It crept up on me, without me realising what had happened until it was too late. The weird and wonderful things that just two months ago had seemed so alien had suddenly become normal.
Here is a Top Ten of things that you may not know about Peru
washing up ‘liquid’
1. Washing up liquid comes in solid form in plastic tubs. It looks like the 1kg margarine tubs that you would buy in the UK, although its green colour and very strong bubbly smell will ensure that you don’t ever mix the two up. To use, simply swipe the dish washing sponge over the green gloop and take care to rinse thoroughly or you will be tasting it for days. Fairy liquid eat your heart out – this stuff dissolves grease by the bucket load: – and fingernails.
2. Cute and tasty. Don’t be fooled by the cute little guinea-pigs which you see scampering around in their cages. Bubble, Sqeak and Gertrude are not pets. They are dinner. And they will arive at the table looking rather like their former breathing selves but undressed and sort of, well, flat. They sprawl across your plate with eyeless sockets and their itsy bitsy ears. It is as fiddly as hell to get the tiny morsels of meat off their tiny bones, but it is worth it, so swallow your inhibitions and get stuck in. Unless of course you are a vegetarian.
3. All babies and children and I mean ALL babies and children without exception in Peru are stunningly cute, adorable and basically all look as if they should star in the baby ads. They have the longest eyelashes and rarely cry or grizzle. The young ones are often plugged into a breast while mum goes about her daily business but why oh why are the new borns carried and covered under a blanket. It s hot here in the summer so why do they risk cooking their babies?
4. Driving could have a blog entry all to itself. In fact, I think it will some time in the future, but here for now, is a little something to consider. Many people will only have ten minutes behind the steering wheel of a car before being issued with a certificate so it is little wonder that the roads resemble scenes from Whacky Races. If you want to turn left, logic surely says that you should get in the left hand lane and if you want to turn to the right, stay on the right. If you are at a red stop sign there is no need to honk your horn and if I have just got out of a cab why on earth would I want to get straight into another one? I love that rules don’t count for anything here although I do wish that one-way street signs would be observed as that gets a little hairy.
something fishy
5. Uncooked fish. I like my fish and meat cooked so cebiche was an unexpected hit for me. Raw chunks of fish are ‘cooked’ as they marinate in lime juice. The result is surprisingly unfishy as they explode in your mouth accompanied by a cloud of fresh citrus and finely shredded onions.
6. Walls. Walls are built for the sake of it and in the desert with no visible habitation for miles, somebody will have built a wall. Or to be more precise, four very long walls in a rectangular shape enclosing nothing but empty sand. And then people come and paint the walls white and often add some political slogans in red paint and three foot high letters. The amount of bricks in some of these walls could build a small hotel. I just don’t understand the time and effort put into the walls.
7. White dog poo . Only people over a certain age will appreciate this weird fact. White dog poo. Why is it white and why can it no longer to be found in the UK? No need to dwell any longer on this one. It’s white and on the Peruvian pavements. Fact.
8. Numbers. Shops and public spaces generally have two posters displayed. One shows where the safe area is should there be an earthquake. The other indicates the maximum number of people who should be inside the establishment although I don’t think that the two are linked. The old fashioned barber shop around the corner from me may contain five people. The supermarket several hundred. I don’t know who counts you in and out because the security guards just stroke their guns and try to look cool, but short of an earthquake I can’t think what harm cam come to person number six who decides to join the queue for the barber.
Numbers do not count at all however in cabs or combis. Basically you just keep on shoving until limbs pop out the windows and the conductor is hanging out of the door on the bottom step. Two in a front seat and two in the boot are quite normal in a cab and anything less than five on the back seat is luxury. In the country near Chiclayo people travel on the roof of combis (garishly coloured camper vans) and the man in front of us had a bag of live chickens (including a crowing cockerel) on his lap.
