Portuguese for a day
Jun. 10th, 2006 05:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
calimacDid you know that I look Portuguese? Neither did I.
But at the local Portuguese festival at the city's outdoor history museum/park, wearing my fisherman's cap (which I always thought was Greek), and holding the 14 x 21 cm paper Portuguese flag on a stick which I was given for answering the festival questionnaire (yes, I'd be willing to pay an admission charge, but not in addition to the $6 they charged for parking), I must have looked Portuguese, because several people asked if I was, some even addressing me in that language.
Unfortunately I did not always resist the temptation to bore them by explaining that I have relatives who are part-Portuguese and have even been there. (Me, I've never been closer to Portugal than Italy, which is not very close.)
I was just there for the food from the little booths. The linguiça was excellent, chewy and chunky and generally much better than the stuff you get in the general supermarket. And the Macau chicken stew was OK, too. (Useful memo from my trips to England and the Netherlands: in a former colonial power, always eat the food of its former colonial possessions.) A serving had one big hunk of chicken breast (which should have been cut up and cooked with the rest), sausage, tomato, and quite good cabbage. Something called filhós, donuts without holes but also without filling, tasted faintly of lemon.
While eating, I sat along with many other relaxed people in a shady park listening to the rather eccentric choices in music. First, a Scottish pipe-and-drum band, who (it turned out) were distinguished by actually being pretty good. Why Scots? Well, the announcer explained that this was in tribute to the centuries-old alliance between England (England, not Scotland, but never mind) and Portugal. Then came some energetic Portuguese folk dancers, accompanied by some people standing on the platform behind them who pretended to be emitting the music that was actually coming from a recording. Then, a woman in platform shoes singing Brazilian pop songs to a drum track, trying to get the audience to clap along, which sections did briefly when she glared at them. Followed by the worst-ever sit-down marching band I've ever heard. I didn't know clarinets could play so far out of tune.
OK, will the music critic ever shut up? It was an enjoyable couple of hours sitting around relaxing, munching on some interesting food and pretending to be Portuguese, or at least a fellow-traveler.
But at the local Portuguese festival at the city's outdoor history museum/park, wearing my fisherman's cap (which I always thought was Greek), and holding the 14 x 21 cm paper Portuguese flag on a stick which I was given for answering the festival questionnaire (yes, I'd be willing to pay an admission charge, but not in addition to the $6 they charged for parking), I must have looked Portuguese, because several people asked if I was, some even addressing me in that language.
Unfortunately I did not always resist the temptation to bore them by explaining that I have relatives who are part-Portuguese and have even been there. (Me, I've never been closer to Portugal than Italy, which is not very close.)
I was just there for the food from the little booths. The linguiça was excellent, chewy and chunky and generally much better than the stuff you get in the general supermarket. And the Macau chicken stew was OK, too. (Useful memo from my trips to England and the Netherlands: in a former colonial power, always eat the food of its former colonial possessions.) A serving had one big hunk of chicken breast (which should have been cut up and cooked with the rest), sausage, tomato, and quite good cabbage. Something called filhós, donuts without holes but also without filling, tasted faintly of lemon.
While eating, I sat along with many other relaxed people in a shady park listening to the rather eccentric choices in music. First, a Scottish pipe-and-drum band, who (it turned out) were distinguished by actually being pretty good. Why Scots? Well, the announcer explained that this was in tribute to the centuries-old alliance between England (England, not Scotland, but never mind) and Portugal. Then came some energetic Portuguese folk dancers, accompanied by some people standing on the platform behind them who pretended to be emitting the music that was actually coming from a recording. Then, a woman in platform shoes singing Brazilian pop songs to a drum track, trying to get the audience to clap along, which sections did briefly when she glared at them. Followed by the worst-ever sit-down marching band I've ever heard. I didn't know clarinets could play so far out of tune.
OK, will the music critic ever shut up? It was an enjoyable couple of hours sitting around relaxing, munching on some interesting food and pretending to be Portuguese, or at least a fellow-traveler.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
looking Portuguese
Date: 2006-06-11 08:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-11 05:08 pm (UTC)K. [thinks thats stupid, but has seen similar before]
to a honorary member of the Lusitanian Diaspora...
Date: 2006-06-12 03:22 am (UTC)