Postcard From Lisbon

Press, Volume CIV, Issue 30937, 18 December 1965, Page 5

Postcard From Lisbon

...By

MOLNAR

TISBON is a provincial town of quiet charm and small-scale beauty from which people go away to discover the world. It has winding streets, ascending hills and cataracts of stairs, flooding squares. It is rather like Montmartre without artists, an improvement. It was founded by Ulysses as part of his tribulations. An earthquake destroyed it in 1755 during the unscientific period of history when one needed an act of God to do q little salutary town-planning. (Remember Sir Christopher Wren and the Great Fire of London.) Today we can do better with high explosives and nuclear devices. It was rebuilt by the Marquis de Pombal in a splendid, chunky style. His statue stands outside my hotel. He looks

unrepentant. The modem buildings have a rare and presumptuous ugliness. They represent the period when being contemporary meant leaving things off. Like buildings in Sydney before architects started to subscribe to overseas magazines. Lord Byron lived here. Lord Byron lived everywhere. He seems to have spent all his life providing advertising copy to travel brochures. Lisbon is a godfearing. Christian town, where humble eyes are cast to the ground. The ground is magnificently decorated. Black and white marble paving produces

ornaments of musical beauty, unrespected by dogs and small children. The downcast eye also creates in the Lisbonite an unhealthy interest in his shoes. He is a shoe fetishist. When life is hard he gets his shoes cleaned. When life is good he gets his shoes cleaned. In the shine of his shoes the world is reflected as a happy, exciting place. Every street has a shoe-shine establishment. Itinerant artists cater for the captive audience of coffee shops. Illicit trade is pursued by small boys, whose dream is to catch a stray American before he learns the currency. Catholic countries believe in miracles. One of the everyday manifestations of this belief is the interest in lotteries. Ticket peddlers are everywhere. (But what about Sydney? Maybe it is not the religion but the climate.) Portugal is an English-oriented country. Background to mutual respect comes from English consumption of port and sherry. Mort unexpected. Portuguese speak English. I was saying goodbye to a distinguished colleague of mine from London. Hotel Ritz." said he as he flung himself in a taxL "And this is all the Portuguese I know. "Not a bad effort, sir." said the taxidriver.