9. Puddles of Blood. Long distance buses will often play a film if they have televisons and decide to ring the changes from ear splitting salsa music,but there is often little concession for children. Horror films are avidly appreciated and blood and guts abound. The front pages of the newspapers usually display the previous night’s body count with little privacy afforded to the poor victims. Perhaps the idea is to shock and discourage crime but I reckon it is just an acceptance of life and death – and a love of the gruesome
10. Full volume. Life is conducted at full volume but nobody complains because nobody notices. From the marines who jog around the city centre at six thirty in the morning chanting marine chants as they stomp through the streets, to the fireworks which are set off at any time of the day or night – it is all perfectly acceptable. Somebody doesn’t answer the front door? Shout. Dogs bark and music blasts out from homes, buses and cars and from our next door neighbour’s ridiculously massive speakers which play all night. But I find the noise strangely comforting and I am learning to sleep through anything.
The above is by no means a conclusive list – I could have added the adult slush puppies, the complete unawareness of the concept of personal space or menus which just about everybody eats for lunch and cost just a pound. But after just two months here my senses have readjusted and this is the normal
The plane landed in the fog that is so peculiar to Lima.
Carmen who was sat next to me on the plane explained that for up to nine months of the year Lima huddles under this grey blanket which is know as the garua fog.
Forming over the region it swirls around casting a surprisingly white glare over everything, cooling things down, but strangely, it is not damp. Lima is the second driest capital city after Cairo. I suppose a more accurate description would be to compare it to a thin veil of VERY low white cloud, without the grey damp water vapour that we would usually associate with fog.
Parque Kennedy
By lunchtime, the fog had lifted, the sun had come out and the Peruvians swarmed into the parks and open spaces, sitting out until long after dark. The following morning, there was no fog and as the dawn broke on my second day in Lima with rays of golden sunshine streaming in around my curtains I decided to hit the beach.
tennis club spills down the hill
I had had a very good night’s sleep, considering that I had been sleeping in a mixed dorm in the hostel and after a lazy breakfast I walked through Kennedy Park and down to the cliffs. The parks with their flowers and trees are immaculately manicured and the tennis club spills down the cliff walk. Whilst I was admiring the view a lady asked whether I would take her photograph which of course I did. Striking up a conversation she invited me to call on her for supper whilst in Lima. Later on, whilst trying to find my way down the cliffs to the beach I chanced upon her again and she repeated her earlier invitation, inviting me to dine with her that evening. I continued my walk and sat on the pebbly beach for a while, with its backdrop of surf shacks and camper vans, pinching myself and grinning as I finally realised that I was in Latin America. After nearly two years of planning, I had finally made it.
sunset over the Pacific
I went down to the cliffs to watch the sunset that evening and was totally overwhelmed by it all. Not only was I in Latin America I was south of the equator and watching the sun set over the Pacific Ocean
We arrived in Lagos for our break from the work exchange scheme but finding our room for the night took on a whole new direction when deep inside the labyrinthine back streets and alleys which make up Lagos’ old town, my friend´s mobile died. We had been making our way to our reserved room navigating by GPS, when suddenly it spluttered and went dead. Luckily, and because I don’t always trust technology I had jotted down the address just before the phone gasped its last. I vaguely remembered from the map that the street ran parallel to the old town walls, so with a lot of luck we ended up in the right street.
Knocking at number 22 we were met by Maria, a diminutive lady who spoke no English at all, however she shepherded us to a house a couple of doors down the street. That front door opened into a tiny little room with the steepest narrowest staircase that I have ever seen outside of a medieval castle, and she led us up to some tiny rooms on the third floor, which included an en-suite bathroom and a narrow balcony.
We met the occupant of the room below us as we set out to explore! She hadn’t been as lucky as us and her bathroom led directly off the landing! We met her as she was cleaning her teeth. There was actually no room for her to stand and clean her teeth and shut the door at the same time. The only way around it (I suspect) was that she should sit on the loo but who knows; maybe there wasn’t even the space for that!
