Thursday, April 22, 2021

Mafra, Ericeira, and Magoito


Our explorations of Portugal continue to the north and west of Sintra, in the towns of Mafra, Ericeira, and Magoito. Beyond Sintra, the landscape is a loose-knit of farmlands and beach towns, but home to several world-class attractions. There is train and bus service from Lisbon, but maybe this is not an ideal area for commuters. Tourists might take a bus, but there is no easy way to move between places, and we want to explore, so we rent a car.

Mafra

Mafra is home to the Palácio e Convento de Mafra, which includes the palace, hunting grounds, gardens, the convent, and a substantial neo-classical basilica. The outcome of a decree by Dom João V to honor his first-born, the construction dates from 1717, near the height of Portugal's literal golden age. According to the website, the Palácio is closed on Tuesdays, so we make a special point to schedule our trip on Thursday – except, of course, there is some kind of unannounced 'special meeting', and we settle for a (free) tour of the basilica.


The Basílica de Nossa Senhora e de Santo António centers the over-scaled west facade of the Real Edifício, two bell towers framing the temple-front. To the north and south, there are gold-toned wing-blocks with Doric porticos connecting two squat towers. The Basílica's bell towers are capped by galos; its pediment is topped by the cross. The temple-front is an interesting play in dimensions, with Ionic columns at the lower level standing just in front of Ionic pilasters, separating three arched entries. In the center, one pair supports a chunky, stone balcony, but on the sides, they support nothing. The pigeons have made these landing areas their own.

There are Composite columns above. Though identified on various 'authoritative' sites as Corinthian; I am certain they are Composite. In the bell towers, the next levels appear to be Corinthian and the next Composite, again – the orders are right there for comparison. The end-towers also have Composite capitals.

The entrance to the church is set above the Praça da Republica by a set of round stairs spilling from a set of rectangular stairs, all connected through the Praça by radial lines laid in the irregular calçadas. At the top, there is a broad landing where these radial lines come together, with a vista through the avenues of the town, to the clouds hanging over the Atlantic.

 


Through the iron gates, there is a vaulted gallery filled with sculpted figures of saints, all conveniently labeled. The architectural details are an 'almost-identifiable' deconstruction of brackets and moldings, measuring the rhythms and enclosing the figures. I particularly like the guttae detail under the three jazzy vases (are those vases?), at each side of the arched pediments, at the minor doorways; they look like triglyphs but aren't.

A similar, but smaller detail appears as a single 'keystone' above the main door, just under a large roundel with a relief of what looks like the Sagrada Família with the Sagrada Coração.

 

The nave of the church consists of three bays of arched chapels marked by pairs of Composite pilasters. Each chapel contains one of a cycle of sculptural reliefs, those panels flanked by even more sculpted figures. The chapel is capped with a polychromed dome (an excellent 3D tour is available here).

Looking back to the entrance, and the inward-facing details over the minor doorways, a single set of guttae are in the center as opposed to the ends. The molding forms a 'keystone' which anchors the base of a large, empty roundel – echoing the detail over the outer, main entrance.

Along the nave, before the crossing, there is an 'bonus' half-bay, with a minor doorway using the same 'empty roundel' theme. I don't think these are chapels, but passageways (according to the floor plans, they connect to stairs), yet they are also filled with sculpted figures – males saints to the north, and female saints to the south. The small elliptical domes in the passages as well as the cross-vaults for the clerestory windows are presented in raw, unpolished stone and mortar, while the rest of the church is beautifully finished.


 

 

There are two larger chapels at either end of the transept and a magnificent dome over the crossing. The panel at the north depicts the Santíssimo Sacramento, and the panel to the south shows the Sagrada Família. The view is partially screened by several massive, brass incense burners held aloft by dolphins and serpents – seven burners over the Sacramento and three burners over the Família.

Two smaller domed chapels are attached to the transept. Here, painted panels are accompanied by sculpted figures. In these chapels are paintings of São Pedro de Alcântara and Nossa Senhora da Conceição. Looking at the paintings, as opposed to the reliefs I think it's easier to read the story, easier to identify the characters and the relationships. But the figures jump out, like the Saint Francis Borgia carrying the skull of Isabella of Portugal, or the Archangel Micheal stepping on Satan's head. The sculptors' enthusiasm is evident.

