How do you like your Coffee?

Can you tell which side of the border we're on?

You start to get a feel for Portugal the moment you head towards the sunset out of Madrid. Shiny blue EU-friendly road signs pop up indicating that our neighbor to the west really isn't as far away as some would think. Drive a little farther and the gaping black there-be-dragons hole on Spanish weather maps becomes a tangible reality as you cross into Extremadura. As the beautiful dehesa forests spread out before you, the numbers on those signs become much more easily digestible.

You can follow a connect the dots Sierra map as you trace the way from Guadarrama to Gredos through the Sierra de Bejar, then a leap from the Sierra de Francia into the Sierra de Gata and finally drop an I and change an E to an A and end up in the Serra da Estrela in another country.

From the celtiberian Toros de Guisando near San Martín de Valdeiglesias to the Jewish quarter in Hervas, the lilting Mañego language that's spoken in three little villages in the Sierra de Gata to the enormous granite boulders that sprout all over the Serra. From where I'm standing, Portugal just isn't that far away.

You can't open a newspaper today without reading about our quieter neighbor. Unfortunately, the headlines aren't about upcoming Fado festivals or Madredeus concerts but an impending doom and gloom that only an IMF-approved bailout can miraculously solve. We hear that our neighbors with so many different /s/ sounds have too many public servants and are constantly being reminded about the created need for mass privatizations. Big business’ other favourite victims, education and healthcare, are of course on the carte-blanche menu. An Atkins style diet that blackmails the Portuguese into becoming another domino about to sign away their future to those that caused the crisis in the first place. Soon the descendants of Vasco de Gama will have to promise that everyone fortunate enough to have a job will take lunch at their desks in order to please the productivity deities on a street called Wall.

The mantra that is constantly heard on this side of the border, even by the most antagonistic of politicians who are usually so willing to exchange negative international headlines for a chance to take a swipe at the government in power, is the slightly condescending intonation, "Spain is not Portugal."

From where I'm standing, I'm not so sure about that. Enjoy that single-tiered healthcare system while you can and don’t forget to get a bigger piggy-bank as Jr’s university just might get a lot more expensive in the not-so-distant future. The Shock Doctrine is spreading and you don’t have to look very far for proof.

Take a drive along the tiny Ex-207 through Holm and Cork Oak forests and at some point you'll cross the Roman bridge at Alcantara. At least here, the Tagus river that eventually empties into the Atlantic in Lisbon, doesn't divide Extremadura from Estremadura. This mass of stone has seen Roman legionnaires, Caliphate soldiers, French troops and retreating Portuguese armies, all of whom have left their mark on the 70m high span that is plied by back and forth lorries to this day. A word of advice, when crossing westbound try not to look to the right at the huge hydroelectric dam, it tends to mar the moment.

The road winds on until you come to another less auspicious, though equally elegant Roman bridge spanning the Eljas river. Just across, the whitewashed town of Segura climbs up the oak tree dotted hills that are punctuated with wild lavender and blooming rock rose, all of which is crowned by an imposing church steeple. Faded and tattered bullfight posters flap from the limed walls behind grubby rubbish bins and parked cars seem to spurt from the cracks in the narrow streets.

Push through the hanging beads and stroll into a bar after the curvy drive and order a coffee in your best Spanish, squinting your eyes to adjust to the contrasts of light. As you adapt to the semi-darkness, you might notice that there isn't a glass covered display of tapas sweating in the heat on top of the bar, but nevertheless there is a TV murmuring in the corner.

It's not until your first sip that you realize something is different. Were the bottoms of the houses painted blue in this village? Or was it yellow? What was that tiny sign on the bridge that you missed as you drove by? The newspaper on the bar is slightly different but vaguely understandable. It's not until the second sip that you realize...that's the best coffee you've had in recent memory, the rest...well at least around here, it's pretty similar.

 

Comments

[Publicado por: louboutin heels]

De Reaper me la tope en la television, no podria decir que impediria que me suicide

[Publicado por: research paper writing service]

very interesting) thanks a lot! i liked it, especially photos!

[Publicado por: Shane]

I've got a feeling the post was alluding to the similar position that Spain will find itself in when the men in black arrive from the IMF rather than any sweeping generalizations about the similarity in national character. The Spanish will be every bit as willing as the Portuguese to bow to their new overlords as their sovereignty is traded away for a few more months of credit just as the Irish before them and the Greeks before that.

[Publicado por: Joao]

I think I somewhat missed your point about a divider between Extremadura and Estremadura.

[Publicado por: Afonsinho do Condado]

o yes, PT and SP are pretty similar, as similar as England towards Ireland. How similar the 2 nations can be?
Generelization is bad homework. Sometimes it can be dangerous as well.
Pardon my "Iberian".