Where I can't feel anything for a bunch of emotionless people

Last night was another of those moments when I'm beginning to feel firmly detached from modern cinema and especially modern cinema criticism because I can't for the life of me understand what was so compelling about the film we saw that would have critics raving about it, not least because it won the Palm d'Or at Cannes. That film is Anora. It's another Sean Baker production and I agreed to see it for precisely that reason. It's described as a "romantic comedy", which is normally something that I would avoid like it was on fire because most of them are awful. But Baker has a lot of credit in the bank with me because of two previous films: The Florida Project and Red Rocket. The former is a great example of the chasm in understanding between the privileged few and the underserved many in our nation. It's a story with pathos and one that most decent humans could feel sympathy for, in the same way that we watch Willem Dafoe make his own life more difficult in the name of making his tenants' a tiny bit easier. The latter is one of the best things we've ever seen at the Michigan/State theaters. It's a fantastic example of overweening ambition and the obvious impending failure that it leads to (reach exceeds thy grasp or thy Johnson, as the case may be.) Both of those films are replete with examples of genuinely human characters and their genuinely human circumstances and reactions to same. As many have said about Shakespeare: characters will drive your stories and make them last. Both of those stories have that. Anora... does not.

We're presented with a situation that is a young woman's (Mikey Madison) fairly successful stripping/escort career, since she lives in a comfortable home with her sister in Brighton Beach and works at what is implied as an upscale club, probably somewhere in the Lower East Side. She meets an incredibly wealthy young Russian ne'er-do-well (Mark Eydelshteyn) whom she entrances and then convinces to pay her a substantial fee to hang out with him as his "girlfriend" for a week. So far, everything is paved with gold here. But then his family finds out and their servants here in the States come to disrupt this Shangri-La, which is where our story veers from Pretty Woman to Uncut Gems. Anyone who remembers my review of the latter film will recall that I found it to be both tedious and obnoxious, which is a morbidly impressive combination. So our story of the stripper whose life is already pretty cozy and only gets better throughout the first act is suddenly turned into a 25-minute-long home invasion scene where everyone is screaming at each other and, just like with Uncut Gems, is basically being a collection of obnoxious New Yorkers failing to communicate. Just as with that film, I have no concept of how this can be entertaining to anyone. What's worse is that none of the characters involved are even remotely interesting. They're not human. They're ciphers. Pretty Woman is usually discarded as fluff because it is, failing to even approach the reality of working women in LA. Same thing here. What would make me feel sympathy for Ani's situation or person when we don't see her even stepping up from the level of hiding the rent in the toilet tank before dating the millionaire? The worst crisis she encounters before the family servants come barging in is being woken up early by her sister. It never feels like she's latching on to that one thing she's been waiting for and is then traumatized by having it swept away from her. Instead, we've basically watched her just take advantage of the situation (as most would do) and not be too troubled by any of it.

In truth, the only genuinely interesting character in the whole film is Igor (Yura Borisov), one of those thugs who breaks in to disrupt her moment with the wayward Russian heir. What makes him interesting is that we simply watch his face for the entire invasion scene, largely agog at what's happening around him and clearly not quite understanding why he's there in the first place. I really enjoyed Borisov in Compartment No. 6 and was happy to see him again, being just as effective in this role as he was as Lyokha on the train. As the one person not being bombastic but merely trying to survive the ride, he struck me as the one person reacting like most people would in that situation. In other words, as I will say again and again in all of my criticism, he was human. And acting human while everyone else was chewing scenery. He maintains that humanity even as things take a sharp turn into sentimentality in act 3. This would be the point where said sentiment is supposed to engender sympathy from the average American moviegoer. But Baker's films have never been about that, so I don't suspect that that was his intention. But the problem is that, even if it was, none of these characters, including Ani, had done anything throughout this story to generate that sympathy. Everything kind of slid off of her and so she kind of slid off of us, pants on or not. By the end of the film, we still don't really know who she is other than perhaps a vague sensation that she's been brazening her way through most of her life and this was the one time she couldn't call the shots? If that's all you have in terms of character development, then we are a long way from earlier examples of Baker's work.

And, yet, critics are raving about it (97% on RT; the Palm d'Or(!)) and all I can ask is: What am I missing? I look at this film and think of my usual later-Ridley Scott criticism: It's more spectacle than story. I mean, was the Cannes crowd just thrilled that the American submission wasn't another damn Marvel movie?

Batman TAS: episode #37: The Laughing Fish

The Laughing Fish is the greatest Joker story ever told, full stop. That story was written by Steve Englehart on his run in Detective Comics from #469-476 with Marshall Rogers on art duties; arguably the greatest run on the character in its 95-year history. So much of that eight-issue sequence has seeped into the character's essential fiber that its remarkable that Englehart's name isn't more widely-known. Of course, part of why it's not is simply the way Hollywood and TV function, which is highlighted in this specific case. When you see the credits for this episode, you'll see that it's "Written by Paul Dini." Of course, the story is Englehart's and they even use segments of the dialogue ("Jokerburgers!") from Englehart's story. I pointed that out to him when I ran into him at a comic show about a year after the episode aired. He nodded and said that he had been paid a substantial "service payment" in lieu of a credit. Since he was under a work-for-hire contract when he'd written the story, like the vast majority of comic writers and artists of that time, he probably didn't have much choice. Just the same, it still rankles me every time I think about it.

