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Gotta love the story: A story, that had been told to my brothers, and me since we where small, also helps explains my strong connections to Portugal: In the 1960′s my father, a journalist, was in the Congo covering the war after it’s independence from Belgium. The car he was driving had skidded off the road, and turned over. United Nation’s troops passed him by without stopping, but suddenly out of nowhere a bunch of Portuguese cigarette smugglers appeared. They dragged him out of the car into their car, then sped him across the border, and dropped him of at a hotel… My rescuers bought me a large South African brandy at the bar, gave 500 Rothmans [cigarettes], checked my wallet to see I had enough cash, then left me, delivered back to my native culture, never to see them again. It was the first time I had met Portuguese knowingly – and my first encounter, not only with their extraordinary reaching-out to a stranger in need, but with their blend of bravado, honour, ingenuity and poise. Extract from The First Global Village: How Portugal Changed the World, by Martin Page |