Talk, Eat, and See the World E-Book

Matthias Kaiser

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Seitenzahl: 336

Beschreibung

"Talk, Eat, and See the World" is a collection of autobiographical short-stories and personalized cooking recipes. It does not pretend to be great literature, or fine gastronomy. Rather it is more like the fireside chat between friends, and the exchange of experiences in the kitchen among foodies. In these times under the rule of the Corona virus, our private spaces became deserted, and our social world became stripped to the bone. We need to re-invent the private sphere, and experiment with an open-door environment, if only virtually. Our current online events and meetings catapult us directly into the living rooms of the others, celebrities included. And this book invites the reader to be entertained at the author's fireside, and to be inspired in his kitchen. Hopefully the reader returns to his or her world with a smile and some new food for thought.

Leseprobe

Content:

Prologue

A night in Lisbon.

Minestrone a la pesto

The salami

Lentils for the working man!

Striptease in Russia

“Königsberger Klopse” – meatballs from the East

Cucumber salad:

The escape – STASI at the door steps

Salmon filet with sorrel

Mistaking a celebrity.

Flammkuchen a la Alsace

Night train to Luxor

Per’s Bacalao

Becoming a double-spy?

Monkfish with mustard cream sauce and a vegetable purée

Chairing Chinese philosophers

Ragout fin

Mimi’s Blueberry Pancakes

The steamroller

Matthias’ chicken fricassé, in a capers sauce

Addendum: The Cucumber salad Saxonian style

Diplomacy in Morocco

Russian borscht – warming your hearts!

The Queen’s legs

Matthias’ Hungarian Goulash

Mashed potatoes – as I make it!

Dinners in Taiwan

Vegetarian lasagne

Caliente Argentina!

A Thai Tom-Yam soup

Hit by lightning – twice!

Judy’s Sticky Date Pudding – a NZ Speciality

Butterscotch Sauce:

Norwegians at their cottage

Pasta alla Siciliana

Mousse au chocolat

Philosophers on Iceland

«Quarkkeulchen» from Leipzig

«Hubertus-Schüssel»

Becoming a philosopher

The Christmas goose

«Thüringer Klösse»

The rise and fall of ethics in Budapest

German Onion pie

The author with a live lion cup in the Leipzig Zoo.

Dedicated to the memory of my father-in-law, the chef Hans Jebsen

Prologue

I need to start this book with a confession. My real motto in life is: “Talk, Eat, and Love!” In a sense, it would have been logical to follow this thread for the composition of this book. No problem about the Talk, no problem about the Eat either, but Love? Hey, this is quite private! Very private, indeed! And: all those who figure in this hidden chapter of my life are still very much alive – as far as I know at least. And then, this whole love-thing is so complex, I still struggle with it! I do not think I am ready to share my thoughts and experiences in this department widely. Therefore, I figure I better wait with putting down in writing the Love-part until perhaps sometime later in my life. Hopefully, I will eventually feel ready someday to cast my love-life and its stories in a form which communicates to others, and at the same time does not leave me deeply troubled. But I am not there yet!

Therefore, it is “Talk, Eat, and See the World!” This is not too bad either, it might serve as a substitute motto for me quite well, too. The Talk- and the Eat-part I shall comment on in a moment, but let me just explain the See-the-World-part. I always loved travel, and I think this is due to the influence of my father. He often repeated the story of a friend of his, who told him that he is rich, though not rich with material goods, but rich because he has seen the world, and this wealth of impressions is something that nobody can take from him again. That had a ring of deep insight for me, and it sounded as if it came from a very wise man.

Another motive for my travels is certainly due to me being a refugee from a communist country, where being able to cross a border and see another culture remained ingrained in me as a basic wish for freedom, since the Communist State did everything in its power to make this impossible. I still marvel at the fact that Europe is now without any visible borders, and one can travel from the icy and windy planes of Northern Scandinavia, via the artist and loud city life of Berlin, to the bubbling street life in front of the Spanish Steps in the heart of Rome, without any questions asked or any passport shown. As a young boy I read the story of the travels of Marco Polo, the story about the discovery of Timbuktu, the travels of Alexander von Humboldt to South America, and the story of James Cook’s travels; I basically devoured these books. Would I ever be able to see some of these or other exotic places myself?

Well, by now I have seen many of them, and they have accumulated this wealth of impressions in me which make me feel privileged and lucky. There is nothing so enriching as meeting other people, see how they live their life, share experiences with them, and being challenged by the confrontation with their culture. Also, there is nothing so humbling and character building as learning about the history and culture of other people. In sum, talking about travels is right up my alley.

