CHAPTER 13
WHEELS

Why does Portugal have such a high road mortality rate?

Why do the UK and Sweden not have anything like the same problems?

DRIVERS LATINO/ MACHO
The men are Latino and macho. They have got ‘Tomates,’ yes they have balls and they are going to show you who is boss on the roads.

If you are a woman driver you must also be expect to be intimidated. (Even by other women drivers who want to have balls.)

If you drive a small car expect to be intimidated by bigger cars. If you drive a big car expect to be intimidated by ‘Jeeps’ and if you drive a ‘Jeep’ just watch out for trucks.

It’s all down to bluff.

I was once driving at a respectable 120kph down an auto-estrada. Out of nowhere a black Mercedes sat on my rear bumper and furiously flashed its lights. I was overtaking another vehicle at the time, but the Merc continued to flash. I had nowhere to go. When I could get past the other vehicle the Merc driver pulled alongside and swerved towards me, threatening to force me off the road. He then sped off.

Duh!!!

And they have a quick temper. If they do something stupid, don't give them the finger, you could just end up being given a bloody nose when you stop at the next intersection.

ROADS/ SIGNS
The country is full of road signs. (Someone has made a tidy profit out of that little contract.) The trouble is that they are all a little inconsistent. Sometimes you will get good signage. On other routes it will start out good and then suddenly peter out - leaving you to ask locals what and where.

Often the signage is posted exactly at an interception, or turn-off. This is OK if you are not travelling fast, when there's plenty of time to look, think and decide.

But if you are doing anything over 50kph on a three-lane highway when you have half the population of Lisbon driving up your tailpipe and you suddenly happen upon the sign to the road, exactly at it's turnoff, you have had it. You either drive on, get lost, or try and find a turning place.

Or, of course you could suddenly swerve and hope you are making the right decision. Just hope that someone driving three lanes to your left doesn't make the same decision, at the same time and try to cut across three lanes, making the turn right in your face.

It happens.

The country is also full of bad roads.

Beware in winter when torrential rain is a thing of daily occurrence. You may spot a small puddle in the road, or at the side of the road, which on impact turns out to be axle deep.

I was once driving through Cascais along a newly tarred road. Lovely and smooth it was. Suddenly, as I turned the curve I saw a Christmas tree sticking out of the middle of the road. I made an emergency stop and got out. There was no manhole cover and someone had put a tree in the hole to warn drivers.

Well at least there WAS a warning.

I wondered what had happened - had someone stolen the brand new plate? Had the road workers not put it there after they'd finished laying the tar?

Estranho.

Maybe the Portuguese should pass a law that amongst your vehicle’s emergency equipment of triangle, yellow coat and tool-kit you must also carry a collapsible Xmas tree.

Because of the winter's rain, roads will deteriorate considerably throughout winter. They won't be fixed by spring. They may be fixed just before summer, when the foreign tourist arrive and whose continued custom the country would prefer to keep.

Pot-holed roads can cause bad driving as you wind down the road trying to avoid the holes. The holes also cause lots of vehicle damage to any part of the suspension and exhaust system. (Or anything else below floor level.)

Of course if you are driving in Portugal for the first time you have problems in compound. You haven't driven on the wrong side before and so you aren't used to roundabouts where the traffic is coming from another direction. And you are not used to using mirrors on the other side of the vehicle.

(I was recently back in Portugal driving a hired van to collect some household effects. I am used to driving on the ‘wrong’ side, but the hire van's wing mirrors were non-adjustable. This meant that I would see a vehicle approach to overtake and then for a brief instant I saw no vehicle at all. On return to the U.K. the hire company told me it wasn’t their responsibility to provide adjustable wing-mirrors and that I should contact the van’s manufacturer. Duh!)

Imagine how dangerous and disconcerting that was.

As a foreigner you are also not used to seeing signs in a foreign language, unfamiliar place-names and distances in kilometres.

So, please be very careful and don't add to the mayhem.

Drive at your best, show the most consideration, set an example.

Always assume that the other driver is going to do something stupid. (Because they will.)

CARS
Portugal is a poor, third-world, banana republic isn't it?