We then set out to do some exploring and ended up at the bottom of some steep rocky steps in a tiny little bay where we did some sunbathing and swimming.
Praia de Batata
This tiny little bay was the epitome of the Algarve with its golden rocky outcrops and sandy cliffs and caves. Lagos itself had a lovely feel to it – it was busy but not overly so, touristy but had an attitude about it that it didn’t give a stuff what you thought – you could take it or leave it – and it was full of tiny little craft shops selling some very tasteful products
The usual leaflets and tourist information had been left in our room and one entry caught our eye. The Nah Nah Bah reputedly served what had been voted one of the top 50 burgers in the world and as my friend and I were both partial to a PROPER burger we decided to check it out. Just a few streets away from us and located in backpacker hostel-land (Lagos old town), the Nah Nah Bah was bursting at the seams. We certainly didn’t mind waiting so settled down on bar stools for some rather splendid mojitos and watched the action.
There were a few small tables at the back, but the majority of customers were seated at long trestle tables. Reggae blasted from the DJ’s box in the corner and large portraits of Bob Marley and Che Guevara peered down on diners from the walls. We were soon sandwiched between a family from the UK and a couple of backpackers from Australia and settled down to order our burgers. I am pleased to report that the meal did not disappoint and it was so perfect that we actually returned the following week just to check that it hadn’t been a fluke.
Fully satisfied we set off to find out what bars and night life Lagos had to offer and we were not disappointed there either. Several bars and far too many mojitos later I climbed the windy staircase on my hands and knees and feeling like an over-sized Alice who had eaten the cake labelled ‘eat me’, I crawled into the miniature room when I had a perfect night’s alcohol-fueled sleep.
Death stairs
The next day we visited the old Slave Market following a recommendation from a friend. This was in a small building with an even smaller exhibition (small appeared to be the theme in Lagos) but despite its simplicity, the exhibition was very moving as it described the horrific slave trade from Africa to the sugar and tobacco plantations in the Caribbean.
Back at the farm we continued working on the land and swimming in the eco-pool. We were also asked by Willem to sand and then oil the ends of the beams which held up the roof of their amazing house. Well, get me – I am afraid of heights but I was up and down the ladder with my brush and only a little bit nervous. My new approach to life at that time was to stop being such a pussy and just get on and try things which would serve me well when things were a little trickier in South America.
For our final night, Sol cooked us an amazing meal of black pork which we ate as the sun went down and we then all sat chatting until late into the night. To start the meal, we had chorizo which she cooked at the table on a little terracotta dish with flaming alcohol, grilling it slowly. Listening to the frogs and watching the stars, we didn’t want to leave, but the adventure had to continue and the next day we got the coach back to Lisbon. My friend and I parted company as I was now heading to Spain. My plane was delayed and eventually took off just three minutes under the time when I could qualify for compensation under the European rules. But eventually I was on the way to my next destination – this time all by myself. Finally I would starting my adventure proper and I would be travelling solo.
This article was rewritten and updated in February 2025. It seems that the Nah Nah Bah is still trading and I would love to know if it still has the same awesome vibe as it did ten years ago. Let me know if you have visited it more recently and if the burgers are still worth of their prize. I really hope so.
If you would like to support my writings and musings you can head over on this link and buy me a coffee ( at Spanish prices)
‘We shwim with the nature here. If you would like to shwim with the nature too with no clothes on then that is all right by us’. Those rather worrying words were spoken by our host who had just picked us up in his car from the side of a deserted lane in the middle of nowhere. He had introduced himself as Willem and he was driving us to his farm and what was going to be our home for the next two weeks. I didn’t dare look at my friend as I felt sure that I would have a fit of the giggles and I didn’t want to offend our host at this early stage of the game.