Thankfully, Dini not only used the dialogue but stuck to the main elements of Englehart's story, as well. In the years since The Batman had returned to being the Darknight Detective, rather than "good ol' Batman", the Joker had still lagged behind the change in tone. He was still the Clown Prince of Crime, with the emphasis on the "clown" part. A bit more serious and threatening, but still more bizarre than he was dangerous. Englehart changed all that. In The Laughing Fish, The Joker is a homicidal maniac whose actions can't be predicted, making him terrifying to anyone and everyone. Dini kept that perspective, using the laughing gas made of Jokervenom that the character would then use forever after, in which victims are killed and die with a rictus grin on their face, reminiscent of the villain himself. 

As BTAS was still aimed primarily at children, Dini couldn't show The Joker's intended victims actually dying (Batman would rescue them and be rescued himself with last-second antivenom doses), but it was still easily the most eerie of situations in the series' history. The character is also at his most menacing, as he regularly threatens the copyright official (G. Carl Francis; played by George Dzundza) with death, which isn't something that regularly happens in the series, other than the usual threats to our hero. The presence of Harley Quinn does spoil the presentation a bit, as she's an intentionally goofy character who doesn't mesh very well with this more menacing version of The Joker.

This is also one of the episodes where Harvey Bullock (most frequently played by Robert Costanzo) functions less like a corrupt buffoon and more like an actual hard-boiled cop who doesn't want to be upstaged by the guy in the bat costume. It's Harvey, of course, who first finds The Joker's hideout and tried to finish the job of apprehending the villain. It's a story that's more grounded in the noirish elements that the series was rooted in than the previous episodes. Since it also features The Batman's greatest opponent, it's hard to look at this as anything but among the very best three or four episodes ever produced, even if the plot itself is relatively straightforward in a "villain of the week" style that has often made superhero comics even more formulaic than they typically are.

Those noirish elements persist right through the conclusion, with the villain disappearing under the water, The Batman doubting that he's actually gone, and the shark devouring the floating card as the dénouement. This is what the series should have been even more often and it's necessary to see it to really understand how great Timm and Dini's (and Englehart's!) efforts were. My one complaint is the title card. It was a departure from the neo-Gothic art style used in most of the rest (until season 4) which were mini-representations of the episode that resembled 1930s movie posters. Instead, this one had a very simple font and no real character at all, which is disappointing.

Dystopia; or briefly The Thing That Describes a Lot of My Mindset About the World

Jeff Donaldson and I were the main figures in a comic studio that Jeff started almost 34 years ago. The studio ran for almost the entire decade of the 90s before economic factors (lack of distribution, lack of money) shut us down. A few months back, Jeff told me that he'd started drawing again with a new program and wondered if I was interested in digging up some of the old material that I'd created for said studio- Fifth Panel Comics -and seeing if we could produce it as a Webcomic. I signed on and here we are:

https://www.dystopia.ink/

Dystopia is a multi-genre setting somewhere in middle America that was basically a way for me to introduce a lot of concepts that I hadn't found a home for, as well as a way for everyone involved in the studio at the time (somewhere in the range of a dozen people, but really a half-dozen "regulars") to collaborate on the same project, if they chose to do so. I explain a lot of this here: https://www.dystopia.ink/2024/04/20/the-origin-story/ which is the almost-first post on the News page of the site. At the moment, when you go to the News page, you'll see the most recent post, but then have to scroll down to see the older ones. I'll figure out how to rework that at some point. Anyway, all of the posts on the News site describe the basic background of the setting, how we wanted to implement it, and what the idea is for the future. The comics, OTOH, are here:

https://www.dystopia.ink/comic/

When you first arrive on the site, you'll automatically see the last page that Jeff has completed and can use the controls to shift to the beginning or to previous (and subsequent) pages and so forth. At the moment, we're beginning with a story based on The Rim, the top level of the city (Into Darkness), but we'll be moving around from there. Jeff is hoping to maintain a schedule of a page a week as we move forward. Meanwhile, I'll be posting more stuff on the blog page (News) and, for those so inclined, we've set up a Discord (linked on the Home page) and will be hoping to hear/see as much feedback as possible; not just on places like Facebook, but the site itself.

If you know anyone who likes comics, Webcomics, SF, horror, cyberpunk, or anything even vaguely related, PLEASE feel free to send them the link to the site. The most gratifying thing for me as a writer has always been for as many people as possible to read it and see if they get something out of it. Quite literally, the more the merrier, yo. Thanks and I hope (at least some of you) enjoy.

Batman TAS: episode #36: Robin's Reckoning, part II

Most of both parts of this story have to do with emotion. As the Darknight Detective, The Batman is frequently presented as divorced from emotion. He's the shadow of the night that implacably pursues criminals in the name of protecting Gotham City. But his image as presented often means that citizens are almost as nervous around him as criminals are. What softens that image to some is the presence of the much more human Robin, who not only cracks jokes but also wears a costume that's an absurd contrast from The Batman's deep blues and grays that keep him hidden in the shadows (except for the blazing target in the middle of his chest...) But Robin wears a costume emblematic of his circus background. The only problem is that, as presented in these two episodes, it brings him awfully close to matching the image of a clown.

The episode begins with Bruce and young Dick Grayson engaging in fencing practice. In the course of said practice, it demonstrates how enthusiastic, reckless, and emotional Dick is at his young age, which is understandable. The problem is that college-aged Dick is also just as reckless and emotional, which creates a contrast to The Batman not just in presentation, but in execution. The Batman is controlled, precise, and careful to protect both the citizens of Gotham and any activity that might threaten his identity and, thus, those around him. Robin, meanwhile, goes in guns blazing to every encounter. In this episode, it's presented as a consequence of pursuing Tony Zucco, the man who killed his parents. But it's also present in the previous episode before we even knew we'd be delving into Dick's past. It's also displayed by the younger Dick when he gets onto Zucco's trail, as well. Robin was created by Kane as a character for kids "to relate to" and imagine themselves being, working alongside The Batman. The problem is that most kids already imagine themselves being The Batman, rather than his goofy sidekick. But even if they were imagining themselves as Robin, instead of the Caped Crusader, they're now presented with an image of themselves being the most antithetical partner that The Batman could ever have. It's a really strange approach to both concept and story.

