The oddness of Portugal

The word that comes to mind most readily when trying to describe the production of the great Portuguese film director Oliveira is “odd”. Take his film Cannibals, an opera about a man from distant Brazil who wins a singing contest by virtue of singing the strangest song; and thereby he wins the hand of a beautiful maiden; during the nuptial night he reveals his heart-breaking secret: that his arms and legs are artificial. His new wife flees in horror, he sings another strange song and – throws himself in the fireplace, where he roasts to death. In the morning, his brothers in law arrive, and finding no one in the house, in puzzlement take some of the strangely delicious roast on the fireplace.

Odd, but beautiful.

Portuguese architecture is like that, too. Everywhere one sees strange features – shallow arches crossed by columns, rope-like stone decoration of windows, greeting servants in white and blue tile on staircase landings, rounded corner balconies, steep, pointy, Hindu-like domes in red tile, unusual color combinations (e.g. dull pink with pale grey) – which appear unique to Portugal. Somehow, these brilliant Portuguese inventions never emigrated outside of Portugal. Like a population isolated on an island, Portuguese architecture evolved in its own, strange directions. Oddness seems prized. Per plaques which decorate them, the oddest buildings seem to have received highest architectural prizes.

The food is like that, too. At Quinta da Regaleira, the restaurant serves deer chops in purple cream-cranberry sauce. It tastes alright, but looks surprisingly beautiful. How was it, asks the waiter, named (oddly) Nelson. “Strange”, I said, “but good.” “Ah, yes,” said Nelson. “Try this: roast a rabbit in vegetables with cinnamon and saffron. Then add three leaves of fresh mint”. “My God!”, I said, “that sounds odd!” “Yes!” he said with a victorious smile. “I was glad to invent it.”