Earlier that morning we had set out from Lisbon on the intercity coach to Lagos and then caught a local bus to Bensafrim. I was a little worried because we didn’t have an address for our destination. Apparently rural addresses in Portugal can be problematic and our bus driver had no idea where our stop was either despite it appearing on the timetable. We were left on a grass verge in the middle of nowhere and hoped that we could get a mobile signal so that we could contact our hosts or we would be stuffed!
Luck was on our side and Willem soon appeared in his car. He was large, loud and Dutch and we joined him in the car to be bounced down dusty tracks to his farm where we were introduced to his wife Sol who was quiet, petite and Portuguese.
We were given one of the cottages on their farm which was spacious and cool and whilst it was sparsely furnished, it was perfectly adequate. It had been empty for a while but my friend was a darling and swept out the majority of the cobwebs and their occupants before we unpacked.
Willem then gave us a tour of his land which consisted of several large fields, a dozen chickens, and a handful of holiday cottages which are rented out to tourists. There was also a swimming pool but this was no ordinary swimming pool. It was an eco-pool which meant that it had no chlorine or chemicals in it and it was cleaned by nature i.e. frogs, newts and water lilies. Willem reiterated that guests often like to swim naked in the pool and if we chose to also ‘feel free’ at quiet times that would be fine with them. It´s so funny how things change because now I regularly visit a nudist beach where I even stand at the bar with no clothes on or have a massage totally naked but back then I wasn´t quite so daring. You can go to this link if you would like to know how a series of personal challenges to myself led me to end up on a beach with no clothes on!
Their home in the main house was stunning; all high ceilings and beams and windows and light. Sol is a designer and had worked wonders on their home as well as on the other cottages with innovative colour schemes and mosaic tile displays.
We were here as volunteers on a work exchange scheme. The deal was that we should each work 25 hours across seven days in exchange for bed and board. This is the standard as recommended for this sort of scheme with Workaway although they do vary from placement to placement. In our case, Willem and Sol would provide the ingredients for meals which we would prepare ourselves although they would sometimes invite us to eat with them. That first evening we joined them on their terrace to a lovely lamb casserole; the second evening we cooked for ourselves but I was given a plate of freshly grilled sardines hot off the coals. My friend dipped out as he doesn’t eat fish and received nothing.
After oversleeping the next morning and hurriedly reporting for work at 11am our first jobs were to weed the large pebbled perimeter path of the pool and to cut down the waist high grasses from the bank. We weeded and scythed and then we raked the cuttings down into the field.
Our next task was to clear the algae from the pond. There was very little but it had to come out and Willem demonstrated his well established technique for dealing with it. It floated hazily where it had been blown down one end of the pool but it was deceiving in its mass. The trick was to insert a finger into the water and gently stir in a circular motion. Like stirring a cloud the translucent substance would wind around your finger and gather there like candy floss and then it could be pulled out of the water. Where it had caught around the stems of the water plants you could carefully comb it out through your fingers. There was the continuous chirripping sound from the frogs that hopped and plopped into the water loudly every few minutes which sounded like birds, not like frogs at all, but very musical and which brought to mind the Paul McCartney song the Frog Chorus.
swimming with frogs
Day two and we creaked out of bed following all the physical work the previous day. We managed to wake earlier so that we could work in the cooler hours and were first asked to weed a large flower bed. Sol loved her flowers and colours but the wild boar had recently got into the beds and ripped up some of her plants. We weeded for several hours until we disturbed an ants nest and I got several nasty nips on my toes whilst my friend was happy to finally establish the difference between a plant and a weed and proudly announced that ‘if it came up easily it was a plant’.
Willem and Sol had three adorable dogs who appeared to have adopted us and spent all their time following us around or lazing under the enormous bougainvillea tree on our terrace. There was a small simple bar just fifteen minutes down the hillside in the village although it took twenty five minutes to haul ourselves back up to our cottage after a couple of drinks; but when three pints of the local beer and three VERY large wines cost less than seven euros it would be rude not to wander down. The second time that we went down to the bar the four locals who were sitting on the terrace and watching the world go by shared their bar snacks with us. No idea what they were – sort of like giant salty sweet corn kernels but very nice too and it felt good to be accepted as a part of the gang despite the language barrier.