Not if the number of brand new BMWs, Mercs and Shags are anything to go by.

Thanks to the generosity of the banks, credit has been easy to obtain for some years. You can now get credit for anything.

Portuguese are now up to their necks in debt with apartments, furniture, clothing and cars.

Some Portuguese have two, or three jobs. No wonder they are such nervous drivers.

Get to a party and the men will want to discover what footie team you support, where you live, if you have married a retired Morangos e Açúcar star and what car you drive.

Street racing is becoming more popular amongst the yoof. Like many other countries there has been an explosion of popularity of ’Tuning’ and X-box games. Expect to see wings, fins, chrome wheels, fluffy dashboards, massive ICE and chassis mounted, blue lighting on a regular basis.
Seen especially at night, near clubs, discos and pubs and driven by teenage yobs I have dubbed them 'Chungamobiles.'

CHAPTER 14
FLORA AND FAUNA

U R G E N T W A R N I N G
PINE CATERPILLAR (Lagarta do Pinheiro)
The other day I called my cousin in Portugal. After the usual exchange of small-talk she sadly informed me that Muffles, her stray, pet Perdigueiro-cross doggy was close to death, because he had tried to eat a Lagarta do Pinheiro. His tongue had swollen and he had been choking.

Fortunately my cousin knew about this condition and rushed him off to the vet immediately, who performed an emergency tracheotomy. Then he was pumped with steroids and anti-biotics. It seems like dogs often die from contact with this caterpillar, or at best lose part, or all of their tongue.

This insect can be found in any pine tree and they develop in their cocoons en masse. I believe this caterpillar has not received enough publicity from the Portuguese government.

People coming into contact can suffer severe skin, eyesight and breathing irritation.

Here's the official word:
"The Lagarta do Pinheiro is correctly known as Thaumetophoea Pityocampa and has a huge, negative impact on animals and people. It is found in pine trees and forests throughout the country and is considered a very destructive plague. Between January and May they bury themselves in the ground as part of their evolutionary sequence. Between August and September they are born as caterpillars and gather in their host to absorb the heat. A fine silk thread connects them. These caterpillars have eight receptacles with 100,000 stinging hairs. These receptacles can be opened to release thousands of these hairs which increases the possibility of poisoning any animal, or person that comes into contact with them. The hairs are like needles and inject toxic substances. Dogs smell, or eat them out of curiosity and children play with them. The areas most affected are eyes, mouth and tongue. If you have them on, or near your property have them destroyed. The tissues that come into contact with the toxicity die and often the only solution for dogs is to be put down."
Hospital Veterinario Principal

BOAR (Javali)
Can be seen in many parts of Portugal - free range. Best place to really enjoy seeing them is at Tapada de Mafra, where they run around in little families and you can watch them feeding at specific feeding places, from the comfort and security of your car.

Pata negra (black trotter) are the most highly-prized eating.

PHEASANT/ DUCKS/ PIGEON (Faisão/ Pato/ Pombo)
All to be found freely throughout the country. The latter to plague levels in city centres. However no one seems to have taken the initiative and offered them as pie.

RABBIT/ HARE (Coelho/ Lebre)
Another favourite for the "Caçadores". Found on menus in the country, but rarely in the city.

CATS AND DOGS (Gatos/ Cães)
Not officially a wild animal, but so many of them are thrown out onto the streets to fend for themselves that perhaps they deserve special status.

My cousin has certainly rescued a few, as have many of her friends.

I have rescued a cat and a dog, both of which are still with me.

Cats and dogs are severely maltreated by the Portuguese, a fact that does not endear them to pet-loving Brits. ( But having said that, it was recently announced that 50,000 animals per year are put into the hands of the RSPCA, in the UK. Animal lovers indeed!!!)

You will see strays almost anywhere.

The problem is huge and the government does little to prevent it. Some councils have undertaken a massive capture and destroy campaign, so that you now see far less strays in shopping areas and railway stations than you used to ten years ago.

But my cousin tells me that there are lots of ordinary folk who are trying to help and save animals. The thing is that these stories never make the front-page.

Pet's protection leagues are very poorly funded and seem to rely on donations.

