Thu, 29 Oct 2009 4:20p.m.
Portuguese is the only language in the world that has a word for ´nostalgic longing' or more simply missing someone Saudade. This comes from the time of the great explorers, when the women where left at home while the men went in search of faraway lands. That is the first thing that all Portuguese tell me about their country.
"We are a sad people" is usually their next fact of the day. It is because they were once such powerful conquerors and now they are a small country, living somewhat in the shadow of Spain. Yet there is something rather charming about this country that has over 100 different ways of cooking cod.
Everyone speaks surprisingly good English. The majority of television programmes are in English with Portuguese subtitles, where as Spain and Italy both dub over the English. The difference in the level of English between these countries and Portugal is astounding. Clearly television is far more influential than I give it credit - maybe I did have sound reasoning for majoring in television after all.
Another thing which took me by surprise was the amount of good looking Portuguese men. A simple Metro ride through Lisbon was like being a spectator at the catwalk. In Portugal to be a suited business man with facial hair is not only permissible - it is also extremely fashionable. A killer combination, I tell you. I, on the other hand, must have resembled a stunned ape, as I stood there with my jaw dropped and mouth gaping.
The Portuguese like to do other strange things in suits as well. In Coimbra, a university city, the students had a rather interesting tradition that caught my interest. When you graduate you put on a suit and the iconic Portuguese robes, and head to the centre of town. Your friends then have the privilege of ripping it all off. I asked one student if girls participated as well.
"Yes, but they must wear nice underwear"
I thought this was an interesting comment on his behalf. He made no reference to whether guys were also concerned with wearing nice underwear. Sadly we witnessed no suits being ripped off, though we did see the remains of clothing hanging from various statues and trees.
The remains of a Graduation robe
In Portugal I was reminded once again of the difference between European and Kiwi men. Europeans do not seem to display the same need to maintain their pride. A group of us where sitting around after dinner. One of the guys suddenly blurts out: "You remind me of this model from the 90s." He then proceeds to show us all the video clips of Chris Issac’s song Wicked Game, in which Helena Christensen appears. It consists of a girl who looks nothing like me, romping around half naked.
"It's the eyes" he says, as if this justifies the virtually soft porn we are all witnessing. This justification is ruined by him then admitting she was his childhood fantasy. No one seems phased by this remark, but Bonnie can't resist
"So she's your childhood fantasy, and Kesha reminds you of her?"
At this stage your typical Kiwi bloke would probably swiftly be like "No, no, no, no..." and have an eloquent excuse to save their man pride. But this guy was rather blazé about the whole thing, his friends too seemed strangely nonchalant. Not egging their friend on, not winking, not elbowing each other, they were not entertained at all.
In one way though Portugal reminds me of home, the concept of JAFAs seem to exist, and the Lisbon folk are the lucky contenders. For those of you not familiar with the Kiwi slang, JAFA is a derogatory term used by New Zealanders to describe Aucklanders. It stands for "Just Another Frigging Aucklander" - or something along those lines.
Most of the Portuguese complained they didn't like Lisbon, as everyone there was "unfriendly" and the city was "too big" and "too dangerous".
Lisbon is demographically very similar to Auckland. New Zealand has a population of about 4.3 million, with 1.3 million living in Auckland. Portugal is the same; around ten million people make up the country, with over 2 million live in Lisbon. The second biggest city, Porto, quickly jumps down to only 200,000 people. Something about those big city folk, that gets the small townees spewing.
Lisbon itself was an interesting insight into Portuguese culture. We stayed with João, the self-proclaimed Portuguese prince some of you may remember from earlier blogs such as Where the Turkish Wind Blows.
He may not be actual royalty, but I can assure you João was treated like royalty in his home. He gets amazing food cooked for him every day, and even his washing done for him. He can lift a finger if he chooses, but he is under no obligation to do so. In fact he can continue to live at home like this until he gets married. I can't wait to tell my Mum that I've been inspired by the Portuguese way, and I'm not moving out until I'm thirty. João however is the exception to the rule, and is apparently planning to move into a flat with some friends.
So you see there is so much more to Portugal than being that little country West of Spain. The beaches are beautiful, the boys are beautiful, and there is always the cod. The cod is plentiful and tastes pretty darn tasty.