in cybersecurity for two decades and earns a six-figure salary. He lives with his girlfriend outside Dallas and earns enough to cover their basic expenses and put some money away for retirement. But he's no longer energized by his work. When he thinks about how he'd like to spend the second half of his life, assuming he lives into his 80s, "sitting in front of a laptop definitely isn't it," says José, who requested that his last name not be used so he could speak frankly about his job. He thinks about getting a degree in exercise science, since he's more passionate about combat sports than he's ever been about computers. He's even thought about moving for a while to Southeast Asia, where he spent time when he was younger. In short, José is having a midlife crisis. Or, rather, he wishes he could have a midlife crisis. As desperately as he wants to make a dramatic change in his life, it feels like an especially bad moment to give up a well-paying job. "I wouldn't take that risk now," José says. He's left wondering: If not now, when? In the clichéd fantasy of the midlife crisis — the one a lot of millennials and Gen Xers grew up with — you buy a red sports car and shed as many trappings of middle age as you can. Research suggests that at least 10% to 20% of the population experiences some form of midlife angst, which typically hits in a person's 40s or 50s. But a crisis can also be clarifying: an impetus to restart your life while there's still time, only now with the financial freedom and hard-won wisdom that was lacking in your early 20s. As two researchers argued in an influential 2008 paper published in the Harvard Business Review, confronting one's mortality can spark a transition from "deficiency motivations" — making up for a lack of something — to "growth motivations," when people can embrace the "freedom that only self-knowledge can impart." People are "looking for a revitalization," but have a hard time envisioning what would work — or daring to dream." It's a nice idea — if only the generation already in the throes of middle age felt like they could afford it. In today's erratic economy, blowing up your life to chart a more fulfilling and productive path can feel positively reckless. Many industries — from tech to manufacturing — are contracting, and companies are hiring at their slowest rates in a decade. Knowledge workers and creative professionals are being pushed aside by AI and other new technologies. A Glassdoor poll conducted in October found that two-thirds of professionals reported feeling stuck in their current roles, including more than 7 in 10 respondents who worked in tech. People are choosing to stay put in jobs they may want to leave. Going back to school is about 40% more expensive than it was 20 years ago. The increasing cost of living has made it more challenging to weather a pay cut that may come with shifting to a new career. In one April 2024 survey of millennials, eight in 10 respondents said a midlife crisis was a luxury they could not afford. Between the 10 midlifers I talked to for this story, there was no shortage of ideas for what they'd do if they were to blow up their lives. But they all agreed that this felt like the wrong time to put personal fulfillment ahead of being practical. The real crisis might be an economy that has so many people feeling trapped. Francesca Maximé, a therapist and life coach, has a front-row seat to this dilemma, though she prefers the term "midlife pivot" to midlife crisis. That's how she describes the shift she made in her own life a decade ago. After nearly 20 years as a TV reporter, Maximé, who's now 54, became disenchanted with how the media had covered the 2016 election. Some personal issues led her to therapy, which in turn inspired her to launch a new career that would allow her to offer that kind of help for others. "Now I work for myself," she says. "I have two businesses. They're thriving." She says many of her clients who come with midlife anxiety are hoping to make a similar pivot. But whereas she could see a bright future for herself when she hit her mid-40s, her clients who are reaching that milestone now say there are just too many unknowns in the job market and the economy. "They're looking for a revitalization in their lives," Maximé says. "But they have a hard time envisioning what would work — or daring to dream." Middle age may be a time when people feel they really know themselves. But it's also the time when a big shift can feel especially risky since they're most likely to have people counting on them, whether children, partners, aging parents, or colleagues. "There's nothing wrong with reassessing things, taking stock of where you've been and where you want to go, and making changes," says Margie Lachman, a psychologist who directs Brandeis University's Lifespan Development Lab. After all, you may become dissatisfied in your 40s simply because you're more clear-eyed about what you actually want out of life. "It's not too late to make changes, and you don't necessarily have to have everything figured out," she says. But older millennials, in particular, tend to feel like they've been casualties of periods of uncertainty that have coincided