Arrival in Lisbon had a distinctly late autumnal feel with leaden skies and scurrying leaves. At least when I landed, it wasn’t actually raining. I was here to learn the language - which hadn’t been in my original plan but had something to do with playing the role of the child who said that the emperor had no clothes on.
It seemed entirely appropriate that Danny Kaye had been the first UNICEF Ambassador at large, as much for his portrayal of Hans Christian Andersen whose fables included the naked emperor as for any of his many other attributes. He had died just over a year earlier.
Rather than complain about the situation, I remembered the wise advice of an Indian mentor of mine who said that it’s best to play the hand you’re given, even if the dealer might have been taking from the bottom of the pack. In this instance, very wise because the alternative was to seek a career elsewhere leaving the naked emperor, unchallenged.
Starting on a new language at almost 50 years of age brought a whole new experience, so I kept a scribbled diary which included some of the following:
- For one who has been launched on an unsuspecting society to learn their language and customs, one could expect some reserve from the local populace in dealing with the ‘mature’ student. Quite the reverse seems true. At every turn there is someone willing to be patient while one mangles their language. Granted, there is the odd wince, but for the most part, I’ve met nothing but sympathy --- often their English is excellent, but they seem to sense the need to go through the first steps to overcome one’s natural reluctance to make a fool of oneself. There was that day when I was with drink taken and I threw caution to the winds. I asked for the menu and decided that while a half bottle of the local wine would be nice, a glass would be better. That first full sentence proved to be in the breach position, so the birth was difficult. It amounted to around 20 words and was met with a “Bravo, senhor !” with a clap from the empregado (the waiter) who displayed a beam from ear to ear. Happily, mother and child are both well and growing fast. One actually wants to learn more when one is made so welcome.
- Courtesy which was so long associated with the like of Sir Francis Drake, seems to have taken wing south. Gentlemen step off pavements to let a lady with an umbrella pass; not from fear of being poked in the eye, but rather because common decency demands such. What a joy to see someone opening a car door for a lady. The effect is that women – some of whom are built like Sherman tanks – behave like they enjoy being the centre of attention, and are more feminine as a result. How long can a country in Europe maintain such customs, one wonders ? One can be forgiven for hoping that Portugal will avoid the mainstream of development at least for a time if only to maintain a set of values apparent in their treatment of the women of Lisbon.
- Obviously, the ladies of Lisbon are avid viewers of TV. It appears that the majority prefer watching American football. The effect is that many come dressed like their heart-throbs – with wide shoulder pads which makes many of them look not unlike Superman. I have this oft recurring nightmare of meeting one of these matrons in a dark alley late at night and being beaten to a pulp for being of the masculine gender.
- Needing to book my return to Britain at the end of this language course, I decided to visit the airline on Saturday morning. My classes occupy the full working week, so when else can one undertake such routine matters ? Duly, I travelled the underground – that is another story – and arrived fresh in the centre of the city at 9 o’clock in the morning. I strode out of ‘Restauradores’ – the right metro stop – to find an almost deserted city. For a moment, I thought that this was “On the Beach” with the last inhabitants crawling home to take their final farewell pill. Mist wafted through the trees making it really quite eerie. Was it something I ate the night before, I wondered ? After consulting my Guide Map (thoughtfully prepared in English for the tourists, of course) which put the airline on the wrong side of the road and only half a mile out of place, I arrived at the right door. It was locked. Luckily, there was a chowkidar in attendance --- this one without a lathi, thank heavens. After an elaborate unlocking procedure --- he had been behind the glass door --- I was informed that I should return on Monday. “Don’t they work today ?” I asked, to be met with an incredulous stare as if I had stated that I was from outer space. Only later did I discover that the weekend really is sacrosanct. It is only worked by the few essential services that operate, together with those who work for themselves. You can buy a lettuce, a drink, a newspaper and a meal, but precious little else on a Saturday. Banks working ? You have to be joking !
- To cap it all, culture raised its spectre and it was suggested that a visit to the Gulbenkian Museum would be opportune. Dutifully, I set out at 10 o’clock of a wet and miserable Sunday. I might just as well have stayed in my warm and cozy bed. The Museum was closed as it appears to be every weekend. It only reopens on Monday morning when all good Portuguese are at work so they cannot visit. It would appear that the Gulbenkian, like other museums, is only for the tourists. Oh, well, I suppose that I will have to be a tourist for some of the time. . . . .
