We Brits have long loved Iberia’s western flank, since those Port-loving limeys first set up shop here in the mid-1700s, and it seems the Clooneys and Kidmans of the world are finally catching on.
So, will you be joining them? Stick around, and the bard and I will do our best to lure you hither, because wasn’t it he who uttered these most marvellous words from Elizabethan England, when Portugal was otherwise engaged in an Iberian Union?
Fie, Portugal! Thy throne, to Spain’s rough grip doth cling, like tavern wench to coin, yet sailors’ hearts still sing!
Sweet Portugal, in Spain’s embrace confined, thy heart doth sail where love and liberty entwined.
As plausible as these words may sound – with Shakespeare imploring his Portuguese brothers and sisters, labouring under a Spanish compromise, but bound to him by the Treaty of Windsor from two centuries before, to remember who they are – they are actually the words of Sh-AI-kespeare, Grok to be specific.
They are not Elizabethan, and belong to this ‘New Carolean’ era, but I will step forth gladly to own them. And upon them, issue you an invitation to remember who you are, perhaps more adventurous and bold than you currently find yourself to be, and in need of a Portuguese experience that will have your heart swell and eyes delighted, just as Shakespeare might have reminded Portugal in an alternate timeline.
For these are challenging times, are they not? Times of uncertainty, when belts get tightened and horizons limited. An era where countries are supposedly being made great again, but what of the individual hopes and dreams of citizens? Those who feel they are citizens of the world, and not merely of one flag, or boiling geographical container of dogmatic political opinions?
If that’s you, stay with me for a few minutes and consider a culture that can still put its political preoccupations aside for a 90-minute lunch, a multi-generational picnic or a week-long festa celebration based loosely on a patron saint, and remember what life is truly about.
It’s as if Shakespeare, the real one, knew of our times when he wrote:
There is a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.
Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat.
And we must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures.
It was on such a tide that my family and I sailed (literally, yet albeit on a Brittany ferry) to this country, where I am now glad to write, nearly eight years ago. A flood of change and intense upset that led us to good fortune, alchemically transforming workplace redundancy and a long-held dream into a new opportunity and splendid reality. Conditions, that if not identical in detail, resonate I suspect on an energetic level, as more find themselves challenged and prompted by worldly circumstance, and the world they once knew being taken or dissolving in front of their very eyes – those “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune”, as it were.
As much as I might encourage you here, I am no ‘agony uncle’ and this is not advice. Though I live in near-paradise, in worldly terms, no one should take advice from me, a man who still has much to figure out. I am wise enough to know I am a fool, as William wisely put it. I do, however, see no harm in offering real-life ‘serving suggestions’ that feature custard, cod and the ‘convívio’ I wrote about recently.
In times such as these, in a climate of grand doubt and macro uncertainty, we must make our own weather and manifest our own reality:
It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.
And, if you are ready, be inspired by the perfect poet’s awkward dare:
Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.
Knowing that:
Our doubts are traitors,
And make us lose the good we oft might win,
By fearing to attempt.
So come ye to Portugal, and have greatness thrust upon you (yes, he said that too), whether for a break, a breather, where you might find your battered bearings once more, or consider a full-on life-changing plan, as more appear to be doing in response to a quiet call from within, or the insufferable pressure of a world that no longer makes sense or sanity.
In terms of ‘small print’, bear in mind that Portugal (or any country for that matter) will not be a panacea for your woes and troubles, because – as I often say “wherever you go, there you are” or “after the luggage comes the baggage” – and as he said:
There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.
But try Portugal. Seriously consider it as your refuge and retreat from an increasingly crazy world. It’s not perfect, nor immune from the current pandemic of inhumanity that too many are succumbing to, but it does still seem to have access to the “one touch of nature makes the whole world kin.”
If you are already here beside me in fair Portugal, I salute you. If not, I beseech you to consider at least a holiday, maybe a scouting trip, a dip of a sand-dusted toe. And if you are seriously considering changing your world, by changing your location in life, have Portugal on your list.
We began, and have had the help of England’s great poet and playwright. So, we must, of course, end with Portugal’s Luís de Camões, who said in his commendation of his homeland, as if to call you here:
“Come, ye wanderers, to Portugal’s embrace, where sun-kiss’d shores chant tales of heroes bold!
Sail with Vasco’s ghost o’er azure waves, tread Lisbon’s cobbled heart, where fado’s strains enfold.
Feast on Bacchus’ nectar and salted cod, for here, in Lusitania’s arms, the soul finds gold!”
Or did he?