with key points in their lives. The dot-com bust and the Great Recession hit at the onset of their adulthoods and working lives; the COVID pandemic arrived as they were starting to reach their 40s; and now they're dealing with inflation and new technology like AI just at the moment when they were supposed to be nearing the heights of their professional lives and earning power. "Everyone experiences these same events, but depending on where you are in the life course, they can have differential effects," Lachman says. The sense that now is an especially inopportune moment for midlifers to take a leap of faith is echoed by Gen Xers. We should just be buying sports cars and accruing boy toys. But I guess we're doing something else. Jane, a marketing professional in Canada, has already had one midlife crisis. She got so much out of it that she'd like to have another. A decade ago, when she was in her mid-40s, Jane walked away from a career in PR and marketing and spent a few years working on a doctorate in history and traveling with her partner. It was, they thought, their "last chance to have the big adventure." (Jane also asked that her last name not be used for fear of professional consequences.) But when the COVID pandemic hit in 2020, and the academic path turned out not to be economically viable, Jane returned to the more stable world she'd hoped to leave behind. She took a job in content marketing for a tech company in Canada. "I've got, by any standards, a really awesome job with a really awesome company," says Jane, who's now 55. "I have no objective reason to feel dissatisfied with this. I should be grateful." And yet, the past few years have felt like being on "a treadmill that just keeps going faster and faster and faster, and you're just burning more energy to just stay in one place," she says. She's desperate to get off that treadmill. She still feels a strong pull to do community work or to train to become a mental health counselor. But she no longer feels confident that a job in her old field will be waiting for her if she finds she can't earn enough to keep up with the household expenses. She's already the oldest person in her company, and she expects AI will eventually take over the kind of writing she does anyway. She fears her 30 years of experience could rapidly become worthless. "I didn't realize that I would get slammed with being obsolete this early," she says. It can be hard to come to terms with wanting to shake things up — to the point of knowing how you'd do it — while realizing that doing so would be irresponsible. But the implications of being caught in a rut are bigger than a slice of the population feeling unable to follow their bliss. "People feeling stuck means that workers are less engaged with their work," says Daniel Zhao, Glassdoor's lead economist. "And employee engagement is important to productivity." Nearly everyone I interviewed for this story said they felt unsure that the path they were on was sustainable, since new technologies are devaluing skills they've spent decades mastering — let alone that it would offer them a lot of personal satisfaction in the long term. "You pass 40-something, and you start to become really aware how much time is left," gripes one millennial dad. "I feel like I am trading away fast-dwindling years doing insignificant things." Kara Haas, a 43-year-old living in Brooklyn, feels caught between a shrinking profession and more uncertainty than she can comfortably manage. Years ago, she dreamed of becoming a film director. When that didn't work out, she thought she'd found a still-great option working as a set designer for TV shows and movies. But smaller budgets and a steep decline in the number of projects getting greenlit have meant there's a lot less work than there used to be. Haas feels like this could be her last, best moment to switch to something different. She's thought about opening an Airbnb. But with less work, she has a smaller cushion to sustain her through a major transition. She worries about falling behind on her expenses or losing the health insurance she gets through her union. Haas sees only bad options, which is a far cry from how she imagined things turning out. She'd always assumed that her midlife crisis would at least be an opportunity to have some fun. "We should just be buying sports cars and accruing boy toys," she says. "But I guess we're doing something else." Whatever the state of the job market and the broader economy, millennials are certainly not immune to having a midlife crisis in the classic sense: feeling bogged down by adult responsibilities, like parenting, and regret over not getting to enjoy the fruits of their labor. For millennials especially, this can be exacerbated by other cultural shifts: parents, including dads, are spending far more time with their kids than previous generations; they take less vacation; and just keeping up with your contemporaries is more expensive than ever. By one estimate, the cost of raising a child has gone up 20% since 2016. "You pass 40-something, and you start to become really aware how much time is left," says Jason, a small-business owner in New York, who also asked to use only his first