Portugal (where else?) …
Breakfast here is amazing.
Nationality plays a part. Culture plays a part. Age plays a part. Plans for today … consequences of last night … holiday preferences … budget for spending … All of the different factors play a part in how we each have breakfast (or not). For those who do …
Some have only cold food items (or they are by the time they sit down to eat) – The Collectors. They find fetch find fetch and find and fetch again before beginning to eat. One might think this is so they don’t have to interrupt their eventual consumption. But no – mostly they are up and down finding and fetching throughout breakfast.
Some complete a checklist – The Ticked Off. The first item is the thimble-sized glass of fruit-juice. Then a bowl of cereal or of fruit (natural yoghurt optional). Then the “main” – the cooked breakfast – the big plate! All hot and cooked. And then the small plate – toast (or bread) with butter and preserves. All of which is rounded off by a second (this time leisurely) cuppa.
Others wander – The Haven’t A Clues. The “I would be spontaneous if I had the faintest idea why I am here” breakfast partakers. And just like tourists in a big city, they suddenly stop as their attention is caught by … a plate of pastries … where is the cutlery … look at that seagull … did I lock my room door … do I really want breakfast just because it’s included …
And each time the always moving and efficient Collectors and Ticked Offs are brought to a sudden instant stop. Facial expressions of disdain are universal.
There are at least six different nationalities here. All arriving with both luggage and cultural baggage. Almost all arriving for leisure reasons (but some are working – and to a different beat). All are staying for different periods of time – some for months and others a few days. All of us arriving and leaving according to our own plans.
In the main we all rub along together. In the main “we” are old people. Retired old people. For that is the average age out-of-season, when well-funded retirement means “We save a fortune living here instead of at home at this time of year.”
Old people, in the main, rub along well together when there is a routine, and when they have enough personal space to have their routine with “The Routine” – and that includes sufficient shared personal space for those universal facial expressions to be appreciated by others. For the Collectors all understand each other – as do the Ticked Off.
But, oddly, I am finding the Haven’t A Clue’s to be the most amiable of all. The Haven’t A Clue’s seem not to judge. They seem to live confident that we are all experiencing today, right now, as a totally new experience (no matter how many times we might have actually “lived it” yesterday and the day before and the day before …)
As the week continues, I find myself increasingly drawn to this way of living. Because I am noticing the most wonderful “by-product” of this way of living. The Haven’t A Clue’s have no concept of being judged – by others or each other. They never seem to suffer being judged just as they never appear to ever judge. Judging and being judged seem alien to this way of Haven’t A Clue living.
I guess some are wondering what this has to with God stuff. So it is with absolute delight I can write this today:
I haven’t a clue!
But, as a thank you for still being me on this little meander – here is a picture of the lighting feature over the lounge bar –
If I had a clue I might judge it as looking very churchy, which would mean it would be inappropriate in a place selling alcohol, which means I would have to socialise elsewhere – let others know why they should as well – and
pretend to love the sinners who didn’t listen whilst not loving them at all their sinful behaviour.
All I know is that the barman serves the most wonderful speciality coffee with a gorgeous liqueur and cream!
And I haven’t a clue what they call it!