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Location: marengo, il, United States

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Out of Portugal

Portugal. I have always liked the sound and shape of that far-away land, from early on. Portugal remains singular in my mind for a fact that I never had any desire to visit any other country. My dear, mysterious Portugal. How be you?

Some Portuguese there have colorful fishing boats. I recall admiring their hulks from the moment I saw pictures. Grand forms, brilliant colors and exciting lines. Mouth-watering, attractive shapes, those crafts. Another feature I liked about Portugal is the odd architecture.

I am attracted to things like strange houses and working boats. Allow me those, a good pen and pads of paper, and then leave me be. I would stay happy all day.

Fortunately for these warm Portuguese people, I will never take the trip. By the second day of my stay, I am positive I would slip and grouse and thus spoil any future offers of friendship. Knowing only skimpy facts about Portugal, I must only imagine how that spoilage might take place.

I wager they don’t speak my language well in Portugal. My guess is that they eat lots of soups and cheeses. I can confidently construe a shortage of grits. My tongue never developed a taste for wine, fine or otherwise, so that would cause trouble. I do like seeing homes stacked up in curious ways. They can look delightful on paper, but such scenes mean noise and traffic, plus I lose my way easily. If I were to discover Gypsies staged nearby; I would report the entire bunch. Boat owners can act hostile toward outsiders; I am doubly troubled by foreign policemen. Are any of these locals fond of dog as a food source? I do not know the answer to that, but I fear to learn the outcome.

I conclude at this point by envisioning fruitless explanations told to swarthy, scowling men over many subjects, along with an inability to reach a ticket agent soon enough.

What, I now wonder, ever possessed me to want to come to this mad part of the world?

7 Comments:

Blogger Gone Away said...

Judging by the Portuguese I have known, Portugal is a friendlier and more laid-back version of Spain. I would say you should hang on to your first thoughts and choose to disbelieve later and more cynical considerations. After all, if you never get to Portugal, there's no way your illusions can be shattered.

Personally, I have a thing for Norway...

12:15 PM  
Blogger Harry said...

I pity the poor Portagee who pauses their portaging to peruse the prattling I periodically post. My biggest and newest fear is to become toast or roasted, or bumped; not hosted.

Say, isn't Norway that away?

12:36 PM  
Anonymous Ned said...

Of course they don't speak your language, that's why they're called foreigners.

9:00 PM  
Anonymous Ned said...

Of course they don't speak your language, that's why they're called foreigners.

9:00 PM  
Blogger Harry said...

Oh, you both showed up. Great, and me with just two cups.

11:21 PM  
Anonymous Ned said...

Forgive me for repeating myself.

5:14 AM  
Blogger Harry said...

Which Ned is this?

12:07 PM  

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