name in order to express his true feelings. As a married father of a 6- and a 10-year-old, Jason, who's 44, says having his life shaped by his kids' routines has both brought on his midlife crisis and kept him from doing much about it. "I've worked incredibly hard for decades and now have infinite opportunities to travel, participate in exciting things," he says. "And I'm having to say no over and over again so I can just sit at home and be there for bedtime. And that really kills me. I feel like I am trading away fast-dwindling years doing insignificant things." Maximé, the life coach, says the advice she gives clients who feel stuck at midlife is that blowing up their lives isn't the only way to make a change. She encourages them to think in terms of baby steps. "Start by imagining the perfect way of life you'd want to live," she says. "Then, figure out the practical steps you can take to get closer to that ideal." For a lot of the people I talked to, the most immediate way to ward off feelings of existential angst has been through forging deeper ties with those around them. Jane, the marketing professional in Canada, recently joined a dragon boat racing team and started volunteering at a local dance festival. She's embracing the idea of small-scale adventures — at least until a better option presents itself. J. Lester Feder is a freelance writer living in Brooklyn. Read the original article on Business Insider
Business Insider
22-06-2025
- Business
- Business Insider
The millennial Midlife Crisis is in crisis
José has a stable life and career. He wishes he could blow it all up. The 42-year-old has worked in cybersecurity for two decades and earns a six-figure salary. He lives with his girlfriend outside Dallas and earns enough to cover their basic expenses and put some money away for retirement. But he's no longer energized by his work. When he thinks about how he'd like to spend the second half of his life, assuming he lives into his 80s, " sitting in front of a laptop definitely isn't it," says José, who requested that his last name not be used so he could speak frankly about his job. He thinks about getting a degree in exercise science, since he's more passionate about combat sports than he's ever been about computers. He's even thought about moving for a while to Southeast Asia, where he spent time when he was younger. In short, José is having a midlife crisis. Or, rather, he wishes he could have a midlife crisis. As desperately as he wants to make a dramatic change in his life, it feels like an especially bad moment to give up a well-paying job. "I wouldn't take that risk now," José says. He's left wondering: If not now, when? In the clichéd fantasy of the midlife crisis — the one a lot of millennials and Gen Xers grew up with — you buy a red sports car and shed as many trappings of middle age as you can. Research suggests that at least 10% to 20% of the population experiences some form of midlife angst, which typically hits in a person's 40s or 50s. But a crisis can also be clarifying: an impetus to restart your life while there's still time, only now with the financial freedom and hard-won wisdom that was lacking in your early 20s. As two researchers argued in an influential 2008 paper published in the Harvard Business Review, confronting one's mortality can spark a transition from "deficiency motivations" — making up for a lack of something — to "growth motivations," when people can embrace the "freedom that only self-knowledge can impart." People are "looking for a revitalization," but have a hard time envisioning what would work — or daring to dream." It's a nice idea — if only the generation already in the throes of middle age felt like they could afford it. In today's erratic economy, blowing up your life to chart a more fulfilling and productive path can feel positively reckless. Many industries — from tech to manufacturing — are contracting, and companies are hiring at their slowest rates in a decade. Knowledge workers and creative professionals are being pushed aside by AI and other new technologies. A Glassdoor poll conducted in October found that two-thirds of professionals reported feeling stuck in their current roles, including more than 7 in 10 respondents who worked in tech. People are choosing to stay put in jobs they may want to leave. Going back to school is about 40% more expensive than it was 20 years ago. The increasing cost of living has made it more challenging to weather a pay cut that may come with shifting to a new career. In one April 2024 survey of millennials, eight in 10 respondents said a midlife crisis was a luxury they could not afford. Between the 10 midlifers I talked to for this story, there was no shortage of ideas for what they'd do if they were to blow up their lives. But they all agreed that this felt like the wrong time to put personal fulfillment ahead of being practical. The real crisis might be an economy that has so many people feeling trapped. Francesca Maximé, a therapist and life coach, has a front-row seat to this dilemma, though she prefers the term "midlife pivot" to midlife crisis. That's how she describes the shift she made in her own life a decade ago. After nearly 