 

 

Exiting the Basílica, and unable to tour the Palácio, we find the Jardim do Cerco (enclosed garden) just to the north of the Real Edifício. The Jardim features a wonderfully over-engineered irrigation system: inside a stone shed, a 'beast' is rigged to a wood spindle, the spindle turns a wooden gearing system, that turns a shaft connected to wheel, the wheel moves a chain of semi-cylindrical scoops, those scoops fill a channel with water, the water is guided to the top of the garden by an arched aqueduct. And the flowers bloom.

 

 

 

We leave the Jardim to search for lunch while exploring the historic center of Mafra. The radial avenues that depart the Praça begin bending just past the trees. Strange that from the grand stair landing, everything looks orderly, but from within the streets, it's all mixed up – perhaps it's the irregular plantings or the parked vehicles. Soon we come upon the Mercado Municipal thinking there might be food, and there is, but it's fresh vegetables and souvenirs (ie, not lunch). The talk between the local ladies is quick and loud, and cannot be interrupted. The town does its own thing.

From every angle, looking back, the Real Edifício hovers over Mafra. Driving, we pass a big sports complex (Parque Desportivo Municipal), and then a newer residential zone (Santa Barbara). That's the organization, from east to west: hunting grounds (tapada), formal gardens, royal complex, palace square, old town, soccer pitch, modern housing. At the edges, Mafra simply ends, and what remains is farmland. With options for growth, I wonder why the town has such discrete zones.

 

 

Ericeira

Ericeira is an old fishing village that has developed a reputation, and now attracts surfers and tourists from around the world, much like Nazaré. The beach area fills the coast between the Capela de São Sebastião to the north, and the Igreja de Santa Marta to the south. We approach from the south.

Santa Marta is the patron saint of servants, cooks, and single women – perhaps appropriate for a town full of fishermen to honor cooks. The parish church is the historical home to a sisterhood of single women and dates from 1760. The church is in remarkable condition, clean and bright. The plaster walls are painted to look like textured stone, and that paintwork is also fresh. The altar holds a Madonna and Child, and two female saints on either side (Santa Marta and Santa Luzia). Just below the figures, on the side walls are azulejos panels depicting the Annunciation and the Nativity; next to the Nativity is a smaller panel with two angels, apparently, worshipping the sun.

 

 

With that hint, we head for the beach and find it frosted with blooming ground cover (top-most image), reminding me of our visit to Pacific Grove. The walk along the seawall weaves into the narrow streets, then returns to beach. There are surfers and surf shops visible at every turn, and by Lisbon pandemic-standards, this feels busy.

There is enough commercial activity here that service vans and trucks whiz by, at times forcing us into doorways. After hopping out of one such doorway, I realize that I am hopping from the public restrooms. Looking up, we see that the restrooms are below the cross of a church, the Capela de Nossa Senhora da Boa Viagem (chapel of our lady of happy travels) – a real convenience to have both facilities before you leave on a long trip.

Walking up the hill and stepping inside, we discover an open barrel vault coated with dazzling azulejos. At the altar, behind a plexiglass sheet, is a small Madonna holding the baby Jesus in one hand a sail boat in the other. The lower part of the altarpiece seems to be made from the painted wooden parts of an old ship. The small church sits atop a kind of prow (the restrooms), with a view out to the Praia dos Pescadores (fishermen's beach).

A closer inspection of the tiled cross reveals the same image of the Nossa Senhora holding Jesus and a sailing ship; the image is dated 1789. On her right is São João Evangelista, who seems to have pulled a feather from a goose in order to write in his book. On her left is Maria Magdalena (her birthplace, Magdala, also a fishing town).

 

 

 

The turn-around point of our walk is the Ermida de São Sebatião, a tiny, white, hexagonal chapel in an ocean of rectangular, grey parking spaces. This is another well-kept, fully-tiled space. The altarpiece here is in the Tuscan order, a colonnade displaying a healthy amount of entasis – appropriate as São Sebatião is often depicted as being bound to a column.

I left Mafra thinking how odd the separation of the historic center from the modern buildings; I leave Ericeira despairing at the mix – like the martyr São Sebatião, pierced by arrows yet alive. The old streets are forced to accommodate traffic, and the chapel bluff is paved for beach parking. The hillside is encrusted with surf hotels and weekend vacation homes. Ericeira's is a tale of two cities: fascinating and frightening, scenic and unsightly, sacred and profane. Lovely to visit, maybe it's not a place to call home.

