Portugal and the Spanish

I do not understand how three centuries and a half after his final independence the Portuguese are still so nice to us. As if he deserved. This Lisbon where I am, deteriorating from a trip to the next, tourists from the other side of the line-that is, us-maintain their constant arrogance of newly rich, loudly, no effort even to learn a syllable of a language as melodious as the Portuguese language. That, of course, those Spanish who deign to visit the west near the peninsula, because at least half of Spain just lives with his back to Portugal. Those who come here, as many of the grantees by Erasmus orgasmus program that lucidly cynics say what they do know our youngsters, often imposing a rudeness. This past weekend I heard first hand about a party vandalism, with destruction to property, vandalism and other misdeeds urban children. This attitude, typical Spanish bottle, a party is unusual in London or Berlin, where the Spanish feel rather self-conscious with their hosts. In contrast, accommodation and even unjust subordination to us by our neighbors have in the current Spanish film series to be held here next week, while we know nothing about Portuguese film than the existence of Joaquim Almeida and Maria de Medeiros for his performances in our episodic film and especially in Hollywood.

The most evident of all this is offered by Prime Minister Jose Socrates, more shoemakers Leire Pajin itself, which is saying, and she carries in her program, copied from the Spanish, including gay marriage proposals, already once rejected by Parliament in Lisbon. But Zapatero is the beacon that lights the few exceptions of socialism in decline in Europe. If you follow this path, it does have clear future Portugal.

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