20 years as a TV reporter, Maximé, who's now 54, became disenchanted with how the media had covered the 2016 election. Some personal issues led her to therapy, which in turn inspired her to launch a new career that would allow her to offer that kind of help for others. "Now I work for myself," she says. "I have two businesses. They're thriving." She says many of her clients who come with midlife anxiety are hoping to make a similar pivot. But whereas she could see a bright future for herself when she hit her mid-40s, her clients who are reaching that milestone now say there are just too many unknowns in the job market and the economy. "They're looking for a revitalization in their lives," Maximé says. "But they have a hard time envisioning what would work — or daring to dream." Middle age may be a time when people feel they really know themselves. But it's also the time when a big shift can feel especially risky since they're most likely to have people counting on them, whether children, partners, aging parents, or colleagues. "There's nothing wrong with reassessing things, taking stock of where you've been and where you want to go, and making changes," says Margie Lachman, a psychologist who directs Brandeis University's Lifespan Development Lab. After all, you may become dissatisfied in your 40s simply because you're more clear-eyed about what you actually want out of life. "It's not too late to make changes, and you don't necessarily have to have everything figured out," she says. But older millennials, in particular, tend to feel like they've been casualties of periods of uncertainty that have coincided with key points in their lives. The dot-com bust and the Great Recession hit at the onset of their adulthoods and working lives; the COVID pandemic arrived as they were starting to reach their 40s; and now they're dealing with inflation and new technology like AI just at the moment when they were supposed to be nearing the heights of their professional lives and earning power. "Everyone experiences these same events, but depending on where you are in the life course, they can have differential effects," Lachman says. The sense that now is an especially inopportune moment for midlifers to take a leap of faith is echoed by Gen Xers. We should just be buying sports cars and accruing boy toys. But I guess we're doing something else. Jane, a marketing professional in Canada, has already had one midlife crisis. She got so much out of it that she'd like to have another. A decade ago, when she was in her mid-40s, Jane walked away from a career in PR and marketing and spent a few years working on a doctorate in history and traveling with her partner. It was, they thought, their "last chance to have the big adventure." (Jane also asked that her last name not be used for fear of professional consequences.) But when the COVID pandemic hit in 2020, and the academic path turned out not to be economically viable, Jane returned to the more stable world she'd hoped to leave behind. She took a job in content marketing for a tech company in Canada. "I've got, by any standards, a really awesome job with a really awesome company," says Jane, who's now 55. "I have no objective reason to feel dissatisfied with this. I should be grateful." And yet, the past few years have felt like being on "a treadmill that just keeps going faster and faster and faster, and you're just burning more energy to just stay in one place," she says. She's desperate to get off that treadmill. She still feels a strong pull to do community work or to train to become a mental health counselor. But she no longer feels confident that a job in her old field will be waiting for her if she finds she can't earn enough to keep up with the household expenses. She's already the oldest person in her company, and she expects AI will eventually take over the kind of writing she does anyway. She fears her 30 years of experience could rapidly become worthless. "I didn't realize that I would get slammed with being obsolete this early," she says. It can be hard to come to terms with wanting to shake things up — to the point of knowing how you'd do it — while realizing that doing so would be irresponsible. But the implications of being caught in a rut are bigger than a slice of the population feeling unable to follow their bliss. "People feeling stuck means that workers are less engaged with their work," says Daniel Zhao, Glassdoor's lead economist. "And employee engagement is important to productivity." Nearly everyone I interviewed for this story said they felt unsure that the path they were on was sustainable, since new technologies are devaluing skills they've spent decades mastering — let alone that it would offer them a lot of personal satisfaction in the long term. "You pass 40-something, and you start to become really aware how much time is left," gripes one millennial dad. "I feel like I am trading away fast-dwindling years doing insignificant things." Kara Haas, a 43-year-old living in Brooklyn, feels caught between a shrinking profession and more uncertainty than she can comfortably manage. Years ago, she dreamed of becoming a film director. When that didn't work out, she thought