We spent the third day in the vegetable garden;, weeding between waist high rows of corn, pruning olive trees and preparing a raised bed to plant out lettuce seedlings. I did intend to plant the seedlings out in the cool of the evening but we got home too squiffy to tackle that delicate task!
Over the next couple of days I planted out those eighty baby lettuce plants and we pruned the olive branches. We also double-dug (is that word?) a raised bed in preparation for sweet potatoes and there was more sitting in the waist deep water at the edge of the pool in my bikini to clean the algae.
And then….we had achieved our twenty five hours so we could take the rest of the afternoon off. And the following day we set off early to catch the local bus to Lagos for a well deserved break.
This article was first published in August 2013 but has been updated as I re-tell my story of living a nomadic lifestyle
We were very lucky to find accommodation in an AirBnB with Guida in her apartment in Lisbon. She lived just ten minutes walk from the Optimus Alive Music Festival venue but she provided us with much more than just beds for the night.
Before we got down to the business in hand and went to the festival we spent a day and a half exploring Lisbon thanks to Guida’s help and guidance.
Guida provided us with food for breakfast every day, she helped us to book our onward tickets to Lagos (because the website was in Portuguese), she took us on a quick guided tour of her neighbourhood and she got us cheap bus passes. She also printed out our tickets at her local library and even drove us to the bus station at 7.45am on her day off.
There was just one funny incident which was when she first showed us around and she asked us to make sure that we kept the bathroom door closed as her cat would get in. Guida was very vague about what the cat might do and I just assumed the cat would probably drink from the toilet – but we found out the next morning because I had accidentally left the door ajar in the middle of the night. I was first one up and in the bathroom and it turned out that the cat preferred to use the bidet rather than her litter tray. There, curled up in the bowl of the bidet was one very smelly, very large poo! Oops!!
Exploring Lisbon
On that first afternoon in Lisbon after a siesta we got a tram back into town and we walked up the steep hill to the Castelo de Sant Jorge. The views across the city from the ramparts were amazing although we arrived at the Tower of Ulysses just five minutes after they had closed off visitor access to the periscope. The camara obscura is an optical system of lenses and mirrors which had been invented by Leonardo da Vinci and I had actually seen one in action in Havana, Cuba. The castle is quite big with complete walls and seven towers to climb, and then as we wandered down the hill from the castle, we found a cute little rooftop bar with a sun terrace that overlooked the terracotta roof tiles of the city below.
Lisbon streets
We then wandered around tiny narrow streets in the Amalfa district on the hillside which consisted of steep steps and cobbles. Coloured garlands criss-crossed the washing lines that were strung between the balconies, children played in the gutters, and most of the houses were faced with painted ceramic tiles.
These tiles are common all over Lisbon and they lift common looking buildings into works of art. We then stumbled upon a ‘World Fair’ in a large square where we sat and drank caipirnhas from the Brazilian stall and listened to Latin American music whilst watching the Lisboans promenade past us in the park. That evening we ate in a tiny restaurant where I had the most delicate grilled sea bream that you could wish for and we also struck gold with our tram ride home when for the late night journey, the sleek modern tram had been replaced by one of the original bone-rattling wooden trams.
On Saturday morning we walked to the Belem area and visited the Torre de Belem (Tower of Belem), we wandered along the waterfront to the Padreo dos Descobrimentos (Monument to the Discoveries), we chatted with a Marine who was guarding the war memorial (more about him later), we poked our noses inside the Mosteiro dos Jeronimos (Jeronimos Monastery) and find of finds, had coffee and the most exquisite pasteis at the famous Cafe de Pasteis.
