Not many people realise that Portugal is incontinent. Yes I know! I thought that would make you sit up and take notice.
Strictly though, it’s in three continents. The island of Madeira lies on the Euro-African tectonic plate and so technically it’s in Africa.
Two of the Azores are on the North American tectonic plate and so is in the American continent, whilst, of course, Portugal mainland is in Europe.
It is the only country in the world which lies on three continents. This, of course, results in it having a bit of a history, earthquake-wise.
The famous Lisbon quake of 1755 was shocking, with many lives lost and years of rebuilding. The earthquake on the island of Terceira in the Azores resulted in the wholesale migration of hundreds to Boston and Canada, which goes a long way in explaining the magnificent celebrations which are enjoyed on June 10 each year, which is Portugal Day.
Currently we are in Cyprus selling our home and I’ve just noticed that our house insurance policy has an earthquake clause. I’d forgotten that Cyprus was in an earthquake zone.
It’s actually a bit traumatic selling a house that has meant a lot over the years. We’ve had some good times here and, although we clearly want to sell it, it is difficult to say goodbye.
There are so many memories tied up in it, together with the physical stuff which has to be packed up and transported back to Portugal, our new home.
It is strange how a simple object can bring back so many thoughts and memories, isn’t it?
I have just picked up a small stone which has some interesting marbling on it. It is a pretty stone.
Very smooth, and it just fits into my hand nicely. The marbling happens, to my eye at least, to resemble the outline of Bahrain, which is why, when I found it at Lara Bay, on Cyprus’ west coast all those years ago, it appealed to me. It has been sitting on my bedside table here for more than 10 years.
I know that nobody else can see the shape of the outline that I can, nor can anyone else have the flood of memories regarding the turtles coming ashore to lay their eggs which it brings to me.
Nevertheless, this little stone, a grey pebble, means an enormous amount.
I suppose that is what memories are all about, aren’t they?
They are nothing but objects really, but to one or two people they unlock that secret memory bank and, to that extent, they are irreplaceable and worth their weight in gold.
When the lady doing the shipping asked if we wished to insure the items we were shipping, we were unsure of the value, as they are all objects a bit like the pebble; individually worthless but collectively priceless to us.
We prevaricated and umm-ed and aah-ed, and eventually decided to not insure, as we couldn’t replace them anyway.
She said they might get damaged and that they would be protected against everything, including earthquakes.
I smiled, thinking of incontinent Portugal, but still said no thanks.