This is furthered by some of the story details and moments. At one point, we see crooks on the streets running and hiding because the Batwing is hovering over the streets. The Darknight Detective's whole approach is to be lurking around the rooftops, unseen, until he suddenly appears and terrifies them; such that they'll never know in the future if he's around the corner and, consequently, might decide to not engage in their nefarious activities. The idea that they'll have the opportunity to run and hide because they can hear the VTOL jets of the Batwing from blocks away doesn't suit the character's MO at all. This is alongside other mildly clumsy moments in the script, such as Paulie's Pool Hall, which seems like an obvious reference to a recent gangster movie of inordinate fame. Then there's Dick running into the stereotypical hooker-with-a-heart-of-gold when he's first searching for Zucco. Some of this seems like padding for a story that honestly might have been able to be told in a single episode, rather than two, and the reason for that padding is, of course, because it's Robin's origin story.

That emotional angle comes to a fairly explosive climax, as The Batman locates Tony Zucco's hideout when the latter is panicking about being pursued by him ("He's a dark angel a'death, man!") and Robin ends up reaching a moment where he could easily let Zucco fall to his death, only to be stopped by his mentor. That engenders an explosion from Robin where the most predictable line emerges: "You can't possibly know how I feel-!" when, of course, Bruce absolutely knows how he feels and Dick realizes it a moment later. This is accompanied by Bruce explaining that he tried to keep his ward out of this fight for fear that the man who took Dick's parents' lives might also take the life of what is effectively the only child that Bruce will ever have. The emotional weight attached to both of them in the course of this story does sell it better than the overall presentation, but it doubtlessly works better for actual fans of the Robin character. Next up is the greatest Joker story ever told: The Laughing Fish.

Batman TAS: episode #35: Robin's Reckoning, part I

My views on Robin as a character have been cited here before, so I won't go into great detail on them again. Needless to say, I am not a fan. Even if you could argue that he doesn't detract from the overall atmosphere of the stories (and I don't think you can), you'd be even more hard-pressed to argue that he brings anything positive, either. In Robin's Reckoning, part I, as the producers were giving credit to their audience by not dwelling on The Batman's origin story once again, it's fair to say that Robin's origin story is a little more obscure, especially with their having been three versions of the character by the time this aired, so you can understand why an episode (or two) would be committed to telling the story of the (sigh) Boy Wonder. They decided to proceed with the original, Bob Kane story, which was him being the scion of the Flying Graysons, a circus act that goes awry after contact with the local mob. It's the corniest of Robin origins, but may be the most appropriate. Where else but the circus would a kid his age develop the skills needed to swing around Gotham's rooftops with its hero? Besides, I always had a soft spot in my weird fiction attachment for strange carnies and the setting of the traveling circus, rolling from one backwater town to the next with the bizarre in its wake. That is the kind of aura that permeates The Batman's rogues' gallery, anyway, even if it doesn't describe the clean and family-friendly circus that is the locus of the Graysons' act.

But this episode begins with the grown, almost-adult Robin and his fairly extreme differences of opinion with his mentor on technique and responsibility. Unfortunately, it also emphasizes the youthful exuberance that doesn't seem to extend to recklessness but does make him seem goofy which is, of course, not The Batman at all. There's a sharp contrast there with an example of our hero's ruthless edge, as they let a gangster ("A contract saboteur, Robin.") hang from a girder 30 stories up, despite his complaints ("The cops wouldn't leave me!" "We're not the police...") When The Batman attempts to protect his sidekick from his own past, the latter reacts with justifiable outrage ("Stone cold, self-righteous-!") When we get into the actual origin story, I questioned at first why the writer and director felt it appropriate to show Robin's continual rage at being left behind, while it wasn't so to show the young Dick Grayson coming to grief over his parents' death, especially in his room at Wayne Manor when he pulls their picture from his suitcase. Was the idea that he was already hardening to be like his eventual mentor? Or perhaps that young boys watching the show would think that he was weak and not appreciate him the way writers of the comics (including Kane) and the show had always intended? ("Kids can relate to him!" No. No, they really can't.) Anger is OK to display but grief isn't? This is already a problem with our society. But, then, later they relent and do show tears on his face for about one second when Bruce comes to reassure him, so maybe my concern was misplaced.

They also return to that aura of real menace around The Batman, as he confronts a gangster with that shadowy silhouette and the cracking of his knuckles, confirming what's to follow if he doesn't get his way. He's still propelled by his anger in this situation, many years before, just as the older Robin is in the "present day" of the episode. His confrontation with local crimelord, Stromwell, is really well-paced and brings us back to that heavy noirish atmosphere. (That scene also displays the older costume with the chest-wide black bat, rather than the convenient target of the more modern suit.) There's also an excellent action sequence of dodging multiple bullets from a tommy gun, but seeing the actual effect of said bullets for once, as his cape shows the holes from the near misses as he dives over a barrier. It's those little moments of realism that continue to pay credit to the storytellers involved with the series. And all of this seems to be driven by that darker side of the characters in play. All of it is driven by rage, both The Batman's actions and Robin's reactions in the present day. Indeed, you could speculate that even the brief moment of grief on Dick's behalf is still driven by the anger at the injustice of it all. There's nothing wrong with that and certainly explains why the whole story was split into two episodes, as the implicit understanding is that anger can only drive you so far, whether it's seeking vengeance or getting irritated at being sidelined.