 


Magoito

Our last stop is the village of Magoito, which is in the município (municipality) of Sintra. From the maps and images I researched, this seems like a part of Portugal less-changed by royal decrees or tourist demands. Not much more than a few crossroads; I drop a placemark where highway N603 meets the Rua da Igreja. On Google Maps, it's called out as Largo do Comércio, and stores and cafes seem to dot the corners.

In reality, it is remarkably unsubstantial – adorable, but unsubstantial. There's a mercearia (grocery store) with a few baskets of fruit, a clothing store with a few racks of clothes, and a cafe with room for four outdoor tables. Tiny versions of everything, and just enough to call this place a town. For example, we park next to a combo public fountain, ATM, and bus stop – water, money, and a way to get in and out, all in one tidy structure.

The Praia do Magoito is just down the road, and with nothing to hold us in town, we drive on. We arrive at a small concrete bunker, which the map calls the Forte de Santa Maria. The beach stretches to the south, a bare, sheer cliff-face and unspoiled sand. There are two surfers and a man fishing from the rocks. Another dozen or so are gathered at the seawall, waiting for the sunset. There are a handful of weekend houses, and along the roadside, a concise line of multi-story hotels – all apparently empty today. Oblivious, the ice plants bloom, and the ocean's edge continues largely unblemished.

 

 


Both Georgia and Portugal are settled into new baselines: Georgia at about fifteen hundred, and Portugal at about five hundred.

cases: 145,318,391 global • 32,669,121 USA • 832,891 Portugal
deaths: 3,084,619 global • 584,226 USA • 16,956 Portugal

UPDATE (Apr 26th): Georgia passes twenty thousand total deaths (20,009) due to COVID-19, with a seven-day average for daily deaths over thirty (32.1); Portugal is under seventeen thousand total deaths (16,965) with a seven-day average for daily deaths under three (2.7). Georgia has a total case count well over one million (1,094,580) and a seven-day average for daily cases over thirteen hundred (1,345.6); Portugal has a total case count over eight hundred thousand (834,638) and a seven day average for daily cases under five hundred (488.1). 

Wednesday, April 14, 2021

The Legend of Pilla the Gorilla


It's raining in Lisbon. I ate something that upset my stomach, and I can't sleep. No pandemic stats today, I need a short break from them. Laying half-awake, my brain fixes on an old story from my early days as an intern architect. I'm trying to sift out all the names, all the old friends, from some dreamy, nostalgic memory hole …

I spent my youth being angry at the world. I had a long list of excuses for this behavior: the middle-child thing, the violin lessons, the racist bullying, all the other bullying. I carried my anger to boarding school, where I began to channel my anger into subversive, though (I thought) creative, outlets. I made a set of prison bars from packing tape, cardboard, and black paint, and installed it over my dorm window. I designed a (subjectively) pornographic poster for a black-box theater production called "Rubbers", and hung them all over campus. I went to the communist bookstore in Harvard Square, brought back a bunch of leaflets for Bob Avakian's presidential campaign, and filled the student mailboxes – annoying non-sense like that.

I was angry when I arrived to college (art school), though I knew enough to make an effort. A student on my floor failed an early art history test. Believing that art school should be 'about the studio work', he expressed himself by shouting down the hallway and scrawling on the bathroom stall: "How can you learn what you don't want to know?" Well I thought that was just childish – also, I may have aced the test. So later, when I saw what he had written on the stall partition, I switched his words: "How can you know what you don't want to learn?" And I snidely added: "Get it?" That night, after dinner, a crowd from my dorm gathered at my door and asked if I had made the correction. I admitted that I had and asked how they knew it was me. They said, because the gesture seemed so angry. Still, I think they appreciated the word-play, even the student who wrote the original.

Art school was the best time of my life, but I was not my best. I did not want to be 'the angry kid', and I had some ground to cover. By the time I graduated and took a gap year, I was calmer, but a work in progress.

My first job out of school was at a small architectural firm in the old Russia Wharf in Boston. I chose the firm because they did public work, and I wanted to design things like schools and libraries – wholesome places to benefit the community. Valiant as that sentiment was, I soon realized that I had committed myself to a pauper's life toiling on small-scale, publicly-funded contract work.

My first project was an airport maintenance building in some small town south of Boston (I don't recall which one, it may have been near Weymouth or closer to the Cape). In most cases, engineers were subcontractors for architects, consulting on structural work, or heating and ventilation. In this case, we were subcontractors for a civil engineering company, as the 'design' work on an airport maintenance building took a backseat to its functioning: can the specialized trucks fit through the bay doors? are the safety bollards spaced to allows easy turns?