If you do rescue any animal, take it straight to a vet and get it thoroughly checked out for fleas worms and any diseases, which they are probably riddled with after months, or even years of scavenging.

And you have to be prepared for the worst.

Some cannot be saved.

And make sure they are chipped. It is compulsory.

"Raining cats and dogs" is perhaps the one English phrase the Portuguese find most amusing.

RAT (Ratazana)
They love Lisbon. Rats and not the Crow should be its emblem. The climate is nice, there's plenty of bins in the street, restaurants abound and today's generation seem to know nothing about the negative effects of littering.

EAGLE/ HAWK/ OWL/ VULTURE (Águia/ Falcão/ Mocho, or Coruja/ Abutre)
Eagles are to be seen in the north and east. I have spotted them in both locations, near the Spanish border.

Hawks are to be found all over the country and I love to see them.

We had an owl that was a regular visitor to our house in S.Pedro. He/ she used to come and perch on a telegraph cable and study the field opposite, then fly off as silently as he/ she had arrived.

Vultures can also be seen in the north and east. I have seen them on a number of occasions circling on thermals.

SNAKE (generic name: Cobra)
You don't often see snakes in Portugal, although they are there. I once ran over one in the hills in Sintra and once saw the discarded skin of one at my friend Vanessa's house in the Algarve. A good friend of Isabel's keeps two in a big glass aquarium at home, but they always seem to be sleeping under a rock, so I have never seen them.

Don’t know if a Cobra is also called a cobra.

LIZARD (Lagarto)
Love 'em. They fascinate me, always have done since I discovered them as a kid in Africa. I guess they are just miniature reminders of dinosaurs. Pity we can't hear them roar.

They are aggressive and totally territorial. I have often studied them attacking each other over the rights to bask on a particular stretch of garden wall.

Lizards can be seen almost all over Portugal (not so sure about the colder climes of the Minho and Trás-os-Montes).

IBERIAN WOLF (Lobo)
There is a wonderful Iberian Wolf reserve at Malveira, just east of Mafra. You can visit them and have a conducted tour.

These animals are fascinating.

If you own a dog you will know how you can develop a very close bond and understanding.

But when you meet a wolf, eye to eye, you know they are checking you out.

Are you a threat?

Are you submissive?

Will you be good to eat?

After I visited I was a sure-fire sucker to be a wolf sponsor, for which I received a lovely photo and regular reports on her condition.

IBERIAN LYNX (Lince)
The Ibéria Lynx is endangered, but there are efforts being made to conserve what there is.

On the internet SOSLYNX will give you more news.

Don't expect a rapid response if you email them.....

CHAPTER 15
DON’T TALK ABOUT THE SPANISH

Especially not in the company of Isabel’s Dad, Marco. Not so long ago you just needed to drop the noun ‘Spain’ into any sentence, at any time in an evening’s social get-together and he would have launched into a five thousand word tirade about THEM.

Today, though he has come to accept that Portugal has been taken over by the Spanish. He told me just before Christmas about a recent poll, part of which I have pasted below.

"A survey from 2006, shows that 28% of the Portuguese think that Portugal and Spain should be one country. 42% of these would put the capital in Madrid and 41% in Lisbon. 96.5% thought that the economy of Portugal would fare better in a union with the economy of Spain and more than a half would accept Juan Carlos I of Spain as head of state.
Note the crisis of Portuguese economy at this moment. A similar survey in Spain, after the Portuguese one, showed that 45,7% think that Portugal and Spain should merge, this support is especially higher in the younger population (18 to 24 years old) and communities near the border with Portugal.
But in Spain only 3.3% would prefer Lisbon as capital, while 80% would prefer Madrid. 43.4% think the country should be known as Espãna/ Espanha (Spain) against 39.4% preferring Iberia."
WIKIPEDIA

(Actually Wiki I think you have got the accent in the wrong place. I believe it should be España, not Espãna. Espanha is the Portuguese spelling. – Ed.)

I think that the results are very revealing about national attitudes.

The Spanish are go-ahead, dynamic and want to re-conquer the world.

The Portuguese (who are a nation just waiting to be conquered again) just lie there and take it.