Despite my typical disdain for the character, the writing in this episode is quite solid and grounds our characters in those human emotions that are so essential to effective storytelling. The only complaint at the moment would be that both Robin and young Dick Grayson have the least solid roles in the story that is ostensibly about him/them. Part 2 is next, obvsly.

Batman TAS: episode #34: See No Evil

The original premise of the series was to take the darker form of Batman and still be able to present it as a cartoon that was deemed suitable for children. It was like the old saw about Warner Bros. cartoons. The slapstick was entertaining for the kids, but the underlying themes were catnip for intelligent adults, who could recognize the subversive nature of them. (One wonders how modern Republicans would react to the regular presence of Bugs Bunny in drag...) For the most part, Timm and Co. succeeded in presenting that dual nature in the majority of episodes of the series. But sometimes they came up a bit short and See No Evil is one of those failings. The plot is simple (crook uses invisibility suit to try to stay in touch with his daughter) but still has enough room for emotional depth. There are great atmospherics in the opening scenes outside of the house, with the blowing trash and leaves. It's very much a noir setting. But the episode quickly descends into enough camp to summon memories of the 1960s Batman, which is never a positive development, IMO.

We see the security guard needing to use the facilities and getting stalled by both the villain and Bruce Wayne changing into his alter ego. We see people at a watch/jewelry exhibition, reacting in almost feigned horror as they see their valuables disappear right in front of them. The villain exits the main exhibition hall right into a room with wet cement on the floor. It's all very obvious and clearly targeted at the low end of the appropriate age limit. In a seeming reference to DC comics of yore, the villain is named Lloyd Ventrix, which sounds an awful lot like Floyd Ventris, who was known as Mirror Man, a cheap super-scientist character from the 1950s; the era which was used as the basis for the 1960s TV series, so it all seems to be coming together here. There are many people who love that series and the more rock'em, sock'em nature of DC's heroes in that time period. I am not one of them and don't think it serves the character's overall interest.

All of that negative stuff said, due credit to writer, Martin Pasko, on this one for, at the very least, inserting enough emotional weight (the father clearly desperate to keep in touch with his daughter, but also clearly the progenitor of an abusive/predatory relationship with his ex-wife) to make these characters seem like real people. That's almost always a prerequisite for me and it also relegates The Batman to being the only one who doesn't seem to act like a human. Once again, we see him almost becoming the antagonist in his own series. But that also usually involves having a villain who has some edge of interest in his motivations. This one, while understandable, lacks the level of derangement that would keep him interesting, even as our hero attempts to stop him, not only to protect his former family, but also to prevent the villain from damaging himself with the very suit that he's using. There's a solid action sequence with The Batman hanging from the roof of a somehow-invisible car (which engenders the obvious joke from two bystanders that the car speeds past: "I didn't know he could fly...?") but too much of the story is spent in wide-eyed amazement at the prospect of someone being invisible, which has really been old hat in the entertainment world since Claude Rains. This is definitely among the lesser efforts of the series as a whole.

Two nights in Porto and one last one in Lisbon

So, yeah, Porto was generally a better experience than Lisbon, even for a day-and-a-half. Like I said, we were staying right downtown, so there was much more energy around our locale. That energy included repeated entreaties from the tchotchke shops to come in and check out the wares that were the same as any other shop that almost invariably appeared within a half-dozen storefronts, if not less (We were proudly told by one owner that he owned two other shops in that area, including one within 100 meters, so if we didn't find the size we were looking for, he'd just run over to the other shop.) It's like being on Decatur Street in the French Quarter; same shit, different door. The other popular locale was shoe stores. On St. Catarina Street, there were more shoe stores in a three-block stretch than I've seen in some whole towns. It was insane. Almost literally every third shop along the several blocks that we walked was a shoe store.

The big event on Tuesday was a river cruise on the Douro River, which is what runs right by Porto to the Atlantic. Porto is entirely on the north shore and the city of Gaya is on the south shore. There are a half-dozen bridges running between the two, some modern and steel, some medieval and stone, and a couple that are multi-level. But the follow-up to the cruise was a port tasting on the Gaya side. Now, as noted, our experience with port was not great, either in Portugal or outside it. The stuff we tried at the local market the night before was also not something I'd go after again (The olives, OTOH, were great.) But we had a tasting with local distiller, Calem, and this stuff was fantastic. I was mistaken when I thought that tawny port was rosé. It's just the most aged of port that changes color with the aging process, with ruby and white having less time in the barrel. That also gives tawny the most barrel character, as you might expect. After a tour of their distillery, where they tried to impress us with the size of their barrels, we tried a tawny and a white, both of which were excellent. They had balance. They weren't overly sweet. They had depth. We were immediately smitten and thought about shipping a couple bottles home... only to be brought up short by Michigan being one of the two or three states in the Union dumb enough to still forbid shipping alcohol, which I was hoping there might be a way around, but there isn't. I thought we were the only ones, but those new friends we met on the tour are from Rhode Island, which also doesn't permit mailing booze. It's just simple-minded protectionism for the local distributors; not even producers. One last, great example of legislatures (and attorney generals) that are effectively bought and paid for. That same problem is what prevents us from shipping home a bottle of ginjinha, which we'd become increasingly fond of while we were there.

We went from there to a restaurant down the street where I finally snagged a francesinha, which is a toasted sandwich of pork roast, ham, bacon, and linguica, over which is cheese melted by a super hot tomato-and-beer sauce. It sounds amazing. It was, in fact, excellent. Would gladly have again, except for the absolute calorie bomb that it is. (Even so, next time we come, I'm making room for one.)

