May 1, International Workers Day the world over, is Labor Day in Portugal and observed as a holiday. This reflects how the Socialist Party has dominated the political scene since 1974 when the Carnation Revolution ended Salazar’s dictatorship. So, like Easter Monday, a lot of venues were closed and, with the increasing tourist traffic loving the warm sunny weather, it meant that finding an open table at a restaurant wouldn’t be as effortless as it was when first arrived in early April.
But getting into the Museum of Asian Art? No problem!
Which makes me wonder if visitors from around the world just come here to eat…with a little bit of shopping thrown in.
To see what outdoor Sunday shopping was like, we did our morning wake-up walk by going west into the Alcántara neighborhood and checking out the LX Factory. Similar to the refurbishing of the Sawmill Market in Albuquerque, they’ve taken a former factory complex and converted it into artsy tourist friendly shops interlarded with bars and a parking lot flea market. It had all the charm and authenticity of a Bowlin’s Running Indian gas station trading post. Hey, but if you want to put the kid in a pram and go for a stroll outside where beers beckon every twenty feet, this is action central.
The LX Factory was laid out in the shadow of the Ponte 25 Avril bridge reminding me of the early 1980s when I was staying with Chris Silva (second generation Portuguese parents) in DUMBO (Down Under the Manhattan Bridge) in a brick slum that was being gentrified.
Doing our bit as good tourists, we bought some creamy soft sheep cheese to have later, and then ducked into a colorfully trashy tunnel to pass under train tracks and surface by the Tagus promenade where the Museu do Oriente sits yearning for visitors.
This spacious museum, a quiet break from the Sunday sun worshippers, is an aesthetic nod to the Asian countries Portugal traded with during their empire run. So, yes, I expected the precious colonial knickknacks, but before we could climb the perilously lit stairs to peer at them…
…we came across the work of Nuno Barrett, a Portuguese artist who lived in Macao. He had drawings from the 1970s that reminded me of Ralph Steadman’s gnarly caricatures, and a painting that captured stepping into the cold stone courtyard of an all too modern museum to catch a breath of fresh air.
Upstairs, a world of masks and flamboyant ritual dress.
Explained in dim light that grew darker when you tried to read the English version below the Portuguese.
My favorite description of a tale performed in Chinese opera was that of Wu Song who hears of a tiger that lives on top of a mountain and feeds off men. Wu Song goes to the top of the mountain. “The tiger appears, and after a long battle, Wu Song kills it using only his fists.”
Judging from the costumes on display, no wonder. He had the tiger on his hind legs boxing—the big cat never had a chance!