Novo Na Cidade - The story of one young man's new life in Lisbon

Busy Busy Busy...

2009-10-23T11:46:00.003+01:00

As ever I am feeling ridiculously busy at the moment. Just a little summary for those who care, here is where my life lies at the moment:

Internship at an EU agency;
Doing a research degree;
Volunteer researcher for the International Drug Policy Consortium;
Teaching English;
Portuguese lessons twice a week;
Running and DJing an indie clubnight;
I'm the new Spotter on Lisbon's SpottedByLocals;
Maintaining my blogs

It feels like I have my fingers in quite a lot of pies at the moment - I mean it's good to keep busy but it's going to take me a little while to get all this in some sort of manageable state.

My visit to the UK last week was amazing. It was great to see everyone and to visit my beloved Manchester again after 10 months away but I was strangely glad to get back to Lisbon and try and get my affairs in order.

I'll hopefully write more about the UK visit soon.

It's been too long...

2009-10-06T13:00:00.003+01:00

It's been a little while since I posted in here, I've just been far too busy with other things...(urgh, I nearly wrote 'projects' then, I hate it when people say that, it makes them sound like such dilettantes.)

Anyway, since I last wrote in here we have a new, same government. The election of last week went smoothly and, amusingly for me as an outsider, produced a result that managed to please no-one (probably with the exception of Paulo Portas).

As expected Socrates' PS lost a load of seats, relinquishing their majority in parliament but still being the largest party and so forming a minority government. PSD gained a few seats but after a major case of mishandling the ball didn't pick up nearly as many as they had hoped to. They had tried to play some dirty tricks involving leaking emails and communications about government spying but it was all so badly done that it ended up back firing on PSD, and the President, Carvaco Silva, and making them look a bit incompetent. It's nice to see that doing things 'em cima do joelho' extends all the way up the government.

As far as the smaller parties went there were mixed feelings. The communists were replaced by Bloco de Esquerda as the main left wing opposition but early exit polls had put BE with as many as 22 seats so their eventual 16 was a bit disappointing (even though this meant they had doubled their tally from the last elections).

The really big winner was Paulo Portas' CDS-PP who went from 12 seats to 21, a worrying swing to the right.

All this means that the next few years will mean muddling through and trying to make friends with people who have just been stabbed in the back. It should make things a little interesting at least.

Roll on the municipal elections.

Em cima do joelho - the Portuguese way...

2009-09-24T13:18:00.003+01:00

It's nice when nations have idioms which succinctly and vividly paint such an accurate picture of what that nationality is about.

Of course in English we have "stiff upper lip" which describes well our reputation for coldness, aloofness and stoicism. The Portuguese have, "Em cima do joelho" which literally means "on top of the knee" and perfectly describes the attitude here of doing things in a last minute, rushed fashion without thinking of the consequences.

In everyday matters if often hits you, "who would put a bus stop at the corner of a busy junction?", "Why do most bars and clubs only advertise their attractions the night before", "Why is this website so beautifully designed yet never updated". And these thoughts are repeated sources of amusement - until they happen to you.

So yesterday I get a phonecall and the chap whose bar I was supposed to be playing at on Saturday rings me to tell me he was just doing the week's agenda (on Wednesday!) and he's double booked the night. I had booked it two weeks ago and been doing my best to promote it myself, even been to the place twice to meet the guy and he tells me this now.

Now obviously these things happen, they happen everywhere, and I don't blame the guy, he's really nice and friendly and was genuinely sorry, even giving me 2 dates in October to replace the one that's canceled, but as I rang round everyone I had invited the reaction of people was extremely telling - how typical!

September brings ghouls and lesbians...

2009-09-21T13:04:00.003+01:00

With the now inevitable end of summer firmly upon us (even though today, just to rub it in our faces, is a beautiful day with barely a cloud in the skies) this means the return of two of the most unwelcome styles of dress.

Now that the students are back at university we are now starting again to see the tunas on the street. These are traditional musical groups/choirs comprised of students and each university has them. They all dress identically in black suits (women wear suit jackets, skirts and thick tights) and capes covered in patches and badges (collected a bit like the scouts) and can be seen wandering all over the place, occasionally strumming a guitar or singing some traditional songs. There's something so obviously and overtly geeky about this (especially for people in their late teens, early 20s) that I can't help but to cringe when I see them on the street, thinking of the kind of stick they would get in the UK. Unfortunately I think this says more about me than them so if you are visiting Lisbon (or wherever in Portugal) then you should definitely take advantage of this strange sight.

It's now getting a bit nippy which means that thousands of young Portuguese women are putting their open toed cork monstrosities back in their shoe closets and dusting off that old hiking boot/jeans combo. Whoever convinced the women here that this look was attractive/flattering/advisable was obviously playing a huge joke on everyone. The only effect this look really has is to make it look like thousands of lesbians have descended on the streets of Lisbon (not that there's anything wrong with that).

Cork

2009-09-17T15:42:00.002+01:00

The Portuguese are mad about cork. It’s one of those facts that the Portuguese like to drop on the unsuspecting foreigner,

Portugeezer - “Did you know that Portugal is the world’s biggest cork producer?”

Me – “No but I will store that in the part of my brain only accessed during pub quizzes and the annual family Christmas Trivial Pursuit Deathmatch. Thank you!”

If you actually live here then the love of cork slowly begins to seep into your everyday life. At first you begin by noticing that pretty much every woman is wearing cork wedges. This slowly builds and builds, next you might notice an attractively cork tiled floor. Head to Alentejo and most things there seem to be made out of the stuff.

There’s a novel by Jose Saramago called The Stone Raft in which the Iberian peninsular breaks off from Europe and floats into the Atlantic. If the unlikely happens and life imitates fiction then Spain is screwed but Portugal will just bob happily along.

Portuguese shoes

Portuguese handbag

Portuguese umbrella

Portuguese cap

Portuguese tie

Portuguese chair

Portuguese car

Multicultural Lisbon...

2009-09-15T12:27:00.005+01:00

This weekend was pretty jam packed full of activities and so I've only just had chance now to write about them. Friday saw me visit a wonderful bar, O Século, for the first time. Located on the edge of Bairro Alto it is something of a cultural centre, offering tea and coffee with art in the day and beer and music in the evening. We went there on Friday because I had approached the owner, Manuel, about putting on my own DJ night. He was very enthusiastic about the idea and we arrange to put it on on the 26th September, so there's a date for your diaries.

The space itself is wonderful, it has a really informal atmosphere, something like a school disco. The night we were there they were hosting a birthday party held by this group, who were mostly African. When we got their they had their tables laid out and had been having dinner and then at about midnight they put all the tables and chairs round the edge of the room, turned up the kuduro and kizomba and had a dance. There were some really good movers in the group.

I'm really looking forward to the night but I'm also pretty nervous, I'm just hoping whoever does turn up will have fun.

On Saturday S and I met an old friend of hers, P, in a great park in the north of Lisbon, A Quinta das Conchas.

Now one of my big complains about Lisbon is that there isn't much grass but this place is amazing. It was a revelation to S and I. The picnic we had was very nice, just 6 or 7 of us. We chatted and P graced us with probably the best Tyra Banks impression I have ever seen. He's a talented chap.

When it started getting a bit tired and cold we decided to make an evening of it. We made a small pitstop back at the flat to get warmer clothes and then headed over to one of my favourite parts of the city - Martim Monitz. Now this area has something of a bad reputation amongst a few Portuguese. Mainly because the place is, what the UK press would diplomatically call, 'multicultural'. It is basically one of the poorer areas and so where a lot of the immigrants from Africa, India and China have come to live. There is a certain dinginess to the place but I love it. In the daytime the area has some of the best Indian, Chinese and African shops in the city as well as my favourite Indian restaurant in Lisbon, Palacio Indiana.

When we arrived at the square we re-encountered the other guys, this time with a couple of other friends and we went to the nearby esplanade. It was a really nice place with pumping African music, a friendly crowd (and a very friendly barman from Cabo Verde) and S and I have already promised ourselves that we will return. Most people are so nice round there and the Praça itself is one of the nicer in Lisbon and it's with a sense of incomprehension that I have heard some guys here talking about having to pluck up their courage before they go or recounting a night out there as though they had been to Iraq. Strange.

The main course of the evening was a big multicultural festival that had been taking place over the weekend which was being rounded off with a large free concert in the Largo do Intendente. Well now if Martim Monitz is like Iraq for some people then Largo do Intendente must be like walking through Bagdad with an "I hate Muhammed" t-shirt on.. It is the roughest bit of the roughest area but I used to work near there, know the area pretty well and I really like it. S and I spent a good while in awe of the apartments around there which must be huge and dirt cheap.

The concert was much better than I had dared to expect, I'm not the biggest fan of 'World Music' but the guys we were with helped me get in the mood and the band were surprisingly good. They were the typical mixture of umpteen different nationalities and styles but it was nice to have a dance and was definitely worth the free entry.

I have to say not everyone enjoyed it as much as we did though:

This guy had obviously had the foresight to bring a chair but not to stop himself from getting absolutely hammered on red wine that he kept in that coke bottle. Unfortunately I woke the chap up taking the next photo and then had an embarrassing and hasty walk away.

The concert was wonderful, it didn't finish too late but S and I were completely knackered (It's one of the things about Portugal, the night before, even though we didn't think we'd been out that late we actually went to bed at 03h30) so we headed home and to bed.

What a way to start a day!...

2009-09-14T12:09:00.003+01:00

If I see another chubby legged girl in 'wet look' leggings I am going to ~~scream~~ cry.

North/South divide...

2009-09-10T12:27:00.008+01:00

Much is made in the UK (and here in Portugal) about the North/South divide. That is the differences (economic/social/cultural/etc.) between the towns and populations of the North, which are comically (if a little romantically) described here by Lucy Mangan.

I've said it before that the relationship between Manchester and London is somewhat similar to that between Porto and Lisbon. Having lived in three of the aforementioned cities I feel that not enough is made of the similarities. It would perhaps be a bit of a huge job to compare all of the cities so instead I'll concentrate on the biggest geographical divide, Lisbon and Manchester.

Much has already been written about the Portuguese in Manchester. But aside from the Baron de Sousa Deiró and Earnest J Soares there are many other distinct similarities:

We both love sausages made from blood:

Our men wear flat caps and do no work:

...and we let our women do most of the work...which can take its toll:

Pears

2009-09-09T14:02:00.002+01:00

I just nearly bought a pear. I don't like pears very much but I was ordered to buy one by a scary looking, bull-necked woman outside the train station in Cais de Sodre.

She just sits outside the station all day behind her box of 6 pears, staring people down from under her impressive eyebrows and yelling, "pêras" as they scurry past.

I don't think I've been as scared of anyone since I moved to Portugal.

Worrying times...

2009-09-08T11:23:00.005+01:00

Last night S and I had dinner with our favourite Portuguese judge, F. He's a great guy who amusingly talks at about a million miles per hour both in Portuguese and English, a trait which belies his roots in Alentejo. F's a really nice guy to be around and because he talks so fast we usually get through many topics. On of last night's most interesting subjects was politics. There is that old saying that politics and religion are not suitable subjects for the dinner table but we forgo these little in our house in the hopes of stimulating a little debate and quickening the blood.

The current issue in Portugal is the fact that there are elections at the end of the month for the legislature (27th September). Currently the ruling party is the Partido Socialista (PS) headed by José Sócrates, a centre-left party whose popularity is somewhat on the wane (as many ruling parties across Europe are having trouble). Their main rivals are the Partido Social Democrata (PSD) a centre-right party headed by the (eerily reminiscent of Margaret Thatcher) Manuela Ferreira Leite.

(Here's a wonderful sketch of her by the comedy group Os Contemporâneos - for those of you whose Portuguese is up to it)

Now obviously any right minded person would be horrified by the prospect of a centre-right government but here the prospect is heightened by the odd Portuguese voting system . Here we have proportional representation which allows a number of smaller parties to flourish. the main ones being Bloco de Esquerda (BE) (literally 'Block of the Left') who are a more left wing group of smaller issue (sometimes even single issue) groups who people here fear know aren't ready to rule. Then further left you have Partido Comunista Portuguesa (PCP) who are grouped together with the Greens, enough said about them but they still get the odd seat in parliament and then you have the 'far' right, Paulo Portas' Partido Popular (CDS-PP). Now there is some question as to how far right they actually are. I don't think they're quite calling for the expulsion of the Jews but they're as far right as you get here in Portugal and so they obviously attract their fair share of nutters (usually seen with 'right wing hair' and monarchist stickers on their cars).

At the moment the polls are pretty even but what this means is that should PS win they surely won't have enough seats to form a government and they've annoyed enough people over the past few years to make forming a leftist coalition next to impossible. If PSD win, which is likely, they are bound to form a coalition with CDS-PP meaning a return to right wing government, something I thought I had left behind in the UK.

S is quite worried, being a civil-servant because we all know what it means for the public sector when the right is in power, it would be really very sad if the best we could hope for was that CDS-PP weren't given influential ministries.

We'll have to wait and see but in the meantime I'm off to plan a revolution.

Lies, damn lies!...

2009-09-07T15:57:00.003+01:00

Oh and I might as well clear the air. This weekend was also when I uncovered a lie that S had been living for the better part of 16 months...

I thought I was living with a true Portugueezer but it was all lies!!!

We made the shocking discovery over the weekend that because S was born in London before 1983 this means she is automatically a British citizen. She's also a Portuguese citizen because of her parents and so I'm now going to be marrying a PortuBritlander

Planning, plotting & scheming

2009-09-07T15:38:00.002+01:00

OK so the big news of the weekend was not, as I explained earlier our trip to either the wedding or even Festa de Avante! but rather the news that me and S have now (almost) got a date for our wedding.

I really don't want this blog to turn into one of 'those blogs'* and at least recently I've tried as much as possible to avoid it just being about me and my life and attempted some kind of more general impression-giving blog. Almost an anti-travel blog if you will - not that this is in anyway supposed to dissuade people from visiting Portugal, quite the opposite in fact, but rather it's supposed to be something of an antidote to those fluffy, romantic travel guides. Even those 'hip and happening' guides like Le Cool and Wallpaper naturally tend to hype a place and I just want to document my view from the street. This is the travel blog equivalent of Bill Hick's 'The People Who Hate People Party'.

Anyway, S and I have been engaged for 9 months and we really didn't want it to be one of those engagements that go on forever as some kind of semi-permanent state that is meant to avoid any real kind of commitment. In the back of our minds of course we have always had the thought of the Portuguese Wedding and all that that entails and we're really not very traditional so it was until this weekend something like an unspoken agreement that when we did it it wouldn't be a traditional affair.

All the thought of weddings this weekend brought the whole thing to the front of our minds and considering that we don't want a traditional wedding we accept that there will have to be a hell of a lot of planning involved. Not least getting my crowd over from the UK, a job which it's best to give as much notice as possible. There is also the small problem that we don't want to do it in Lisbon. We figured that if we do it out of town, in the countryside then we can invite a bunch of people for whom the travel and fuss will be too much and therefore only those who really love us will make the effort.

There are other general aspects of weddings that we want to dispose of too, there will be no 'top table', everyone will sit around together and can talk together so there will be no sense of 'the chosen few'. We also don't want the usual starter, main course, desert meal preferring instead to have a big barbecue with enough food to feed a small army. Our wedding will have to have speeches too, which although traditional in the UK isn't here in PT. There's also hope that we can get some friends to play a few songs with their band as well as having a DJ (it will have to be someone I trust implicitly otherwise I will be doing it myself).

In terms of dress code we're desperately trying to think of how to word the invitation so that everyone doesn't turn up in suits and their Sunday best. This is a fact that S's dad was very happy about. S says she has her dress already planned and so I'm going to have to start thinking about mine soon.

I'm sure I won't be able to help adding the odd thing in here about this whole process which is unavoidable but I'm sure it will give me opportunity to have many more insights into Portuguese life and culture.

*By one of 'those blogs' I of course mean those tedious blogs full of, "Thursday - washed my hair", "I wonder if she really loves me", that kind of rubbish.

Public Transport...

2009-09-04T13:47:00.003+01:00

I have a confession to make here. I know it's not fashionable and in some ways it's a little grimy but I love public transport, especially buses.

The second thing I have to confess at this point is that I don't drive.

That simple statement is enough to raise eyebrows in the UK, here in Portugal you get almost complete incomprehension. "Wait, you're breathing, what do you mean you don't drive?" I have mentioned before that the Portuguese love their cars, I should, for the sake of accuracy, extend this to all private motor vehicles because there are plenty of motorbikes and scooters around here too. As if to stress that disability should be no hindrance to exercising your right to pollute the skies and cause traffic jams I even see, on a regular basis, a man with no legs riding his specially made tricycle around the Saldanha area. It's as though he's trying to rub in the fact that not driving here is something worse than a disability.

All this means that those left to ride the buses here really are something special to behold. I've only been catching the bus here regularly for two weeks now and already I've had more surreal experiences than the previous two months. I've already seen a woman so pissed she got up to dance and sing to some Rolling Stones music for the entertainment of the other passengers, I've seen huge arguments erupt over things as trivial as an empty seat, I've seen a bus almost emptied because one man's hair smelt so badly.

Riding the bus also affords you the opportunity to observe those things outside the windows that you just miss when you are gliding past in a car. Yesterday for example I watched as one man (drunk or mentally ill, I wasn't sure) took off all his clothes and through them in the fountain at Rossio, an act I would've completely missed if we hadn't had to stop to pick up passengers.