- Many streets are cobbled. Not good, round, slippery English cobbles which are lethal, but diamond shaped ones with a nearly flat surface which look as good but work better. At least, the pavements are cobbled. The streets need to be bitumised because good old fashioned trams still run through the city. Even the bell still rings, “Ting, ting !”, to remind you that you are in imminent danger of being run down by a two ton monster.
- One of the favourite foods in Lisbon appears to be sardines. When one has spent one’s life eating sardines from a tin – always Portuguese sardines of course – one can be forgiven for thinking that sardines are small. The monsters that appeared on my plate in Lisbon were more like young trout or herrings. Fresh, they taste rather better than those oily things that are so often found on the floor, having skidded off the plate. A first visit to the “metro” (“tube” for those in London) during the rush hour, reminds one of those sardines in the can. Well behaved, non-smoking (thank goodness) sardines - but cramped even more tightly than in tins. All those wishing to breathe, avoid the metro at rush hour. My ribs hurt for days after my first try. About a year later, I was introduced to a distant relative of the sardine - ‘carapau’ - in Moçambique, which is horse mackerel and revolting. Avoid it like the plague.
- Judging by the hotel in which I am staying, breakfast has been affected by the tourists. At the language school, they speak somewhat disparagingly of the ‘heavy’ English breakfast yet what I see served here is anything from a rank smelling cheese to an odiferous garlic salami. One has the choice of some good breads and “European” packaged jams (is this really what Europe means in terms of conformity to a norm ?), fruit juices and, notably, well away from attention, egg and sausages. While very good Parma ham and bacon are widely available, they do not appear at breakfast, curiously. With Portugal having been the first European nation to start trading with China (forget Marco Polo, he was but a single man), one would expect tea to be served, which it is. It is even named “chá”.
- Portugal not only produces a range of alcoholic drinks but seriously attempts to avoid any of them being exported. Speaking personally, I would find a sharp white wine at breakfast enough to destroy my day, but others think otherwise. At least they seem to leave cognac till later (unlike our French cousins), but I am told that alcoholism is somewhat of a problem. One can only suppose that wine is so cheap at well under a dollar a glass – even in central Lisbon – that the temptation does not have a price barrier.
- Lisbon is ideally situated for a sea-faring nation. It sits beside the Tagus river and lagoon which is easily defended against any would-be enemies so I was a bit surprised that Portugal did not reach the Americas before the Spanish. Columbus, I was informed by my teachers, was probably born Italian and worked for the Queen of Spain despite his having announced to the Portuguese court that he had discovered ‘Hispanola’ before moving on to inform his employer of the same fact. The Portuguese seemed to have had interests in Africa and the far east, and I didn’t come to Lisbon to study famous sea voyages however interesting they might have been.
- Portugal suffered a Revolution in 1974 when the army ousted the then dictator Salazar. It appeared that the dictatorship had run its course and the people wanted their voices to be heard. Naturally, this affected the colonies like Angola and Mozambique, so was important to understand for me as I was being transferred to Mozambique where my tenuous grasp of Portuguese would be tested. My language tutors told me that Portugal was now very definitely a true democracy. How that would translate into the African context would be interesting.
- I was taken to a performance of ‘Fado’ music which is described as solo voice and haunting and accompanied by a Portuguese guitar. I felt that the performance would have been more to my taste if it were just a solo guitar;
- I was taken to a small business where decorated tiles (azulejos) were made. The making of tiles has always been quite widespread and their popularity remains strong;
- One of my tutors took me to a specialist café where pastel de nata (custard pie) was served. I dutifully paid for coffee and pastel de nata as I suspect she had a sweet tooth, but my African roots led me to prefer less sweet dishes.
Language tuition as I met it in Lisbon was a singularly pleasant learning experience even though it was forced on me by circumstances which included that naked emperor.
*****
Of some interest is that the naked emperor was withdrawn from circulation a couple of years later, and he eventually resigned. It makes one wonder how many other naked emperors remain within the organisation, and what needs to be done to cover their nakedness ?
*****
Ken Gibbs can be contacted via kengibbs1941@gmail.com
I wish we kept a diary whenever we visited new places. Your travelogues always give us new perspectives!
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