A better name might be a combination of the two country’s names, bearing in mind that Spain is approximately six times bigger, in all respects.

How about Espangal?

The flag could be two stars - one big one and one tiny little one lazily orbiting around it, surrounded by lots of other stars (the number of states currently in the EU)....

CHAPTER 16
THE MOROCCAN CONNECTION

What on earth does Morocco have to do with a book on being Portuguese-ish?

Actually, quite a lot.

Of course, by now you are aware that the Moors were in Portugal until 1139, having reigned there since the eighth century.

And they left behind much of their culture: agriculture, maths, navigation, the arts, crafts, fruit, vegetables and cooking.

To say nothing of its language, attitude and genes. (I worked with a copywriter at McNaff’s who possessed an ancient dictionary he had found at a market, which demonstrated the thousands of Arabic words still currently in use in the Portuguese language.)

An expression we would often hear in Morocco would be ‘Enchala’ (God Willing, or As Promised.); the Portuguese today still can be heard to utter ‘Oxala.’

The Portuguese are not good at revealing their historical Arabic roots, whereas stepping just two feet into Spain and it is evidently a national pride. (In fact, the Portuguese don’t seem to be too good at displaying any of their roots. What, weren’t the Phoenicians and the Romans good enough for them?)

In fact the Oportoense readily scoff and call anyone originating anywhere from Lisbon down to the Algarve ‘Os Mouros’ (The Moors.) and sometimes ‘Os Morenos.’ (Dark-skinned.)

I know and have seen many, many Portuguese with dark skin and hooknoses, who would easily pass for being an Arab - all they lack is the robes and the sandals.

But, I’m not so sure how many Portuguese could readily pass for being Roman.

Although it is said that if you see a Portuguese with grey eyes and a long, thin nose, they probably have Phoenician genes. (I have seen quite a few.)

In the year 2000, Isabel and I decided to take a holiday in Morocco, but when I first proposed the idea, her response was, "Ooh, I’d love to go, but I’m so scared of them. I don’t like the way they look and I’ve heard that foreign women on holiday there, are often abducted and end up in a harem, never being heard of again."

O.K. I had a very scary experience when I was there on holiday in 1986, when a young Arab youth had threatened to slit my throat.

But that could happen anywhere..couldn’t it?

After much discussion between Isabel and me, we eventually decided to take the trip and duly booked our flights.

I’ll skip the story about the wonderful flight we had and get to the other, Portuguese-related bits.

In order to get from the airport at Casablanca into the city centre and our hotel, we decided to take a taxi. We had asked at the Information desk what the likely cost was and it amounted to only a few Escudos.

As we exited the terminus we were surrounded by dozens of Moroccans of all age, shape, hue and size. (But not gender - taxi driving is strictly a males-only profession.)
I was reminded of the babble of taxistas that used to queue and jostle for fares outside Lisbon airport before the airport management were forced to re-organise them.

Taking in the hubbub and theatrics of the rabble, one gnarled veteran drew our attention more than the others - who offered such a low taxi rate that we just had to accept.

Our hearts sunk, however when he led us to his vehicle - a severely battered and panel-beaten, forty year-old Mercedes. (Actually, taxis were rarely any other make in Morocco.) I swear the bodywork was held together by the paint.

Our luggage was bundled into the boot, which eventually shut after repeated, slammed attempts.

(Some of the taxis in Lisbon similarly look like they have been around the block a few million times.)

And the driver politely gesticulated for us to slide into the back seat. Within seconds he had appeared at the wheel and began to coax life from the wheezing old diesel. Several agonising minutes later, after we had settled our vibrated and shaken bones, the Grande Taxi rumbled on its way.

The driving was erratic, but then there were goats, donkeys, camels, donkey-drawn traps, cars, mopeds, trucks, buses and potholes to be manoeuvred around. To be fair, the driver was probably doing quite a good job.

Every time the driver floored the pedal, there was an agonising lag as the old oil-burner considered its response. Each time he swung the wheel it was more as though he was swinging the tiller of an ancient dhow. And whenever he applied the brakes, we wondered if there were any.

Suddenly the driver took evasive action and we we dived off-road onto an adjacent dirt track. The vehicle groaned to a halt and the driver slid out of the car.