The engineer in charge of the project was, if i remember correctly, a fellow named Mark Pilla. I remember him as heavy-set, with short or thinning hair, a round head, and a messy mustache. Our office manager, Janice, nicknamed him 'Pilla the Gorilla', because of his foul mood. Janice was good with the nicknames, going so far as to give herself one that she proposed we use – 'Blonde Bombshell'.

I never got to know Pilla, as a junior team member, I was not invited to the project meetings. But I did get redlines from him. My drawings were returned with violent slash marks and big red letters: "NFG" (No Fucking Good). There was no other comment, just "NFG, NFG, NFG". I didn't know if that was an engineering thing or a military thing or what, but it was not practical or pleasant to get drawings back without any useful feedback. His anger was demoralizing and it was meant to be.

During lunch, the office staff would de-construct Pilla: why so angry? why spread misery? Janice mentioned that if we could turn the conversation to 'the beach', he would calm right down. A kind of mindless bliss would drop over his face, as if a movie screen had descended and he was watching a little show: "Oh yeah, the beach." This was an effect that I actually witnessed – Pilla went to his happy place. His shoulders slackened, the red sharpie at ease, and his brain drifted to some unknown shore.

Our lunch conversations evolved, and we shared our own happy places. Whether it was doing art, visiting museums, touring historic buildings, or gardening, I had this sense that the happy places of the other designers were 'architecture-adjacent'. We were doing what we loved, or very nearly so. On then other hand, we worked with Dan, at the time a recent BU grad who kept our books, and his happy place was fishing. And I imagined planning, preparing, and making an office-career as an engineer or accountant just so you could spend your free time on a beach or fishing.

To be fair, Dan wasn't miserable in his work, he wasn't cruel in his interactions, and he was contented to work on the ledgers. There may be engineers who enjoy designing airport maintenance buildings, but Pilla was not one of them. Perhaps Pilla had his excuses: maybe he was a middle-child, maybe he was bullied, maybe he was going through a rough patch. Acting as prime contractor, maybe his obscene acronyms were a form of emotional retribution for past wrongs by other vindictive architects. His example was a ghost of future-me, illustrating a lesson to avoid a professional life of anger (I was not always successful).

In the end, the project manager, Chris, and I pulled a couple of all-nighters to finish that airport project. It was a forgettable building, and an awful way to start my career. But we found a line in the office manual that said if we worked a certain number of hours in a day the company owed us a meal. So after we finished, Chris and I walked over the Fort Point Bridge to the floating restaurant there by the Children's Museum and across from the Boston Tea Party Ship, the 'Beaver' (Janice's nickname, 'The Beave'). We ordered lobster dinners. The day after we submitted our expense requests, the office manual included a price limit on meals. Chris and I became good friends.


I had more of a 'design' role in a later project, renovations to the Upham's Corner Municipal Building in Dorchester. The building included a Boston Branch Library, and a Community School with some athletic facilities. The grand arched-windows on one side were bricked up to hide some racquetball courts. There was nothing specifically in the contract regarding the exterior, but I pitched an idea to the City's Public Facilities Department to restore the look of the windows by painting them. I suggested that this would make the building look 'whole', and present a more gracious face to that side of the neighborhood.

… I snap from my languid napping with a lingering curiosity. I don't keep a bed-side notepad, so I shuffle to my MacBook. I drop into Google Street View, and search '500 Columbia Road'. After thirty-five years, I see the painted arched-windows. Russia Wharf is now a skyscraper, the floating restaurant is long gone, Chris is a partner in his own firm, who knows what happened to the airport maintenance building, but the painted windows are still there. I smile and hope that means something.

After a zigzag career, bouncing from architect, to IT guy, to tech entrepreneur, to museum staff, to teacher – I made it to my happy place. I'm exploring Portugal and Europe, touring old palaces and museums, and doing my drawings. Acknowledging that I leave my own trail of misery (I am human, and I am sorry), and trusting that I account for just as much joy, I hope my life is a net-positive. And I make a mental note to ask Chris what his office manual says about compensated meals.

I think of Chris, Janice, Dan, and everyone from that little architecture office, all their support. I can remember most of the others – I am really bad with names, but I think I got this: Gail, John, Larry, Susan, Odell, Laurie, Nancy, Robert, and especially my professional mentor Bill (who passed way too soon). I consider the shouting match(es) that might have occurred, the decibel levels that may have been reached, if I had to deal directly with our bosses. The person who my friends saved me from was, mostly, myself.