Guida had recommended that we shouldn’t miss this little treasure and we were so glad that we found it. Reminiscent of a tearoom in times gone by there were little ante rooms off from the main hall and we were served by waiters who glided silently around the rooms with their pretty tiled walls. As well as the opulent surroundings those pasteis were quite a little bit delicious and actually, as it turned out, quite famous.
The Optimus Live Music Festival
After a couple of very pleasant days sightseeing it was time to go to the festival.
I had never been to a music festival before, after having a bad experience involving a near riot with Dexys Midnight Runners (who remembers them?) when I was aged sixteen when they performed at the Top Rank night club in Cardiff. Since then I have always been wary around crowds and I had actively avoided concerts or gigs for most of my life. I wasn’t involved in the fracas in Cardiff but I had been just an innocent teenager who was caught up in the middle of a large mob who were out to cause trouble. Once some guys in the crowd turned violent and began throwing beer bottles at the band on stage, the police were called and it turned very quickly into something like the Wild West. I just wanted to escape from the cave like venue but I was trapped with all hell breaking out around me. The band left the stage and then when the police arrived the gangs turned on each other and a huge fist fight broke out.
Anyhow, I digress. This trip was all about finding myself and becoming confident so I decided to bite the bullet and go to a music festival – and after all, this destination was the winning ticket in my lottery to decide where to begin my travels so it was like fate was guiding me; which was how I ended up in Lisbon with tickets to the Optimus Alive Festival.
Queuing in the sun was relaxed with people from across Europe waiting in line. It was good fun trying to work out the language and the nationality of people but it was even more fun eavesdropping on people trying to chat each other up, with English as their second but common language.
Festival Highlights
Optimus Alive Festival, Portugal
I had never heard of the band Of Monsters and Men and because they didn’t have one of the headline slots and were performing in the ‘unknown’ tent I thought that it would be safe to get a place quite near the stage; however by the end of their set the tent was packed and people were standing outside right back to the food stalls. I think that their popularity took many people by surprise but the word soon went around that this wasn’t a band to be missed, and they continue to be a band that I listen to today.
Greenday were the headliners on the first day and as they had been one of my son’s favourite bands I knew most of their music. They gave a terrific live performance, as did The Kings of Leon – although with both bands I was careful to stay back, well away from the crazy mosh pit.
The Stereophonics also played as well as Biffy Clyro, Depeche Mode and the Brass Wires Orchestra and many others.
There wasn’t a huge choice of food but there were food trucks where we discovered a great Portuguese dish called ‘tachadinha porco’ which was spicy pork pieces served with onions, sauce and rather bizarrely tiny sticks of crisps in a bun. We also ate a lot of ‘farturas’ which are best described as giant churros which were served piping hot, rolled in cinnamon and sugar. For just one euro and eaten hot they provided the perfect energy rush.
To top everything off a LARGE tumbler of very decent red wine could be bought for just two euros. Maybe it’s not cool to drink wine at festivals but hey, when in Europe…! By the end of the festival I had hardly any anxiety – due in part to the relaxed atmosphere and the fact that so many people weren’t focusing on drinking but only wanted a good time in the sun with good music and their friends.
I didn’t see any trouble or anti-social behaviour as I would have expected but the majority of Spanish and Portuguese have a very different approach to alcohol compared to large number of Brits on an evening out.
I felt very pleased and proud of myself that I had faced my fears and I had been in large crowds for two days running but now it was time to say goodbye to Guida (although our paths would cross again) and time to take that bus south towards the Algarve where we were booked to do some volunteer work on an eco-farm and hostel.
A Portuguese Marine’s perspective on life.
Before the next article in which will tell you about our time in the Algarve I would like to tell you about our encounter with the Marine that I mentioned above.
It’s probably not a story that most people would bother including when they recount their holiday memories however I find people’s stories and opinions as interesting, if not more so that ticking off the top ten of places to visit.
In this instance, when we stopped to chat with Juan who was a guard at the war memorial we got a real insight into what a soldier thought of politics and customs.