We looked out of the windows to see what was happening and saw that we were parked next to another, newer taxi. The two drivers became involved in heated, animated discussion and then our driver jerked the door open.

"Please." He ushered us out and gesticulated at the other taxi.

"Is alright." The other younger driver re-assured.

"Please." The old guy repeated with a grin.

"What the f*ck is going on?" I yelled as Isabel and I exchanged concerned glances.

"Is this a kidnap?" I demanded.

"No, please, is OK. This taxi no go Casablanca. My taxi go." The younger hustler replied.

So reluctantly, we boarded the other taxi, feeling rather like we were being abducted by some radical gangsters.

Suddenly my system went into adrenalin overloadand I began to be hyper-aware of the vehicle, the driver and every single event and detail outside the vehicle.

Were we being taken to the destination of our choice, or something more sinister?

"It OK meester. Ole man taxi have license for airport, no license for city. This taxi have license for city, no for airport." He explained with a mouth and a half of teeth.

We relaxed...slightly.

We quickly learned that taxis in Morocco are great fun, mostly honest (as far as any taxi driver is ever honest with cash-rich tourists) and very reliable.

There were four modes of public transport in Morocco: The bus, the train, the petit taxi and the grande taxi.

We took a bus once, on our way back from Al Jadida. (We had gone there to see the famed Citerne Portugaise, which was a Portuguese-built reservoir. This was contained in the Cité Portuguese - a self-contained city within fortified walls. The street named Rue Mohammed AhchemI Bahbai had recently been visited by the then Portuguese Prime Minister António Guteres, who made a donation to the rebuilding of the street on behalf of his nation.)

There is similar evidence of Portugal’s previous conquest of Morocco at Asilah where inside the walls I found a ‘Portuguese village’, complete with typical Portuguese architecture and azulejos (tile-work), which had been there since the mid fifteenth century.

A very strange feeling being one minute inside the walls in a Portuguese village, then the next, stepping outside the walls and being in Morocco.

The bus ride was an eye-opener and almost identical to another trip we had once made between Lisbon, Mafra and Ericeira, in which some locals boarded and an elderly farm- working couple began to argue at the top of their voices about his lack of ’Tomates.’ (A comical reference, not only to their lack of that same vegetable, but also his inadequate ’balls.’)

In the Moroccan version, we sat amongst a busload of agricultural locals, together with their loads of produce, chickens and goats. An ’Hostess’ boarded carrying a cardboard tray of cakes and sweets for sale and then we were off.

Some miles down the road, we stopped to allow more passengers to alight, but as all the seats were taken, the driver removed several fold-up deckchairs from the overhead rack and set them down in the aisle.

Thank God, there weren’t any emergency stops made, because I could imagine that these ’jump seats’ and their occupants, would have shot though the windscreen at the speed of sound.

Our experiences with trains were pleasantly surprising. (Apart from the difficulty of making ourselves understood at the ticket office, which we muddled through, with a combination of guide-book phrases and gesticulation.)

The first trip was from Casablanca to Rabat and resembled the smooth suburban ride from Lisbon to Cascais. The second trip was from Casablanca to Marrakesh and more resembled the service between Lisbon and Porto before the new ‘tilt’ trains were installed.

This service was faultless: On time, clean, quiet and very cheap.

Not dissimilar to that of the 'Linha' from Lisbon....


CHAPTER 17
CHILLING OUT
(Ferias, feriados, festas e feiras)

First things first. If you go to any of these don’t wear jewellery, don’t flash your mobile, or your camera and keep your wallet in an inside, buttonable/ zipable pocket.
And girls - keep that handbag over the shoulder and fastened.

Seriously, there are always thieves about, although Portugal has, at the present, a lower crime rate than many countries.

In Portugal you will encounter various types of holiday (Ferias).

There's the big one, once a year, which can last as long as a month and is usually July/ August. It can be taken anytime in this period. If you are a Lisbon resident the first sign of this occurrence is that every road south, to the Algarve will be blocked for several days. And there will be the accompanying toll of accidents and deaths as impatient and frustrated maniacs try to overtake where they shouldn't.