S is now piling on the pressure for me to learn to drive and I do think it's a valuable skill that I will have to learn but I don't see it curbing my bus riding, especially in the city where there's so much to see.

Salty bits of goodness (Portuguese food #1)...

2009-09-03T13:32:00.004+01:00

Portuguese food is a wonder. Not a modern wonder like a skyscraper or a bridge or a dam but more like an ancient wonder, the Pyramids for example, which is essentially a simple structure but which was conceived and constructed over time.

Portuguese cuisine has been centuries in the making and, most people would say, there is little room for innovation. The dishes are generally pretty basic but always well done. I will come back to this theme again and again because I have been wondering how to approach the subject of Portuguese food for a long time. Not only am I someone who loves and appreciates food on multiple levels (not just the taste but I appreciate the artistry that goes into it) but also because the Portuguese are unusually touchy when it comes to food.

Just as the weather is a constantly safe topic for conversation in Britain the same can be said for food here (as long as you are complimentary). The British have a strange relationship with food, working with people from all over Europe I am often subject to people deriding my national cuisine but I usually let it wash over me and let them enjoy their ignorance. What people don't realise is the huge variety on offer in Britain, both in terms of restaurants and for buying ingredients (in fact a Portuguese acquaintance of mine now living in London described Borough market as one of his favourite places). It only really hits home when you do move abroad.

The quality of Portuguese ingredients cannot be argued with, the meat, fish and vegetables are all of top top quality, fresh with lots of flavour. The only problem is that there aren't a lot of them. You're lucky in most supermarkets if you get a choice between more than 6 or 7 vegetables (and no, a potato isn't a vegetable), I'm exaggerating here but there is seriously nothing to compare with what we get in the UK. It's simply because most things are grown here, they import very little. This is great for taste but leaves you little option when it comes to dishes to cook (The same can be said of cuts of meat too).

This is the ultimate problem with Portuguese restaurants, 9 times out of 10, probably more the food will be great, huge portions and cooked well, but if you're here for long you just get a bit tired of the same 5 or 6 dishes on the menu everywhere (and I mean everywhere) - bacalhau à bras (or asado or whatever), secretos de porco, bitoque, etc.

I'll have to stop there as the purpose of this post really wasn't to whinge but actually praise and today I am in praise of something the Portuguese do very well...salty snacks.

One of the great Portuguese passtimes is sitting (or actually more usually standing) in the street, drinking beer, and watching/talking about football and they have two of the greatest aids for doing this: tremoços and pumpkin seeds. Tremoços are lupin seeds, stored in brine. many bars you go to will provide you with one glass of beer and one glass of tremoços and the method for eating them is to grasp betwixt forefinger and thumb, bite off a side of the tough outer skin and with finger and thumb pop the soft inside into the mouth. It's tasty and fun!

Pumpkin seeds are a rather newer discovery but I seriously cannot stop eating them. They're so so salty that you can't help but take a few big gulps of beer after them. You are ideally supposed to crack open the outer shells and only eat the seed inside but I just gobble down the lot and think of it as added fibre. My health I think is starting to suffer and I will have to start rationing myself but until I get my blood pressure checked I'm going to carry on eating them

The marxist struggle of my weekend...

2009-09-02T13:48:00.003+01:00

As has been the theme for the past few weeks the invitations and plans have been coming in at such a rate that there is simply not enough time in the day to do everything that S and I would like to, never mind the fact that we both have work (I have my fingers in a few pies actually) and study (we're both either doing or preparing Masters). This all leaves us not only with an almost permanent sense of exhaustion but also the feeling that we're not fully experiencing everything we could.

This weekend is both a perfect example of this sentiment and also how our varied tastes can leads to some interesting choices that we have to make. The choice we have to make this weekend is to attend the wedding of an old colleague of S or go to the annual festival organised by the Portuguese Communist Party, Festa do Avante!

S and I both have some knowledge of Portuguese weddings, in fact that's where we first met, and know how traditional they can be. my main objection is that I would have to wear a suit, something which I hate so much I can't put into words. We would have to put up with the families from both sides and the kisses from bristly grandmothers. I feel incredibly uncomfortable on these formal occasions and one of the things I'm most glad about is that they way we are planning our wedding is to avoid all the stuffy formality and just have a big party for our friends. There is still some debate as to whether we can totally ban the suit (I'm currently winning this argument and it has now reached a stage of shirt but no tie, with a possibility that I might be allowed to wear trainers) as I see the clothing as the complete antithesis of fun and 'letting your hair down'.

There's also the fact that weddings, being a family affair and the Portuguese family being what it is (based on a model between the mafia and a medieval feudal system), means that it is an opportunity for the family to show off (down to the little boys dressed like their fathers, something which makes every fiber of me shudder), and/or complain and generally make a fuss. Most of this I will happily miss but there is always an atmosphere at these kinds of events like a sense of obligation hangs over it. There are unwritten rules that I am not privy to, I'm commonly excused from them being a foreigner but it still leaves one a bit on edge.

The alternate choice would however mean coming into contact with lots of Communists, a group of people that I have little time or sympathy for. My own political persuasion is pretty far left, I think everyone was born equal and deserves the same opportunities but there's nothing I love more than baiting those so stuck to their own ideology that they effectively use it to remove the logic from their own argument.

S assures me that the festival is a lot of fun, she has been before and says you get a real sense of community spirit and everyone helps out and gets involved and that does sound like a real plus. You get the typical festival entertainment, music food, dancing and as much or as little propaganda as you can take. But I still can't get over the fact that Portugal has an active and popular Communist Party!!!

In the UK the far left is something of a joke. The UK Communist Party exists in little more than name and one of its many offshoots, the Socialist Worker Party is only really the province of students and guys with dogs on string trying to sell you their paper. Here there are signs everywhere (in fact I can see one from my office as I type) and they actually do well in certain working class and rural areas, they even have people elected to Parliament.

We will just have to see what happens at the weekend, nothing is decided yet but I'm sure whatever we do it will give me something to write for this blog.

Holidaysick...

2009-08-31T13:56:00.004+01:00

I have just returned from a wonderful weekend, hidden away from the outside world in Mora, Alentejo. The house we stayed in was wonderful, large and air conditioned with 4 double beds and a pull out sofa bed, so plenty of room for the seven of us plus the baby. The house had an amazing swimming pool and tennis court and we spent the whole weekend alternating between browning ourselves in the sun and then cooling off in the pool. I attempted one game of tennis with S but as soon as she was confronted by my formidable skills she felt a little embarrassed and claimed the heat was too strong for her. Entirely understandable in the circumstances.

We had some great meals and I increased me repertoire to include barbecuing now. I left the first one to R and he murdered the already quite dead meat so the second one I did to a slightly less crispy consistency. It was all good though and it was really nice to have everyone together and (more or less) relaxed. It also afforded me the opportunity to test out a little theory of mine. I don't think the circumstances were quite right, it being a holiday period, but I went for it nontheless.

There is undoubtedly a formula out there, somewhere, which will accurately predict the amount of time it takes for a group of Portuguese people to make a decision and act upon it. Between us, S and I, we do not have this problem - we're one Portugueezer and one Britlander and we decide things all the time in mere seconds, from dinner plans to what films to watch. (The latter here being less a joint decision and more a diktat from me.)

I am very much used to quite a regimented and ordered variety of relaxation. It's the same with going on a night out - we meet at this time, we drink here then, at this time we do that, etc. My holidays have always been so well scheduled and planned that there is no chance of wasting a second of fun!

I noticed how different things are here in the first morning: there's a consultation period, everybody slowly gathers in one area where all opinions are sought and evaluated. Everyone's feelings are taken into consideration. There is an informal (and silent) round of voting done mostly through special glances and raising of eyebrows and then this is evaluated. Any decisions that weren't popular are then discarded and the next round of deliberations take place. Any feelings that might have been hurt in the previous round are also placated here. And so on until a decision is reached diplomatically and through consensus and we can finally sit down and start breakfast.

When we have to leave the table it starts again.

I have of course known Portugueezers for many years now and grown accustomed to this decision-making process but this was an opportunity to see it in a large group which is always enlightening.

We were extremely lucky to have with us probably the calmest baby in the world. M is now, I think, about 3 months old and we barely heard a wink out of him. He seems to spend his day sleeping and eating and really, all things considered, what does he have to complain about?

It was sad to see the weekend come to an and, as I write now my office is filling up with the returning masses and it starts to feel like the end of summer. Soon things will have returned to normal and the old routine will start up again. The coming months will be quite busy and should this be, as I expect it, the end of summer then I can look back and be happy with it, it was my first in Portugal and my love for the place has grown and continues to grow. It is indescribably different to experience a place by living there as opposed to visiting it and now I am here for good settling back into the routine is almost comforting.

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A big sign that summer is coming to an end here, as it is everywhere, is the sudden appearance of all the adverts proclaiming that school is starting up again soon. I have never worked in the stationary trade, nor do I know anyone who has, but this period must be incredibly exciting for them. It's pretty much the only time of year that pencils and protractors are at the top of anyone's shopping list and I can imagine at stationers conferences they must talk with knowing nods about the 'Back to School' season targets.

Here in Portugal we have been presented with an advert that makes me chuckle every time I see it:

It can't just be me who thinks that this girl advertising a return to classes looks suspiciously old!

Alentejo...

2009-08-28T14:16:00.005+01:00

I won't be updating over the weekend. Not that I usually do but now I have a reason so I might as well tell you about it.

S and I and a few friends are taking the cars, our books and enough food to invade Spain with and moving ourselves over to Alentejo for the weekend. Alentejo is a lovely region of Portugal which comprises the southern half of the country except for the Algarve. It's a very beautiful place with rolling plains, a breathtaking coast and so very interesting towns and villages along the way.

The region is also the butt of several Portuguese jokes due to the inhabitants' legendary slowness and dimness, in much the same way as the Irish are to the English, (the Portuguese are slow enough in general (physcically that is) so I found it difficult to imagine something slower but it's true!) my favourites include:

How do you know when a worker has finished for the day in Alentejo? He takes his hands out of his pocket.
Did you hear about the farmer from Alentejo who tried to teach his donkey to live without eating? He was so exited, but then it died.

I had one S's father told me too but I went and forgot it and S can't remember it (she is also useless at comedy, being a girl).

It's a shame that we plan on taking so much food with us really because one of the things that the region is really famed for is the food (which reminds me I really need to do a full post about Portuguese food soon), the wine and pork are especially delicious, but there is some reasoning behind our methods. The weekend will consist entirely of reading our books and lying by the swimming pool with the occasional break to grab another beer or put some more picanha on the barbecue. If it sounds idyllic that's because it will be. It's the perfect way to see out this hectic holiday season.

It's not yet the end of August, the temperature rarely drops below 26-27ºC and already the shops are full of winter clothes and it's pretty much officially the end of summer.

A blast from the past...

2009-08-27T12:38:00.002+01:00

It has often been said (perhaps most often by me, but not exclusively) that one of the interesting things about Portugal, and indeed one of its great charms, is that in some very striking ways it reminds us of our country of origin but from a distant time.

My frequent refrain has been, "it's like Britain in the 50s/60s/70s" and comfortingly this sentiment has been expressed by friends and colleagues alike who have come to Lisbon from a variety of cities and countries. It was also echoed by Paul Theroux, in the book The Kingdom By The Sea, who says that certain countries exist in a certain time. If Britain and America are now then Japan is 5-10 years into the future and some countries inexplicably in the past.

This thought obviously only comes to me when confronted by certain situations - in many ways Portugal is an extremely advanced country, it leads Europe and possibly the world in things like renewable power and it's still a mystery to me how the metro system in such a hot country can consistently be so cool when London's is stifling in half the heat. But the thought does come, invariably, once or twice a day and today I have already reached my limit, but today i'll just tackle the one that comes up the most.

Spitting

In the UK spitting (the expulsion of saliva, possibly liberally mixed with phlegm from the nose, from the mouth) in public is exclusively the domain of 'yoofs' and professional footballers, two sections of society largely linked by haircuts and IQ if nothing else. It's not something socially acceptable and in fact is seen as something distinctly antisocial and threatening. Here in Portugal though barely a head is turned and seemingly the majority of people with grey hair will spend much of their daily constitutionals clearing all oral and nasal passageways and depositing the results spectacularly on the pavement.

It's quite disconcerting to see some, otherwise respectable looking, person engaged in such a disgusting habit and, startlingly, it's not limited to men. It is also fact that most of the elderly here are still dressed like I imagine people in black and white films to be dressed. The men in sharp suits with brightly polished shoes whilst the women are dressed like movie stars from the 50s complete with huge, insect like sunglasses, so to see them hawking up goo is quite a sight.

It all reminds me of the story I have heard many times since my childhood of when my grandma first got an electric fireplace fitted in her house (in what must've been the 1960s) and her father, my great-grandfather, had up until then only ever had coal fires and so my grandma had to patiently explain to him that this was one fireplace he was expressly forbidden from spitting into. A request, much to the annoyance and disgust of my grandma and mum, he would often ignore.

Portuguese 'utilities'...UPDATE

2009-08-26T10:38:00.002+01:00

In a startling display of efficiency we had our gas switched back on at 21:30 last night...and the man who did it also flooded our kitchen!

Portuguese 'utilities'...

2009-08-25T12:08:00.003+01:00

As I write this the shivering is finally subsiding. This morning I was forced to take a cold shower because we were without gas, as indeed was the entire building, and had been since the evening before. What had happened will probably never be discovered, all I can say is that when returned home with S, after our shopping, we found a fire engine parked in front of the apartment building with a few surly looking firemen wandering about and a couple of police officers wandering around trying to look like they were doing something.

On questioning no-one really seemed to know what was going on but whilst we patiently waited in the hallway that was filled with emergency personnel and a couple of confused looking electricians, shopping bags and all, it finally became clear - the electricians had been working and then smelt gas, they had rung the emergency services but now no-one really knew what to do. As a precaution(!) they switched the gas off and we were later told that it wouldn't be reconnected until some point today. We were told that it would be on again this afternoon, call me a cynic but I won't hold my breath...actually on second thoughts maybe that would be a good idea.

All this trouble with these services reminded me about a great blog entry I read a while back on the An Englishman In Lisbon blog here. This entry hilariously (and most importantly truthfully) describes the situation of electrical wiring in Portugal. S and I's flat for example has some beautiful, retro, light switches, which for some strange reason each have two switches, the second being entirely superfluous. We have ourselves suffered the tripped switches when we try to run the hairdryer and the microwave at the same time, and don't get me started on the basic two-pin plugs which give, according to S who I think is protesting too much, a 'satisfying crackle and flash' so you know when the plus is in.

Those are the dangers inside, outside we have to walk past installations like this on a regular basis:

It wouldn't be so bad, you could laugh at the absurdity of something like this still being allowed, if you hadn't seen one explode like I have. It happened early in the year when the weather was particularly bad. There was torrential rain and I had just dropped S off at the university. I was walking back down Avenida de Berna in Lisbon and the rain has turned the street into a river. It was obviously too much for one junction box which exploded in the street. Again the firemen looked on, surly and confused, it really doesn't fill me with confidence when I read "Bombieros Voluntarios" on their trucks, I want professionals!

Sandblasting in the sun...

2009-08-22T12:34:00.003+01:00

Well the weekend has now arrived (for me anyway it began on Thursday afternoon when our office began being dismantled for the big move to Cais de Sodré) and so the only great decision to make is which beach to head to. The choices for us, having access to a car and not minding a bit of travel, come down to three:

The Estoril Coast
Costa de Caparica
Guincho

Before I came to Portugal I was not a beach person at all, not that I have anything against the sun or the outdoors but my objections came down to two fundamental issues: I hate shorts, I hate wearing them and I hate seeing them, any man over the age of 12 in shorts looks a fool unless playing some form of sport, and in that case you'd better be a profession or you still look like a fool but now a sweaty fool; and, sand, I hate sand, I hate the fact that it gets everywhere, it sticks to you and you can feel it on you and in your clothes hours after you are no longer near any sand. That combined with the fact that at the beach not only are you supposed to expose your lower legs to the sand but first you must cover yourself with a sticky substance that attracts sand. Senseless!

Anyway, after a few sulks and strops, threats of physical violence and threats to embargo sex (all from both sides) S got her way and got me onto the beach. After all the fuss it wasn't as bad as I feared and there are indeed many plus points: I discovered that swimming in the sea is actually one of my favourite activities, a fact that S discovered to her embarrassment when she tried to get me out of the sea and I turned into a 5 year old.

So this weekend, as most, the choice comes down to 3. The current favourite is Estoril, not my first choice I have to admit, the main reason being is that the beaches there are so small that the people are packed in like sardines (another reason that I wouldn't admit to S is that Estoril is also lacking in the...ahem....young crowd that go to Caparica, the view is much better there from what I have seen). But for us the deciding factor for us today is, sadly, wind. Being located, as it is, on the edge of Europe, Portugual gets its fair share of wind which turn the beaches into a sandblasting experience. Guincho is famous for this and is in fact a bit of a surfing hotspot because of it. Usually Caparica is ok but last time I lost a layer of skin and today it seems pretty windy in town so it must be quite bad there. Estoril is relatively sheltered and plus there are so many people acting as windblocks that I think we'll be ok.

Off we go to Estoril and I will try and find a space for my towel and try and not to step on anyone.

Portuguese hair...

2009-08-19T14:04:00.004+01:00

Prompted by my previous post in which I mentioned the local phenomenon of 'right-wing hair', and also my own impending need for a haircut, I have decided to concentrate today's post on the more general phenomenon of 'Portuguese Hair'.

