15: Portugal, a rant.

I'm back in Portugal for good, but as I haven't been going on too many long adventures, I thought I might update you all on a few of the not so positive things that have been going on lately. 

I will start with the lesser of the annoyances: the shorts.  Or that is, the response to the shorts.  Like every American out there, I wear shorts when it is hot out.  This, I thought, was a normal practice.  Apparently this is not the case.  I look at Portuguese people in their jeans on an 80 degree day and I wonder how they can bear to be dressed like that in such weather.  Barely anyone wears shorts here, and because of this I can count on getting looks ranging from confused stares to openly belligerent glares from people in regard to my bare legs.  Old men in particular are not shy about giving me the evil eye when I pass by.  Once one of them growled. 

Now, I know I own some very short shorts (once they were so short that the counselors at Jesus Camp made me change), but after all this attention I figured I would try to limit my shorts wearing to my longer pairs.  While wearing one of these longer pairs, a random old woman actually yelled at me "Onde está o resto de seus calções?!" WHERE ARE THE REST OF YOUR SHORTS? 

An old photo of the shorts in question.

Really, lady?  Really?  Do you make a habit of yelling at young girls in shorts?  Where my legs really that offensive to you that you had to yell at me across the street?  A few blocks later I saw a young Portuguese woman in shorts even shorter than mine walking in the opposite direction.  I almost wanted to warn her about the shorts Nazi she would soon be approaching.

I would say something about the excessive cat calling that my friends and I receive (my theory is that it is not because we look American, but because we do not look Portuguese.  That and my shorts) but after surviving Italy, such behavior is almost cute. 

Almost.
 
But getting hooted at is the least of our problems here.  I can safely say that the majority of said problems are mostly the result of the Portuguese being the most stubborn and drastically self-assured people on the planet.  Of course, I already had a hint of this knowledge with my own family (and especially myself to be completely honest), but these opinions have officially become fact.  The best example of this way of life would be The Termite Fiasco. 

The Termite Fiasco has been an ongoing battle with our landlord.  Since before Spring Break, tiny ant-like bugs with long white wings have been committing mass suicides in our shower and kitchen for no reason whatsoever.  I emailed our landlord, Nuno, before I left for Italy about the problem.  His response?  Buy insecticide.  With the little money that I had, I wasn't about to spend money on insecticide when Raid seemed to kill them well enough, so I continued to clean up the mess each day until I left for Florence.  One week later, we returned from our various adventures to find the same bugs continuing to swarm and die randomly.  We researched the bugs and discovered that they were probably termites, or more specifically, swarmer termites, whose sole purpose in life is to sprout wings, fly somewhere, reproduce, and then die. 

Hello, lovelies.

We again contacted Nuno, who again advised us to buy insecticide despite the fact that insecticide does not kill termites.  We talked to the senhora of the building who told us they were probably ants.  Despite the great amount of time we spent convincing her that we knew the difference between "formigas" (ants) and "térmites" (termites), that ants do not have long white wings, and that ants and termites have a completely different bodily structure, she decided that they still weren't termites because Portuguese homes were not made of wood and therefore Portugal doesn't have a big problem with these particular kind of bugs.  This is, of course, despite the fact that the bugs were appearing out of holes in wooden beams in the kitchen.  She told us to buy insecticide and to wrap our food better, even thought the bugs were nowhere near our perfectly contained food.

Throughout this entire ordeal, our roommates were entirely unhelpful.  Santi was away in Seville and Helder seemed perfectly resigned to live in an infested apartment.  In fact, when we asked him about the bugs he said that they came every year and eventually stopped swarming around June.  Um.  Okay.  It would have been helpful to have some support on the issue, as the landlords had categorized us as stupid whiny American girls who didn't know a thing about bugs or cleaning or "the real world."

We emailed Nuno yet again, who sent over his father, the adorable Senhor Senhorio.  He brought with him insecticide, which he sprayed into the holes.  Of course, within a day or two the bugs were back. 