It can do us all good to listen to another person’s view on one’s own country. All too often we can be quick to dismiss our heritage and we may grumble about our politicians and our way of life, or we might look the other way and assume that what we grew up with is superior to someone else’s experience in another part of the world. Sometimes it takes a foreigner to highlight what they believe to be bad in their country and to point out how your own might be so much better – but at the end of the day we don’t need to agree or to argue, but to keep an open mind and ask questions.
We had been walking along the seafront from Alges to Belem when we passed a large war memorial and we happened upon the changing of the guard. We stood to watch the ceremony and after the retiring guards had moved away, the sailor (I assumed) who was now ensconced in his guard box, beckoned me over and indicated that I should have my photo taken with him. I teased him that he would get into trouble as in the UK the guards were supposed to stand very still and be serious but keen to break the monotony of his day he proceeded to chat with us for the next twenty minutes.
His name was Juan and he was a Marine. The Marines are a relatively young branch of the Portuguese services and were set up when a small group of their armed forces came to the UK to train and to learn how our Marines functioned. Juan had served in Somalia and Afghanistan and he was now serving a period of time on ceremonial guard duty in front of the war memorial. Whilst he believed that it was correct to have a guard present he also felt that it was an activity beneath the esteemed Marines. The large marble walls listed many fallen Portuguese with the majority of the deaths taking place during the 1960’s in the Portuguese colonies in Africa. There were thousands of lives lost in Mozambique and Portuguese Guinea during that decade.
Juan was trying to come to a decision. He had just about served his initial eight years in the Marines and was being pressured into signing up for a further term. He praised the British system and society for its forward thinking and appreciation of the role of its service personnel.
Like Britain, Portugal does not have compulsory national service, but unlike Britain it doesn’t allow its military personnel to sign up in chunks of time which may or may not be extended or opted out of (or at least it wasn’t an option when we met Juan.) Having served eight years he could now either leave or sign up and remain in the service until he was sixty five. He had enormous respect and pride for his country but he couldn’t begin to imagine how his politicians could consider an elite member of the forces would be able to continue until that age. He wanted to remain in the services, but not until he was that old, and he was therefore looking to terminate his career and return to university.
He was also full of praise for the British people and their support and pride in their troops. Juan explained that in Portugal the population generally considered people who went into the armed forces or the police to be civil servants and they refused to acknowledge their part in wars on the world stage such as in Afghanistan. He was so pleased to be able to thank me and BF for our pride in our armed forces (we are British therefore it was a given) and by proxy, our acknowledgment of his work.
Juan continued to highlight the differences between the decisions that the leaders of the two different countries had made when deciding to enter the European Union and choosing whether to adopt the Euro. He believed that both past and present British governments were fiercely protective of their rights, the currency and were strong and correct to stand up to the German Chancellor, whereas the Portuguese governments had given away too many rights and privileges in the past and now the population were paying for it. He was scathing about the German prime minister and her attitude towards the poorer nations in the EU and he could understand why so many young people wanted to leave his country and work abroad.
Politics aside, I am extremely proud of our armed forces in the UK and this was reinforced listening to Juan. We may have many things wrong in the UK but things are not always as rosy as they appear elsewhere and this was highlighted to me that day on the seafront in Lisbon.
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His name was Juan and he was a Marine. The Marines are a relatively young branch of the Portuguese services and were set up when a small group of their armed forces came to the UK to train and to learn how our Marines functioned. Juan had served in Somalia and Afghanistan and he was now serving a period of time on ceremonial guard duty in front of the war memorial. Whilst he believed that it was correct to have a guard present he also felt that it was an activity beneath the esteemed Marines. The large marble walls listed many fallen Portuguese with the majority of the deaths taking place during the 1960’s in the Portuguese colonies in Africa. There were thousands of lives lost in Mozambique and Portuguese Guinea during that decade.