she'd found a still-great option working as a set designer for TV shows and movies. But smaller budgets and a steep decline in the number of projects getting greenlit have meant there's a lot less work than there used to be. Haas feels like this could be her last, best moment to switch to something different. She's thought about opening an Airbnb. But with less work, she has a smaller cushion to sustain her through a major transition. She worries about falling behind on her expenses or losing the health insurance she gets through her union. Haas sees only bad options, which is a far cry from how she imagined things turning out. She'd always assumed that her midlife crisis would at least be an opportunity to have some fun. "We should just be buying sports cars and accruing boy toys," she says. "But I guess we're doing something else." Whatever the state of the job market and the broader economy, millennials are certainly not immune to having a midlife crisis in the classic sense: feeling bogged down by adult responsibilities, like parenting, and regret over not getting to enjoy the fruits of their labor. For millennials especially, this can be exacerbated by other cultural shifts: parents, including dads, are spending far more time with their kids than previous generations; they take less vacation; and just keeping up with your contemporaries is more expensive than ever. By one estimate, the cost of raising a child has gone up 20% since 2016. "You pass 40-something, and you start to become really aware how much time is left," says Jason, a small-business owner in New York, who also asked to use only his first name in order to express his true feelings. As a married father of a 6- and a 10-year-old, Jason, who's 44, says having his life shaped by his kids' routines has both brought on his midlife crisis and kept him from doing much about it. "I've worked incredibly hard for decades and now have infinite opportunities to travel, participate in exciting things," he says. "And I'm having to say no over and over again so I can just sit at home and be there for bedtime. And that really kills me. I feel like I am trading away fast-dwindling years doing insignificant things." Maximé, the life coach, says the advice she gives clients who feel stuck at midlife is that blowing up their lives isn't the only way to make a change. She encourages them to think in terms of baby steps. "Start by imagining the perfect way of life you'd want to live," she says. "Then, figure out the practical steps you can take to get closer to that ideal." For a lot of the people I talked to, the most immediate way to ward off feelings of existential angst has been through forging deeper ties with those around them. Jane, the marketing professional in Canada, recently joined a dragon boat racing team and started volunteering at a local dance festival. She's embracing the idea of small-scale adventures — at least until a better option presents itself.
Metro
15-06-2025
- Metro
I walked Spain's lesser-known camino — here's what you should know before you go
I have never been what you'd call 'outdoorsy'. Although I stay active and love the fresh air, I'd always favour a nice jaunt along the beach or a countryside ramble over a full-blown hike. I certainly do not own walking boots, a backpack or – *shudders* – a cagoule. So when I found myself on (a section of) the 120 kilometre Camino de Levante in Spain's Region de Murcia, I was forced to reflect on some of my life choices. There I was, surrounded by Timberland boots and Patagonia nylons, in my gym kit and Vejas with a tote bag slung over one shoulder. If it wasn't for the sun cream and baseball cap donated by a tour guide, I'm not sure I would have made it to the finish line without heatstroke. My ridiculous outfit aside, the first thing that struck me about the camino as we limbered up in the early hours of the morning was how stunning the landscape is. I had been to Spain before, but mostly to cities and beaches in other regions – many now the focus of anti-tourism protests. Before me were vivid hues of orange, green and blue, as the morning sun illuminated rows of lemon trees, olive groves and verdant hills. I hadn't seen this side of Spain before – already, I was enthralled. Fuel your wanderlust with our curated newsletter of travel deals, guides and inspiration. Sign up here. As we passed the first checkpoint and fragrant pine trees, there was a slight chill in the air, accentuated by the shade of conifers that line the path. It was October, and although the temperature would climb to over 30 degrees at other points in the day, for now it was a cool 16 degrees. The miles racked up and we naturally fell into smaller groups, occasionally switching walking partners after water stops and bathroom breaks (and by that, I mean hiding behind a bush and praying passersby didn't spot us – far easier for the men to pull off). Although I had just met these people, I found myself flitting between trivial chats about pomegranates and caterpillars to heartfelt conversations and inner monologues with ease. Even when there was silence – save for the crunch of grave and the cicadas singing in the long grass – there was no