As demonstrated previously, by the charming photo of Paulo Portas, right-wing hair is largely a matter of letting ones' hair grow to a reasonably long length before swinging it all over to one side. This is not to be confused with the comb-over (the traditional mask of baldness in the UK which is sadly going out of fashion since the days of Sir Bobby Charlton), as Portuguese men typically have strong and vibrant hair.

N.B. This article does refer primarily to Portuguese men but some aspects are applicable to men and women.

Neither should 'right-wing hair' be confused with the much more general (but sadly no longer ubiquitous) phenomenon of 'Portuguese hair'. 'Right-wing hair' is an extreme version of the general style. I first came across the subject in a purely theoretical manner when researching the term 'portugeezer' and mixed amongst the terms I came across 'Portuguese afro'. According to the Urban Dictionary this is defined as,

"Found on Portuguese males thick nappy like hair, that maintains the same style no matter what kind of hair cut you get. It tends to puff and curl back on the front."

After reading this definition the more I looked around the more I saw there to be a glimmer of truth behind the course generalisation. The style is particularly common in certain social strata here and living, as I do, in somewhat of a business district, near Saldanha, I see more than my fair share of it. Other places that I have found where this style is common would be around the ministries and parliament (can sometimes be confused with 'right-wing hair) and, of an evening, those bars and clubs frequented by those referred to (by some) as betas (who will later grow into tios/tias, they are all slightly mocking terms for a certain type of middle-class Portugueser who follow similar social conventions, shop at the same shops, attend the same bars and clubs, dress in a similar fashion etc.), often in and around Cascais/Estoril.

After a (very) quick trawl of the web I can provide you with something of a visual aid to help you get a better picture in your mind and also to illustrate some of the subtle differences:

We have here four shining examples, whilst different they are all united by a lustrous thickness of the hair (a quality I share with these men) and also a rather cavalier approach to parting. I don't know but I believe that the ultimate aim is for the hair not to look brushed but rather
sculpted from one piece. The added bonus of having such hair is that, unlike the hoi polloi who often attempt an imitation of their beloved Christiano Ronaldo (and who have been purposefully ignored in this examination of Portuguese society and culture), no additional products are needed to keep the hair in place. Countless money is saved on spray and gel.

So now you know, have fun spotting and for the real professionals see if you can tell at 100 paces the difference between 'right-wing hair' and 'Portuguese hair'.

When in Roma...

2009-08-18T15:31:00.006+01:00

My nightly run through Lisbon (partly to keep fit and partly to avoid the traffic intent on running me over) usually takes me to one of the most popular area in Lisbon for that purpose, the university stadium. Lisbon University is situated largely in it's own little enclave, to the north of the city, along with a few autonomous faculties, in an area appropriately name Cidade Universitaria. In the centre of this are the various sport pitches, running tracks and other facilities that exist to remind students that man cannot live by books and pastais de nata alone.

As you can see from this shot it provides a nice little complex to run around and is a welcome retreat from the honking cars and unsure paving:

View Larger Map

Despite these advantages the main drawback for me and S was that getting there was both boring (running through Entrecampos and up Avenida Forças Armadas is hardly interesting) and knackering, with a pretty steep climb to make, not that I minded. Anyway after a bit of discussion we recently decided to vary the route of our run and I am so glad we did.

Rather than making our way to the university we have, of late, been exploring the area nearer to us, around Roma. This has only served to strengthen and deepen my love for the area in which we live. I've always known we were very lucky to live in this area, surrounded, as we are, by a host of cultural and architectural delights: Culturegest, Campo Pequeno, the Gulbenkian, not to mention being in walking distance of most Lisbon cinemas. On top of this there's a whole host of great cafes, restaurants and bars and I love the atmosphere which is lively but not too busy.

On our recent runs S and I have discovered a whole load of new places to try, cafes with beautiful esplanades, delicious looking restaurants and, my personal favourite, a cheesy looking bar called Cockpit which is alleged to be patronised largely by pilots and air crews. These next few weeks are going to be pretty busy.

The view from the streets...

2009-08-18T12:37:00.002+01:00

I don't know when this finally came online, I saw the car a few weeks back, but finally Lisbon is on Google Street view so for those who want to see the streets I walk every day then give it a try.

It's just a jump to the left, and then a step to the right...

2009-08-17T12:42:00.007+01:00

First things first, as should be apparent to those of you even slightly curious, I have a new blog that I will be writing in conjunction with this one. The link for this blog has been for the past few days located at the top right of this page but for those of you disinclined to turn your head lest you lose your place the link is also here:

Burn The Jukebox

This blog will continue to contain my musings on life in Lisbon and in general whereas the new blog will primarily be music related (and, as today's post shows, provide some film reviews). This will be largely music in general but also contain news and reviews of the 'scene' in Lisbon and Portugal.

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My post today concerns a little change I have noticed in Lisbon in the short time that I have been here.

As anyone who knows me well can confirm I have something of an obsession with the right-wing of politics. Not an agreement, I think that their ideas and policies are anti-social and just plain wrong, but it's rather like watching a car crash or those 'real FBI' shows about serial killers. I like to know what the enemy is thinking and despite it being often repulsive I just can't tear my attention away.

Now I reserve my real fascination for the extremes, the Daily Mail and Fox News provide me with hours of laughter mixed with horror, but there is a pervasive evil of the mainstream right-wing that is perhaps more alarming because anyone can dismiss cranks and loonies but when the arguments and the people who deliver them are seen as reasonable then that's when we start to have problems.

Here in Portugal society was summed up pretty well for me by S not long after I moved here. She said, (and here I paraphrase) "we're not a nation of extremes". Whilst being obviously a wide generalisation, I have begun to realise the truthfulness of this statement and therefore when elements of extremism do raise their heads it is done in a rather Portuguese fashion.

Now I will admit that I am not an expert on Portuguese politics, I am reading more and more and getting some impression of the players and systems but there will be plenty of people out there ready to correct me should I go too far, I would just remind them that these are purely my own impressions as an outsider. There exists here in Portugal a political party, the Centro Democrático e Social - Partido Popular (CDS-PP) which, is probably as far right as is acceptable in Portugal (a country which after the dictatorship largely shies away from the far right). Now I can't comment in too much detail about the policies of these guys, but what I can say is that they must have recently got rather a lot of funding because their adverts have shot up around Lisbon like I have never seen before.

Before I moved to Portugal political advertising had been the reserve of those late-night party political broadcasts on TV that were seemingly designed to make one reach for the remote as quickly as possible. Here though at every junction in the city and, in some areas, on 50% of the lampposts there is a political poster. I was originally under the impression that the parties bought lots of advertising space on these signposts but I recently discovered that they actually buy and erect the signposts themselves.

Usually the adverts on these signs spew the usual self regarding, idealistic political rubbish, or occasionally will attempt to tackle some immediate political problem (like the crisis or swine flu) with perky political rhetoric but the CDS-PP posters spew a different kind of political rubbish, not the sort that can be dismissed with a roll of the eyes and a sigh. It's the kind of lies that fill the Daily Mail on a daily basis but at least there one can choose to search for it for the laughs. It's quite different to have it pasted in foot high letters at every junction in town. The most popular bits of idiocy I have seen include (roughly translated from the Portuguese):

Why do criminals have more rights than the police?
Why save BPN (the national bank) when you allow small businesses to fail?
Is it just to give the minimum income to those who don't want to work?

Now to those of us not crazy those questions, out of context, appear silly. Complex problems and issues reduced to talking points to create fear and resentment - a typical political tool you might say but not one I want to see on my way to the beach!

What Portugal needs is a return to honest politics and it could take the lead from a Brazilian politician I read about recently whose campaign slogan was disarmingly honest:

"Roubo, mas faço!" (I steal but I do!)

Despite all this there is one glimmer of hope - the right-wing here in Portugal, whilst perhaps benefiting from the Crisis and a general European disenchantment with the left, is at least easy to spot. There exists here such a thing as 'right-wing hair' perfectly demonstrated by the leader of the CDS-PP, Paulo Portas:

If you see this kind of hair, you'll know!

Raindrops keep falling on my head...

2009-08-14T10:45:00.003+01:00

Today's post was going to be about Portuguese food - inspired by a rare disappointment in a restaurant on Wednesday night - but the pros and cons of food here is a massive subject and requires more thought. I will need to break it down and digest it properly. Instead I have a much more pressing and immediate situation to report.

As the temperature of Lisbon hovers around the 36-37ºC mark even walking along the streets can seem something of a chore but those of us who have lived here long enough know that there is at least one relief to be had from the baking heat - the gentle spray of liquid from the balconies above!

The first number of times this happens to you, as in most cities, you assume that it is something related to an air conditioning unit and you hope, as you feel the trickle roll down the back of your neck, that pigeons weren't using you for target practice. In Lisbon, however, you hope and pray for air conditioning drips because the alternative (at least in my eyes anyway) is almost as bad as the thought of pigeon shit.

As I have mentioned before, and as anyone who has been to Lisbon can confirm, Lisbon is very much a living city. By this I mean that the majority of spaces in and around the city are very much multi use. There are apartment blocks everywhere and most of these conform to the same rough design - with the verandas at the front all having the same handy drainpipe flowing straight onto the street.

In a style evocative of medieval waste disposal (throw it out of the window and hope no-one is passing below) the dregs of cleaning those apartments more often than not ends up dripping out of these spouts and onto the heads of those unlucky enough to be walking underneath. (We even have a device in our apartment to unblock the pipe when it gets blocked with...whatever.)

So bare in mind, here in Lisbon relief from the heat comes at a price!

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In a move which shows I am, at least in some ways, developing Portuguese traits yesterday, as the temperature reached 36ºC I bought a new jumper. (Well S bought it for me - she's obviously a driving influence.)

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I have, of late, begun watching an amazing Portuguese comedy show 'starring' a character called Bruno Aleixo. Here's one of his great bits of advice:

Roughly translated: "Men with earings: they're drug addicts!"

Lisbon: O mito é o nada que é tudo...

2009-08-12T11:02:00.007+01:00

Lisbon is a city that survives on the myths it and its inhabitants create for it and despite some misgivings, in certain specific instances, it's an attitude that I have a lot of sympathy with.
That said I much prefer the gritty realism of a decaying city, where the myths are put into perspective by those who have to live there, day in, day out. Manchester had it in the pre-gentrified red brick factories around the north of the city and in the small 'satellite' towns like Bury, Bolton and Wigan where the population seems to be made up of pensioners and pregnant teenagers. Parts of London, where I lived, had it in the South East, around Peckham and Deptford where the art students haven't yet reached and where walking the streets at night still gives a rush of adrenaline...but then again this perhaps myth making of my own...it is my own though and it is based on experience.

If you know where to go in Lisbon that same gritty realism can still be found but it's quite off the beaten path. The city is chock full of Fado joints where you can hear the songs of saudades for a time or place that exists no longer or hear and read the stories times when Bairro Alto and Alfama were area full of prostitutes and their pimps. Even the main flea market, Feira da Ladra (Thieves Market), has a romanticised name - although in this case there is something of a truth to it (the edges are full of suspiciously new looking mobile phones and digital cameras and the central touristy bit is pretty low on bargains).

Nowadays in Bairro Alto and Alfama you are just as likely to see trendy refurbished apartments sold or rented to foreigners, for much more than the locals can afford, than you are old women hanging their washing out. This is of course a familiar story in so many cities but what makes it especially sad in the case of Lisbon is that firstly it is happening so late when compared to other European cities and secondly because Lisbon resisted this for so long it is a charm that it blindly hangs onto despite reality.

Not that I am criticising the areas for this change, change is important and change is good. One of the great things about Lisbon is that it is still alive but sometimes the feeling is that it is evolving despite itself. These areas have deservedly become now part of the tourist trail, they are beautiful and interesting and, in the case of Bairro Alto, lots of fun. But for a real taste of Lisbon as it is lived you have to take a little walk behind those areas.

Now, as ever, this whole post hasn't just been plucked from my brain at random, there is usually an incident or experience that sparks these long thoughts and this profession of love the dark underbelly of cities had been prompted by the imminent move of my office. We are now in the process of moving from one of my favourite areas, Avenida Almirante Reis (Anjos) to one of my least favourite, Cais de Sodre.

It is almost unheard of for anyone in this city to shun a river view but as part of my role as the eternal contrarian I am left somewhat bemused by them. Of course there is the theory (maybe it's fact, i don't know) that the sight of water has a soothing effect on the soul but in my honest opinion the view of the River Tagus from Lisbon isn't one of the great sights. It's a little too industrial and to be frank a little dirty. (This however is not true for the views of Lisbon across the water from Almada which are amazing) Anyway, what I am giving up for the privilege of seeing container ships on a daily basis is walk through one of the liveliest neighbourhoods in Lisbon.

It is no exaggeration to say that every day I smile on my way to work because of the pleasure of the sights of the city alive. It's also true that every day I walk past the same group of prostitutes every day to the point where we now smile and nod at each other and it's also true that more often than not I have to take a little skip over a dried pool of unexplained blood somewhere along the route. But it is making this route every day, seeing the same people, even the junkies bumming cigarettes outside Casa Santa Maria, going into the pastelarias, the tascas and even the supermarket that I feel part of the city. Every city has its museums and its monuments but only Lisbon has my whores and my junkies!

Portuguese builders/builders in Portugal...

2009-08-11T14:06:00.004+01:00

The subject of today's post is builders. Well let me expand on that somewhat...by builders I mean all those engaged in manual work somehow and as the title of the post suggests a great many of those working here happen not to be Portuguese but more likely Brazilian, Eastern European or African.

Take my own example...below S and my lovely apartment, in one of the most beautiful (and surprisingly peaceful) areas of Lisbon there have been works taking place. The apartment black we live in is not new, it's one of those concrete jobbies put up sometime probably in the 1940s, but it does have its own charm - from the old creaking lifts with their manual doors to the old creaking porter of a similar vintage. Recently the apartment below us was bought and the new owners wished to refurbish it. That may be fair enough - I don't know but chances are that the previous owner was probably close to 100 and it hadn't had a lick of paint since the place was built - that is until whoever was in charge of the hiring managed to get hold of two guys whose only tools appear to be a hammer and a drill. Added to this is the fact that they apparently hate each other because they can't go more than half an hour without screaming at each other.

This combination of a lack of tools (and perhaps knowledge) with a complete inability to work well with each other means that the project of refurbishing the flat has been going on now for over 3 months. That is 3 months of banging, drilling and shouting from 8:30 to 19:30, Monday to Saturday (yes, Saturday!!!). I cannot begin to wonder what kind of palace would await me after 3 months of work (an estimated 1600 man hours for those who can imagine it) baring in mind my own experience of such works was when my old house had a new roof, central heating installed, double glazing put in and a damp proof course, all within 2 weeks. Yet it was only yesterday that they got delivery of the kitchen!

Anyway, after months of having our weekend peace disturbed enough was enough and last week S went to have a word with them. As a man I promised her any backup she needed, from the safety of our flat. To the builders' credit it was at least 30 minutes before they started up again but thanks to my love's training in the law she whisked out the right directive, gave a quick call to the local constabulary and shut that noisy operation down, all without me having to lift a finger! (For those of you in Lisbon faced with noisy neighbours I will post the law later and you can quote this at them, after an initial warning they face a €2500 fine.)

So after our successful confrontation with Portuguese builders it got me thinking. Coming from the UK I'm quite accustomed to health and safety procedures, things like safety barriers, warning signs etc... things that haven't quite made it to Portugal yet. When seeing building work in action here there are a number of points that it's hard to miss:

Typically if there's a hole to be dug this will take 5-8 people - 1 to dig and 4-7 to stand outside the hole and advise how it is to be dug.
Barriers/signs to protect workmen and the public are expensive and often get in the way (of people giving advice to the one man working) so why bother - of course the public won't come too close to your pickaxing/pneumatic drilling/welding.
If you're digging a hole in the pavement don't worry, people are probably too busy avoiding the others to mind yours.
Of course scaffolding is supposed to look 60 years old!
Remember the one and only Portuguese Health and Safety rule - no smoking on the job (that's reserved for the 5 people outside the hole telling you how to dig).

The sight that really summed up the attitude to health and safety occurred last week on holiday. We were driving through the town and were on our way back to the house when the street was blocked by a pick up truck. (I will have to write another post about Portuguese parking, perhaps as no.2 in my series on driving.) Onto the back of this pickup truck was being loaded a fridge/freezer. As you can imagine this appliance was around 190cm tall and therefore the most sensible thing in the world would be for two people to put it on its side. But no! Of course not! Instead we watched with a mixture of amusement and horror as onto the back clambered a typical Portugeezer (all 165cm of him) and he held onto this thing as the truck trundled off over the hills at 40kmh...

...all I could think of was at least he's not smoking.

The things you see when you haven't got your gun.

Ferias do Verão...

2009-08-10T17:48:00.000+01:00

Well, for me at least, the summer holidays are over. Just as Portugal is entering its yearly period of torpor (seemingly the whole country is ‘fechado’ for the month of August) I am starting back at work after two weeks spent reading, visiting the country and generally avoiding anything that might be construed as ‘useful’ or ‘improving’.

The holiday in fact started rather hectically, S and I had been invited to a barbeque thrown by our new good friends ‘the boys from Brazil’ (TBFB from now on) in their wonderful apartment near São João cemetery. TBFB are in rather a nifty band who are undergoing somewhat of a radical change. In an attempt to gain a larger audience they have begun to sing in English and they had enlisted my help to write some songs in English and develop an authentic English accent whilst singing them. I think on both counts we were much more successful than any could have imagined and as such we had become good friends. I had previously been to one of their barbeques which was mightily impressive. Their apartment is amazing with an absolutely amazing terrace at the back, complete with lemon trees, the fruit from which went into many a Caipiroska. F’s picanha skills are immense and so these parties are inevitably lots of fun.