Angry and frustrated, I was reduced to blackmail.  I attached a photo of the bugs and emailed Nuno that we would refuse to pay rent if he did not call the exterminator.  With the refusal of rent came the decline of stubborn pride.  By the end of that week an exterminator visited our home and told us we clearly had termites.  Sigh.  He is returning on Friday to get rid of the bugs.  We'll have to be out of the apartment for 24 hours, but at least they finally called them and we can finally have a clean apartment.

The stubbornness astounds me.  Many of the people here like to tell us that we just don't know how things work because we are American.  This is concerning things like businesses opening on time ("Oh they are always late!  You're just impatient because you are American) or the hanging in of paperwork making sense ("Oh you need to go over there and wait in another line and pay to make me photocopies of these pages even though I have a copier right here") or the mail room misplaces your packages ("Its for Alexandra."  "There aren't any packages here for someone named Alexandra."  "That package right there has my name on it."  "Oh.").  Once the senhora's boyfriend, the building's handyman, lectured Tatiana and I for at least half an hour about the cleanliness in our apartment.  The conversation went something like this:


Handyman: You need to clean more.  The bathroom is really dirty.
Us: Okay we will clean it better.
HM: What you should do is this and this and this.
Us: Okay.
HM: Because when you don't it gets dirty.
Us: Right.
HM: So just clean here and here.
Us: Look, we do clean.  The guys in the apartment don't clean at all.  We clean all the time.  You should talk to them.
HM: Right.  But you should all start a cleaning schedule and clean like this and this...
Us: We DO clean all those things.  The boys never clean.  Please speak to them.
HM: Right but you should clean this like this...
Us: Sir, that is the boys' mess. 
HM: Okay I'll talk to them.  But you should clean this in this way...

For half an hour.  This man is also unshaven and basically has dreadlocks.  I'm sure his quarters upstairs are spotless.

I love this place but sometimes I just want to scream "THIS IS WHY YOU NEED BAIL OUTS.  YOUR ECONOMY IS TERRIBLE BECAUSE NO ONE WORKS AND NOTHING IS ORGANIZED."  And we are scoffed at for being impatient, overly organized, and expecting too much. 

There is a reason why there aren't very many Germans studying here.  They would probably all go insane.

Whew.  Sorry about that rant.  Traveling and studying abroad isn't always fun travels to different countries, that's for sure.


Unfortunately school work calls, but I promise you that far happier blog posts are on the way concerning the ongoing Queima das Fitas festivities, my recent trip to Leiria to see my family, and the Quinta das Lágrimas, where the heroine of one of my favorite romances of all time was killed.  This weekend I am going to see my aunt again and hopefully see my family in Tojal so those will definitely be included! 


My optimistic blogging will continue once again!

12: Sintra: the Palace Tour

I'm going to start this blog on a bit of a somber note and talk about the current politics of this tiny little country.  Simply, Portugal seems to have a quality of changelessness about it.  No matter what is happening in the country or around the world, every day here is just like every other.  Several people have asked me recently, "How is Portugal dealing with their current economic crisis?" and its a little painful to tell them that they don't seem to care very much about it at all.  There are just as many people out taking two-hour coffee breaks.  There are just as many people in shops and grocery stores milling about.  The student life hasn't changed a bit: more parties, less studying.  There was even a university-wide strike to complain about the government cutting university scholarships.  It almost seems as if the people here don't really care to understand the situation or how it can be changed.  It reminds me of a film my Portuguese class watched back at Brown about the Carnation Revolution here, when Portugal finally rid themselves of the longest dictatorship in European history.  In that film there was a particular moment when the reporter was interviewing a woman about the changes.  But she didn't seem excited at all.  She said something along the lines of, "So we don't have a dictator now.  Who cares?  Nothing is going to change.  I'm still going to be poor, whatever government we have."  Has that mentality affected all of Portugal?  This sense of "Eh, what can you do?"  Maybe its just me missing Brown, but I would think that on a college campus there would be more outward feeling about such an issue than this passive acceptance.  If you are unaware of the situation, here's a quick intro article.  It's not the best, but the language on my Google has officially turned to Portuguese and it is rather difficult to find much in English after a quick search.