awkwardness about it. In fact, it felt strangely natural. Before we knew it, the sun was beating down on us and fatigue began to set in. I could feel the dull pain of a blister coming on and my shin splints playing up, but I focused on putting one foot in front of the other, and the majestic scenery of the surrounding badlands. When we eventually stopped for lunch (fresh pan con tomate), our ever-upbeat guides, Inma and José, assessed how long the rest of the trail would take us. Muttering a few words in Spanish, they turned to face us and said it'd be two more hours – tops. Their wide grins didn't fool me, though. I knew we still had a fair whack to go before we finished, and was steeling myself for the next part of our hike. Against all odds, I got a second wind. And while the others were happily ambling along and chatting away to José – who regularly does this route and was nonplussed by the exertion of it all – I took the lead with Inma, finding my stride at last. Some hours later (more than two, I might add), we turned a corner and finally saw it: the ancient fortress city of Caravaca de la Cruz – our final checkpoint. Perched on the hillside in the far distance, the castle's striking red marble looked like a flame against the cloudless, clear blue sky; the afternoon sun illuminating the rooftops and pastel-hued buildings in the most incredible way. Laying eyes on this mirage-like sight, I was inspired once more and went full throttle. It was then that I realised I was trying to prove something – not to anyone else, but to myself. It wasn't just a case of doing it, but doing it well . As we eventually scaled the cobbled, hilly streets of Caravaca de la Cruz, a crowd lined up outside the decorative houses and storefronts. I'd like to say that they were there for us, cheering us on, but in reality, they were out supporting the runners who, on the same day, completed an ultra-marathon along the same section of the route. These athletes had, of course, undergone a far more strenuous journey than we had, but I didn't feel bad by comparison. Instead, I joined in, clapping as the incredible men and women made it past the finish line and collpased in the arms of their loved ones. There was a real sense of achievement, community and celebration in the air – a spectacular thing to witness. It's hard to explain, but getting your camino passport stamped at each milestone is not only incredibly satisfying, it feels oddly spiritual – even more so at that final stop, which is shrouded in legend and still bears the marks of Iberian, Roman, and Muslim rule, and was once home to the Knights Templar. Of course, originally, that was the point of a camino. Translating to 'The Way', these hikes were a religious pilgrimage, allowing for a deeper connection to faith. But even for those who aren't religious, like me, there is something special and moving about the experience. It's about perseverance, commitment, and challenging yourself. I may have gone into the Camino de la Cruz de Caravaca inexperienced (and, yes, dressed like I was going to a reformer pilates class), but I finished it with an immense sense of pride and accomplishment. In fact, I might go back and do the whole Camino de Levante. The Camino de la Cruz de Caravaca, or the Camino de Levante, is an alternative pilgrimage route through Spain, spanning across the beautiful region of Murcia and leading to the holy city of Caravaca de la Cruz – the site of one of the splinters of the crucifix Jesus Christ died on. Quieter than the famous Camino de Santiago trail, this route is no less special – in fact, every seven years, the city of Caravaca hosts the Holy Jubilee, a massive celebration that attracts thousands of travellers, pilgrims and hikers – religious or otherwise – to the region. The Camino de Levante is some 120km in total, following the path of the River Segura from Valencia to Santiago de Compostela. You can find details on each stage of the route here. Of course, the region offers far more than just the camino – so don't worry if you're not into hiking. Here's my top seven picks: Explore the stunning architecture of The Royal Casino of Murcia A mixture of different architectural styles, the casino is a former members' club which is now open to the public. Step into the Moorish hallway, complete with colourful zellige tiles and opulent wooden arches, before making your way into the lavish 19th-century ballroom, decked out in crystal chandeliers and ornate gold leaf panelling. Wander around the Santa Clara Museum Even if miniature figures of Jesus Christ aren't your thing, the architecture of the Santa Clara Museum really is quite something – particularly the central courtyard, which has Moorish, Gothic and Baroque influences, and is maintained by the nuns. Go wine tasting at La Diligente Down by the river is this sweet little wine bar, which offers tasting sessions and showcases locally-produced wines – including those from a nearby vineyard we visited in the Valley of the Aceniche, run by the indomitable yet wildly generous Pepa. I may have bought a bottle (or two). Get yourself a pair of new shoes Not only did we get to witness how espadrilles are made, we were each gifted a pair