The Friday in question (the 24^th) was particularly hectic, it being the last day of work and coming, as is typical, with that usual dragging feeling that anticipation of holidays brings. I was this night, however, due to provide the music at TBFB’s barbeque and so after many coffees and pick me ups I lugged my DJ gear over to the flat and proceeded to amaze all those gathered with my disk spinning skills. I slipped in a few Brazilian classics along with the typical indie fare and some unusual additions and I think I played the crowd pretty well. The night ended with some acoustic singalongs and invitations for TBFB to come and sample my famous Arroz de Pato (duck rice) on Tuesday.

Saturday, as has been the habit of the past couple of months, was the day devoted to the beach. We have become fans of the Costa da Caparica which is a bit of a change for S who was originally an Estoril girl. The beaches of the Costa are much better though, cleaner, bigger and less crowded (in fact a visit yesterday to a beach in Estoril to see friends showed just what a meat market it is, the bodies looked like a butcher’s shop). The big problem with the Costa is the journey although this problem is somewhat psychological – the trip takes you over the bridge but if timed well it really isn’t much longer than that to Estoril and it’s well worth the extra time. The beach this Saturday was fun but the weather wasn’t as warm as it had been and the sea especially was pretty chilly, I only took a couple of dips myself when usually you can’t get me out of there.

After the raucous nights out of previous weeks, combined with plans for the Sunday, meant that Saturday night was spent relatively quietly.

Sunday brought an overnight trip to Porto to see our friend X defend her thesis (that me and S had helped quite a bit on) at the University of Porto. At some point I will have to dedicate a separate post to the joys of Porto but here I will just say a few important things about Portugal’s second city.

I am in love with Porto, I think most cities have an essence that is immediately apparent to those visiting them (after living in a place for a while you begin to take some of that essence into yourself and give a little back to the communal essence) and the essence of Porto is one of relaxed self assurance, a ‘coolness’ if you will.

Porto is the essential counterpoint to Lisbon in the way that Manchester is to London in the UK (and so many other ‘second cities’ must be in their respective countries). The people are more friendly and outgoing (qualities that although not absent in Lisbon are so noticeably unorthodox that I have heard, on a number of occasions, people from Porto called rude) and there is an unselfconsciousness that is seen in the far greater freedom with which people act and dress. There is much more of an apparent and obvious alternative culture in Porto.

I often remark that the Portuguese, for all their charm, are in general still quite socially conservative, and this expresses itself perfectly in the way in which the youth dress. Here in Lisbon there is much more of a ‘middle of the road’ attitude where between the ages of 15-30 in most social groups people dress, if not identically, within certain social bounds. (The great example of this being that when the weather is cooler –Spring and Autumn – 90% of girls in that age group will be sporting the mysteriously ‘fashionable’ combo of skinny jeans and hiking boots.) This is not to say that Lisbon is not without it’s ‘fringe’ but it is to say that this is much smaller than you might experience in the UK and much less obvious than that in Porto. There is also a feeling that Porto is much more of a forward thinking city than Lisbon, something again linked to that ‘second city’ inferiority complex perhaps, but I digress…

I have much more to say about Porto, not least my addiction to their regional dish - the francesinha, but it will have to wait for a separate post. I will leave the subject of Porto by just saying that X’s defence went extremely well and we enjoyed our brief visit immensely. It was too short but I hope to visit Porto again soon.

Tuesday was spent cleaning the flat and preparing for the visit of TBFB who were going to be leaving for Brazil shortly and to whom I wanted to say goodbye. An entertaining night was had and my dish (Arroz de Pato) went down very well, as did S’s sangria, for which she is getting quite a reputation! TBFB will be moving to London soon so I have no doubt that our paths will cross again but it was quite sad to see them go. As a leaving gift we got a full rendition of the songs I had helped the guys perfect and I really feel quite proud of the work we’ve done together.

Wednesday was the day we left for our main holiday, a week in the countryside, in a tiny village called Alqueve which is half way between Coimbra and Serra de Estrela. It was a week with S’s family and we had an excellent time with trips in the battered 2CV that S’s uncle keeps there. We had a week of S’s mum’s amazing cooking as well a couple of pies from me which S loves and the others politely eat (a little exaggeration here, they all loved the cheese and onion one).

I discovered the thrill and joy of running in the mountains, which is ten times harder than the streets of Lisbon but infinitely more beautiful. I developed a little route which took me above the village (which is perched on the side of a steep, forested, hill) and then through the village, usually to the cheers of the villagers who seemed amused by the crazy foreigner. You have to bare in mind here that most of these villagers are over 60 (many over 80) and are fitter than anyone I've met before.

The week was very welcome but by the end I was glad to return to civilisation.

Back to the grindstone now though.

Night moves....

2009-06-29T14:37:00.003+01:00

It's been a little while again but I really think my exploits over the past few weeks should be recorded for posterity. What I really want to talk about at the moment is Lisbon nightlife. Lisbon is rightly famed for its parties and the month of June is really when the city starts to wake up from the winter lull and it gets a little exciting.

Mid-June sees the Festas dos Santos Populares of the Festivals of the Popular Saints where for nights on end the citizens will gather on the streets in some of the older, more traditional, areas like Alfama and Graça and listen to music, drink and eat grilled sardines. S and I didn't get to experience much of the street festivities this year as we had agreed to go to a houseparty on the night of the biggest party, Saint Anthony's day, but we did get to experience something of the Portuguese youth there, a subject I will return to shortly. What little of the traditional Saint Anthony's Day experience we did get was walking up the Castle Hill and seeing almost a fog of barbecued sardines. At quite an early hour for Lisbon the streets were already packed and it was quite a struggle just to get through. Earlier in the week we has seen them setting up in Santos and Bica with stages for the music and that's where many of my colleagues had headed but in crowds as heavy as they where phone calls were impossible and we had to give up on our attempts to meet up that night.

The day after Saint Anthony's party is usually a day for nursing your hangover but for me and S it was the preparations for our own party that we were throwing that night. We'd already done the shopping and were well supplied with beers and wine and so S was left to prepare the sangria and I descended into the usual barely controlled rage with which I cook for many people. In the end, with some much appreciated help from J at the fryer and R1 & R2 at the barbecue we had plenty of food for everyone. There were beers aplenty and S's sangria went down a storm as usual...there is a recipe she will have to take to the grave, my French colleague who usually spends much of these events dismissing Portuguese wine even had to admit S had worked wonders with it.

It was really good to get the two groups of people, my new friends and S's old ones, together and it meant there was a pretty multicultural vibe going on there. One of the big problems that some of my colleagues here have is mixing with the locals and so this definitely went some way to helping this, next time we'll just have to make things bigger.

This problem of social mixing has come up again and again here and even more frequently lately when we have started going out more. Portugal is still, socially, a very conservative country. People here, when they go out of a night, tend to very much stick in their own groups. I would in fact go further than that and say that on the few occasions I have attempted to start up conversations it's met with incomprehension. This fact has been noted by most of my colleagues who enjoy going out and who have been here in Lisbon for much longer than me. It has, therefore, led to the sad state of affairs whereby until recently they had all but given up trying and resigned themselves to a form of internal social exile.

I have been lately doing all I can to try and instigate some kind of cultural exchange amongst the people I know here. It's not an easy process but I believe we are getting somewhere, slowly. There are however a few other problems with Portuguese society that do make this difficult. One of the extensions (whether it a cause or a symptom I do not know) of the general social conservatism here is the fact that most 'youths' (and by this I mean the age range 20-25) pretty much all live at home with their parents. There really isn't the movement as there is in the UK of people leaving home for university, but it goes deeper than that because even in the UK those people I knew who didn't go to university had by and large moved out by the time they were 25. Here it is not at all uncommon for people for 28,29 and 30 to still live at home. This of course entails all that you imagine it to, from clothes being washed to meals prepared.

One of the striking consequences of the majority of youths still being tied to their mother's apron strings is a remarkable amount of what can be described as immaturity. I was shocked to discover that at a houseparty I recently attended that most people were of roughly my age, give or take a year or so, when I would easily have put the average age at somewhere about 18. It's not that I am particularly ageist or indeed that I hope to spend parties discussing mortgage applications or the finer details of raising children but it is good to know that the people you are with have something of the same concerns as you rather than missing their curfew but this does also suppose that some conversation would be had. The only mingling achieved that night, other than with people I had formally been introduced to, was with a French guy (who thought S was 23!).

With these quite large differences in Portuguese culture it is sometimes difficult not to make comparisons with what I am used to but having come across a number of colleagues who have spent their time in Lisbon making unfavourable comparisons I have seen it somewhat as a mission to encourage them to come out more. Of course there are differences but one shouldn't let these stop one from having fun.

In this spirit the past couple of weeks have also seen my hit the beach. S and I spent much of the Saturday before last on a wonderful spot of sand on the Costa da Caparica. I was more than a little reluctant at first, never having been much of a beach person. but within an hour or so I had definitely entered into the spirit of things. We were lucky to be in a small group and we spent the afternoon chatting, swimming and raquetballing. Much fun was had by all until it came to the drive home and the, apparently typical, hour long wait in the car park. Fortunately we had a bit of inside information and made our way back to the bridge via a shortcut so what could have been an extremely long drive home was merely a long drive home.

Saturday evening was really one of the best nights out I've had in Lisbon to date. We started off, after our dash back from the beach, a quick shower and a hastily scoffed McDonalds, in Chapito with some friends. After spending a few hours there and just about the time they were kicking out, S, A and I headed over to Lux, time it perfectly, avoiding a queue but not being the first ones there. The music was varied but generally pretty cool. I think A would've prefered to have spent more time in the bar but we ended up sepnding most of the time on the roof which in the event was probably for the best. The only blemish on the entire evening was the lack of soup and pão com choriço afterwards but I could tell S and A weren't up for it and I didn't want to be pushy.

This weekend was again a hectic one. I had my good friend and ex-housemate from London, P, staying. He had arrived on Thursday and left yesterday and in those few days managed to pack in an amazing amount of sightseeing. Friday saw P left much to his own devices but he seemed to have seen about 90% of what any guidebook would recommend a visitor to Lisbon see. I thought he might be a little tired after this but we proceeded to have a pretty cool night in one of my favourite haunts, Crew Hassan. P really enjoyed this place and it's true what he said about it, you don't get anywhere like that in the UK and if you did it wouldn't take long to ruin. Of the 'cultural cooperatives' that abound in Lisbon I feel that Crew Hassan is possibly the most ramshackle and bohemian, to the point where you feel like most of the time there's no-one in charge and you have just found yourself in an old building in someone's house party.

Saturday was a crazily busy day that saw a trip to Sintra (with hotdogs in Guia on the way back) followed by a quick nap and then a lovely meal in one of the few vegetarian restaurants in Lisbon. After this we headed over to Bairro Alto for some drinks and the down to Lounge for dancing, timing our return home perfectly and just avoiding a huge down poor.

It was lovely to see P and I know he had a great time here but it has completely taken it out of me and S, I envisage a few early nights this week.

Memory smells...

2009-04-17T11:24:00.002+01:00

Today I am surrounded by memory smell. This is a phenomena that I encounter on a regular basis but not particularly often and it is probably the first time that it has happened since I have moved to Lisbon.

The day is grey and cloudy, as it has been for the better part of the week. There are intermittent spots of rain and the air feels quite heavy. Lisbon is a strange city for this kind of weather, stuck as it is, largely between two hills (the legendary 5 others are a mystery to me) make this atmosphere quite oppressive, as is the whole sky is pressing down on you. To be honest, I really quite enjoy it, I feel more interaction between myself and the environment when the rain is wetting my skin than when the sun is burning it.

But anyway...this kind of weather, that really seems to bring your senses into sharp focus, tend to lead me towards memory smell. This is a scent that I can't get out of my nose, I don't know if it's real or imagined but I like to think of it as an imagined scent from a long past memory. I sometimes get this experience when performing a certain task, reading a certain book or listening to a song, and sometimes it lasts all day. The smell isn't bad but neither is it good in the typical sense, it's not food or flowers or nature, it seems to be a composite that I find amazingly comforting.

I wonder if I'm the only one that has this experience.

In where I am at least 90% positive about Portugal...

2009-02-26T11:01:00.011Z

It has been claimed, in the past week, that I am unduly harsh in my criticism of Lisbon and Portugal, and that my blog is filled with moans and whinges. This is a charge that I firmly deny and it has taken me a good few days to find a suitable riposte. Sadly I am without the incisiveness of the originator I paraphrase but as Dickens once said of America, 'To represent me as viewing Portugal with ill-nature, coldness or animosity, is merely to do a very foolish thing, which is always a very easy one.'

To that end this post will be filled with nothing but effusive praise, something which I can assure my readers is not forced and I am not short of. The past week has been a trying one for a number of reasons but has not been without its highlights, it has been in turn hectic, stressful, painful and nausea inducing.

Last Thursday was an almost entirely positive day, I had been having a rather productive week at work, my paper is coming on well and there has suddenly been an influx of resources for my subject matter. They're not particularly good resources, most of them are either badly out of date, overly specific or else American (urgh, they should not be allowed to write seriously on the subject of drugs!) and we also had a chuckle at the INCB report that came out and seemed to have been written from the stone age. It really was like a drugs report that you'd expect your grandma to write, absolutely no comprehension of the realities in the world and they even managed to get the name of this organisation wrong (using the word Abuse rather than Addiction, Abuse is a term rarely if ever used here). I also did a few bits and pieces for colleagues including editing an interesting paper on drugs policy analysis.

Late in the afternoon I had the pleasurable surprise of spotting a job that I would love. I wouldn't say I would be perfect for it as I'm hugely inexperienced and under qualified but in the spirit of 'nothing ventured, nothing gained' I applied. It's with the UN in Vienna in the human trafficking department of UNODC as a project coordinator. There was also a job in a higher grade that was specifically in the field of drugs but the experience they were asking for was 7 years and I thought this was asking a bit much plus the vacancy I did apply for actually had experience in drug supply control as an advantageous requirement. I will probably hear nothing from it but I would like to keep in the habit of applying for jobs and updating my CV as it's never an easy task and one can easily get out of practice. It would be great to get some form of feedback from the application but I am realistic about my prospects.

Friday was spent largely on errands, I had to go to the supermarket and pick up a few things but I also had to pop over to the Universidade Nova de Lisboa to sign up for my Portuguese language course. I felt it best to start at the beginning because even though I know a few phrases and can get by with some basics I don't want to carry on with any of the bad habits I might have picked up. Plus this way I can always be the first person in the class with my hand up, a habit I have never grown out of. My schedule now is quite good, there are two classes a week, each two hours long. I'll be there Monday 18:00-20:00 and Friday 18:00-20:00. The Friday classes are particularly convenient as soon S will be returning to classes and we can meet for dinner and chats, in fact we'll actually be in the same building which will be fun.

On the way back from the faculty I had the opportunity to take a photograph of one of my favourite bits of graffiti in Lisbon. This is a building which from the looks of it is still occupied, although possibly by squatters. It's one of the classic bits of crumbling Lisbon that I love, the faded decadence. I'm not a big fan of the renovations that you see popping up everywhere and even less the new buildings but these crumbling monuments are wonderful.

Someone here is evidently a fan of acid and wishes to proclaim it on one of the busiest roads in Lisbon. Over the next few weeks I'll have to try and grab photos of my other favourite bits of graffiti. The city is excellent for it but sadly the suburbs just seem to be full of scribbles and tags. As I learn more of the language I'm also finding more and more amusing and political phrases scribbled around so I'll try and get some of those too.

Friday evening was a break from the studying that had kept S occupied all week. We had planned a visit to the cinema to see Mike Leigh's Happy Go Lucky (the DVD of which I remember expressly planning on stealing from my mum's last time I was there but I forgot). We had invited a few people but in the end it was just J who responded so rather than the effort and expense we decided to have a chilled night in, I would cook and we could watch of the DVDs S had borrowed from her boss which were (ahem) completely legal!

As it turned out it was really quite fortunate that this was the plan as S had, in the course of the day, picked up some stomach bug. S has notoriously sensitive digestive system and I hoped it was just a case that she'd drunk some milk within 24 hours of eating an orange or something innocuous like that that had set her stomach growling but it soon became apparent that it was something a bit more serious. It was for the best that we decided to stay in, J and I shared a rather overstuffed ham, mushroom and goats cheese Calzone that I prepared and which S quite rightly didn't want to risk and then we set about watching Woody Allen's latest bit of fluff, Vicky Christina, Barcelona.

I never expected the film to be a masterpiece but neither was it awful. It did leave me wondering why on earth Penelope Cruz was nominated for best supporting actress at the Oscars (but it was no stranger than Josh Brolin's nomination for Milk). The girls of course swooned over Javier Bardem who is quite obvious in his Latin charm whilst I was left with a disappointing Scarlett Johansson who is becoming blander and blander as time passes and Rebecca Hall who looked much more awkward than in her (admittedly pointless but glamorous) role in Frost/Nixon. I was pleased to note, though, that some of the indoor action in Barcelona was shot in a bar I visited last summer at Primavera Sound, a very cool little absinthe bar which at the time was filled to the rafters with indie kids. (Incidentally the film also reminded me to give another listen to one of the most underrated, and sometimes mocked, albums of 2008 - Scarlett Johansson - Anywhere I Lay My Head.)