Walking back to our hotel (A-cross the ri-ver!), uphill, in the high 70s, on cobblestone, and hauling 20 pounds of liquid (and glass) that we could get into carry-ons since each item is less than 3.5 oz... we came across a student band from the U of Porto. They were all young women and were all in uniform (white shirts, black ties, black knee-length jackets and skirts) and played a variety of instruments while also doing some mild dance routines and chants that sounded like something you'd associate with European students. I was struck again by the prevalence of traditional dress, right alongside the far more casual look that is emblematic of American students. They were great entertainment and we donated to their instrument fund. I was cramping up by the time we got back to the hotel. We definitely should've called an Uber.

Speaking of which, I forgot to mention before that the dichotomy(!) of cars we've experienced in both Lisbon and Porto is hilarious. The first three Ubers that we called were all driving white Teslas. Not just Teslas, but white Teslas. Every, single car we've had since those first three has been a standard transmission. It's like a step back in time from the modern, electric era to the 70s, since you almost never see standards in the US anymore unless they're full-sized trucks. It also highlighted once again the driving skill of most of them. We had a great dinner at 17, a restaurant on the 17th and top floor of a hotel a couple blocks from where we were staying that, as you might expect, gave us a great view of the city.

There's definitely a sense of rivalry between the capital and Porto, with the latter having a great example of that Second City sourness that Chicago exhibits towards New York. Our tour guide, a Lisbon native and resident, when confronted with the opinions of many in our group who cited how much more dynamic Porto was in comparison, were replied to with: "I am glad you like it. Porto, I am not a fan of." There was no explanation as to why. It was simply that she was on Team Lisbon.

In the morning, we got on the bus back to Lisbon, but made a stop in Aveira on the way; known as the "Venice of Portugal" for its many canals and salt pans, out of which it still produces a substantial amount of the domestic salt production of the nation and has been doing so for a couple thousand years, given the nearness of the ocean and the water that seeps into those pans. It's a pretty cool town, although we didn't see much of it. We took a boat tour of the canals and our guide was a great example of Western European language aptitude, switching easily between Portuguese with our pilot, some French tourists in the boat with us, and English for us; the latter two with no struggle and a near-perfect accent (or at least one not overwhelmed by his native Portuguese.) He was a Benfica supporter and, as I sat down in the boat in my Liverpool hat and Liverpool hoodie, asked: "So, you're a Liverpool supporter?" Me: "How could you tell?" We talked a lot about the game as the boat moved along, between his programmed descriptions of what we were passing by (including a public park with exercise machines, which was kinda cool.) It's always refreshing to find someone that really knows the game and can bring their own perspective to it.

We made it back to Lisbon and immediately set off for the Quake museum, about the 1755 earthquake (and consequent tsunami and fire) that basically destroyed Lisbon, leading to a public inquiry that was not only the first example of seismology as a science, but also modern urban planning. Of course, the most impactful result was the beginning of the Enlightenment (Why did the loving God destroy the capital and kill thousands of devout Catholics in devout Portugal on All Saints Day? "Mysterious ways", my ass.) Anyway, the museum is interesting and quite interactive. Then another solid dinner and a ride with a Bolt driver who was genuinely aggressive in his approach to traffic (and still with a stick shift), which was kind of entertaining. Still drove completely within the law, though.

2.5 hours after I wrote this, we left for the airport to catch our early morning flight to Paris and from there to Detroit. It was a really good scouting trip vacation and we even looked at home prices around Coimbra. Unlike our friend, I don't think I'd do the tour thing again. I just found it too restrictive and with too much time spent in front of things that weren't particularly compelling. We also ran into a couple Trumpers on our bus that I made a couple pointed comments to who then gave us something of a wide berth, which was fine by me. Fuck'em. In contrast, our new friends from Rhode Island were a ton of fun and we may try to arrange another meeting across the pond with them (or the other pond) at some point in the future.

Three days in a few small towns, part II

We spent that night in Fatima, which is the town in which a vision of the Virgin Mary apparently materialized to three children in 1917, telling them that World War I must stop and they needed to deliver her message of peace and life. Said message didn't sink in to two of them, since they died of the Spanish Flu a couple years later (the third lived on into her 90s) but it was apparently enough to attract hordes of Catholics to see the place of the miracle, if not the miracle itself, so there's a colossal basilica in town and they do processions all the time around various buildings/sites and whatnot. The hotel we stayed in was kinda podunk and the town is very, very dead when it comes to entertainment, so if the opportunity comes up when you visit the country, I'd skip it. All of that said, we didn't see a whole lot of said town, since we stopped at a giant gift shop for some reason, which was selling images of Mary and other religious tchotchkes, plus general ones. Most of the 45 minutes that we spent there, I was trying to keep track of Liverpool playing Arsenal, but if there had been anything else to do, I would've kept my head out of my phone. (As it is, we ended up with a 2-2 draw.) We did find a solid bistro with a guy who made really good burgers (again, catering to tourists), though.

The next day, we left Fatima and headed to Tomar, which is the locale of a massive Templar fortress/monastery complex that produced some of the best pictures of the trip. Sitting in the bistro the night before, Tricia had to suffer through a 15-minute lecture about just whom the Templars (and the Hospitallers) were and what happened to them. Our guide did a similar, albeit much shorter summary the next day when we arrived at the fort. On the one hand, she brought up the one fact I'd forgotten about the Templars essentially being the world's first bank. OTOH, she didn't say anything about the Hospitallers or the Crusades, in general, so if you want actual context with your history, I guess that's my (boring) role. I, at least, will not spare you the fact that the Templars were, in many instances, the equivalent of brigands in the Levant, and the Hospitallers were pirates in the last decades of their existence. Opportunists, all.