of specially-designed shoes to mark our visit. While you sadly won't be able to bag yourself a freebie, you can purchase your own pair from the Pereginas store in Caravaca city. Discover the tradition of the 'wine horses' Our guide, Inma, took much delight in telling us the story of the 'wine horses' and showing us around the museum ('It's my favourite place,' she exclaimed – more than once). The annual event, also known as Los Caballos del Vino, takes place between 1-3 May in Caravaca de la Cruz and dates back to 13th-century legend. Split into various parts, the festival includes elaborately-dressed horses decked in embroidered silk garments, and a race down the UNESCO-protected hillside street. Visit nearby Cehegín More Trending Although this charming village is situated not far from Caravaca and Murcia city, it's far quieter than its neighbours – and just as magical. With bursts of blue, yellow and red, its sun-drenched buildings are surrounded by pretty cobbled streets that lead to various churches and shade-dappled squares. Eat award-winning tapas While in Cehegín, El Casino de Felymar is a must. Winner of the 2024 Tapa del Año awards, this tapas restaurant not only offers punchy regional flavours, but has a gorgeous vista overlooking the Iglesia Mayor De Santa María Magdalena church. Other standouts include La Almazara (for paella), El Horno (for tacos) and El Pulpito (try the grilled artichoke and prawns). We flew direct from London Stansted to the Region de Murcia, but you can also fly from London Gatwick, Manchester Airport and Bristol Airport. Murcia city is also relatively close to Alicante, should you wish to fly into another location – or do the whole Camino de Levante. The flight from the UK to Region de Murcia takes around 2 hours and 44 minutes, and costs range from £50-200, depending on the season and airline. We initially stayed at the Cetina Hotel in Murcia city, which offered clean and spacious rooms, and a nice continental breakfast. We then moved to Hotel La Vera Cruz, a beautiful and calming family-run business at the heart of the historic centre, whose husband-and-wife hosts exude hospitality. MORE: Man arrested after Scottish gangsters shot dead in Spanish bar MORE: I partied in the most LGBT-friendly country in Europe — it puts the UK to shame MORE: The sunniest city in Europe is an 'underrated gem' — with return flights for £44
Time Out
12-06-2025
- Business
- Time Out
From Cascais to the world: for over 30 years, Bana has been a cornerstone of skate and surf culture
It's been over 30 years since one of Portugal's leading skate and surf brands opened its doors in one corner of the Cascais municipality. Bana took its first steps back in 1992 in Sassoeiros (Carcavelos) – in the very same spot it still calls home, though much bigger now after all these years. Deeply connected to the local community, you'll spot Bana's iconic red circle with white graffiti-style lettering at international skate contests, in rap music videos, at São Paulo Fashion Week, or even on Netflix – like in the first season of Rabo de Peixe. It's become a national icon, with its legacy growing stronger every day. Very soon, Bana's founder José Marques reveals, the brand will relaunch its website and celebrate with an in-store event featuring a DJ set and a fresh mural painted on the façade. Until then, here's the story behind the brand. Now 59, José Marques started surfing at Carcavelos Beach in the early 1980s, during his teenage years. 'Bana was my nickname among the beach crowd – I never imagined it would become the name of a shop or a brand,' he tells Time Out Cascais. Born and raised in Sassoeiros, José Marques worked in sales and distribution after completing his military service. He even dabbled in the record market before, around the age of 24, moving into international surf and skate brands. As a salesman, José acted as a link between the brands and the few stores dedicated to these products in Portugal at the time. 'That helped me a lot because, working in the industry, I knew the suppliers and the market. Then, out of the blue, my dad gave me a tiny space – just 18 square metres – that used to be part of his café. It was just a small square. He told me that if I wanted, I had a little spot to sell directly to the public. And that's what I did.' So, Bana opened in 1992 as a small multi-brand surf and skate shop when Sassoeiros was pretty much 'a village.' 'People knew about Carcavelos, but Sassoeiros? They didn't even know it existed. Over the years it grew, now there are more housing developments, and luckily the secondary schools also opened up around here.' Back then, the main competition came from Marmota store in Carcavelos and Windsurf Guincho, later acquired by Ericeira Surf Shop, also founded in the '90s. 'At the start, as my dad used to say, surfing was a sport for slackers,' José 'Bana' Marques laughs. 'Now surfers have to be wealthy, with big vans and SUVs. Back then, everything was second-hand, old gear.' Bana set itself apart from the very beginning by putting a strong focus on skate gear – a sport closely linked to surf culture but often given less space and visibility in shops. 