Category Archives: Portugal

How do you spot a tourist anyway?

Yes, how do you?

Let me share what I’ve observed, both as a tourist and as a tourist observer.

Clothes:

Most of us have been tourists at some time or another haven’t we? Some of us are oblivious to how we look. But if you come from Africa you will do all in your power to blend in to the populace so as not to stand out as a target for pick-pocketing or a con.

Tourists to Africa tend to dress in the same way – khaki coloured baggy pants – those with 2 sets of zips. One at the knee and another half-way up the thigh. 3 outfits in 1 – pants, long shorts and short shorts.

That’s quite clever actually as you’ll want to travel as lightly as possible, especially on safari.

Demeanour:

Most alarmingly many tourists I see walk around oblivious to their surroundings. In Africa I recommend a tour group or a guide. African cities have too many places to get into trouble if you don’t know the area. Walking around with said khaki pants, camera slung over the neck and smart-phone GPS (the modern replacement to paper maps, remember those?) they are easy targets for those less well-intentioned citizens.

How not to be seen

Remember Monty Python’s skit “How Not To Be Seen?” If you haven’t seen it, it’s a must, check on YouTube – WARNING: ABSTRACT HUMOUR!

In any event – the plot goes something like this (get the full plot line here from Wikipedia):

The film starts with a serene wide shot of a landscape in which there are supposedly forty people, none of whom can be seen. The picture then changes to another serene wide shot of a different landscape. In it is Mr E. R. Bradshaw of Napier Court, Black Lion Road, London, who cannot be seen. The narrator asks him to stand up. He complies and is immediately shot. According to the narrator, “This demonstrates the value of not being seen.”

There is a cut to another landscape wide shot. In it is Mrs B.J. Smegma of 13, The Crescent, Belmont. The narrator asks her to stand up. She also complies and is immediately shot.

Next is a shot of a clearing near a wood with only one bush in the middle of the frame. Somewhere in the vicinity is Mr Nesbitt of Harlow New Town. He is asked to stand up, but contrary to the previous people, does not comply. The narrator explains that “Mr Nesbitt has learned the first lesson of not being seen: not to stand up. However, he has chosen a very obvious piece of cover.” The bush then explodes and a scream is heard.

…you get the idea…

Next month my I’m looking forward to traveling with Mom to Portugal. Here’s the funny thing. We are both Africa-born and have lived in  Africa all our lives – and have ties to Portugal.

From a culture perspective, personally I fit in. From a values perspective I don’t. I often feel like a tourist that can speak the language. It’s a distinct advantage to speak different languages: Portuguese to blend in; English when asking for directions and Afrikaans when Che and I don’t want our conversation to be overheard in public.

I know that people will be confused when they see me – my clothes and demeanour will shout “tourist” – but I speak the language and know my way around (mostly).

I hide my camera well and take it out only when I want to take a photo.

I know that taxi drivers will try and extract a higher fare from me.

Family will tease me about my accent.

And that said I’m looking forward to going there.

And I’m aiming not to be seen!

What are your tourist or tourism experiences?

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A room with a view

The car sped through the narrow road, dodging oncoming traffic and narrowly missing cars in front it… and the kerbside. The driver, my late cousin’s boyfriend drove, maniacally, totally unaware of the havoc he was causing in the nervous system of its passengers.

He was driving completely unsafely, blissfully unaware of road signs and the white middle line dividing the road into 2 lanes. Hooters sounded and he carried on talking, a non-stop narrative of the history of the countryside and its attractions.

My Grandmother, in the front seat, listened and gave encouraging sounds, hoping that she’d be distracted from danger we were in.  My sister and I, crammed into the back-seat of the small red Fiat thought that this holiday to Portugal would be our last.

My  white knuckled hands gripped the back of the driver’s seat. My sister seemed to be serenely looking out the window, trying not to look ahead at an impending frontal collision.

We were on our way north from Lisbon, to visit some of the spectacular beaches on the Portuguese Atlantic coast.

We stopped at a few beaches, thankfully climbing out of the car for a brief time to look at the scenery, before nervously getting back into the car to get to our next stop.

At midday our enthusiastic driver pulled into a small village for lunch…and there, perched almost on the edge of the cliffside was an abandoned church, a ruin of a building, its ancient walls rough but still intact, and no roof!

As I walked into the church a physical silence surrounded me like I had been transported to another place. I remember feeling bewildered at the silence that enveloped the place, the voices outside seeming to be coming from a distance. The sun shone through the broken beams of the roof and cast its slat-like rays through the dust swirls onto the ground.

I walked through the centre aisle, the pews dusty and realised with surprise that people still went there to worship. And I totally understood why. There was a peace, a serenity, a holiness about that place that made me feel at one with the universe.  I lingered a while but not long enough. I haven’t been back since.

It was as though that church, without its roof, with its dusty pews, and black veiled village women praying under the rays of the sun was put there to help me realise that there is a higher power at play.

If I could zoom to another place right now it would be to this abandoned church high atop an Atlantic cliffside on the coast of Portugal. I don’t remember the name of the village or the church, but this place is one I visit often in my mind when I am in need of peace, solace and a re-connection with myself.