Nevertheless, as you can see, there was some cool stuff inside. Also, we had a bit of an experience with a woman who was outside the exit, selling dried fruit and other things from a cart to the by now hungry tourists. I didn't know that dried grapefruit is naturally bright green because of chlorophyll. I'm not normally a huge grapefruit fan, but this stuff was great.

Then we continued on to Coimbra, which turned out to be one of the highlights of the trip. Coimbra is the former capital of Portugal and the home of its oldest university and one of the oldest in Europe. We had been looking hard at Coimbra in terms of landing spots because it's a college town, which both of us appreciate (both the one we live in and the much larger one next door) for the energy and dynamism that young people bring to local life. That vibe was more than evident in this particular college town from the moment we set foot in it. Not only can you see college kids running around all over the place, including many wearing the traditional cloaks/capes for being part of their various honor societies (which most of the people in our group immediately squealed about "because they look like Harry Potter-!"), but the town is almost equally dependent on their business as it is on hordes of foreign tourists. In other words, this Portuguese town had both the feeling of being oriented toward the Portuguese but also toward the wider world, as most university towns tend to be.

Like Obidos and Nazare, it's also still largely made up of twisting, medieval roads that gives the place part of its enormous character. The architecture of the university is accompanied by similar medieval and post-earthquake 18th-century constructions that still seem to fit right in alongside the modernist apartment and commercial buildings. Speaking of which, our tour guide pointed out some of the government buildings present in town as being built during the Salazar era and having the brutalist nature of Soviet architecture, so authoritarianism doesn't really change much from place to place and culture to culture, whether fascist or Stalinist. (Keep that in mind when it comes to voting on Tuesday, if you would.)

As with most of the major towns and cities in Portugal, there's also a fantastic river that flows right through Coimbra, separating the old town (north) from the new town (south.) We had some great food here at another hole-in-the-wall that we found (duck-and-orange salad with not typical oranges, pica pau (stewed pork)) and just generally loved every minute of it, including while we were marveling at a police van that rolled up right near our meeting spot, spilling out 8 or 10 polícía in vests and kneepads, with batons in hand, looking like they were going to make a bust. Turned out they were just going to get coffee(?) Our tour guide looked at me when they first emerged and said: "What did you do?!" I said: "I don't know. Be a Marxist? I thought you told me Salazar was dead!"

We did miss out on one thing that we were both really interested in, which is the famous library of said university of Coimbra. We know that it was available, because some new friends we met at the fado show who were on the adjoining tour were planning to stop in and had asked us about it in Nazaré. (We ran into them in almost every location we stopped, as you might expect.) Our guide didn't let us know it was an option until we got into town and, by then, there were no time slots open before we were scheduled to leave. So, something to see on the next trip, I guess.

Then we headed up to Porto for the next couple days. Where we're staying in Lisbon is apparently the "old town" which is heavily residential and feels more like many areas of Detroit, where you wouldn't be surprised to not worry about bumping into other people on the sidewalks, despite it being a huge city. We stayed in proper downtown Porto, which meant it had much more of a "big city" feel, even on a Monday night when we arrived. We couldn't walk 20 feet without having to dodge someone else and the city was very alive and lit and still working while we were out. The Mercado do Bolhão, a market similar to the Time Outs, was a couple blocks from our hotel, so we headed there to get something to eat. We tried some port for the first time since we'd gotten in-country (we were waiting to reach Porto) and it was still way too sweet, but not bad (This would change when we tried some genuinely good stuff...) Unlike my usual taste in wine, I liked the white port we had more than ruby (red) or what I thought was a rosé in tawny port. (I was wrong, as I'll explain.) Still can't find a decent porter anywhere in this country, though. The US is still far, far ahead of the rest of the world when it comes to beer. The best we were able to find throughout most of Portugal was a brand called Super Bock which doesn't actually produce bocks, but instead has your bog-standard lagers and an average stout.

Three days in a few small towns, part I

We set off from Lisbon for Sintra, which is a UNESCO site around a massive mansion formerly inhabited by Freemasons and not a whole lot else. We arrived before a road rally made up of "old cars", many of which were cheap 70s models like Pacers and Vegas, along with a couple old-school, gas-guzzling Mustangs and so forth. Having zero interest in automotive festivities, it continues to fascinate me how and why someone would obtain and restore a crappy 70s hatchback and then use it to run a road rally. But, y'know, everybody's gotta have a hobby.

Anyway, said massive mansion does have some interesting parts, like a well that goes down a couple dozen meters and was never used for water but for initiation to the club. But it was also a tour through another ornate mansion that has never really been my thing (I don't know shit about interior decorating) and we were there for several hours and about two too long. We ate at this local tapas place (they don't call them "tapas" here; it's "petiscos." Why are tapas restaurants in the US labeled as Portuguese? Probably because "petiscos" is too complicated/foreign-sounding for most Americans.) and it was good but it was here that four straight days of seafood were starting to wear on me a bit, too. I mean, I get it. Small country, formerly one of the greatest seafaring nations on Earth and with abundant resources in that respect. But variety is the spice of life, yo.