On a much lighter note, I managed to leave these contemporary metaphorical ruins for some much older ruins this weekend.  Sintra, very close to Lisbon, was the choice vacation spot of the rich and royal back in the times of Portuguese monarchy and now might just have the greatest percentage of palaces and castles per square kilometer (I may have made up this statistic but it very well could be accurate).  We've been wanting to travel down to Sintra since the beginning of the semester, when Helder, a friend of Tatiana's father, offered his vacation apartment to us.  And since housing is usually the second biggest expense of a trip (after food... at least for us college students), we jumped at the chance to have a cheap weekend trip. 

We took the train down on Friday afternoon to Lisbon, where Mario (a wonderful man who, with Tatiana's father, acted as our tour guides and program directors when we first arrived in Portugal) and his son Ricardo, a young engineer who was working on his post-graduate, picked us up.  I was delighted to see Mario again and so grateful that, once again, he was helping us tremendously.  We ate dinner at his house and then his son Ricardo drove us to Helder's apartment in Sintra, about 20 minutes away.

Helder's Apartment.  Lucky guy.

The apartment was incredible.  Maybe I had become a little too used to our apartment, with the ants, the flaking paint, and the shower that never ceases to make some sort of trouble, but this place seemed like paradise.  Wide-open spaces, comfortable bedrooms, a television, and three different bathrooms.  There were even tubs.  It was like we died and went to heaven... until we realized the hot water didn't work.  A little discouraged, we made plans with Ricardo for sight-seeing the next day.  It turned out that he was going to be our unofficial tour guide throughout Sintra, which was at first a little unexpected and strange but ended up being so incredibly helpful since Helder's place did not seem to have any easy transportation to Sintra proper.  The lack of hot water and, unfortunately, the worst reaction to lactose I have ever had in my life (Mario had made some sort of bacalhau/potato/cheese dish for dinner), made our first night a little less than perfect.  That seemed to be a theme for the rest of the trip: everything was wonderful except for one very small but hugely noticeable thing.

Tiles decorating the outside of the Palácio de Pena

The next morning Ricardo picked us up and brought us to Palácio de Pena, a 19th century fantasy castle.  It truly looked like it came out out of some zany Disney movie: yellow and pink towers, curvy lines, and much too much coziness for a "palace."  It was built by D. Fernando, the German-born husband of Queen Maria II, who built this residence out of jealousy of a nearby nobleman's home.  He actually was a huge patron of the arts and is known as "O Rei-Arista," or the Artist-King. 

Disneyland?

Posing, as usual.

I absolutely loved it, despite the fact that weather.com had predicted a 79°F day when in fact it was much colder, much cloudier, and much windier than that.  Unfortunately we couldn't take pictures of the interior (and even watched some tourists get booted out for doing so), so I can't show you the amazing little rooms where the king and queen lived.  The residency part of the palace was originally a monastary, so the rooms are very small and short.  Of course, the architect managed to dress them up spectacularly though.  The queen's bedroom was breathtaking.  I think I drove my friends crazy with the amount of times I whispered, "I want to live here!"

The fantastical trees in the park.

After this particular sight, we walked through the surrounding park, which was absolutely beautiful.  We hiked a little ways to "O Trono da Rainha," or the Queen's Throne, which was Queen Maria II's favorite belvedere (I've been using this word too much lately... I guess that happens when you travel excessively) and now has a cute little tiled seat where you can sit and look at the palace in the distance.  I took far too many pictures of trees (as usual) and flowers.  In the park there was a little row of man-made ponds, one with a real-life black swan that was terrifying and a duck shelter in the shape of a medieval tower.  It would not be the first time I would be reminded of Lord of the Rings that day.

Terrifyingly territorial black swan

The medieval duck shelter in the background.

After we left the park, we walked down to the entrance to the ruins of the Moorish Castle (Castelo Mouros).  This was far older than the Palácio de Pena of course, but apparently much of the ruins present were reconstructed by a Portuguese king who read far too much romantic literature.  One site, the ruins of an old church, included at the bottom: "Reconstructed into romantic ruins."