Saturday and Sunday consisted of me doing a bit of cleaning and tidying, a lot of reading and actually making a return to running...something which on Monday I paid the price for dearly when my muscles were so sore I could barely walk. S on the other hand had to contend with food poisoning whilst writing a paper on European politics. I have immense respect for this women managing to get it all done. Had I written this on Sunday I would've made some comment about her not knowing the term 'suffer in silence', Saturday was a rough night in which stomach pains kept her awake and she in turn ensured I knew she was being kept awake, however as Monday arrived and S had recovered, thanks to a diet of entirely white and tasteless food, I felt the first rumblings of something strange in my own stomach.

Through the increasing stomach cramps and the severe muscle strain from the run the night before I managed to waddle my way to work on Monday morning looking like a cross between a cowboy after a long ride and Raoul Duke and Dr Gonzo entering the Casino. I soon realised I had made a big mistake, I stuck it out at my desk for a couple of hours on the off chance it would go away but it was here to stay and so I dashed back home to curl up in bed. Here again praise should be heaped upon S because despite my less than sympathetic dealings with her convalescence (which consisted of preparing her white and tasteless food) she was very supportive, kind and loving despite the downright awful timing of my own illness. It was Carnival time and I had taken the day off on Tuesday so we could go out dancing on Monday. It turned out that by dancing time I did feel a lot better but we decided that it wasn't worth the risk to my health, better to get well then have the fun than spend the week regretting it.

Tuesday was a holiday here in Lisbon but rather than spending it with the anticipated hangover we instead were clear headed and thankful for the rest. We spent the morning having a big lie in and chatting and then drove to Estoril in the afternoon for lunch with the parents. It had been for the plan for me to take it easy with the food for a couple of days but I simply could not resist the Cozido à Portuguesa that S's mum had prepared which is pork and sausages (chouriço and morcela) and vegetables (lots of cabbage, carrot and turnip) boiled together and served with rice and beans. I avoided the blood sausage but otherwise had a pretty healthy appetite after my enforced fast of the previous day. After the meal we went for a drive with J to get a drink by the beach.

This was rather a pleasant drive, if a little longer than anticipated. It seemed that all of Lisbon was at the beach that day and therefore the roads were jam packed. We were predicting that that will be the story of the summer because as the credit crunch hits then people are not going to be visiting the Algarve or going shopping, they'll stick near to home.

After tea, beer and scones were consumed we made out way back to Estoril. It was good to spend some time with J and you get the impression she really enjoys the company now that she's split up with R. We dropped her off at her dad's and returned to S's parent's to watch the football. It was Man United v Inter and for 90 minutes me and S's dad could be united in our hatred of Jose Mourinho. It was a fascinating match, one which I believe was a definite moral victory for Man United and I definitely think I'm making some progress in making the Manchester Reds an adoptive team for him, as Benfica are now mine here.

Yesterday was spent doing some rather stressful party organising. 2 many DJs are playing a bar in Belem and I managed to get a few colleagues here interested in going, as well as a few of S's friend. The venue isn't great, it's expensive and posey and full of betalhada and it's a school night but the opportunities to get a few people out sadly don't come around too often and I think think some people could do with a little unwinding. So tonight will consist of going for a lovely Indian meal before drinks and dancing. It's been quite a while since I had a proper night out and I'm really looking forward to it.

The Daily Grind...

2009-02-18T23:29:00.003Z

So today has been an unusually pleasant day here in my office, things haven't been particularly productive for me of late, I really have found things an uphill struggle but (to add another cliché here) I think I've turned a corner.

The day started really quite well and was one of those strange Hollywood style openings. I walk the same route to work each day and whilst not too exciting I find it a pleasant enough journey. As anyone who commutes on a daily basis, and keeps to a regular routine, will know you tend to bump into the same people every day. These are people whose names you will never know and who you will probably never speak to. I have noticed that people here have a habit of making eye contact here a bit more than in the UK. In fact if anything I felt quite voyeuristic in the UK as I would always be staring at people as they made their way around with their heads down or with a glazed expression on their faces. Here there is much more of a chance of actually making eye contact with someone although it is nice to note that when this does happen the natural human evasiveness kicks in and people have the decency to look embarrassed.

Today was different, whether they had slipped something in the water that gave everyone in Lisbon a good night's sleep or if the wide availability of cheap drugs here had reached epidemic proportions I don't know but today at least five of my regular fellow commuters made concerted eye contact and smiled at me. I was a little unsure at first and thought the first couple might have just been thinking of something amusing on television last night or perhaps one of the tank-like grandmothers that populate Lisbon had slipped over behind me. After the fourth and fifth smile I really thought something must be wrong with me, either my fly visibly open or breakfast down my front or (and this a particular favourite) toothpaste round my mouth. On getting into the office I immediately checked myself and my appearance was nothing out of the ordinary so I had to assume that people were in a good mood and I could indeed follow suit.

When I finally settle down at my computer I find that overnight my inbox has filled with articles and studies to keep me busy for the day, including links to one report by the US DEA which seems right up my alley. The only problem with this is that all record of it on the internet has been removed, there are articles that cite it and dead links to it but the actual report itself remains tantalisingly elusive.

There was a rather dull meeting this afternoon which I had to endure, it was much a meeting for the sake of having a meeting, giving the illusion that everyone is being kept in the loop and that communication in here is fine and dandy. After the meeting I got talking to one of the scientists, Isabelle, and then the strangest thing happened...she invited me into her office to sit down and have a talk. The shock of this had me babbling for a while, to be honest I haven't really faced any impromptu questions on my work and to begin with I was at a loss for answers but her enthusiasm (despite her own work being in a completely different field to my own) put me at ease and it was actually one of the most useful and productive talks I've had. It set my mind buzzing with ideas and I think my work will have much more focus now.

The greatest arguement ever...

2009-02-17T15:51:00.006Z

So yesterday was a pretty tough day, in fact the highlight of the day came technically today at about 00:35.

Mondays are always frustrating days and we (me and S) knew it was going to be a tough one before it even started. S had spent much of the weekend working on her paper which was due at midnight last night. Going into Monday there was still quite a lot of work to do so she had planned to spend some of her time at work working on it as well as the whole evening. Unfortunately that plan started to unravel early on. I received a phone call not long after getting in from S saying that she had forgotten to email the paper to herself and so would have to essentially work blind. I offered in my most reluctant of tones to go back home and send it to her but through some force of female intuition she realised that I wasn't looking forward to the extra hour walking and declined the offer. I am bad and I will be going to hell.

So I started on my own work filled with guilt and irritation (the usual emotions of Monday mornings but not for the usual reasons) and realised that everything I had spent the last week writing was unfounded rubbish, true but unfounded. I'm supposed to be doing research on drug mules and there is nothing out there! Nothing other than generic rubbish or studies that are so specific as to be of very little use to assess the European perspective. I successfully fought the temptation to delete everything and start again and instead found myself writing without even attempting to find justification or evidence knowing that the vague reports I have will cover me and that as a research recommendation I can suggest further study in particular areas to strengthen the evidence.

The problem here is to not be seen to be in any way political. It's almost like reaching conclusions are anathema. It's frustrating but despite this organisation being packed to the rafters with experts we have been told that they shouldn't be making the conclusions, they're for politicians to make after they've carefully ignored the evidence of the experts, but when the conclusions are as clear as day it's almost insulting to the intelligent man not to mention them. I got a phone call on Friday from a lawyer I had been put in contact with through an old colleague. He was extremely helpful and enthusiastic about the project (providing that I was more focused than the in rambling email I sent him) which surprised me to a large extent as I know how busy people are. Unfortunately but predictably when I reported this to my colleagues there was an immediate note of caution. We (I) can't be seen to be going over the head of the established contact points despite being told that it's essential for us to nurture our own networks of information.

With my head ringing from the contradictory instructions and feeling that this study is nothing more than a hassle to my colleagues I set about my day's work trying not to get under anyone's feet. The day in the office was remarkably uneventful...lunch was a pleasant affair at the usual place and consisted of alheira grelhado com ovo a really greasy smoked chicken sausage, grilled with a fried egg on top, served with rice, chips and greens. It's a real man's lunch and I am always being mocked by my continental colleagues - they claim I have a typically English attitude to eating but I don't think this is particularly fair. I have put on a little weight since I have been here, but not a great deal, especially considering I've only been running a couple of times since I arrived. I do like my big lunches and some are incredibly fatty but I avoid most dairy products (they're really not a patch on milk/butter/cream from the UK) and I have much lighter dinners. Plus I don't snack as much despite the constant temptation of the omnipresent pastelarias.

The afternoon passed mercifully quickly but before I left I had the idea of ringing my mum for a quick chat. I hadn't spoken to her in a while and we have free VOIP calls here at work for international personal calls so I thought I would take advantage of that. I ring the house phone, no answer, I ring the mobile, no answer, I ring the house phone again, no answer, I ring the mobile again, no answer. Now I'm not the angriest person in the world, I perhaps used to be but I have definitely calmed in my old age. One of the few things that is still guaranteed to annoy me beyond all reason is people not picking their phones up. I think it a common courtesy that if you're busy and don't want to answer your phone you switch it off and put it on voicemail, otherwise there is absolutely no excuse for not picking up a mobile phone. I know it's something we're all guilty of, even me, it might be in our pocket or we don't hear it but seriously, look at the statistics, I probably have no more than 3 or 4 missed calls a month. When I rule the world, more than 10 and you lose phone privileges.

As you can imagine from my unreasonable rant now, when actually confronted by an unanswered phone I was near apoplectic and so I stormed out of work in a deeply irritated mood. By the time I met S I was in a somewhat calmer frame of mind but over the course of the evening I was deeply unkind and unhelpful and S was getting increasingly panicky and silly. We were just working completely at counterpoint to each other but then followed one of the best arguments I have ever had...

After about four hours of not talking to each other, in fact it reached the point of very actively ignoring one another, we had a blazing row, 15 minutes of shouting and accusations followed by silence. A silence in which it struck me how silly the whole thing was, I was hit by the ridiculousness and childishness of my own actions and S's reactions and I let out a giggle. A giggle that quickly turned into a chuckle which was particularly contagious and soon we were both in fits of laughter, wrapped round each other and all was forgiven.

Today we felt like a team again but unfortunately it's back to the grindstone as the next paper is due on Sunday evening and much reading and research has to be done before then.

This morning was a lot easier and therefore a lot more productive. As usual I didn't see many people until lunch time but had a good chat with my colleagues about the progress of the Annual Report and the problems that have arrisen into it. It's great getting these sorts of insights. I broached the subject of me taking a day off next week, it's Carnival and the plan is for lots of drinking and dancing to be done. It was no problem for me to take the day off because it's not like I'm getting paid to be here. We also discussed an interview that the director was giving today on drugs from Asia. One of my colleagues was responsible for briefing him beforehand. We asked him what he told the director and he said,
"I told him what we know, Heroin comes from Asia."

This is why they get paid and I don't!

Valentine's Day and all that Jazz...

2009-02-16T15:46:00.004Z

I realise it has been quite a while since I published anything really worth reading in this thing and I am damn sure that I don't want to get out of the habit. The simple and boring truth is that life at the moment has settled down in to a somewhat regular, that is to say not at all boring, pace. I have been finding it increasingly more difficult to find the time and will to write here, especially given my own high expectations of quality. In shorthand, I can't always muster the wit I wish I had.

Nevertheless many things have been going on and I will attempt to revisit and review events of the past as soon as I can so please continue to check back when I will attempt to write fuller accounts of my new colleagues, international conferences and especially the amazing experience of meeting some of S's more (ahem) posh friends.

This weekend has really seen the sun come back to Portugal which has seemed something like the return of an old friend. I was really quite ill the weekend before, and for the early part of last week, with a chest bug that I picked up from one of the delegates at the international conference I went to on the 5th and 6th. Combined with the germs brought to Lisbon from all corners of Europe S and I found ourselves the proud foster parents of a cat who I'm sure didn't really make things worse but who I like to blame all the ills of the world on. Here's the devil himself (photo by V, his loving mum):

So now we've had this visitor for the past few days and V & C have been here looking for their new abode. It looks like they've finally got a place and they seem really happy with it which I'm really pleased about. They weren't big fans of Manchester at all so it's good for them to be able to return to a city that they love so much.

For me this weekend was much as the last couple. S has some big deadlines for her MA so Saturday daytime was largely spent working on this. Unfortunately for me she's gone from one subject that I flatter myself into thinking I'm relatively well informed on (American history and politics) to one that I am largely clueless about (a rather specific policy principle of the EU), I am learning lots but for me anyway it's not a topic of particular interest. I try to be as much help to S as possible but really in this sense it's more as a sounding board for S to try bouncing her own ideas off. At this stage I think it would take me a little too long to thoroughly learn the subject myself.

All this intense study and debate has of course brought to the fore the question of my own future and plans for my own development. The latest idea (this is perhaps a little unfair, the idea has been knocking around for a long time, if anything it is becoming more clearly defined) is for me to do an MA here in Lisbon. I have looked at the institutions and there are a couple of likely courses in political science but there are, inevitably, problems in these choices. I have discussed my concerns with S and she thoroughly understands that it is going to be difficult for me to do an MA course in Portuguese from what is essentially a standing start (even though my Portuguese language course starts in a couple of weeks) and I have deep concerns about the quality of the institutions and the teaching. The idea of international prestige is another concern to me, especially if in the future we were to leave Portugal and try and get jobs elsewhere. The simple fact is that whether I like it or not, whether I agree with it or not, my CV does have a hole where an MA should be. These are not concerns that can or even should be addressed straightaway but some things to bear in mind.

Saturday being Valentine's day meant of course that studying was postponed until a lovely breakfast, (pancakes made by me!) with delicious homemade (by S's mum) orange marmalade and fruit juice and coffee, was eaten. Being poor as the proverbial church mice we didn't exchange presents of cards (we're almost amongst those hip, cynical people, who think that Valentine's day is for those in failed relationships, as those who know us will testify, we're sickeningly gushy all the time so don't need a day to celebrate this) instead we wrote some cool messages and drew some hearts on out big blackboard wall. After breakfast I then attempted not to disturb S which inevitably mean that I made more of a nuisance than if I had actually been trying. I am one of those worst kind of readers...the ones who constantly laugh out loud and have to share interesting snippets...so I then thought it might be for the best if I ran a few errands, leaving S in peace. I went to the pastalaria on the corner to pick up lunch and then came back and did a little tidying. I then decided to go to the supermarket and pick up a couple of things for the evening, namely a bottle of vodka and limes for caipirinhas and some ice cream.

On my return I set about making a meal for my hard working girl and had decided on an old staple, my vegetarian chilli. It had been a while since I had made a proper meal and it really felt good to be back in the kitchen. We have got used to a routine of big lunches and then just soup or salad for dinner so it was nice to be able to get my knives out. As well as that, considering the amount of meat I now but away on a daily basis it was good to be able give it a rest.

The meal was a success to an extent that even surprised me, especially considering the amount of wine I had put away (or it may just be that the wine inspired that feeling of success). After the meal we decided to make our caipirinhas and get quietly drunk with each other but at this time we received some rather bad news. S got a message from J asking to ring her as soon as possible and it turns out that J and R had split up. The timing was particularly dreadful but I don't think in this case there would ever have been a good moment to call time on an 8 year relationship. The details are personal between J and R but a prime reason seems to be that they just want different things in life, something that makes me even more happy to have found someone who shares my ambitions and goals.

S was obviously very shocked and upset by the news as it had come totally out of the blue and she was deeply concerned for her friend but J is strong and if anyone can cope with something like this then it is her.

In the end we did succeed in getting more then a little drunk but it had been such a draining day (for S rather than me, I'm just a drunkard) that we fell asleep in front of a film with barely 10 minutes of it watched.

Sunday was remarkably hangover free and we had planned for a long time to take a walk by the beach. It had originally been the plan for the weekend before but I was too ill and the weather wasn't great. Yesterday I could actually take my coat off and breath. We woke late and had a quick brunch out before leaving for Estoril and making our way down the surprisingly packed promenade. We had a leisurely walk in the sun and did a bit of people watching, amazingly people were sunbathing in bikinis already.

We walked all the way into Cascais and then had a wander through town. It was very interesting to hear S talking about her memories from childhood there and hearing about all the places she used to go. It was also good to hear her opinions on the Cascais of then to what it is now. We walked to the park and watched the peacocks there for a little while before bumping into an English colleague of mine who was out with his little daughter.

After the walk we decided to pop round to the in-laws who then surprised us with a late lunch, hmmm....it was like it was all planned or something...it was as usual delicious but S had to dash off to meet J who was nearby at her dad's. Understandably they had a lot to talk about so I stayed at the in-laws and had an afternoon of football. First Derby v Man United then Inter v Milan followed by Porto v Rio Ave. It was a lot to take in one afternoon but it was enjoyable and I wasn't flayed by the cat which is always a bonus. S only returned rather late so by the time we arrived back in Lisbon there was little time to do anything other than heat some soup and get into the second episode of the second season of the Wire...which frustratingly is really not living up to the first season yet.

