Of Parsley & Lemons

It's a few days before the election, and a Very Important Person is coming to town to tell us why we should vote for him. Flags are being waved and a man with a megaphone is trying to get everyone to chant a slogan. A brief gap in the melee appears, so we take our chances, sprint through and then up the steps into the Mercado Municipal. Phew!

We find the parsley. There are also some good-looking sardines. Two women sit alongside each other, each proffering fresh fat fish and cajoling us to buy. We decide to split the order in two and order half from each, a compromise which doesn't entirely satisfy either of them. Never mind. Two bags of sardines later, we once again face the political crowds. The Very Important Person hasn't yet arrived. He's late. Very Important Persons are rarely on time. As a result, the crowd is getting restless. The mob-handler with the megaphone is working hard to calm the restless souls. Slogan! Slogan! Slogan! Hmm. It's not working as well as it should.

Crowds

Look! - a gap. Clutching our parsley and sardines, we scurry through and trot downhill, past the rancho folclorico, which is entertaining the crowds far more than the hustlers in the square. It's a rum day when an accordion player is making more pleasing sounds than the spielers in the town square. We turn a corner and there is a glint of sunlight from the river. Ah! The peace and tranquillity of the Rio Vez. But there is another obstacle yet to overcome. Long black vehicles bearing the symbols of the political party are crowding the road and one of the drivers is remonstrating with the GNR at the junction. The road is blocked, they are told. We have a Very Important Person to deliver, they reply. The responding shrug is palpable. The road is still blocked, they are told. The Very Important Person will have to walk. Incredulity fills the air at this incomprehensible concept but we scuttle off before the matter is settled.

At the river, the crag martins are still swooping and diving and they have been joined by the swifts, who are showing off their superior speed and skills. We take a deep breath of calm, then cross the old bridge which gives the town its name. Crag martins, swifts and pristine clear water aside, it is time to seek peace and harmony. We have just the place to go for we're staying at Quinta de Pereirinha, a short drive away.

Dona E. is in the garden and she has brought Pedro along to do a bit of work. They live just down the lane. She stops to tell us about the family history of the house, leaving Pedro to do the weeding. She offers us a basket of nêsperas and another of wild strawberries. It would be rude to refuse them. Help yourself to oranges and lemons from the trees, she says, echoing an earlier encouragement from one of her daughters who had welcomed us when we arrived. We have brought oranges and lemons from our own trees with us but we go to have a look anyway. We've never seen anything like it. Are they engaged in a competition for growing the biggest and ugliest lemons in the world? One could be forgiven for thinking so. We pull one from the tree. A small child could get lost behind it.

Peaceful

A hoopoe flits out from under the shade of the cherry trees and out over a line of vines; down in the valley a golden oriole is chanting; a wary robin is eyeing us from a mossy stump. From inside the house, the loudest sound is that of a page being turned in a book. This is about as peaceful as anything can be. The contrast with the political busy-ness of the town, just 4 or 5 kilometres away, couldn't be greater. I'm a fan of being politically engaged but I don't think enough people are, especially if we consider that politics might determine whether we are chattel slaves or not. I suggest that this is the fault of political parties. To be politically engaged you need to able to take a broad view of issues and a long view of outcomes and to stand apart from factions or trends or pressure groups. Most political parties don't want you to do that; they want to capture you, like a cult. As a result, most people are fed up with distortions of truth, outright lies and the false promises that party politics often brings. Many are shunning the patent medicines prescribed, sadly opting for poison instead.

At the quinta, though, the noisy silence of nature – buzzes and hums, chirrups and susurrations - is replacing all that confusion and angst. The mind settles for a while and we contemplate the curious texture of the giant lemon. Might this be a metaphor for something? Or is it just an oversized lemon? Yawn. Drowsiness settles in; I can feel my eyelids getting heavier and heavier and quite soon I'm . . .

Fitch is a retired teacher trainer and academic writer who has lived in northern Portugal for over 30 years. Author of 'Rice & Chips', irreverent glimpses into Portugal, and other books. Also on Substack.

Fitch O'Connell