You will similarly find that, unless you have booked several years in advance, that all hotels and restaurants outside of Lisbon are solidly booked.

Then there are ‘Feriados.’
These are little holidays that occur throughout the calendar year, that can be in celebration of anything from Religion (usual), to the commemoration of a battle, or the day when the Salazar dictatorship ended. (I'll drink to that.)

If you look on the calendar, you'll see that these holidays are usually only one day, but most Portuguese will take the ‘Ponte,’ that is the bridge between one weekend and the next.

So they end up taking a week.

The calendar is replete with such opportunities and as a result many people are either away, or companies are reduced to skeleton staffing, quite a few times in the year.

Sunday used to be a ‘Day of rest,’ but the church no longer holds so much sway over the population, whereas ‘Shopping’ does.

I would say that 90% of Portuguese holiday at the beach and that probably jumps to 100% for Lisboetas.

Lisboetas are always at the beach anyway. At weekends you have to buy a ticket and stand in line to get into the water. There are so many bodies on towels at Carcavelos that you are only allowed to stay for three hours.

If you live and work near the beach there’s no real reason for going away on holiday. (Unless you want to look for a different beach.)

The summer and holidays for the Portuguese are when they get to stop looking like Europeans and regress to looking like Arabs, as their tan gets darker and darker.

I was once on the beach at Cascais and noticed a girl lying there, asleep, with almost purple skin - she was so burnt. I couldn’t help myself and assuming her to be English, decided to go and warn her about her condition.

But no, she was Portuguese and not the least bit worried.

I saw her the next day too, topping up her tan from the day before.

Holidays are also a non-stop orgy of eating, drinking and insulting your best-friend’s wife.

Top, wealthy, jet-setters, VIP's, poseurs and media stars all go somewhere exotic and get Hell-o magazine to do a photo-editorial on them.

'Pedro and his lovely wife Mafalda beside the pool in Rio,' or 'Maria Manuela revisits her teenage love-nest in Monaco and shows off her new implants.'

Or something along similar lines.

You may then be treated to a dozen nauseating pictures of bling, more bling, cheesy smiles, embraces, shots of the gold-plated taps in the bathroom and group-shots of drunken, night-club revelry.



CHAPTER 18
CONCLUSIONS

I don’t doubt that you are wondering how I have the credentials to critically write what I have.

After all I am a nobody and not known, in any major way, in any sphere.

I was born into the military, my Father was a pilot - shot down over Holland whilst I was still in my Mother’s womb. My Father was injured and spent time in a prisoner of war camp and reported as ’Missing, presumed dead.’

I have also had my own experience of military life, although nothing like as extreme as that experienced by Dad, I still found my school’s army cadets, a shock to the system - all that ‘square bashing,’ all that standing to attention in the blazing sun, all that endless rifle and kit cleaning. All of it seeming pointless in peace-time.

And as a kid I must have seen hundreds of hours of war-film footage, including that of the horrific Nazi work-camps.

So, it is hardly surprising that I evolved into a person who dislikes and deeply mistrusts the military and authoritarianism.

Common sense and decency are virtues that grace all of us, in varying amounts, but it doesn’t take the brain of Britain to understand that the present day situation in Iraq has been engineered and is immoral.

I have lived in a number of countries, which have given me the opportunity of studying different cultures, particularly those with a mixture of cultures.

In my childhood I came to understand that the blacks in Africa were treated like slaves and were not afforded their rights as humans. Later in South Africa I saw this taken to the extreme with the heinous laws of Apartheid.

In Britain I saw plenty of tolerance and I grew up to become tolerant of all races, creeds, religions and gender.

The only thing I can’t tolerate is stupidity (in all its forms of treatment towards people, animals and the environment), although I am prepared to moderate that view when I know that I am dealing with ignorance, lack of education, or mental deficiency.

As a child, in London I recall how difficult life was. Food was inadequate and rationed. The climate was cold, wet and smoggy - which caused a severe downturn in my health and death to thousands of others.

On moving to Rhodesia we were blessed with a marvellous climate and a simple life in the country, but a life which had no luxuries. We initially had no electricity, no hot water and commuted to town on bicycles.....