All this talk of romance and relationships etc put me in mind of this article I read the other day. Maybe this woman's problem is that she obviously has some problem communicating in the real world. I do realise the irony of me whinging about 'new media' from my blog, I really do, but I really really hate all this talk of Facebook (yes I have one which I very occasionally use) and Twitter (which I also have but have never used or even looked at) and other blogs as a substitute for real life. No it's not the same as real life, no, friends or relationships on the internet are not the same as those in real life! It's not the real world, it's an escape where opinions can go unchecked and unverified, which communication is filtered, repackaged and dumbed down. I am forever thankful that I am with one of the few people, it seems, who are completely disinterested in 'social networking'. I remember the months and months we spent apart when people would comment things like, "at least you have Skype" without realising that these tools just made it all the more striking that we were hundreds of miles apart and only served to emphasise the distance. Thankfully those days are over now.

Conferences, cats and coughs...

2009-02-06T15:53:00.008Z

For the past two days I have found myself at my first big international conference. Granted it was here in Lisbon, in the second office that my organisation has in a rough part of town and granted I was by far the most excited person to be there but it was still interesting and I still enjoyed myself!

The subject of the conference was Cannabis production and markets and therefore right up my street (cue here jokes about my unusually large electricity bill and pungent 'pot-pourri'). There was a reasonably large selection of delegates from the member states with a couple of notable exceptions - both Spain and the Netherlands were missing - but it did give me a good opportunity to note the national stereotypes, something which S says she is now quite adept at, being much more experienced in these international conferences and meetings than I am.

It was rather amusing going round the table without paying attention to the name tags and trying to figure out which country each person was from. Even with little experience of this and solely with my own natural prejudices I had a pretty high success rate. It was interesting to note though that for the most part the older the delegate the easier to spot the origin. The younger ones for a large part were harder to distinguish, this was apart from the young German chap who looked like a villain from Biggles and the Portuguese guys who despite looking physically completely different both look like they had had a fight with your typical Portuguese men's clothes shop and lost. I often joke about there being some conformity here in Portugal but it was amusing seeing them both in almost identical 'country' shirts, zippered pullovers, chinos and slip-on shoes. The Romanians also looked startlingly like vampires (as well as having an evident thirst for justice).

What was also amusingly typical was the views expressed by the various nations. There is a stereotypical idea on who the more liberal and progressive nations are compared to those with a harder, conservative, line and also those nations whose 'focal points' don't always toe the governmental line and those who still feel the secret police are watching. I don't need to go into details here as there were no great surprises and I'm sure your own prejudices can do the work.

The first day was spent listening to a couple of rather interesting presentations on work being done to evaluate the markets in the UK and in Ireland (the UK invariably being one of the countries to do the most research into the subject, along with France and possibly Portugal). There then followed a rather poorly received presentation on how focal groups could be used for research purposes. No-one doubted they could but what was quite evident from an early stage was that most people present felt that for tis particular area of research, given the time limits and other constraints, they wouldn't be of much use. This pretty much deflated the bubble that this interesting and enthusiastic speaker had created and I have to admit that by the end of the question and answer section he did seem a bit like a broken man.

At lunch, and in the coffee breaks, the conference divided into rather predictable lines, there were the older, law enforcement, suite-y types on one side and the younger, more casual public health types on the other. Occasionally there would be some enthusiastic delegate or a member of my office trying to bridge the gap. Lunch was a pleasant affair and something that in these international situations is always bound to stir debate. I don't know if it was a point of Portuguese pride amongst the caterers but I have been informed that at most of these events there is a bacalhau dish. I avoided this and chose a salad as I'm not sure how much more salt my poor heart can take for the moment but it looked good and went down reasonably well.

The evening gave a little chance for some networking as we had a dinner booked at a little Tapas Bar near the Marquês de Pombal. I had to dash back to the flat between the conference and the dinner because I was dressed perhaps a little too formally for a casual networking dinner but being me I of course both forgot an umbrella, thus getting soaked, and also arrived bang on time, thus looking extremely uncool. I decided to pop into a little cafe nearby and have a quick coffee before braving the earliness but luckily I bumped into the Irish delegation, Johnny and Ann-Marie who persuaded me to change my coffee for a quick beer. We had a nice chat before joining the rest for the meal and managed to steer clear of shop talk which was good.

I really enjoyed the tapas bar despite the food having a distinctly Portuguese flavour (not that this in itself is bad but I had geared myself up for Spanish food, it is pretty hard to find good foreign food in Lisbon) and the stools and tables being particularly close to the floor. There was also the danger of it being a free bar but I do find it amusing to see people starting slowly, with beer or wine, not wanting to appear to be taking advantage of this policy, then they get more adventurous, maybe order a spirit and mixer, then onto the cocktails before finally just asking to be hooked up intravenously to the vodka! It was definitely a good way of loosening a few collars and getting the conversation flowing.

I spent a good part of the evening talking to Ann-Marie whose political outlook on life seemed to be dangerously influenced by Ayn Rand. I was always taught that if you have nothing nice to say then don't say anything at all (a mantra that i studiously ignore 99% of the time but this night I had drunk myself into a state of magnanimity) so I moved the subject onto rugby which Ann-Marie and the UK delegate Charlotte (who was Welsh) seemed only too keen on. It's the first year in a long time that English chances in the Six Nations have been so low and they were happy to point this out. As with most chats about rugby (as opposed to say football) the banter was light hearted with no malice so it was an evening well spent.

I came home a little worse for wear to find life invaded by 'the cat'. Me and 'the cat' have a long and complicated history but this was his first taste of Portugal because he too is moving here from Manchester. V & C brought him over and he's staying at mine and S's until they get a place so it was important for us to lay some ground rules down, the primary one's being: he's banned from the bedroom, he eats when we say he eats and any dirty business and he can clean it up himself. I firmly believe in tough love when it comes to animals and children!

Today was a tough day, the look on most delegates' faces in the second morning of the conference showed that most had spent much longer out than me. This meant that the meeting was much more subdued than the day before and there were a few sheepish latecomers sneaking in after the first presentations. I was also feeling a little down but rather than the expected hangover I blame this on spending the evening in such a smokey atmosphere. It's now 7 months since I quite smoking and a good 18 months since I was in such a smokey bar for an extended period. I never thought I'd admit that the smoking ban was a good idea (and I still think some venues have lost a lot of atmosphere, if you'll excuse the pun) but for purely selfish reasons last night really felt like a regression. My throat is now killing me, me clothes from last night stink, all those boring and self-righteous anti-smoking complaints are true!

The Sound & The Fury...

2009-01-18T22:19:00.008Z

Today marked a cultural first for me here in Portugal, I went to the theatre here for the first time (first time in Portugal that is, obviously), but more on that later, I'll first recount an interesting weekend.

It's been my first weekend after starting work and obviously with all the changes and goings-on it has been rather draining so I wasn't too enthused about the prospect of an action packed weekend. Luckily for me there are plenty of activities right on my doorstep and after her own hard week S was very much in agreement on this point.

As usual Saturday morning was spent guiltily getting my lie-in whilst S was at her classes but I hadn't forgotten my deal to keep the flat tidy which is only fair really. One of the hardest things about moving in with someone is adjusting to the other person's level of cleanliness. We all have different tolerances for tidiness and hygiene. This obviously also changes over time too, I have lived in some horrible dank pits in my student days where washing up would remain undone until you were almost at the 'eating scrambled eggs from a shoe with a comb' phase. (NB. please see Black Books for references). There were also issues in student houses I have lived in regarding entire bottles of red wine spilled on the carpet, burns of varying sizes and causes on all soft furnishings, empty bottles littering the place (I believe in my first student house we counted over 60 empty red wine bottles as we moved out and that was just what we hadn't thrown out, but I stand to be corrected on that). But, thankfully, times have changed. Those days of slobbery are now behind me, I've lived on my own for over a year and my own tolerance of cleanliness is now quite high. This is fortunate as so is S's

I remember I think either just before or just after I moved in there was a (semi perhaps) serious concern that S voiced where she asked me to confirm that I would help out around the house. It stuck with me not because I doubt that S has faith in me, she saw my flat in Manchester enough times to realise that I wasn't just cleaning it up for her, but it was a more general concern that the guys she knows here and the fact that they don't really do much around the house. All her girl friends complain about it. I'm not sure how valid this is across the country but I do suspect it to be fairly prevalent, from my own experience too. I think in the UK guys are generally more 'modern' for want of a better word. I'm not afraid to put a pinney on and do my fair share, in fact in the kitchen I really do prefer to do everything (I'm sure S resents being kicked out of a place she once used to dominate) but I really do see it as my domain now. I think there is a tendency for guys here to be 'mothered' a lot more than the UK and most definitely a lot more than I was. I do consider myself to be quite um homem moderno.

Cleaning aside there were some plans for yesterday as we were finally going to go to the library which is across the street from us. The Municipal Library here is located in a very beautiful old building called the Palácio Galveias, here is the front of it-

We actually live behind it, here are a couple of views from our balcony -

The garden is very pretty, especially in the summer when these photos were taken and when it is filled with peacocks that kindly (or not depending on how much sleep you want) provide the neighborhood with an alarm clock.

S had been in the flat, metres from the place, for nearly two years without ever setting foot in the library but was finally convinced by a combination of my persistence and the fact that upstairs there was a rather interesting looking exhibition of Finnish illustration for children's literature. It was only a small exhibit, just four rooms but I thought it was exceptionally well done and some of the images were amazing. I love children's literature, something I inherited from my mum and the pictures on display here were very much of the kind that don't patronise children. There are no 'cartoons' but well expressed drawings, many did tell a story but I think that the most important thing in many of them was what was absent, allowing the imagination to flow. It was interesting seeing them on the walls, out of context of the books that many of them were drawn for, and without the words and stories they were designed for. We were very lucky to catch the exhibition as I think it's only around for another couple of days. I also managed to get an impromptu Portuguese lesson as I went round translating all the titles of the works.

After the library we had arranged to go round to J & R(J)'s for dinner. I have to admit that at first the idea didn't thrill me, I was tired and I just wanted a stress free, chilled out evening but in the event I had a really good time. Dinner was just chicken, salad and potatoes with an excellent cake for desert. The conversation was nice and relaxed and then we just all sat down together to watch a film. R(J) had just got a new harddrive media player linked to his TV so as he downloads most of the films he watches he can just put them on there. I wasn't hugely thrilled with the selection on off (Saw V anyone?!?) but in the end we decided to watch The Fall which was not bad, some beautiful cinematography and stunning settings but was a little unsatisfactory in the end. I was just left wondering what really was the point of the film other than as an excuse to show all the wonderful settings...still...better than Saw V.

The journey home was memorable for all the wrong reasons unfortunately. As you can just make out on the last photo of the library we were making our way in the car across that junction at about 1:30-2:00am the light turned green for us and we set off only to almost smash into a car going at about 80mph through the red light out of the tunnel (which is just obscured by the building). The exit of the tunnel onto the junction is completely blind so S had no time to react whatsoever and I'm really not exaggerating to suggest that a second either way and the crash would have been fatal. I was incensed and S was obviously extremely shaken. She had to stop as soon as possible, despite only being metres from home, and take a few deep breaths. I was eager for her to race around to the next junction where we might catch them and I could have a few choice words for them but it was probably not wise at that point as I was so mad I think I could've killed them with my bare hands. I might laugh and joke and exaggerate about the driving here but a lot of the time it is no laughing matter, it's dangerous and a scandal that the police just look the other way.

After the scare yesterday S unfortunately had more driving to do today as we went to the parents' for lunch again. It was only really going to be a quick visit to drop things off that had been left after the birthday party but it turns out that S's mum had been sneakily preparing a meal for us and she's convinced that I'm too thin. It was really nice to spend time with them anyway and I do really appreciate the way they've accepted me into the family. So it was with mixed feelings that we had to dash off because we had other plans.

Earlier in the week I had proudly purchased (in my best Portuguese, without a bit of English!) two tickets to see The Sound and the Fury at Culturgest which is a theatre attached to the huge bank building at the end of our street (the rather fascistic building you see on the right of the last library photo). The play was going to be in English and I had read the novel before so it was cheating but I was still looking forward to it.

I have been to Culturgest a number of times now and it is a really good venue putting on a wide range of interesting cultural events. My favourite by far has so far been the Lisbon Documentary festival last year which I very much hope will be on again this year.

For this performance they were using the main auditorium which holds maybe 600-700 but in order to make the experience more intimate they had constructed a smaller and steeper bank of seating directly in front of the stage. It was a good job because the performance was so intense and required such a lot of concentration it was good to be as close to the stage as possible. Those of you who know the novel will appreciate that The Sound and the Fury would not be an easy play to adapt for the stage and so it proved. They had dispensed with the last three quarters to concern themselves with the first complete day of the novel. The sense of disjointed time and incoherence was achieved by having the actors playing several characters throughout the play (without regard to sex or race) and by having large parts read by actors at various times. This was combined with sections of loud music and dancing and had quite a shocking, almost tiring effect overall.

I don't think the play was bad but I couldn't get rid of the feeling that (like the film seen last night) it was produced just to be able to say that it had been. I thought the performances from the actors, especially the woman who played Benjy for the majority of the play, were very good (with the exception of the 'girl' who played mother for the large part, she hammed it up a little) and the set design was very good, although it felt like they had in some way limited themselves by having quite an overstocked mise-en-scene when perhaps something more minimalist would have given them more scope for imagination.

It's back to work tomorrow and whilst it's been a reasonably packed weekend I do feel quite rested and it's good to get the old grey cells ticking in many different ways as otherwise I think things could feel quite stressed.

Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to work I go...

2009-01-15T22:08:00.004Z

So today was my first day at work and my head is spinning! I've encountered so many names, faces and nationalities in such a short space of time that I don't know how I'm going to remember everyone.

When I first come up with the plan to move to Lisbon it was agreed that I wouldn't do so without some plan to further my career, I wouldn't just do the typical bar work or teaching English (at least with nothing to back it up). Luckily for me there exists in Lisbon an EU Agency in exactly my field. Unfortunately jobs come up here rarely and those that do are competed over ferociously, the wages are excellent (especially given the comparatively low average wage in Portugal) and it really is a centre of excellence in the field. I thought that the best route for me would be to apply for an internship (or 'stagier' if you're European) and in this way I can gain experience, make contacts and discover how the operation works. The internships were themselves keenly fought over and I spent months waiting for a response but after an interview I finally found that they wanted me and that I could start work in the New Year - they even had a project in mind for me, so I wouldn't just be making the coffee.

Anyway that was the background but today was my first day so I obviously had those 'first day' butterflies and I genuinely had nothing but a very vague outline as to what it was I would be doing. I'm now none the wiser but at least I know my colleagues don't bite.

The Agency is split into two offices, one in Santa Apolónia where the Directorate, the Communications and Administration departments are based and one office near Anjos metro station where the scientific departments are based. Luckily for me Anjos is perfectly within walking distance from the flat for me and so it's good exercise, if not a little dangerous to get to work. Before I came to Lisbon I had the idea to ride a bike to and from work and I've still not completely given up on the idea. It was originally ridiculed by the people here but I think my points have some validity - The traffic in rush hour moves pretty slowly and the hills are no problem (I'm not that unfit). I'm deferring the decision but already I have heard tell of a number of colleagues who cycle in so I'll have to get tips from them.

The first day (as ever) is really about orientation. There are two colleagues who are supposed to be guiding me but they're both very busy at the moment so I haven't had much of a chance to meet with them although we have arranged for a meeting next week to discuss my project in detail.

Today was spent being taken round the 4 floors of this building that the Agency occupies, I got to see my own office, which is huge...if I get the chance I will have to take a picture. It's not all mine, I share it will a pleasant Italian girl who does a job that I don't completely understand, but everyone here shares an office. I'll miss the open plan feel though, we used to have some good banter going on in Manchester.

The Agency itself is very mixed, there are people here from all over the EU and the working language is thankfully English, which everyone speaks to an excellent standard but which of course is a condition of working here. I have been told that I had better dust off my French and Spanish too as they will be very helpful in reading reports. This is slightly worrying as my French and Spanish is at a very low level by now but I'm sure I will pick things up quickly, especially if it's something I'm doing on a daily basis.

Tomorrow it is the annual staff meal in Ajuda, thoughtfully I have been included in the numbers so it will be an excellent opportunity to meet people in an informal setting and really get 'the skinny' on how this place works. It's been such an intense day though that I really feel I'm dead on my feet so more will have to wait until tomorrow.

The Portuguese character part 1...

2009-01-14T18:25:00.001Z

The Portuguese in his natural habitat is a creature defined by a striking dichotomy. On the street, in a bar or cafe, in the office or behind a desk they move like they have all the time in the world. Walking the streets of Lisbon you will often find queues of foreigners, giddy with an eagerness to absorb the sights and sounds of this marvelous city, forming behind slow moving tugas gently puffing on their cigarettes, making their way between their 14:00 bica and their 15:00 bica. In offices across the country emails go unanswered for days, weeks, years, telephones ring off their hooks and paperwork piles ever higher.

Yet put said same Portuguese in a car and there is suddenly no time to lose! Red traffic lights are a signal to accelerate to speeds never imagined by the car's designers, other vehicles are mortal enemies who have somehow offended the family honour and pedestrians are nothing but mobile speed bumps designed to slow them down and spoil their fun.

I am constantly wondering why the streets aren't always littered with the mangled wrecks of Smart cars and the less agile pedestrians. Perhaps salvage trucks make their way through the city nightly, clearing the streets of metal and blood, in fact that does make sense as I have set to see a single advert calling for blood donations and Smart cars are breeding like flies at the moment, I suspect thousands are simply made from the surviving parts of their fallen brothers.

More will have to be said about slow moving Portuguese people as it's a constant irritation for me, S and anyone else here who actually has to be anywhere but unfortunately it will have to wait for another time as I'm late - I was stuck in a people jam for 20 minutes this afternoon, the pavements were terrible.