Though I did not tell them at the time, I am grateful for all the generosity. To Mark Pilla, wherever you are, you have my thanks, too. I hope you found the beach.

UPDATE (Apr 16th): The world passes three million deaths, so here are the pandemic stats, after all.

cases: 140,505,912 global • 32,305,912 USA • 829,911 Portugal
deaths: 3,011,554 global • 579,942 USA • 16,937 Portugal

Saturday, April 03, 2021

"Matt Gaetz refutes all the disgusting allegations completely."


Tomorrow is Easter Sunday, the traditional start of spring and the Christian day of 'rebirth'. In the US, folks are trying to leverage the holiday to pull themselves out of this pandemic-induced gloom, with: successful vaccine distributionseconomic growtha new baseball season. But America is still America and the bad news continues to pour over the internet, with more: attacks against Asian-Americans, mass shootings, deaths at the US Capitol.

America's 'horrible' knob is cranked to eleven and wingnut Republicans are pouring crazy glue – but, I'm not the accuser. In the wake of the Lincoln Project, the guy saying the quiet part loud is former House Speaker John Boehner (talking about newly-elected wingnut Republicans in 2010):
I had to explain how to actually get things done. A lot of that went straight through the ears of most of them, especially the ones who didn’t have brains that got in the way. Incrementalism? Compromise? That wasn’t their thing. A lot of them wanted to blow up Washington. That’s why they thought they were elected.

Some of them, well, you could tell they weren’t paying attention because they were just thinking of how to fundraise off of outrage or how they could get on Hannity that night. Ronald Reagan used to say something to the effect that if I get 80 or 90 percent of what I want, that’s a win. These guys wanted 100 percent every time. In fact, I don’t think that would satisfy them, because they didn’t really want legislative victories. They wanted wedge issues and conspiracies and crusades.
Mehdi Hasan sums it up on MSNBC, and as an example, points to Rep Matt Gaetz (R-FL, from the video embedded above): 
The reason we are where we are today is because these 'old school Republicans' didn't stand up to the crazies. They embraced them, however uneasily. And now the crazies are ascendant. And John Boehner wants to be celebrated for calling them crazy. 
Hasan explains the history and the formula. In Boehner's 'old school' days, the cynical idea was to stretch the truth, take the corporate hand-outs, and hold onto office; now the more cynical idea is to troll the opposition, scam everyone you can, and appear on Fox News. My interpretation of the current situation is this: say a bunch of insane and divisive stuff about Democrats, appear on Fox News, fund-raise on wedge issues, appear on Fox News, get elected, appear on Fox news, repeat. Wingnut Republicans are not concerned with governing, just 'performing'.

As for Rep Gaetz, he is known for being one of the greatest practitioners of this trolling method. He is also one of Trump's strongest supporters, going so far as to send an emoji-filled tweet regarding Tiffany's appearance (echoing Trump's own comments regarding Ivanka's appearance). Around the time of the most recent Impeachment, he rallied supporters in Florida to denounce Rep Charlie Crist (D-FL), and across the nation to denounce Rep Liz Cheney (R-WY).


So, trolling is an accepted political practice, and Fox News spins it into a commodity. That 'fact of political life' is now out in the open, and wingnut Republicans are fine with it. Even if Rep Gaetz resigns because of these investigations, the level has been set. The Republican Party will weather this exposure, the 'horrible' will go on, and the wingnuts will no longer feel any need to disguise their deceit. 

After all we've been through since Trump took office, after all we've been through since January, what scale of event needs to take place in order to initiate positive cultural change?


Today, Portugal reports less than three hundred new cases of COVID-19 (280), and just seven deaths. Today's numbers are similar to last summer's baseline. After this Easter (Páscoa) weekend, Portugal will begin 'de-confinement'.

 cases: 131,222,773 global • 31,362,933 USA • 823,142 Portugal
deaths: 2,855,315 global • 568,058 USA • 16,875 Portugal

UPDATE (Apr 5th): Happily surprised to see Lisbon's cafes and shops open during my mid-morning walk. Also this morning, Mehdi Hasan's 'formula' is echoed by Brian Stelter on CNN:


Found this terrific blog: Pressthink by Jay Rosen at NYU.