Driving
down from Galicia to Lisbon yesterday at a steady 120kph, I was
passed by more than 400 Portuguese cars in less than 4 hours. At
speeds up to 180kph, or even 200kph. It was like a Spanish autopista
of ten years ago. Before the police cracked down, using mobile radar
traps. My guess is Portuguese traffic cops have yet to resort to
these, even as a revenue exercise. Just think of all the cash
foregone at, say 100 euros a time. It could probably bring the
Portuguese economy out of the doldrums.
Another
odd thing was that the majority of these cars were (black) estate
cars. My first thought was that they were travelling salesmen going
home for the weekend but the streets of Lisbon suggested the
Portuguese as a whole have a love affair with this type of car.
Likewise with something at the other end of the spectrum – the
two-door Smart
Car,
of which I've seen dozens in less than two days.
Anyway,
I spent 3 hours walking the streets of Lisbon yesterday afternoon.
And treating myself to a birthday beer in one of the delightful
squares The weather was sunny and warm and the city was surprisingly
full of tourists of all hues. With many courtesy of Geriatric
Tours
or some such organisation. Saga
Travel?
The Brits, of course, stood out with their clothes of the dullest
tones. And the Germans with their quiet opulence. I joined some of
them in a trolley-car ride from the lower quarter to the upper
quarter and only discovered when getting off that I should have paid
when I got on. No longer having British standards, I neglected to
mention this to the conductor/driver.
I'm
pretty sure this phrase has never before been used in the history
of mankind but Lisbon rather reminded me of Ferrol. Both have seen
better days; both have buildings of great beauty cheek by jowl with
astonishing tat; and . . . both have names of 6 letters.
After
a few hours in Lisbon, I set off for the house of my friends in
Cascais – a 30 minute journey. Or 60 minutes if you either follow
the satnav's directions too diligently or ignore them all together.
Suffice to say we had words several times but made up when it had
taken me to their door. Or, rather, their Portuguese neighbours'
door, as there are two number 97's in the street.
One
small problem this weekend is that I have lost my only remaining pair of
reading glasses. Well, that's not quite accurate; I reversed over
them after they'd fallen off my lap and into the road as I'd got out
of the car.
But
enough of this trivial froth – of frothy trivia – here's an El
País
article (in English) on a town in the South which is representative
of the sort of thing that used to happen in Spain during the long
property boom. It should make interesting reading for anyone who
believes the oft-quoted (by estate agents) view that you can rely on
a notary and don't need a lawyer.
Finally
. . . Here's advice for those who want to cleanse the internet of
information that might end up in the files of a would-be-employer, or
the like.
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