Parabéns a vôce (part 2)...

2009-01-12T16:22:00.008Z

The past few days have seen S return to work and me take to the streets of Lisbon alone for the first time since my arrival. This is only partly true as by 'take to the streets' I generally mean do my daily walk to S's work at lunch time and at home time. It's the walk I've done most frequently in the months I've been visiting Lisbon and there's something new I discover every time I walk the streets. I change the route from time to time so that I fully know the grid of streets that surrounds our apartment and every time I make the journey it reminds me what a wonderful area, in a wonderful city that I live in.

What hasn't been wonderful at the moment though is the weather. I'm really not one to whinge about the weather (I come from Manchester, I have partly developed gills) but the recurring theme of the past few days has been the intense cold in the flat. Anyone reading this back in the UK will probably be chuckling now when I say that it's got as low as 8 degrees but these flats are freezing, everything is marble or tile and most places are still single glazed. It's quite funny to be shuffling round the flat here with 3 jumpers on thinking of myself at my mum's where I'd have to run around turning the heating off.

So that was the end of last week, Thursday and Friday

Saturday meant classes for S who is returning to her MA course after the Christmas break. I think she had enjoyed this break probably more than the break from work as the MA has been quite a big disappointment for her.

When I met her one of the main reasons why it was infinitely more practical for me to come to Lisbon rather than for her to join me in the UK was the fact that she was about to embark on an MA in Political Science at the Universidade Nova de Lisboa. It was something she was really looking forward to because of a deep personal interest in politics and international relations as well as being a great opportunity to advance her career

The problem was that when she started the course she very quickly realised that the faculty and the course were not what she was expecting. The standard of both the teaching and the facilities were much much lower than she was lead to believe they would be. It was all rather depressing, and got to the point where she was spending 15 hours a week (after a full working week) in a mustard coloured lecture theatre being droned at by professors who didn't even know their subjects particularly well and who certainly couldn't present them well.

But that's enough of the negativity because yesterday was S's birthday and a time for celebration. I'm a gentleman so I won't mention which birthday and all photographs that show the total number of candles on the cake have been appropriately censored (Photoshop is a wonderful thing). Suffice it to say that S is a number of years older than me and wasn't entirely thrilled about spending the day dwelling on this. Unfortunately for her though she is Portuguese and as such there are certain obligations she has to fulfill. One of the most important of these is having a fuss made of you by family and friends, eating lots of food and generally being polite to people when all you want to do is stay in bed and weep for your lost youth.

The preparation of the party was something akin to a military campaign, watches were synchronised, the (future) parents-in-law were mobilised, the flat was scrubbed and tidied and we prepared to have every item of crockery dirtied.

We were expecting maybe 20 people over which isn't a huge number but then again we don't have a massive apartment so it was always going to be a little cosy. Seating was going to be at a premium and we had had to call in reinforcements for plates and cutlery. These duly arrived with the parents-in-law at about 17:00 along with enough food to feed an army. How they managed to get all the stuff in their tiny car along with Aunty T I will never know but we were well stocked with rissóis, croquetes, bacalhau, pork, feijoada, cake, other desserts, wine, water, juice, fruit, flowers... S's father and I knew that so much preparation had gone into this that our presence there would only have been a hindrance so as another stepping stone on my ongoing immersion into Portuguese culture we did that most typical of Portuguese things and left the women to it whilst we went and had a beer and watched Benfica.

I do still have some of that inbuilt Englishness in me and I did make at least the effort to protest and offer my services but under the strict and organised direction of S's mother things looked more than under control so me and the father went to Campo Pequeno, bought some black beers and settle down to watch the football. It was a very manly experience which I thoroughly enjoyed, this is a very macho culture and something which I am not really at all accustomed to. Whenever I have participated in these kind of rituals in the UK it has always been almost as someone playing a part, and it was no different here really but I do think it is an important part of assimilating and I really do enjoy spending time with S's father who is a very interesting man.

We strolled back at half time with Benfica being held 0-0 but after a stern phone call from S letting us know that people had started to arrive and out continued absence wasn't appreciated. (Although I think we were both enjoying playing roles there, me the delinquent man, she the nagging woman).

People had indeed begun to arrive, so many in fact that my usual habit of referring to initials would get extremely confusing but it is enough to say that all the usual suspects were there, it was a good turn out. Food was eaten, drinks drunk, I was perched awkwardly on the edge of the television table and the football scores were monitored, all in all it was a typical gathering of family and friends.

It was a good haul of presents for S (although she hates me using such terms), lots of vouchers for clothes shops, perfume and other girly stuff but the highlight was a weekend away in a hotel somewhere in Portugal. There are about 20 to chose from spread from the Algarve to Trás-os-Montes so we will have to look in detail at where we would really like to visit. Best of all it's valid for I think 6 months and so will provide a welcome retreat after the pressure of the academic year and me settling down. I also managed to replenish my whiskey supplies after S & R bought me a lovely bottle for my birthday which we promptly christened after the party.

The whole affair was very relaxed and the more of these things I attend the more I feel part of the family. We didn't get to bed too late as everyone had work the next day and today was back to the routine really. I'm starting to get butterflies now as I start work on Wednesday and I really don't know what to expect but I'm also very excited and I really can't wait to settle into my own routine here.

The Bunker...

2009-01-08T06:15:00.000Z

Today was the last day before S returns to work so we wanted to make the most of it. We had made a list of thing that we wanted to do which ran to several pages but thankfully we have all the time in the world now and don't feel much pressure. We wanted to go to a gallery somewhere but also fancied a bit of a trip out so what we decided upon was a trip to the Bunker, aka CCB, aka Centro Cultural de Belém.

Modern architecture is one of the most controversial aspects of the modern city. Cities like Lisbon I think struggle in this regard because they are filled with such ancient treasures that monstrosities like the CCB can only seem like incongruous intrusions when they're landed next to such beautiful buildings as the Mosteiro dos Jerónimos.

For those not in know here's a comparison:

Now don't get me wrong, they're both beautiful buildings, just not next to each other. I would've said that the monastery could've probably done with some screen to protect it from the views of the river which seem to be exclusively semi-industrial (the people of Almada are so lucky because they get views of Lisbon). That said the CCB can't be completely derided as it's a great arts space. The complex houses exhibition spaces (both for art and business), theatre space and music rooms as well as the obligatory cafe and shop selling arty goods. So even if it does like a cleaned up World War 2 bunker complex it's a deeply interesting one.

The main exhibition has changed somewhat from when S first saw it and was an interesting collection of modern art. I won't say it was a great exhibition but it was certainly thought provoking. There was an interesting Bacon and some good Paula Rego's but a mundane Warhol along with some pedestrian video installations. By the last few galleries I was beginning to think that it really needed an editor as there was no control over the quality and some of the painting were not deserving of display. There were a couple of smaller galleries downstairs, one with a rather tedious take on Goya and the other (which was the highlight for me) an interesting constructivist exhibition featuring works by Joaquín Torres García and Maria Helena Vieira da Silva but after this I was very tired and in real need of a sit down. My art stamina is not what it once was.

For the sit down we decided to head over Pastéis de Belém and have a couple pastéis de nata and a coffee for me. The shop here, next to the monastery, is supposed to sell the best pastéis in Lisbon. That's attested by the sheer size of the place. On my previous visit to the place I did remark that it's the largest public lavatory I'd ever eaten a cake in but mockery doesn't go down well here. They take their cakes very seriously. I personally prefer other pastéis made in a little cafe in Estoril and S has yet another favourite which she has promised to take me to, I find the ones here if anything a little greasy and the pastry too thin but that's just my taste and the coachloads of tourists here seem to enjoy them. It's a place very much on most trourists' itinerary.

On our way to and fro the pastéis we did happen to catch rather a sad and shameful sight. Next to the Pastelaria was the second Starbucks to open in Portugal. This had rather swiftly followed the first which had opened in September in some distant retail park but this was was proudly on display and the saddest sight was that it was well patronised. There is absolutely no need for these chains in Portugal and one of my favourite things about the country was that (despite their obsession with malls) they have a strong and proud culture of supporting independant businesses, especially cafes, restaurants and bars in which excellent coffee, cakes and light meals are cheap. My block alone has a Pastelaria on each corner, my favourite being Namur.

There is some hope that this is a passing phase, McDonalds and Burger King exist here but certainly not to the exclusion of all others and they're seen as an exception rather than the ubiquitous presence in the UK.

So as this is the last evening before S returns to work and I can still get some attention in my direction I will leave this until later...

Até já.

Parabéns a você (part 1)...

2009-01-07T05:34:00.000Z

Happy Birthday to me!

Today I turned 25 and it has been the best birthday I've had in a while. My birthdays are not usually a day of celebration so I was more than happy to have a day just relaxing, minimum fuss and maximum chilling. This was much to the consternation of S - here in Portugal birthdays are a big deal whether you like it or not. So when I first suggested that I just wanted to spend the day relaxing at home and then call out for pizza this was met with a combination of amazement and disbelief - how dare I be so selfish on my birthday as to not want a fuss made of me!

As I have been rather ill lately (I did indeed spend all of yesterday tucked up in bed, watching episode after episode of Jonathan Creek and teaching S to play Go - note to self - the wearing of body armour whilst playing board games with S is a necessary precaution) and extremely insistent about not wanting a fuss made I was largely successful in my aim for a relaxed birthday but I did have to make a number of concessions. We would need to leave the flat at some point and there would be no takeaway but we could make our own pizzas.

It has now taken me over 8 months to realise this but I am engaged to a ninja, either that or I was slipped something in my Ovaltine last night because S managed to successfully sneak out this morning to get my birthday card and cake without waking me and I'm not the heaviest sleeper in the world, especially in the morning. Here is a great photo of what I woke up to this morning:

After stuffing as much of the bola de Berlim as I could manage down me I got up and we went to the Oceanarium. I was thinking here that few things could be more relaxing than a couple of hours watching the fish and thankfully I was right.

The Lisbon Oceanarium is a relic of the Expo in 1998 which the area around undergoing a huge redevelopment. The Parque des Nações houses the Oceanarium, The Vasco da Gama Shopping centre (along with self cleaning roof) and tower, as well as some cable cars and evidently one of the most popular make-out spots for the teenagers of Lisbon.

The day was lovely and we saw the fish getting up their antics. The Oceanarium really is a must see for anyone visiting Lisbon for the first time, someone once told me it was the largest of its kind in Europe!

Here is me outside it:

After a couple of hours with the fish and the screaming children (including one unfortunate enough to be called Bruna) we decided to head home but not first with out an obligatory visit to the shopping centre. S had seen some brown boots that she was raving over and her parents had offered to get me something for my birthday so I decided to get another pair of pants - some rather funky checked ones. They're hard to describe but they look pretty good on (much to the surprise of S who had turned her nose up at them originally!) I also got a 'cowboy' shirt because I wanted something to wear on Saturday and S refuses to let me wear my rather tight one for fear that the poppers will explode thus exposing me to the masses.

When we got home we were pretty shattered but we still managed to make a couple of lovely pizza and now I'm about to settle down to finish off some Jonathan Creek and put my padding on for another couple of games of Go

Lazy Sunday with the parents...

2009-01-05T21:43:00.000Z

The cold is steadily getting worse and worse now. I'm pretty much bed bound today and have no plans to leave the flat if I can possibly help it. My body has held on until I got here and now my immune system has had enough. I was really impressed that I managed to avoid all the bugs going round the office but the combined germs of the shopping centre and downtown have done for me.

I really don't feel like writing much today so I'll be brief and then I can return to my pit of self pity and scrunched up tissues.

Yesterday was a nice relaxing day with the in-laws again. It somehow (raised eyebrow here) got back to S's mum that I had a special liking for the way she cooked ribs so that was what we got. I feel very guilty because the I was also the one responsible for us having lamb for New Year so I really need to stop dictating what is cooked for us.

As expected the ribs were amazing, this time in some sauce with hints of garlic and tomatoe and of course served with plenty of punched potatoes but also this time with some creamed spinach and more carrots that I'd eaten in a long time. I love to heap on the vegetables at times like this. I was well looked after as I think S's mum thinks I've lost too much weight and so she was piling on second and third helpings. S's dad also opened a bottle of something rather interesting, a red vinho verde which was sweeter than I normally like my reds but fruity and went well with the meal. We just had a bit of fruit for desert as I think everyone was feeling the festive excesses and we had other plans...

After dinner we went down to the little cafe, Mimosa, near their flat for some coffee, pasteis de nata and to meet some friends. This was the first time I had met F, her husband and children (who were adorable!) but F had given me lots of advice in emails before I came. She's British and moved here about 15 years ago, works here and married a Portuguese man. She's given me lots of tips on finding work and settling in. I wanted to thank her and have a chat. I managed the first but the second was soon forgotten as we were entertaining her 6 year old daughter with origami and magic tricks and the sock monkey that S had made for her.

S learnt an important lesson there - the sock monkeys she makes might be made with love and care but they have to be pretty damn strong to survive the love of a 6 year old.

After the coffees and goodbyes we decided to go to see S's aunt and uncle who live nearby and who wanted to wish us congratulations. It was very touching how pleased they were for us and they'd even made a desert for us. The don't speak a word of English so communication was a bit stilted but I understood most of what was being said, it was just frustrating that I couldn't join in. I got to meet the huge cat they have too, although she seemed a bit grumpy at being woken to meet this strange Englishman. We stayed for about 20 minutes but it was getting quite cold, I was quite snotty and we were tired so we headed back.

On the way home we decided to stop by Parque Eduardo VII to see the Christmas tree which was still up. Last time I was in Lisbon before now was the day before they put the lights on so it was nice to see it in its full glory. we got out of the car and had a little walk, bought some chestnuts and sat on a park bench eating them. It was really a lovely moment despite people trying to sell us flashing neon necklaces. I can't wait to go back there for the book fair.

We got back in and S fancied watching something so we streamed some new American series called True Blood. It was ok, watchable but I don't think particularly memorable other than having Vinnie from Home & Away in it and having quite a lot of sex scenes in it. (Amusingly S had originally seen this with her dad.)

Right, I'm off to have a hot drink.

Survival of the sales part 2...

2009-01-04T20:37:00.000Z

Yesterday was the day S and I braved downtown. Downtown Lisbon is lovely in moderation but as with any large cities Saturdays are when the streets get horribly crowded and the shops are impossible. We were feeling brave after the success of yesterday but my cold was getting worse by the minute to the point where all I could concern myself with was where the next tissue was coming from.

S and I are very lucky where we live because it's busy enough to always feel like there's something happening - we're a minute away from a great theatre cum gallery, there are at least 5 cinemas within walking distance as well as very good restaurants and 3 or 4 shopping centres, but it never feels too crowded. (except when we're looking for a parking space and there's a play on). We also have the metro at the end of our street which we took to Baixa.

I'll write more later about the Lisbon metro as it's more than deserving of a post of its own but by the time we got to Baixa the streets were full and it was already feeling a bit oppressive. The shops here are largely the same as the ones in the shopping centre but S had it in mind to dig out a pair of boots she'd been lusting after, as it turns out the shop didn't have them but I did end up getting a hoodie for around the flat as well as a pair of warm slippers because it's so damn cold at the moment.

I also managed to get a SIM card for my mobile so I finally have a Portuguese mobile number. Not that I really know anyone here other than S and her circle (and a couple of others) It will however save me a small fortune in receiving calls from the UK as well as sending messages there, it's still expensive but doesn't compare with what my old provider was charging me. We also tried to set up a landline at the Vodafone shop but the assitant didn't seem to know what she was talking about. We're thinking it's easier to arrange online or at least by ourselves rather than have to fix the meddlings of some woman.

I had hoped to go the the Nespresso shop whilst I was downtown but here the curious Portuguese solution to queueing came in useful. In many of the busier shops (mobile phone shops are particularly fond of this) they operate the system people in the UK are familiar with from the deli counter or Argos, you take a number and wait for it for it to show on the screen. Perhaps I don't go shopping in the right shops in the UK but it was a real curiosity when I came here. I just didn't understand why people didn't just queue up. One possible explaination came when I tried to buy coffee and the number that came out was over 200 places behind what was on the screen. I could've quite easily wandered the streets for an hour and come and taken my place again in the shop but instead I decided to leave it for another day and resort to the odd roadside bica now and then.

We couldn't stay downtown too long, not that we really wanted to anyway - I think it has a bit of a mournful, empty feeling when the shops have closed, as we had another dinner party to go to, this time at J & R's. We did however stop for a quick drink at this cafe that sells plastic shoes and vintage kaftans and other dresses of curtain-like material. It was only noticable for possibly the worst pastel de nata I have had in Lisbon.

Returning to the flat before dinner I was sure to fill myself up on medication and we went well prepared with packets of tissues in every pocket and up every sleeve. Despite the cold I was really looking forward to going and having the opportunity to have a nosey around a friend's flat and to experience J's cooking which I have been told many times before is fantastic. I'm always being to told I should try J's bacalhau.

Their flat is lovely and charming, I think just the right mixture between his interests (walls filled with DVDs and a guitar) and her touches (a giant cityscape of New York, a city that R is far from enamoured by, almost entirely covers one wall). The flat is fairly modern and stylish, in a large and imposing block not very far from mine and S's. We were the first to arrive as we were dining that night with S & R who are always bringing up the rear in these types of gathering.*

We entered to a typical sight - R(J) watching the football. His team, Sporting, were playing so there was small football chat which is hard for me at the moment. There being only ever 3 teams here that challenge for the title (and usually not even all 3), Sporting, Benfica and Porto people tend to follow one of the big three but they also follow English football quite closely too. I've been keeping my eye on Man United but here I think it's pretty much expected of me to follow Benfica, that is if I ever want to be able to talk to my father-in-law again. Unfortunately as yet I'm not to knowledgable about Portuguese football other than Benfica are currently leading the Liga.

