So what, I am a rock star!

While working on my Sintra painting, my thoughts frequently wandered to those few weeks in Portugal. How different it was to what I was used to here in South Africa!

We visited the country shortly after Portugal had joined the European Union in 1989, and the country was only just awakening from its Socialist sleep. Although the dark, petite Portuguese women are breathtakingly beautiful, the fashion at the time apparently prescribed rather drab dresses, turning them into demure little hens. Or maybe it was the remants of the political regime that they were emerging from.

Nevertheless, picture this:

I am not a tiny woman. I am, in fact, only one inch short of the good ole' six foot yardstick for extremely tall women. And I am blonde. AND, at the time, the perm was all the rage. To top it all, I have a rather flamboyant side to me: I love colour and all things bright and beautiful.

So here I was in this small town called Oeiras, where Hubby was attending the workshop at the Gulbenkian Institute. Having nothing else to do on my own, I decided to explore the "real Oeiras" - not the picture perfect beach where half of Europe flock in the summer months. I did it on foot. I did not understand the road signs, but I thought that "Centro" might mean the centre of town, so I followed the signs.

* * * * * Interruption * * * * *

Sorry for the interruption, but this is so cool, I just have to share it!

While scouring the internet for images of what the setting of my story looked like, I came across a wonderful blog with the most beautiful pictures: Oeiras and Environs Daily Photo by JM  http://www.oeirasdailyphoto.blogspot.com/ . A certain set of photographs took me right back to that day, as it managed to captured the atmosphere almost exactly.

http://oeirasdailyphoto.blogspot.com/2008/12/rua-das-alcssimas.html

Being terminally curious, I searched for "Rua das Alcassimas" on Google Maps, and lo and behold, this very street was right there where I have walked that day! I remember (and please note this was more than 20 years ago) walking from the Gulbenkian Insitute away from the beach along a fairly wide road, which curved to the right! Isn't nature wonderful? :D

* * * * * End of Interruption * * * * *

Anyway ...

Speeding along with my wild blonde curls exclaiming to high heaven, and my extremely loud dress with its huge yellow, red, pink, blue, green ... and black! ... flowers fluttering in the breeze created by my giraffe-like strides, I tackled the roads less travelled in Oeiras.

I never found the centre of town, but my peripatetic journey took me through narrow lanes where ordinary people lived in quaint red-roofed dwellings, adorned with the typical blue tiles so well-known and loved in Portugal.

There were quite a number of people in the street, that day ... the day the crazy blonde she-giant clown from outer-somewhere giraffled through town.

For those few long minutes, the street came to a standstill.

The only sound was the measured rhythm of my footsteps, and the ever-present chirping of sparrows who clearly had seen it all. Either that, or they were laughing their feathery little asses off at the spectacle ...

People stood still, literally like statues, frozen by the sight before them. The only things that moved, were their heads, as they - ALL of them - followed my progress through their world.

I had never before, or since, experienced anything like that.

For a while, I felt like a rock star.

This incident of the mesmerized little chickens from Oeiras and the flambouyant female from Africa served as inspiration for my next painting, which I called "Rock Star" because of the resemblance of my "main character" to rockers like Rod Steward and David Bowie.

<><>

Rod Steward

<><><>     <><>

David Bowie

The last piece of my Rock Star painting was a bit more contrived. When we visited Lisbon, the famous Alfama area made me extremely uncomfortable. I just couldn't shake the feeling that it must me morally wrong to walk through this utterly impoverised part of the city, ooh-ing and ahh-ing about how "beautiful" and "cute" it is.

<><><>     

http://www.sights-and-culture.com/Portugal/Lisbon-Alfama-706.html

Why Alfama bothered me, while the decay of Oeiras, or even Carcavelos where we stayed did not, I do not know. Maybe because Alfama's decay is a popular tourist attraction, while the others just were what they were, without making any tour operator rich ... Anyway, we hot-heeled it out of Alfama.

When I searched for a Portuguese background for my Rock Star, I saw pictures of the beautiful red building in Alfama and I loved it! It is the Museum of Decorative Art at the Miradouro das Portas do Sol, and I regret that I did not know about it or visited it when I had the opportunity!   

Miradouro das Portas do Sol
http://www.askmelisboa.com/

And so, dear hearts, this is the result of my meanderings:

<><><>      <><>

Rock Star

♥

On the slippery slopes of Sintra

Many moons ago, I accompanied my hubby when he attended a workshop in Portugal.

Oh, how I love Portugal!

We took the bus to Sintra, a fairytale village in the Serra de Sintra (Sintra Mountains). The village, which is about 30 kilometres from Lisbon, is on the Unesco World Heritage list for its Romantic 19th century architecture.

http://realtravel.com/dp-16783-0-sintra_photos

It was such a glorious summer day - quite hot and humid - but so pretty. We walked and walked and walked, exploring every last nook and cranny. At long last, when we could hardly walk anymore, we discovered a pretty alley consisting of a long flight of stairs.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/brainspiration/371525504/

Hubby decided that this was where he would play photographer and take pictures of his young wife traipsing down the stairs. Which is fine, but it was in the pre-digital age, where you didn't just shoot away. You had to plan, and be patient.

So with knees a bit wobbly after a long day's sightseeing, I ran up the stairs and lightly floated downwards, all the while smiling prettily at the colourful surroundings and pretending that I did not feel extremely awkward.

When I reached the bottom, hubby said: "Would you mind doing it again? I didn't get a picture."

So I turned around and scampered up the steps to the top. Merrily, I ambled down again.

"Uhm ... nope. Please try again."

Without much ado, I walked up again, to the top. And dooown I came again.

Hubby smiled patiently. "Lets try one last time, please?"

I marched back up, slowly and deliberately putting my feet on every step on the way down.

Only to be greeted with one of those puppy-eyed stares.

"I promise this will be the very last time."

Up I stomped, and halfway down I demanded: "Why don't you just take the damn picture? What is wrong?"

With the tact of the Dalai Lama, he declared: "Girl, you really look hot and bothered!"

Incredibly, it is 21 years later and we are still married!

After I did the painting of the chickens in Paris, I thought that it migt be fun to do chickens in places that have special meaning for me. I remembered Sintra, and those steps ...

Galhinas pintadas

(Painted chickens)

Incidently,  the chicken at the top of the stairs is my rendition of the famous Portuguese rooster, or  O Galo de Barcelos ("the rooster of Barcelos").

According to one version of the legend, a wealthy man had a big party. Afterwards, he noticed that his silver cutlery was missing, but to the alarm of the villagers, the culprit could not be found.

Then one day a stranger passed through town. He was immediately suspect, and was seized by the authorities. Despite all his protestations and explanations that he was on his way to worship a saint in a nearby town, St. Tiago,  he was sentenced to death by hanging.

His last request was to see the judge who had condemned him. He was taken to the house of the  magistrate, who was about to enjoy his supper.

The doomed pilgrim again proclaimed his innocence, and in desperation pointed to the roasted chicken on the table and blurted out:  "If I am innocent, this rooster will crow three times."

Of course everybody laughed at him, yet nobody dared to touch the dish on the table.

And so off to the gallows he went ... but just as the noose of the hangman's rope slipped over the poor pilgrim's head, the rooster stood up from the platter and crowed. The judge had no choice but to release the pilgrim.

Many years later the pilgrim returned to Barcelos and erected a monument in praise of St. Tiago and the Holy Virgin.

To this day, Galo de Barcelos, the symbol of honesty, integrity, trust and honor, still is the national symbol of Portugal.

♥