Cruising the news recently, I came across a couple of articles that underlined some cultural differences between my old home and my new one.
First up: dog poop.
In Boise, Idaho, city officials head out once each year to nearby trailheads and plant little red flags next to piles of dog poop, left behind by rude dog owners. The idea is to raise awareness and educate people. A manager for the trails pronounced herself disappointed with this year’s numbers, saying that dog poop “is still a big problem. We need to reach the people who think the Foothills [trailheads] are their dogs’ toilet.”
Photo by Rob
Now, in Portugal, dog poop at trailheads is not a problem. Dog poop on city sidewalks, city streets, stairs, alleys, plazas, courtyards, parks and business entryways is a problem. I have never seen so much dog poop in my entire life as I have seen since moving here. The idea of carrying a baggie to scoop the rose-scented, perfectly darling poop of one’s sweet puppy is completely unheard of. Dogs poop everywhere, without restraint, and the poop remains where it was deposited until Armageddon or eventual erosion by weather, whichever comes first. And it’s very dry here, so you can imagine that the erosion by weather takes a long, long time.
The following is a true story. While visiting my brother-in-law in Lisbon one weekend, I went for a walk in his neighborhood. Lisbon streets resemble a bowl of spaghetti when seen from an aerial view, so walking can be quite an adventure if you’re not intimately familiar with the twists and turns. Near his apartment, after dodging several piles of dog poop, I nearly stepped in a particularly memorable pile, which had been left behind by a dog with obvious gastrointestinal issues. The poop had taken on a unique shape, easily distinguished from the ordinary poops scattered all over.
Being new to the neighborhood, I lost all track of where I was after a few twists and turns. But eventually, I looked down and there it was — the exact same, uniquely shaped dog poop on the sidewalk. And that’s how I knew I was two blocks from my starting point.
My brother-in-law later informed me that in Lisbon, it’s easier just to walk in the street. That’s what everyone does to avoid the dog poop.
So, on this issue: US 1, Portugal 0.
***
Next up: nudity.
In Rahway, New Jersey, a homeowner with a sense of artistic appreciation went outside with her family and created a snow sculpture in her front yard. It was apparently so offensive that a neighbor anonymously complained to the police, and an officer was sent out to ask the homeowner to cover up her sculpture.
Was it a giant, erect penis? A Roman orgy depicted in loving detail? Perhaps some stylized version of a vulva?
None of the above. It was a copy of the Venus de Milo. And it so offended somebody that the family was obliged by the police to cover it up. The homeowner interpreted this order somewhat artistically by giving Venus a bikini top and a sarong. (Seriously, you have to click that link.)
I read this and just laughed. Let me tell you another true story about Portugal. Upon my first visit to a beach here, I was agog at the fact that I had apparently been taken to a nudist beach. There were naked breasts all over! Nor were they limited to women modestly enjoying themselves in the water. Many women were happily acquiring a full-body tan, lying on their towels with their bikini tops stuffed in their beach bags. There were even women strolling contentedly down the beach, tops nowhere to be seen.
My companion laughed when I asked about this. “This isn’t a nudist beach,” she said.
“Oh,” I said, thinking that now I understood. “It’s a topless beach, then.”
She laughed again. “This is Portugal. Every beach is a topless beach.”
Whoever that anonymous neighbor is in Rahway, New Jersey, she or he had better never come to a Portuguese beach. Cardiac arrest would not be far behind.
For this issue: US 0, Portugal 1.
I guess it evens out. Though frankly, I’d trade the nudity for less dog poop.
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