Portugal’s Finest

As a kid my friends and I saw the “beat cop” strolling the street as a trusted protector, and indeed, that was the motto emblasoned on their patrol vehicles: To Protect and To Serve.

But perspectives tend to change as we age. Watch enough films with unsavory policemen in positions of power and you start to doubt the trustworthiness of the group as a whole. Or, assuming responsibility on the other side, bend the law enough by speeding (or in other ways), and eventually law enforcement is no longer viewed as a positive, but an entity to be viewed with caution and suspicion.

Which brings me to one of the many reasons I love Portugal: I have absolutely had the best experiences with Portuguese police.

Equestrian show

Case in point: Once in Mafra, a transport loaded with horses for an equestrian show at the Palace was stuck in the parking lot, unable to manoeuvre a tight turn due to an illegally parked car. The Guarda Nacional Republicana arrived on the scene. Solution? They and some bystanders picked up the offending car and moved it, the truck drove on to its destination, the car was replaced in the same spot, and everyone went on their way. No ticket, no towing. Just a simple, “Let’s find the quickest solution.” Brilliant.

Not that the GNR doesn’t give out tickets. We discovered that in Esposende, when we were thrilled to find a parking space in a congested area. Later, we discovered why the space was free: it was for a magistrate. (We hadn’t learned to read much Portuguese yet.) So upon return to our car we were greeted with a ticket on the windshield and a “boot” on a tire. A sympathetic shop owner on the street called the authorities for us, we paid our ticket to the gendarmes when they arrived, and we were quickly on our way home. They liked our Maltese, too, which elevated them considerably in my estimation.

Driving in Lisbon

My most dramatic interaction with men in uniform came in Lisbon, not a place I generally drive. One day I was repeatedly turning in circles on one-way streets looking for a place to park. Finally I found a narrow covered street and turned onto it, only to realize with horror that I was driving down a pedestrian passageway. (The terrified looks of the people I was sailing past was a dead giveaway.)

Mercifully missing them all, I entered onto the main thoroughfare and guess who was there to greet me? Yup. I was pulled over and before I could explain in my improved yet still halting Portuguese how it really did look like a street I could drive on, I burst into tears. The combination of frustration looking for a parking space, alarm that I had so blown it in that pedestrian zone, and concern about how much a ticket was going to cost me was just all too much.

So what did the policeman do? He paused and studied me for a moment, and then indicated where public parking was a few streets away. With an admonition to be more careful next time, he left.

At the parking garage, I was still shaking and trying to collect myself when I called my husband to tell him what had happened. Then I got the things I needed from the back seat for the errand I was running, putting my phone on top of the car so I had two free hands.

Hours later, back home, I realised that my phone had taken a flying leap somewhere along the way, because I had never removed it from the roof of the car before leaving the garage.

I immortalized this unforgettable event by writing a song about it.

“I Left My Phone in Old Lisboa”

(Sung to the tune of “I Left My Heart in San Francisco”)

The loveliness of Porto seems somehow sadly gay,

The glory of Tomar is of another day.

I’d been terribly content with my fella in Penela...

Why did I go to that city by the Bay?

I left my phone in old Lisboa

High on a hill, it calls to me.

It lies where little cable cars climb halfway to the stars

Where the police pulled me aside—and I cried.

My cell waits there in old Lisboa,

Dropped to the ground when I got free.

When I return to you, old Lisboa

My husband, Keith, will drive for me.

In closing, I share just another of life’s many ironies. When I searched online for the full lyrics to Tony Bennett’s trademark song, I received an offer to send the ringtone to my phone.