Steps at the Moorish Castle

The actual castle ruins were great, despite this apparent reconstruction (I'm certainly not one to complain about romanticism).  Rick Steves referred to these ruins as "the castle-lover's dream," and as I'm definitely a pretty avid castle-lover, I can say that this description is pretty true.  I'm sad to tell you that I definitely nerded out and started describing to Amy how the castle was more like Helm's Deep than Minas Tirith... I'm sure she appreciated all the detail.  At one point Ricardo demonstrated for us how the archers would shoot from the guarded tower tops (like I didn't know... ha!) and I almost compared him to Legolas in the Mines of Moria but... I was able to hold back on that one. Some things never change. 

Four flags leading you to the to

I loved climbing the steps to the different towers though, despite the fact that I was in a skirt and sandals and definitely had to watch my step and mind my balance more than once.  Each tower had a different type of flag waving in the very violent wind, which I figured were the flags of Portugal through the ages.  Definitely a very awesome site.

After the Moorish Castle, Ricardo took us into the town where we had lunch and he ordered special pastries native to Sintra called "travesseiros."  Unfortunately I ate mine too fast to take my own picture.

View from Cabo das Rocas

Having a Titanic moment

All castled out, we then proceeded to Cabo das Rocas, the western-most point in Europe, where the sun finally came out and we goofed around a bit.  They even sell certificates saying that you have officially stood on that particular western cliff in a little shop there, but I was satisfied enough with my photographic evidence.

We also stopped by A Boca do Inferno (the Mouth of Hell), which is simply a (famous?) rock structure on the coast.  The water was super violent there, though the place was covered in fishermen.  I still doubt that they had much success.

After this, Ricardo took us back to Mario's, where we had dinner with him and his daughter, son-in-law, and his 3-year-old granddaughter Maria, who was the cutest little girl ever.  We even got to practice some "bebê" Portuguese as she told us via coloring book pages about The Little Mermaid and the "bruxa feia" Ursula.  Adorable beyond words.  Dinner was again delicious, though I had to refuse the home-made cheesecake that Mario pulled out afterward... I don't know what kind of milk and cheese that man uses, but I certainly didn't want another episode.  Ricardo drove us back to Helder's place, where we watched "In Her Shoes" (the first time in a while that I've watched a movie or TV program on an actual television) and went to bed.

Outside the Palácio de Mafra

The King's Bedroom

The next day, Sunday morning, we finally had hot water!  We had a bit of a later start than the day before, as we had to wash all the sheets and towels we had used that weekend.  Ricardo picked us up again and brought us to the Palácio de Mafra, which was breath-taking.  Though the Palácio de Querluz is the one nicknamed the "Portuguese Versailles," Mafra definitely came close.  The architectural style was very similar, the rooms were massive and tall, and the rooms were gorgeous.  The palace had a full-size cathedral in the center, and the tour inside took us through a museum of the building's time as a religious infirmary, convent, and royal residence.  I loved this museum as well because it included little stories about the rooms as you went.  The Queen's Bedroom, for instance, was where Manuel II, the 21-year-old and last king of Portugal, spent the night before fleeing to Brazil during the Republican Revolution. My favorite room, of course, was the amazing library.  It might be the most beautiful library I've ever seen in my life.  Only the second time I've ever thought of "Beauty and the Beast" in regard to a library... the first time was the Joanine Library here in Coimbra. :)

I guess the royal family enjoyed hunting...

THE LIBRARY

Balcony in the Library where Belle taught the Beast to read.

Seriously, Beauty and the Beast, right?

After the Palácio de Mafra, it was time to depart back to Coimbra.  We stopped back at Helder's place and folded the sheets and towels we had cleaned that morning, then we hopped over to Mario's apartment.  Mario and Ricardo drove us to the train station, where we said goodbye and quickly hopped on the next train.  All in all, a fantastic weekend.  I mean, how could it not be fantastic after three castles?  Sintra definitely made a good impression.