…and so let’s start with one.
– Why is Portugal like the past?
– Because (tipping my hat to L P Hartley and the opening sentence of The Go-Between) it is a foreign country; they do things differently there.

Well, I did warn you that it was nothing like a good riddle!

Having recently returned from Portugal, I find that many of the events and images from our trip keep bobbing up to the surface of the stagnant pond that passes for my mind these days. It strikes me that most of these are, perhaps unsurprisingly, precisely those that form a strong contrast with life in Israel. So, I thought I would share some of them with you this week.

The first couple fall under the arcane category of: the open road as calendar. In Israel, for example, the school summer holiday runs from around June 20 (high schools) and July 1 (primary schools) to the end of August. Every year, if you commute by road, July 1 is the day you arrive at work 15 minutes early, because you forgot how much emptier the roads would be. The last week of August, on the other hand, is the week when you suddenly rediscover where all the pedestrian crossings are located on your route, because, having faded throughout the year until they are virtually invisible, the markings are then repainted in preparation for the new school year.

In Portugal, however, our drives from Penamacor to nearby towns were marked by reminders that winter is around the corner. In a few places, we were treated to autumnal reds and yellows in the foliage, but most local trees are not that flamboyant. Instead, we encountered, on one road, in the middle of open country, an unexpected temporary speed limit of 50kph; a couple of kilometres along the road, we were brought to a halt by road-workers directing traffic while a digger re-excavated a trench in the grass-covered earth at the side of the road. In a few weeks, water from the heavy rains should be gushing along this trench, rather than flooding the road surface.

We also passed several timber yards where unimaginable amounts of timber were stacked: an area 50 metres by 10 metres would be filled with neat cuboids of straight pine trunks, six metres long, stacked to a height of three metres.

On our journeys, it wasn’t long before we encountered lorries transporting this wood from the timberyards. The first time we drove behind such a lorry (on a 90kph winding country road, one lane in each direction) was a fairly nerve-wracking experience.

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From the back, there was no visible restraint on the logs. Bernice and I both had a vision of one of these tree trunks suddenly working its way free and either shooting straight through our windscreen and out through the rear window, or landing on the roof of our car, continuing straight down and effectively cleaving the car into two enclosed bicycles. Bernice and I each edged closer to our respective side windows, in the hope of leaving such a log a clear path through the car, unimpeded by, not to put too fine a point on it, us. I determined to overtake at the earliest opportunity.

As we reached a straight stretch of the road, where overtaking was allowed, I edged out to check for oncoming traffic. It was at that point that I first noticed that the top of the lorry was pitching and tossing like George Clooney in The Perfect Storm. For a few moments, pulling alongside the lorry in order to overtake it seemed less like a good idea; being speared by a single log was not an attractive prospect, but having an entire lorryful of logs topple over onto us seemed to have no redeeming features whatsoever.

Eventually, we were able to overtake, without event, and continue on our way, until, round the next bend, we confronted another fully-laden lorry. In this case, the driver used an interesting technique to avoid the side-to-side pitch and toss; he evened out every bend by treating both lanes of the road as his domain. This made overtaking even more exciting, but eventually, as is the way, we became inured to this seasonal hazard of the roads. At least, I became inured. Fortunately, the rental car inspector, when we returned the car, failed to notice the fingernail marks cut into the padding of the front passenger seat.

Next up in the ‘How different from the life of our own dear Queen!’ stakes is customer service, and specifically support by phone. In Israel we are very ready to moan about the level of customer service, and it is certainly true to say that most Israeli customer service reps follow the national ethos that “All citizens are equal; it would be unpatriotic of me to treat you as someone special”. However, you can generally get things done efficiently on the phone (once you get through to a human being).

Portugal, by contrast, clearly pines for its imperial past and its hierarchy of royalty and nobility. When our June 2020 trip was cancelled because of Covid, TAP gave us a voucher for the full value of our flights. When I tried, in late August, to book our October flight online, I found that I could not persuade the site to accept my voucher. Eventually, I contacted customer service by phone, and was informed that it was impossible to redeem the voucher online. So, I booked by phone. After completing the booking, we still had over ₤100 credit on the voucher.

Towards the end of our trip this time, I wanted to book our next trip. I went online to see TAP flight times and prices, and then, in order to use this ₤100 credit, I phoned TAP in Lisbon. I reached a rep who spoke fairly good English and who was very ready to help. Unfortunately, the process of booking the flight was tortuous: the rep insisted on taking all of our information, including passport numbers.

At the end of each step (indeed, often each sub-step), she put me on hold and then disappeared into the recesses of TAP’s computer system for minutes on end. Each time she returned, she dutifully repeated the scripted greeting: ‘Thank you, Mr David Brownstein, for your patience in waiting’.

Eventually, after an hour, we reached the bottom line, and she informed me of the total cost. I then pointed out that, online, TAP was offering the flights for a total price that was about ₤100 less. She explained that TAP has an online discount; anyone who wants the convenience of booking through a rep has to pay the full price. I pointed out that far from being convenient, the process of booking through her had taken me about 45 minutes longer than booking online would have taken. In addition, the only reason that I was booking through her was that TAP’s system did not allow me to redeem my voucher. Round about here, I started thinking of Catch-22.

The rep was apologetic, and understanding, and unfailingly polite, as she explained that there was nothing she could do. I explained that I was not criticizing her, but that I wished to speak to someone in authority who could actually help me take advantage of the discount without losing the advantage of the discount.

After another lengthy period on hold (during which I completed the composition of a complete set of eight variations on the TAP theme tune), she returned to thank me, Mr David Brownstein, for my patience in waiting, and to inform me that there was nobody who could help me.

I must admit that, by this stage, my patience was starting to wear a little thin. I explained yet again that the fault lay with TAP’s computer system, and not with me, and it was therefore invidious that I should be punished for it. At this point, the rep said: ‘But of course you can redeem the voucher online.’

She then asked whether I had gone online through the UK portal of TAP. I said that I hadn’t. There was the problem, she said. The original booking had been made through the UK portal, and the voucher was therefore in sterling. In order to redeem it, I had to use the UK portal. I admit I was sceptical, and so I asked the rep to hold my booking for 24 hours, so that, if for any reason I was unable to book online, we would not lose our seats. She explained, extremely politely, that, ‘Unfortunately, Mr David, the computer system does not allow me to hold the booking uncompleted.’ I eventually gave in and instructed her to cancel the booking. I then went online, through the UK portal, and booked without any problem, redeeming the voucher, in about 12 minutes.

It is a measure of the consideration that I have for you, dear reader, that I spare you the story of my trying to obtain a security matrix card for our bank account in Portugal. You will have to take my word for it that it is a story every bit as full of computer system incompetence matched with personal civility as the tale of TAP. However, like the air tickets, the bank matrix issue was resolved, finally, after three or four visits to the bank, and we are now able to conduct a wider range of banking activities online with complete ease.

Yes, everyday life in Portugal often seems like a game of what some of you call Chutes and Ladders (which is probably about as clunky a segue as I have ever devised).

Blogger’s Note: Last Friday marked the second anniversary of my first post on this blog. Since then, some 150,000 words have flowed under the Penamacorrespondent bridge. If you’ve been reading since November 2019, then I applaud your perseverance. If, at the other extreme, this is the first post you’ve read, then managing to get all the way down here without giving up means that congratulations are still in order. Here’s to Year 3!