The slow parade

Construction work in the village is having an unexpected effect

Normally the street that runs past our property is quite busy at morning (8:45 - 9:15) and evening (5:45 - 6:30) rush hour as the denizens of Belas head to and from their jobs in Lisbon, but otherwise there is not much traffic. Although it must be said what traffic there is is way too fast. There are slow - children signs around - there are at least four children under the age of twelve in the apartment and home across the street from us - but people regularly gun through our section of the street at 40mph and still accelerating. There is something about the way the road gently curves and then opens into a straightaway that seems to invite speeding.

Neighbor Ana has asked the camera to put speed bumps in the road but she says they acted like they didn’t know what she was talking about. And maybe they don’t - the camera is far more used to the kinds of traffic complaints that the town of Sintra experiences - congestion and not enough parking from overtourism, tourists driving the wrong way down one way streets, etc. I’ve been there, stuck in a car looking for parking - no one can drive faster than 10mph in Sintra, it’s so crowded, and you can expect to circle looking for a parking spot for more than an hour and sometimes two.

But for one week now (and for three more weeks) the Sintra municipality has a major public works project happening on the avenida and our street has been shut to through traffic from Idanha to the west all the way to the three way intersection that marks the center of old Belas to these east, a distance of about half a mile.

Right in the middle of this half mile stretch a large hole has been blasted in the road, large enough to park two Hummers face to face with room to spare. I’ve peeked at it on tiptoe from the jagged edge of the hole - all you can see is a lot of rebar, and a blackness below the rebar that seems to go to the center of the earth. I didn’t get any closer, uneasily reminded of the Stephen King story, Graveyard Shift. Hint: it has to do with a kingdom of rats discovered living underground.

As a result of this public works project, there is a great reduction of daily ambient noise. A bucolic tranquility has descended. We know we are not the only ones feeling it; we are seeing people walking the street, not going anywhere, just enjoying walking down the middle of the avenida alone and in cozy twos, in friend clusters and family groups, everyone talking and smiling and calling out greetings to each other. Children living in second and third story apartments lean out their windows and shout oi and wave and giggle at the slow parade. Young boys do skateboard tricks, the sound of their wheels on the pavement echoing between the houses.

It is a bit reminiscent of the early days of COVID. We lived in San Francisco during COVID - the first American city to announce a shut down. To discourage people from driving the mayor created “slow streets’ all around the city, strategically identifying in every neighborhood from the Presidio to the Fillmore, from the Mission to the Marina a long street that acted as a convenient cut through to major traffic arteries and barricaded them to all but local traffic. A party like atmosphere blossomed that contrasted oddly with the free-floating fear of those times.

All around our neighborhood people walked the streets in singles and doubles and spread out groups, morning and evening, waving and saying hi from behind their masks. New puppies were proudly walked. Neighbors put tables and chairs on the sidewalk and sipped wine and offered cheese to passersby.

Before the street shutdown here in Belas, the only people we would see walking were the people headed to and from the bus stop or one of the corner recycling bins that are so ubiquitous here. Now, they stroll like Italians taking their evening passeggiata - defined by Oxford as “a leisurely walk or stroll, especially one taken in the evening for the purpose of socializing.”

We’ve been taking Jake for late night walks on the blocked off street. Since no one is around we let him walk without a leash and try to get him to join us in the middle of the street but he is being a reluctant darling about it, preferring to stick the sidewalks as he has been taught. It’s a little awkward when we encounter people also walking on the sidewalk instead of the wide open street. They stop dead in their tracks while Jake hops off the walk into the street, walks politely around them (sometimes trying to touch their hand with his nose in greeting) and then hops back up onto the sidewalk to continue on his way. I don’t quite have the Portuguese to say, Sorry he’s just trying to be a good boy and stay on the sidewalk.

We always pass through the village park. There is a water fountain, Jake knows it and waits patiently for one of us to give him a drink via our cupped hands. Three or four do the trick. Then we might sit on the pretty bench roofed with bouganvilla and listen to the water fountain that is sometimes on, sometimes no - there seems to be no rhyme or reason to it, though someone regularly comes to clean it.

Jake ambles around sniffing. Sunday evening while we sat there idly, a couple of boys rode up fast, comparing tire skids. After a few minutes, a few more boys joined, then a few more, then a few more until there were eight or nine. Had a call or text gone out? I can imagine it: Let’s ride bikes, meet in the park by the fountain! (em Portugese, maybe as simple as: Vamos bicicletas! Encontramo-nos ao fonte/!

Is there any greater freedom, kids on bikes on a summer evening, hours before the streetlights go on, the road literally open before them? It was a joyful thing to see.

The boys were deep in discussion when Jake wandered over to say hi…he loves children, he loves bikes, he was wagging and smiling. I know he was thinking My dad has one of those! The boys shrank away. Herb whistled. Jake turned to look at the h, took a step toward him, then look longingly back at the boys and their bikes. One of the boys broke into a grin and held a hand out to Jake. Jake stretched his neck forward til his nose just touched the hand. The h whistled. Jake gave the boy’s fingertips a brief lick and then went to join his dad, like the good dog he is. The licked boy watched him with a wistful expression.

Tchau! I said with a little wave.

Tchau! he said. Then, Tchau! again, this one for Jake.

Last night as we turned into our driveway we saw neighbor Jonas outside with his son and daughter. They were riding bikes back and forth, delighting in the novelty of getting to ride right in the middle of the street. Come see Princess Leia, we urged young Joao - he’d forged a special bond with her at our party earlier this summer - at first merely because of her name (he is mad for all things Star Wars, his mom told me) but I saw him holding her oh so carefully, how amazed he was at how easily Leia just…let him. I feel the same each time I pick up one of the chicks, feeling their tiny, trembling live weight in my hands awakes something in my heart.

There are always a few cars that drive around the barriers, especially at night they assume they can just sneak past all the construction, who’s going to know when there are no police around? They come speeding up to the hole, having bypassed the barriers at the ends of the street. Motos and bikes and food delivery scooters and humans can edge past the hole on the narrow sidewalks on either side, which are not even 14 inches wide, but even the smallest car is out of luck. It’s funny to watch these drivers get frustrated, make a three point turn and drive back the way they came, slowly, refusing to look at the walkers they are suddenly realizing are all around and staring at them with mild disapproval. They drive back the way they came, their formerly brazen loud cars furtive and slow and everyone resumes walking up and down the middle of the street in the middle of the village as if there is nothing better to do. As indeed there isn’t.