O Meu Diário de Coimbra

A case for leaving

I am celebrating, I guess you could call it that, my one-month anniversary in Coimbra, Portugal. I could tell you — hell, I have been telling you — about life here, my life here, the people, the politics, the restaurants, the language barriers. But my writing about it, the obviousness of such content when moving to a new country, reminds me of a moment on Curb Your Enthusiasm when Larry doesn’t want to take a tour of a friend’s new house.

I’m paraphrasing.

“Goddammit, Larry,” the friend asks, “why don’t you want to come check out the upstairs?”

“Why? Bedrooms, bathrooms, I got it.”

You got it — I am having trouble calling customer service and finding an indoor pool in Portugal. I appreciate that you’re humoring me. What’s wonderful, as I know you know, is I am having those difficulties, not in a place where the government is taking people from their homes and “disappearing” them, but in a relatively sane country, a country where a prime minster lost a confidence vote and had to call for new elections this week because of a potential conflict of interest.

Conflict of interest? How quaint is that? A head of government falls because of his character and comportment.

That’s a punchline in America these days.