The people in Sintra were accustomed to tourists (the unending line of tchotchke and pasteis shops was sure enough sign of that) and certainly are happy to have that steady stream of income. But there's a certain expression of resigned endurance that appeared there and in later towns that's probably universal to most tourist spots and Portugal, like Iceland, depends on tourism for its economy to function. I don't think it's the #1 revenue source, but it's pretty close, not least because of the insane number of tour buses that we saw everywhere we went and the fairly astounding skill of the drivers of said buses when it came to maneuvering not only past each other, but also through the roads of medieval towns that are only barely wide enough to accommodate them and which are still part of the complete lack of urban planning and design that never thought about anything larger than a horse-and-wagon.

After Sintra, we briefly stopped off at the westernmost point of continental Europe (during a driving rain squall), Cape Roca, and then moved on to Cascais, the former beach resort of the aristocracy, which kinda still is. Our tour guide was only too proud to inform us that Cristiano Ronaldo had a house there and so did many other players from the Primeira Liga and other leagues in Europe. My impression is that it's kind of a low-rent Ft. Lauderdale, in that there's obvious money around and the town has been reshaped to serve not only that money but the legions of tourists who come to see it. There was a distinct commercial element to pretty much everything and I was kinda repelled. Needless to say, this day wasn't going as well as the others. This was one of the obvious downsides of being part of a tour, too, since if we had encountered this kind of situation on our own, we would have quickly departed for something more interesting.

We returned to Lisbon and headed down to the Time Out Market to eat, since Bourdain had spoken highly of it, as had some friends. It's a venture by a British company which also has locations in Miami and Chicago apparently and, like the food courts in Iceland, is a hotspot, even on a Saturday night. Food was decent. Drinks were solid. We had some more ginjinha, which I failed to mention last time. It's a liqueur made from a type of sour cherries that's incredibly sweet but still not repellent as most things like that would be to me. Part of it may be that I like cherries. We went to a small shop on the edge of one of the plaças that Bourdain (of course) had visited. The proprietor was just finishing up a new bottle that had the berries in question sitting in the liquid, a couple of which landed in each glass and each of which provides kind of a powerful ending punch to the drink. The couple we tried after that lacked berries and kind of paled in comparison until we got to Obidos. A lot of people like it in chocolate cups, which I'm kinda meh on. The stuff at the Market was OK. While it initially struck me as too sweet, the more we tried it, the more comfortable I was with it.

The next day we piled on to the bus to leave Lisbon for a few days, The first stop was Obidos. It's a town that's largely contained within its original medieval walls. You can walk the whole circuit of them and we did. This was a town that was also beset by its original medieval layout, which meant that only residents could have cars within the town itself. That presents some interesting situations wherein said residents know that their living place is utterly dependent on the legions of tourists that pack its streets and make driving on them with a car quite difficult. But, just like the Uber drivers in Lisbon, they just accept it and patiently crawl through crowds that don't really know what a "Peugeot" is or why they should move out of the way of one. 

In addition to the genuinely impressive castle walls, Obidos claims to be the origin place of ginjinha. No one can verify that (and the EU apparently hasn't confirmed it, since the drink is made everywhere in Portugal without issue) but I will say that it was the best we've had so far, outside of that little hole-in-the-wall that Bourdain visited in Lisbon. There was an extra layer of flavor there somewhere and it tempted me again to try to find a way to ship a bottle home (which, of course, isn't possible thanks to Michigan's inane protectionist law.)

After that, we went to Nazare, which is the Portuguese name of Nazareth. This is not really a religious site, despite the name, unless you're into worshiping Poseidon. Nazare apparently has the largest waves in the world striking its two large beaches (mostly the north one.) But that happens only if the wind is coming from the southwest, rather than the northwest as it was on the day we visited. It's also the home of what seems to be an impromptu museum on said beach of Portugal's formerly mighty fishing industry; another casualty of the EU. Nazare would formerly have been one of the centers of major export production, but now just has a bunch of cool-looking boats on the beach with permanent placards talking about who owned them and how they were used, with some of that implicit fado longing in those words about what used to be and now no longer is with the shrug of the shoulders of much of the surrounding residents.

Unlike Cascais, however, Nazare has its own character that has little to do with commercialism, but still a lot to do with tourism. I found the place to be very pleasant and seemed like the prototypical experience of "small Portuguese fishing village" albeit one that no longer really fishes and is known far more for the surfers who come to try the biggest waves in the world (there were placards with the names and faces of several of the more notable figures of that sport also present about 100 yards from the boat museum.) This last pic was from a fort at the end of a peninsula that separates the two beaches and which was quite the hike down and even moreso back up at something like a 40 degree angle. I don't think either of us gained any weight on our vacation... More towns in the next post.

Three days in Lisbon

We were in Portugal. I don't think either of us had ever had it really high on our list of places to go, but it kind of showed up on the life radar recently. Part of it was just wanting to take a trip to a place that neither of us have been before and part of it was thoughts of retirement. There's a large expat community in Portugal, based on the decent climate, the seriously low cost of living, and the easy access to the rest of Western Europe, so we've been giving it some serious thought and figured we'd take the equivalent of a scouting trip to see what's what. A very well-traveled friend of ours has been to Portugal before and recommended linking up with a reputable tour company to avoid the apparent legion of scammers and to simply ease the burden of planning and scheduling and all the other logistics that go with traveling. We did so and ended up with mixed feelings about the results.

We landed in Lisbon at 8 AM on Thursday and dropped our bags at the hotel and took off across town to visit a highly-Google-rated breakfast place called Seventh Brunch. All of the talk online is about how Portugal, like many places, is a non-tipping culture and most workers don't want tips because they feel like it will encourage employers to pay them less because of what they'll potentially make in tips, similar to how the US works. But we discovered that this place clearly catered to Americans because the check had "Suggested Tip" automatically printed at the bottom. Over the course of our eight days, we found only a couple other places that did this, but the (ahem) typical function still appears on Uber and Bolt, which we used quite a bit to get around both Lisbon and Porto. Hard to tell what the mindset is or if it may be changing or if it's just particular businesses that cater to Americans and feeding off the greater wealth of the expat community (and tourists like yours truly.)

