Nora Portela: former model and mother-in-law of Gustavo Cerati, gave up everything to dedicate herself to helping

To say that she was one of the top models of the 1980s, that she gave up everything to dedicate herself to rescuing dogs and caring for the sick, that she's the mother of model Chloé Bello, or that she was Gustavo Cerati's mother-in-law would be to reduce her life to a couple of titles. Because what Nora Portela does today is so impactful that it's hard to summarize. "I don't want them to applaud me because I chose this. It's good for me. It was a long road I traveled, and I accept it in silence. I talk about this learning process that some don't understand. And I understand the curiosity I generate. Because of my own free will, I ejected myself into the void, I fled the world of luxuries and events. The thing is, I wasn't happy. I had everything, but I wasn't content," she explains.

In her home in San Isidro, she lives with 30 dogs. Everything is perfectly designed to ensure there are no problems, and she's the one in charge of giving them injections, medication, and everything else involved in caring for animals who, among other things, have been amputated or are blind. Meanwhile, she gets in her car several times a day to collect donations, visit the elderly, distribute diapers, and drive across the city without avoiding shantytowns. And she never complains. That, she says, is the number one rule in her life.

–And all alone?

–I've been living alone for 30 years. Since I separated from the father of my daughters [Chloé and Thaïs Bello], I've never lived with anyone else. Obviously, not everyone is ready to follow me, and at the beginning I wasn't even half of what I am now. The truth is, I've always loved animals and plants like crazy. I even chose them over my friends. I always lived at home, but when I got married, they took me to a divine duplex. It was terrible, because I started bringing animals with me that had one eye missing, one leg missing... And my partner was going the opposite way: everything was perfect, a pedigree dog with cropped ears. The antithesis. And well, there's a reason I separated so quickly.

–With very young daughters...

–Yes, from one to four years old. That's why we're so close. I was a mother, a father, an aunt, an uncle, and everything else you can imagine. The girls grew up healthy, naturally adopting my philosophy of life. Mind you, it was hard for me to let go at first. It's not easy to let go of the good life, the house in Punta del Este, the boat moored at the Boating Club, the last wallet, the watch, and the truck. But I decided to live the way I wanted, dedicated to giving my all.

–Did you part with your assets to help?

–Yes. I gave my daughters everything. But when they started flying, I started eating into my savings. My fridge is usually empty, but the universe always sends me something. And so do they, they're wonderful people. Chloé travels the world modeling, but she lives here. Thaïs lives in Madrid. And they support me. At first, they were scared. They asked me: “Are you sick? Are you going to die?” But it's not that surprising because they grew up with a mother who didn't eat animals, drink alcohol, buy firewood, or take pills. Because now they're all naturists and think they're saving the world. I see it as a front. Most of them are just talk; they don't lift a finger.

–Don’t you even take an aspirin?

–Nothing. Much less vaccines. During the pandemic, I was alone for 15 days with a 104-degree fever. I got Covid, and since I'm anti-everything, I was completely devastated. But I managed. I had to keep taking care of the dogs, cleaning, and sticking to my routine. And I could. You always find a way. I never make excuses.

–But you must have a close friend who will help you…

"It's one thing to have close friends, and quite another to have them support you in this choice. No one likes coming here, cleaning up dog poop and pee, or having them jump on you or make a mess. I'd like to clarify, though, that I don't live in a pigsty; I keep everything very, very clean and organized. My house is spotless. The dogs are outside, in their houses, their kennels. They have a yard, electricity, everything. Only the very old ones or those who have suffered an amputation can be in a separate area, by the fireplace."

–Did you have any problems with the neighbors?

–Well, that happens. No matter how impeccably you do everything, if an ambulance drives by with its siren and they bark out of control, there's not much I can do. Some people understand, and others don't. I'm very disciplined and nothing like "the old pigeon lady," but maybe some people have the fantasy that this is a mess. I'd invite them over to see. Maybe the complaint turns into gratitude when they need me to help their dog in labor, or if it simply runs away. We're not bad, but whether they like me or not is another matter.

–How do you see people today?

–Selfish. They don't care about anything. Even in supposedly supportive environments, things happen. Nurses who keep the little ones' chocolates, or very wealthy acquaintances who donate things with holes in them, dirty things, and bad smells. If there's one thing that really pisses me off, it's being given things that are in poor condition. Sometimes I open the bags and want to die.

–Do you feel misunderstood?

–No, to each their own. Obviously, I was the one who got away from almost everyone. I removed myself from the bubble of events, parades, meetings. I was there, and I felt I didn't want to be there. I preferred to be serving someone, figuring out where to get a wheelchair for a grandparent. It's a life choice; I guess I'm a kind of missionary. But I don't work for anyone. I do this alone. And I don't deal with people who are doing solidarity work for a salary. It's all pro bono or nothing.

–You have plenty of personality. Is it true that you criticized Gustavo Cerati when he was picking up your daughter Chloé?

–Yes, a “quemo” according to my daughters. I used to pick up my not-so-little-anymore daughter and stop at the corner. So one day I said to her: “Darling, we're from the same generation. Come, ring the bell properly, and when you bring her, wait until she comes in.”

–And what did he say? Did you find it funny?

–No, I was terrified. But I didn't care at all because my daughters are my treasure. Being the same age, we spoke the same language. Or at least that's what I hoped. We finally understood each other, and he even let me have his dog, Jack, a wonderful border collie, whom he loved and who changed our lives.

–How was that?

Gustavo loved him, but he really couldn't take care of an animal. So when he went on tour, I'd take him; afterward, I'd give him the camera so he could see it. He always stayed with me; we'd go rowing together in the river. Until what happened happened. I would have liked to take him to the clinic because we already know, and it's proven, the connection between sick people and animals. But, well, other times and all. Jack lived until recently and became a great therapeutic companion for autistic children. He worked in tandem with Cora, a dog specially trained for that. Jack carried her on his back. It was all very powerful, and also symbolic. Do you know what Jack died of? He had two strokes. Incredible.

–What do you believe in?

–In good gestures and in love.●

According to