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| Rua Augusta Arch in Lisbon, about 40 percent shorter than the arch planned for Washington. |
It was good to take a couple weeks off. But it's also good to be back — thank you for your forbearance.
Column writing is a kind of gearbox. It isn't always engaged. But when my mind shifts into column-writing mode, I can almost hear the process grind to life. As it did, almost unbidden, while touring the Pena Palace in Sintra — which doesn't actually appear in this column. Nor do I address the initial question that first came to mind: when people come from all over the world, at great bother and expense, to wander these opulent halls, what is it they're trying to touch? The concept of royalty did remain, which I used to consider our present circumstance.
PORTO, Portugal — What do you think of when you think of Portugal?
When my wife first suggested visiting here, I drew a complete blank. No associations whatsoever. Not a single destination — just the opposite. I knew Lisbon was destroyed by a huge earthquake in 1755, but only because the catastrophe darkens Dr. Pangloss's sunny mood in Voltaire's "Candide."
Otherwise, my gut told me Portugal is a kind of low rent Spain. Still, I agreed to go because, as I've said before, if I didn't take my wife's lead, I'd still be a single guy living in a one-bedroom apartment in Oak Park.
I went expecting nothing. Certainly not the jaw-dropping procession of palaces, castles and mansions we've just finished touring, each an endless warren of elaborate rooms crammed with crystal chandeliers and gilded opulence, oil paintings of royals dripping in ermine robes and bejeweled bling. Look up, and the ceilings were crammed with cherubim and angels and Greek gods smiling down.
As I listened to tour guides gravely explain which royal posterior graced which dynastic throne, who begot whom and which king built what architectural folly, I couldn't help but consider that I was seeing the other side of the tunnel my own country is currently plunging into, as the United States slides into monarchy.
Do I exaggerate? Has our leader not declared himself God's chosen vessel? ("I am the Chosen One" were his exact words). Have the customary checks and balances — Congress, the courts, the rule of law — been subdued? Is not voting, the traditional method that American citizens use to show they hold power over their leaders and not the other way round, being undercut?
Is our leader not furiously impressing his image on nearly every flat surface he can find? From passports to National Parks passes, and soon to be grimacing from coinage, a flex going back to Nero.
Think of all the effort expended on that White House ballroom. Half a dozen ballrooms in Portugal dwarf the one occupying far more time than a man trying to manage a war that refuses to cooperate with his pronouncements ought to spend. Not to forget the planned Triumphal Arch, to be 50% taller than the Arc de Triomphe in Paris.
They've got a big arch in Lisbon, too, the Rua Augusta Arch. Still, a mere slip of a structure — 100 feet tall — compared to the 250-foot behemoth some are already calling the Arch of Trump. The Rua Augusta Arch offers a warning, if anyone is in the learn-from-history business anymore.
The arch was begun after the aforementioned earthquake of 1755, intended to celebrate the rebirth of the city. But they were celebrating something that hadn't happened yet; the arch wasn't finished until 1873. At a similar rate, Trump's arch will top out in 2144. If you're sick of hearing about that ballroom now, imagine how you'll feel midway through his third term. Or his son's first term. These kings, they like to keep power in the family.
PORTO, Portugal — What do you think of when you think of Portugal?
When my wife first suggested visiting here, I drew a complete blank. No associations whatsoever. Not a single destination — just the opposite. I knew Lisbon was destroyed by a huge earthquake in 1755, but only because the catastrophe darkens Dr. Pangloss's sunny mood in Voltaire's "Candide."
Otherwise, my gut told me Portugal is a kind of low rent Spain. Still, I agreed to go because, as I've said before, if I didn't take my wife's lead, I'd still be a single guy living in a one-bedroom apartment in Oak Park.
I went expecting nothing. Certainly not the jaw-dropping procession of palaces, castles and mansions we've just finished touring, each an endless warren of elaborate rooms crammed with crystal chandeliers and gilded opulence, oil paintings of royals dripping in ermine robes and bejeweled bling. Look up, and the ceilings were crammed with cherubim and angels and Greek gods smiling down.
As I listened to tour guides gravely explain which royal posterior graced which dynastic throne, who begot whom and which king built what architectural folly, I couldn't help but consider that I was seeing the other side of the tunnel my own country is currently plunging into, as the United States slides into monarchy.
Do I exaggerate? Has our leader not declared himself God's chosen vessel? ("I am the Chosen One" were his exact words). Have the customary checks and balances — Congress, the courts, the rule of law — been subdued? Is not voting, the traditional method that American citizens use to show they hold power over their leaders and not the other way round, being undercut?
Is our leader not furiously impressing his image on nearly every flat surface he can find? From passports to National Parks passes, and soon to be grimacing from coinage, a flex going back to Nero.
Think of all the effort expended on that White House ballroom. Half a dozen ballrooms in Portugal dwarf the one occupying far more time than a man trying to manage a war that refuses to cooperate with his pronouncements ought to spend. Not to forget the planned Triumphal Arch, to be 50% taller than the Arc de Triomphe in Paris.
They've got a big arch in Lisbon, too, the Rua Augusta Arch. Still, a mere slip of a structure — 100 feet tall — compared to the 250-foot behemoth some are already calling the Arch of Trump. The Rua Augusta Arch offers a warning, if anyone is in the learn-from-history business anymore.
The arch was begun after the aforementioned earthquake of 1755, intended to celebrate the rebirth of the city. But they were celebrating something that hadn't happened yet; the arch wasn't finished until 1873. At a similar rate, Trump's arch will top out in 2144. If you're sick of hearing about that ballroom now, imagine how you'll feel midway through his third term. Or his son's first term. These kings, they like to keep power in the family.
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| Not even royal: the Commercial Association of Porto's Palácio da Bolsa. |
Unlike the spate of American mass shooters seeking glory in their slaughter, Mr. Trump's victims will pile up in numbers and for decades even if he stops short of mass annihilation. Because he fears his own death. Death the great equalizer.
ReplyDeleteWhat do I think of when I think of Portugal?
ReplyDeleteOf being a kindergartener, and not yet six, and hearing a radio DJ say:
"It may still be March here, but it's April in Portugal!"
Then came the unforgettable sound of Les Baxter's instrumental.
An instant Fifties classic. Whole lot of Boomers probably still remember it.
"April in Portugal" hit the airwaves in March, 1953. Reached #2 on the charts.
It was on the radio all that spring and summer. Week after week. For months.
My father bought the 45 and played it to death. Burned it into my cabeza for life.
Another version, sung by Vic Damone, revealed the lyrics:
I found my April dream in Portugal with you
When we discovered romance, like we never knew
My head was in the clouds, my heart went crazy too
And madly I said: "I love you."
Hope you did, Mister S.
Low-rent Spain. That's a keeper.
Excellent.
ReplyDelete