So this is Portugal

By lorena fernández abdo

A long, long time ago, this was the richest country in the world. A little while ago, the EU and IMF had to provide them with a €78 billion bailout package. Today, Portugal — Western Europe’s poorest country — depends on the few industries it has managed to develop along the way, through centuries of mismanagement, squandering, civil war, and abandonment. One stellar industry of the peninsular nation is tourism, which in 2023 accounted for 18 percent of its GDP. We caught a wave in the ongoing tide of tourists from the UK — along with Germans, French and Spaniards, British people are amongst the main groups that can’t get enough of this corner of pipping-hot Iberian coast — and disembarked in the fabulously eroded Algarve region.

A Saturday afternoon in early August you’ll struggle to find an empty square meter of shoreline to bathe in, let alone tan, in the crazy busy beach of Quarteira, about halfway in between Faro and Albufeira. Everyone, from ocean-crossing visitors, to European neighbors, regional day-trippers, and all available local residents assemble in an eye-opening, nearly-naked congregation, which David Attenborough might describe as a remarkable natural phenomenon of pleasure-seeking creatures dotting the south coastline of the peninsula. As the sun sinks into the cold Atlantic, beach folk slowly transform into promenade strollers, elegant dinners, cocktail drinkers and ice-cream aficionados well into the hours of the night.

In the cycle of beachfront activities and nighttime adventures, one could easily run out of time to explore past the coastline. More so when the array of offers for tourists is heavily centered on aquatic experiences: tours of small islands and marshes, boat rides into the sunset, spotting dolphins, kayaking around the caves of the eroded cliff shore, renting a Jet ski, a surfboard, hopping onto an inflatable banana… the list goes on. Still, with no equipment other than one’s own two feet, tourists can delight in a stroll through the history of quaint cities like Faro.

It was here that I found the most remarkable discovery of Portuguese culture. For once I’m not referring to food, — though more on that later —. On a portable table under the shade of a blooming tree by the side of the road, a book, or rather, many copies in various languages of the same title: “The Fleas of my Childhood”. In any given bookshop, I might have not given this book a second look; it was not a title I had heard before, nor was the author, Humberto Correia, known to me. Yet here, neatly presented in five languages, I couldn’t help but wonder if I had missed a prominent Portuguese writer that was otherwise well known in the world.

A handsome, middle-aged man stood on the other side of the table. He introduced himself as the author not only of the book, but of the beautiful small paintings sharing space on the table. He told me, in broken English — his Spanish was not much better, but he spoke French, he said, which I unfortunately do not — that he was planning to run for president in the 2024 general elections. I was dumbfounded, yet my landslide of questions fell onto the language gap between us. I picked a Spanish copy of “Las Pulgas de mi Infancia”, and wished him good luck.

I would have needed a few months of exploration, at the very least, to catch some of the cultural insights into Portuguese reality that “Las Pulgas de mi Infancia” generously provides. The average tourist might leave Portugal with a handful of tiled and cork souvenirs, a belly full of pastel de nata, a great tan, and call it a day. She would have cute memories of a place like Olhão, and not realize the hardship and desolation this place has seen. Perhaps only when she steps into one of the many Portuguese ex-colonies around the world where depictions of colonial masters paint an embarrassing reputation, would she begin to wonder where exactly did all that wealth go.

Hardship or not, pastel de nata is on the menu. Ask the Internet, and stories of monks in monasteries will attempt to caramelize the origin of this simple custard tart, but in my humble opinion, the difference between a British custard tart — which was being served to English kings centuries before any monk had even conceive of the idea of thickening milk — and a Portuguese one, lays in the ability of Portuguese cooks to make good use of the spices Europeans killed for (literally), as opposed to the British’ utter inability to season food. A dash of cinnamon is a sure way to improve just about anything you can put in your mouth.

Were you to find custard tarts lacking in culinary triumph, simply walk out to the beach front with a couple of Euros in hand. A bola de Berlim vendor is likely to find you as if by magic. Bolas de Berlim are custard-filled donuts from… you guessed it: Germany. They are ubiquitous in Portugal, as in their native country. Passed the baked goods, some of the best food you’ll try in Portugal is straight up Brazilian. Churrasco with farofa was a highlight. Of course there are Portuguese dishes to explore, especially seafood. But even that can be of foreign origin. One fourth of fish consumed in Portugal comes from other places in Europe. Yes, that includes the famous sardines, though the tomato paste they come with is most likely made in Portugal. Tile and cork trinkets in hand, tanned as can be, one last look at the scenic olive trees in the distance. So, this is Portugal.