S & R(S) soon arrived and we started the meal which was an excellent Bacalhau com Natas. My first time trying this popular dish. It was delicious but I felt a bit samey, I thought S's bacalhau dish from New Years Eve was more interesting. Saying that though J's was very well done and I loved the crispy bit at the top.

For desert we had a Torta de laranja and a coconut one that I forget the name of, all of which was followed by whiskey and baileys and good conversation. We then played on the Wii for a bit, a few quizes which were in English, giving me a bit of an advantage and then R(S) showing just how game he was. We made him get into the hardest yoga positions we could find.

We went home full and happy.

Today it's back to the parents' for a lazy Sunday lunch and more mauling from the cat.

*I've just realised that I've got 2 Rs in this piece so I will differentiate it will be R(J) and R(S) for now.

Survival of the sales part 1...

2009-01-03T21:23:00.000Z

Typical! I manage to go for months through the driving rain, the burning cold, the whipping wind of Manchester and I finally get to Portugal and I catch a cold. To be fair though all those people who expressed jelousy at my change in cilmate really should visit here in the winter. Never before have I experienced such poor forward planning for winter, most windows are single glazed, there's no central heating anywhere and the houses are designed to let the blistering summer heat out which in winter creates the strange phenomena of it being warmer outside than inside. I have to wear a jumper all the time indoors now.

My cold could also have something to do with the sheer number of people I was around yesterday and the miriad of germs they were carrying. We decided to brave the sales and I know S was missing her retail therephy (I don't think I've met anyone as well dressed as S, in an understated way). I was very poor but in desperate need of at least one more pair of pants and some shoes so we headed to Colombo, a huge city centre shopping centre next to the Benfica football ground.

One thing Portugal is not short of is shopping malls. The Portuguese are mad about these palaces of consumerism and I've even had C raving about ones such as the Vasco da Gama centre (with waterfalls over the glass ceiling - which just look like they're being washed constantly). To me they're all the same, the same shops just in more or less confusing arrangements.

There are just about two clothes shops in Portugal I would shop in (for some reason the Portuguese H & M is rubbish) and that's Pull & Bear and Springfield. One of my long running comments on the Portuguese is that they dress in such a conservative fashion. Walking down the streets you do get the impression that their mother's choose their clothes, sometimes this is true in people up to their mid 30s. Added to that all the clothes look brand new, there's not a scuff mark, stain or rip (with one exception today!) in anyone's clothes which often gives the impression of either being in a film or a Daz advert. I've had a little think about this and can only assume that Portugal being so poor for so long has issues with apparent poverty. I will always remember a comment made by a Portuguese friend regarding my favourite pair of converse which had been lovingly tended to a state of near collapse and it was remarked that I could wear them to park cars (a common job for the homeless is finding parking spaces). I've had numerous conversations with Portuguese friends about this and it's just a cultural different that's difficult to understand.

So I'm left with these two shops, neither of which are great but which do have some good lines. I don't buy a lot of clothes, that should be emphasised at this point but I do have set ideas on what I like and back in the UK this usually led me to vintage or charity shops or shall independant shops, with the occassional visit to Topman, H & M or Primark for essentials. Now the charity/vintage shops here are practically non existance. Their lack is merely emphasised by the fact the the one or two that do exist will no doubt be pointed out to me. The same is true for the independant shops but these seem to consist of 'boutiques' in Bairro Alto that charge €40 for a t-shirt. There's just no equivalent to Pop or its ilk, or if there is then please please point me in its direction.

Saying this though I was rather pleased with my purchases. I got a pair of gray cord trousers and some smart(ish) trainers which will be perfect for work. It wasn't too painful and they were under €40 for the lot. I spent a long time having a shirt pushed on me by S but in the end I declined, I fancied being a bit more colourful but there was nothing that caught my eye.

Happy with my clothes purchases we decided to do a bit of food shopping as there is a massive Continente supermarket there but as it turns out we didn't end up buying much. We were disappointed with the quality of the meat and most of the other stuff on our list can be bought either cheaper or of better quality from our local supermarket - Pingo Doce.

By the time we got home I was starting to feel a bit ill and very tired. Ashamedly I fell asleep through the film - Last Year In Marienbad - much to S's amusement as it's her who is normally guilty of that. I woke up today feeling a little horrible but I'm medicated up and prepared to face the sales downtown now!

It's a new dawn, a new day, a new life...

2009-01-02T18:30:00.000Z

When I woke up yesterday I had the strangest feeling of not having a clue where I was. It took me a good minute or so to realise that I was next to the most beautiful woman in the world. That kind of shock it not easy to get over and is something that still amazes me on a daily basis. I couldn't believe that after all the hard work, the stress, the tears, the risks it came down to the simple pleasure of watching another human sleep.

There was to be, however, little chance for reflection on New Years Day. We had rather an important task before us - we were going round to Estoril to the in-laws for me to be welcomed to Portugal and also for us to break the news to them that some scruffy, unemployed Manc was trying to marry their wonderful daughter.

I love S's parents so much, they're so friendly and generous and they really look after us. I was a little nervous about telling them about the engagement but I had no real reason to be, S has assured me enough times that the really like me and have accepted me into the family and this was perfectly illustrated when the news was broken to them. They took the news totally in their stride, as if it was the most natural thing in the world and they were totally expecting it, we spent barely a couple of minutes on congratulations before we moved onto lunch.

Lunch, as always when S's mum cooks, was a delicious affair. Tender roast lamb cooked with rosemary and garlic, punched potatoes, and cauliflower and sprout gratin all covered in one of the tasiest gravies I have ever had. There was more than enough and my place kept being refilled, as did my glass. It really amused me when I first went to S's parents for a meal and we would all have wine and S would be given juice by her parents but now I know why, you have to be able to really handle your drink during these big lunches.

After the main course there was a selection of lovely desert's, fresh fruit, dried figs stuffed with walnuts, tarts and a lovely christmas cake that S's mum had made and which was a rememberance of their time in England. During desert I had to endure the initiation rites into the family which seems to consist of having your groin mauled by a psychotic cat, all whilst maintaining a straight face and continuing the conversation. I love the family cat, she's so beautiful but she just has this habit of attaching herself to me when I'm at the dinner table.

We left with our bellies full and pleased that they'd taken it so well. It was a lovely drive home along the Marginal, seing the waves crash on the beach in the darkness and this was my first glance at the sea since I arrived and it had never really occurred to me as something I would miss but it brought back a lot of memories for me.

Returning to the flat we just had a relaxed evening in. After such a large lunch it was just soup for dinner and then we watched an excellent film - Lilya-4-Ever - very moving.

Panic on the streets of London...

2009-01-01T19:20:00.000Z

The NYE party went amazingly well but more of that later, I want first to recount my epic journey of yesterday.

I'm feeling rather jet lagged at the moment even though Lisbon is just a matter of a couple of hours from the UK but this is mostly my own fault. For some unfathomable reason the airlines of the UK (and Portugal - they don't get off the hook that easily) have decided to stop running direct flights from the North (Manchester or Liverpool) to Lisbon. My choice would've been to go from the North to either Porto or Faro - not an ideal situation given Portugal's infrequent public transport system - or fly from London and travel down the night before. I much preferred the latter option as this way I could say goodbye to some friends that I don't get to see very often and also say goodbye to my old 'manor' so I booked my flight for early on the 31st from Luton.

I had my itinerary planned down to the minute but it was still really rather nerve wracking having to haul all my stuff through the streets of London. It is perhaps a little silly considering I used to live there for a year and never had any trouble but I was aware that I was going to be walking the streets of some of the rougher areas and this time I had extremely valuable cargo - the engagement ring I planned to propose with on my arrival. That ring caused me so many headaches because I dared not put it in one of my bags in case someone lifted it from the pub or snatched it in the street. It alternated then back and forth between my coat to my jeans (thus producing a rather startling bulge in my pants) but I felt much more at ease having it on my person. I did at one point contemplate that should the worse happen and and some gang stop me in Camberwell I'd throw my rucksacks at them and hotfoot it away with the ring safe and sound.

The plan was to leave my mum's house at around 12:30 on the 30th, get the train down to Euston arriving at around 16:30 and then heading down to New Cross for a few drinks with C & R, H and P. There was some debate as to whether we should head to the Hobgoblin or the Montague. I'll miss the Montague but I thought the Hobgoblin the safer choice, both for people getting back and due to the fact that I didn't really want to be walking around Peckham at night with my rucksacks. The Hobgoblin was also of course the scene of one of my great pub quiz successes, something that was sadly never to be repeated with my London Crew.

It was great to see those guys, C & R and P I hadn't seen since Barcelona and I hadn't seen H since her flat warming party in February so obviously there was a lot of catching up to do. No-one seemed particularly surprised by move and C was I think a little jealous of the ring in my pocket. She wants R to propose and even has the ring and has planned the wedding but has heard nothing yet from R.

H is doing well, she's considering doing a PhD at Oxford in 17th Century Literature which would be very interesting but I'm not sure where it would lead to for her. I really can't see H in an academic career, she's as cynical about it as me, if not more so and so it's probably just an excuse to avoid getting a proper job. She's getting by at the moment stuffing envelopes and setting English exams but she seemed pretty relaxed about it and was even talking about buying a houseboat with her brother.

C was doing a lot worse in the real word. She's finding the reality of being an English teacher a lot more difficult than she ever imagined. She never thought it would be easy but it has come as somewhat of a shock to her just how difficult it is. I think though that some of this pressure comes from herself. She holds herself to impossibly high standards and always has to be the best. I'm sure things will begin to settle down when she's into her second year. She was all full of excitement for me though and talking about plans for moving to New York to work as a teacher there . (This news immediately got S excited about the possibility of visiting.)

After the drinks (only a few ales for me as I had an important journey to undertake) and the talks, at around midnight, I had to say goodbye and got on my bus heading for Victoria. Amusingly the bus ride was not without drama which was what I feared but as it turned out was quite underwhelming. Just before Vauxhall Bridge some drunken guy tried to get on the bus with his girlfriend. He had just missed it but rather than wait for the next one he decided to force open one set of the back doors which in turn stalled the bus and meant we all had to get off and change. I really did think some of the other passengers were going to inflict violence on this young chap but I think by this time it was so cold that people just wanted to get where they were going.

I finally got to Victoria, found my coach and jumped on. I then spent the next 20 minutes watching the open luggage door like a hawk in case someone tried their luck with my large rucksack (by this time the ring was safely still in my pants pocket, digging in to my leg in such a way that made the vigil much easier). We then set off for Luton and I had 4 and a half rather uncomfortable hours on the departure lounge floor waiting for the check-in to start. I kept myself amused in these small hours with a by reading José Peixoto's Blank Gaze, Nigel Williams' The Wimbledon Poisoner and wondering about women who appear in the airport at 4 in the morning with immaculate hair and make-up.

The flight itself was pretty undramatic which as far as I'm concerned is definitely the best kind of flight. I failed to get more than a combined total of about 2 hours sleep in the entire day because sleep in public makes me really uncomfortable, I must've had some really cruel friends in the past.

I landed in Lisbon at about 9:30 and there was my love waiting for me in arrivals, I have to admit looking very nonchalant. I was a bag of nerves and rather dishevelled. My face covered in the ratty 2 day growth of stubble and as spotty as a teenager. All the stress of previous months has had the most unfortunate effect on my complexion. I was thankfully whisked away from the airport back home - something which felt totally natural and normal. I am really starting to see these streets as my own and I can't describe how good it is to see the large greeny-blue domes and red brick of Campo Pequeno. It really felt like everything had fallen into place and my heart could finally be at ease.

Whilst my heart was now at ease my body still had lots of work to do...the NYE party needed lots of work! Considering the fatigue I was now feeling it seemed a little rash to agree to host a party on the night I was arriving into the country but thankfully it had been arranged that me and S would provide starters and drinks and everyone else would bring the food. We prepared a few starters, some roast sweet potato, home made tuna pâte, hummus and other nibbles along with plenty of beer, wine, whisky and a surfeit of excellent caipirinhas, the tasting and perfecting of which got me and S very much in the party mood.

People arrived from around 8:30 onwards and some excellent food arrived with them, the dishes included pork with chestnuts, walnut rice, bacalhau with potatoes and mixed vegetables and then for desert there was a lovely chocolate tart, a strange cream and biscuit desert and a good sponge cake. The food went down very well and it was such a relief not to have to do all the cooking. One of favourite things about this relationship is the dinner parties we go to and throw ourselves but I think if I'd been forced to cook for 9 people I would've broken down at this point. Instead everything was very laid back and I felt totally guilty free having a couple of drinks.

After the food midnight came upon us and we all hugged and kissed and opened some champagne. We toasted the new year well and there was also wine enough to toast mine and S's engagement which I had mumbled my way through earlier in the day.

It was at this point that the real party started but I was unfortunately beginning to lag. My music had not been received with much enthusiasm thus far so I gladly lent the reins to DJ J and her party mix of the year. This was a real floor filler and soon my living room was a jumble of gyrating arms and legs with the men of the group sitting sullenly on the outside. R then had the bright idea of introducing a little karaoke to the proceedings...and so began the epic Drunken Soft Rock Karaoke 2009. No one was innocent, no one escaped but thankfully all audiovisual evidence has been hunted down and destroyed. After what some may have thought of as the defining version of You Give Love a Bad Name I could barely keep my eyes open and I retired to my new bed, ready to begin my new life in the morning.

So that was that and this is this...

2008-12-31T22:31:00.000Z

And so begins the adventure.

One of the longest days (or rather months) of my life will shortly be coming to an end and when I wake up tomorrow it will be in a new year, in a new bed, in a new city, in a new country. Of course only the first of these is strictly true, I built the bed and I have spent enough time wandering Lisbon and exploring Portugal (not to mention weeks and months worth of conversation with S and V & C) to feel like I have at least a familiarity with the place.

My journey here has been, both in the long and short term, a long and exhausting one. It started what seems like an age ago, back in April 2008 when playing the third-wheel to my friends V & C's first wedding anniversary I returned to Portugal for some relaxation after a stressful period at work and at home. On this holiday I was reintroduced to S who I had originally met at the wedding the year previous. V had worked her little matchmaking magic here and it hit me remarkably quickly just how special this thing was going to be.

From the very beginning of our relationship there was no question of me and S not being together. It would, of course, have to continue over the long distance for the time being, with regular exchanges between Manchester and Lisbon (including one rendevous in Barcelona). When the time came to decide about the move there was no real choice, despite the language advantage S has over me (She speaks perfect English whereas I speak next to no Portuguese) it was much more convient for us at this stage for me to move to Lisbon. S is much more advanced in her career than me, with excellent prospects and is in the midst of an MA at a University in Lisbon whereas I was having serious doubts about the shape my career was taking, I was feeling railroaded into a career in law that I was unsure about and which would've kept me tied to the same agency (and essentially in the same job) for the better part of a decade. I was living in a flat that I could barely afford in a city that I love but that had little mystery left for me.

By mid-summer preparations were underway for my move. We were both looking Anglophone jobs and the hoops I had to jump through to get them and to get here. It was immediately obvious that it was not going to be easy for me to find something that would further my career, the possibilities seemed limited to the usual 'traveller's fare' of barwork/teaching English/manual work. It was quite disheartening, there were many avenues still unexplored but it did look bleak, especially when a whole slew of speculative CVs went unanswered. We never wavered in our goal but the provisional date - 29th December 2008 - looked increasingly optimistic.

Things slowly got underway, research was done on how I would move all my things, more CVs were sent, I was bought what seemed like hundreds of Portuguese phrasebooks and language courses yet nothing seemed to actually be getting done. Then there was one glimmer of light, I had got an interview with an EU agency, not for a paid job but for an unpaid internship - not ideal but a step in the door and a foot in the right direction. It was in the field I want to work in, it was English speaking and in Lisbon, granted it wouldn't pay the bills but the hope was that it would lead to something that would.

The interview took place in November and went riduculously well, it seemed somewhat of a formality with me merely asking questions of the panel about my working conditions and what projects they had in mind for me. It took another few weeks after the interview for me to get confirmation of the place but I had finally done it, I had some kind of start in Portugal, I wouldn't be going and risking everything for no possible return.

The next problem to arise was with the flat. Acting well within his rights my landlord asked me to find someone to fill my place in the flat for the final 3 months of the contract. I thought it quite bad timing, so close to Christmas and for such a short term but after a little panic and one false start I found the perfect couple thanks to a well worded advert on Gumtree (perhaps too well worded, I'm still getting responses to it now, I should really take the damn thing down). The move was now most definitely on now.

I arranged for a shipping company to come and pick up most of my possessions, packed the rest off to my mum's and then had to endure a few weeks crashing on the floor at my old childhood home. It was quite a strange experience because I hadn't spent that much time there since I was about 20 or so and it very much feels like someone elses home now that she lives there with her new man. I survived because I kept my focus on the fact that I would be moving home myself in a matter of days, in the fact there was minimal drama which surprised me. Christmas was really nice if tinged with a little sadness but everyone has promised to come and visit as soon as they can.

I will write about the actual journey here tomorrow along with my first impressions of the New Year.

Até amanhã