In riding with said Uber and Bolt drivers, we got a decent education in current Portuguese and Moroccan hip hop and grime. Most of the drivers weren't that talkative, but it's possible that most of them don't know much English even though it's every bit as common otherwise among service workers as it is in Germany (and, y'know, Liverpool...) We didn't find a single food service worker who doesn't speak at least some level of English and most of them spoke it quite well and we've went everywhere from streetcarts to what many consider the best restaurant in Lisbon, Cervejaria Ramiro.

We went there because of Anthony Bourdain. He went to Portugal no less than four times across three different series, so most people knew that he loved the place. Across those four episodes, the only place he returned to was Ramiro, which is kind of a high-end seafood place that presents as an old school, family restaurant, with different parties seated at the same tables and so forth. We went with some obvious suggestions (shrimp and clams in garlic) and less so (barnacles, murex straight from the shell.) I've never had either of the latter. Any conch I've had before has always been deshelled and in some sauce. These were in the shell and you just hooked them out and tossed them down. Decent. The barnacles were a bit less so. They're fried and then you have to chew off the dried and fried husk before getting at the meat which tastes something like oyster. Not horrible, but not worth the effort, IMO. The tiger prawns grilled over salt were excellent, though. This was also our first direct experience with that cost of living that we were hearing about, in that a multi-dish fresh seafood meal at the restaurant that even our Uber driver recommended as "the best in Lisbon", was probably half the price I would've expected in the States.

The other thing about many of the Uber drivers is that they drive like maniacs (slamming the accelerator down to go two blocks before hitting an intersection and/or stoplight) but they're also scrupulously observant of traffic laws. If they see a yellow light, they actually slow down and then stop, unlike 90% of Americans. Turn signals are always used and, just like in Germany, they're incredibly courteous to everyone else on the road and those other drivers are, in turn, also courteous to them. If someone puts a signal on to move in to a packed lane, someone slows down and lets them in(!) They also make adjustments during traffic and in some of Lisbon's stranger intersections that go from two lanes to five in three different directions and vice-versa. If people make a slow turn or stop in the middle of the road to let someone out or do something else that most Americans would react to with outrage, these drivers just shrug and accept it as part of traffic in Lisbon.

Over those three days, we spent time in both the main city on our own and in a couple "suburbs", which are really more like the continuous sprawl of American cities. As with most large and old cities, there are different qualities to various areas, defined by the concept of "quarters." The pace of modernization has reduced those geographic personalities a bit and I think that's been accelerated by the influx of tourists. Only a couple times throughout our trip did we walk into an area that lacked the presence of American, British, German, or French types with their cameras and little radios to keep an ear to what their guide was saying. Those moments were typically when we walked into what would be considered a Muslim neighborhood, as the stores advertising halal products would suddenly appear and just as quickly dissipate when we walked another block.

We tried the famous bacalhau (salted codfish; the national dish of Portugal despite cod not being present in Portuguese waters) four different ways and found it to be seriously lacking. Traditionally, it's roasted over a bed of potatoes and topped with onions and peppers and a butter sauce. We tried it that way twice and also mixed in a stew and as part of a sandwich and still had no moment where our eyes would light up. Only one section of one of those fish had anything resembling what you would consider SALTED cod. Otherwise, it tasted like anything you'd find breaded and fried in the US (aka frozen fish sticks.) It also seriously lacked flavor precisely because it lacked salt(!) Meanwhile, the couple times we had octopus, it was excellent (and even better when we got to Porto, where it's more of a specialty) and we've had the pasteis de nata a couple times and they're pretty solid. They're sweet but not overly so. But they're still sweet, leading me to wonder why anyone would douse them in powdered sugar. Cinnamon does add a lot to them, though.

Our tour guide has been good enough and has filled us in on not only what we're seeing but the Portuguese mindset in a lot of ways. They're one of the red-headed stepchildren of Germany-... excuse me: the EU, but unlike others such as Greece, who've reacted to being dictated to by Berlin and Paris in terms of economic output with outrage, the Portuguese have kind of shrugged their shoulders at it and accepted their lot. Most people recognize that the upsides of the EU probably outweigh some of the economic downsides. But there's a cultural part to it, as well. As one of our tour drivers put it: they're a small country with an incredibly rich history that most of the world will never know about. A brief examination of said history will prove that to be spot on. They're very proud of their identity as the people brave enough to explore what was the 15th-century equivalent of trying to get to the moon, but also aware of all of the downsides that went with that (colonialism, slavery, etc.) Being under the boot of Antonio Salazar for almost 50 years but now 50 years past has been enough time for reflection that ripples through the national outlook in many ways, too, I think.

On that note (quite literally), we went to a fado show on one of our first nights in Lisbon. Fado is the national music of Portugal; short songs of longing for something often undefinable and accompanied by strings. Despite it being their version of the blues, it's not solely traditional blues (slow paced, mournful) but instead, like modern blues, has embraced all kinds of tempo and often amusing topics, even as it maintains the sonorous delivery and message of unfulfilled desire. We saw a trio on fado guitar (higher pitch than typical acoustic), regular guitar, and stand-up bass with alternating male and female singers. It was great. I'm interested in digging into more of it and apparently so is the rest of Europe, as a couple of performers in that style have become massive stars in the EU in recent years (Ana Moura, etc.) Next up are Sintra and then some smaller towns that we visited on our way north to Porto.