'You'd walk into a store and if they had one or two skateboards, that was considered good.' Alongside that, José had the vision to make Bana a local hub for the thriving urban culture along the Cascais coast. Bana was, for example, one of the first shops in Portugal to sell graffiti spray cans – and considering that this art form in Portugal is so closely tied to Carcavelos, where a bunch of teenagers began painting in the late '80s before becoming some of the most influential names on the national scene, the stage was set for the brand's legacy to endure with strong community ties. They also stocked pieces from streetwear brands that weren't commonly found in Portuguese shops. 'While everyone else was going right, I went a bit more left. Maybe that's what helped me stick it out all these years, because if I'd just followed the crowd, I'd be just another shop.' The Bana brand appeared shortly after the shop opened. To spread the name, José Marques started creating T-shirts, caps, and beanies featuring the brand's logos. At first, they had a points system – if a customer spent over a certain amount, they'd get a Bana T-shirt or cap as a gift. Eventually, demand grew to the point where they simply began selling the pieces like any other brand – alongside items from major global labels. Bana's gear started to spread far and wide as José Marques sponsored skaters, surfers, and musicians over the years – a method he still uses today that has brought great visibility and success to the project. Portuguese skater Gustavo Ribeiro, one of the best in the world right now, is 24. He and his twin brother Gabriel were sponsored by Bana from the age of seven. In music, José has always backed local talent connected to urban culture, from hip hop to punk rock. Plutonio, Kappa Jotta, and Tara Perdida are some of the artists who have been supported by the brand. 'I've really focused on locals, because it helps people connect with the area. Bana's almost a symbol of the Linha.' Over the years, the shop expanded and now occupies 150 square metres. 'Now I'm starting to see the children of the original customers. I'm waiting for the grandkids,' José Marques says. A brand that's also a school – and Bana's future Throughout the 2000s, surf and skate fashion exploded everywhere. Even those who never picked up a board or hit the waves or halfpipes were rocking clothes from brands that became globally popular. 'Surf brands, in particular, started to get really commercial, selling to everyone – it became mainstream. I've always seen these sports as a niche… And if they'd stayed niche, they'd have stayed strong. But then they wanted to sell a lot, opened more and more stores, started selling in general sports shops, and the niche lost its appeal because everyone looked the same – it became banal. Many of those surf brands are bankrupt today. I've distanced myself from surf and focused more on skate, although I still sponsor a few surfers.' Bana's bet on skateboarding has been strong, sponsoring the Liga Pro Skate, the national championship, as well as a number of athletes competing internationally. 'We always win something, we always bring home a trophy or two.' On top of that, every year they run skateboarding classes as part of the Carcavelos festival programme, in partnership with the local parish council. They also have a skate school with regular lessons at Parque das Gerações in São João do Estoril and at the skatepark in Bairro da Torre, Cascais. The classes and Bana Skate School are managed by skater Pedro Roseiro, now in his 30s, who was sponsored by the brand from the age of 14. They've also partnered with private schools Oeiras International School and International Sharing School, just over the border in neighbouring Oeiras, where they teach kids from four years old. 'At Sharing, we have around 60 pupils, alongside swimming and other sports. At Oeiras International School, the lessons are part of the official curriculum, as part of PE.' The athletes from the school who compete represent the Cascais Skateboarding Club, Bana's skate club, the only one in the Lisbon district. As for the future and what's left to do, José says the only thing he hasn't tried yet with Bana is footwear. 'That's the only clothing item I've never done. It could be interesting, even as a collaboration with another brand. I've done collaborative T-shirts with Quiksilver and Volcom before.' Her pieces have travelled the world. At the latest São Paulo Fashion Week, fado singer Bia Caboz appeared wearing Bana jeans. Even Madonna herself, during the years she lived in Portugal before the pandemic, dropped by the famous Sassoeiros store. 'I didn't even recognise her — she came in looking for a few things, and I just treated her like any other customer. It was the mother of a kid who was there who said to me: 'That's Madonna!'' Expanding the brand with more stores has long been a dream, but it has proven difficult over the years, especially with recent rent hikes. 'It would be wonderful to have a shop in central Lisbon, in Porto, or even over at Parque das Gerações. Malls have always demanded high rents, too. We've grown step by step and I've done a lot with very little.' A new website is promised soon.