But I should say something more about the Talk- and the Eat-part of this book as well. First, I am definitely a talker! I realized this at least after I had moved to Norway. Norwegians do not talk much, and when they tell stories, these are usually quite dark and morbid. I, on the other hand, love to talk with people, not necessarily to people, but with people, in the sense that good talk implies also good listening. Good talk will typically also include stories, stories with a beginning and an end, and a point that sticks out of the story, a pointe. Then you engage in a narrative. Our whole life is composed of these narratives, or stories if you prefer. Actually, this is how we compose our Ego, we weave together the stories of our life, let them settle in our memory, and some of them we share publicly. Without our narratives we lose ourselves, and we lose all orientation. Since we are afraid of losing orientation and fumbling through life, we cherish and continuously work on our narratives. The super-narrative with just everything in it, which we break down into several smaller narratives, with simpler story-lines – this is our life. Sometimes we re-work them, when we have discovered a new layer in them, when we become wiser with age. But our stories always define us.

And the good stories are invariably personal, stories that feature us somehow, stories that we certify as genuine, as true, at least subjectively so. Our good stories engage often other people precisely because they show how these stories engaged us, with the full battery of our senses, intellect, and emotions.

Therefore, the short stories that I tell in this book are all autobiographical. They are my stories in the sense that I have taken possession of them long ago, as markers in my life. None of the stories is world-shattering, or elucidating deep and significant insights into the “meaning of life” or a profound philosophical quest. My stories convey small events and observations of various kinds. They are the kind of stories that are easily shared in the good company of friends on a late winter evening, sitting at the fireside, preferably with a good glass of wine or a single malt whiskey. I hope they are entertaining.

Now to the Eat-part. That part would never have been written were it not for the fact that I married into a family where my father-in-law was a Grand Chef. I am talking about the late Hans Jebsen, a highly decorated cook and chef, and the educator of quite many of the current Norwegian chefs who now get our attention on national TV and international competitions. He served royalty and ambassadors at important occasions. His family typically escaped into another room when Hans was working in the family kitchen. They did not like to be treated as kitchen personnel for the Grand Chef. He was, after all, mainly their Dad, not their chef! I, on the other hand, did not mind at all, and he also treated me differently since I was not immediate family. I often sat in the kitchen on a Saturday or Sunday morning, discussing politics or classical music with him, and as a side I learned how he prepared the food for the day. The two most important lessons I picked up from him were the following:

(i) Relax! There is no need to get all stressed out because you have not learned the trade! You can work on it, and you can find your own style and taste eventually. Practice your cooking, and start with the simpler things!

(ii) When you prepare a meal, you plan it in your mind first, and work on it methodically afterwards. Form a picture in your mind what it is you want to make, and if possible, consult several cookbooks about it! Timing is always important. Then check your refrigerator and see what you have got! You take what you have, and sometimes you improvise. There is no such thing as the only and true way how to prepare a dish, it all can be negotiated in your mind!

These lessons were quite similar to how I perceived scientific research, I thought. I still think so. In any case, they removed the inbuilt barriers and fears of failing in the kitchen which I carried in me as a boy, a boy who was used to the mother and grandmother doing the cooking in the kitchen, without any male interference. I discovered cooking as an art, and as a very relaxing activity. I also discovered that sharing meals with friends and family was one of the most rewarding and genuine activities, expressing respect and love for those whom you serve. In this sense, the Eat is intimately connected to the Love, even though not overtly so.

All the recipes presented in this book are in a sense my personal recipes. True, many of them are inspired by one or the other cookbook, some were written down from Hans Jebsen’s instructions, but most of them I changed in the course of time and personalized. And none is really very fancy. Some of them are good enough to be served during a festive dinner, but most could be coming from a rural kitchen rather than a fancy metropolitan restaurant. And I freely travel with my taste as much as I travel in life, and therefore you find dishes from different countries in the book.

In the last 30 years I have become a champion of food ethics, meaning that I think we all should be critically aware of the values that follow our food from farm to folk, values that connect our environment, animals, our primary food producers, our food industry, our retailers, and us as consumers. We need to change our foodways if we want to improve our health, save our planet, and act responsibly for our future generations. As a true liberal mind, I prefer to be what is nowadays called a flexitarian. I do eat meat and seafood, but less so, and I also want it certified as sustainably or organically produced. Sometimes I have been asked by reporters how I can make sure that what I eat is ethical. My answer was always to refer to two of my personal guidelines. First, always ask critical questions about where the food comes from, and how it is produced. Force the suppliers to greater transparency! Second, make a food plan for your week ahead, like e.g. twice a week meat, twice a week seafood, twice a week vegetarian, and at least once a week left-overs!

I hope that the stories and the recipes collected in this book will entertain you, and hopefully also inspire your foodways. There is no particular inner logic in the sequence they appear in this book, it is all pretty much rather accidental, as if it would happen were we sitting at the fireside together and just having a nice chat, a conversational evening together. When you leave my home of narratives again, I want you to leave with a light and happy mindset, with gastronomical impressions that pleasantly stimulated your palate, and with your intellect being entertained and intrigued by the wonders of people and their worlds.

One more note before we start the talk. This book is the result of the pandemic that hit us all in 2020. I guess it is true for most people that the Coronavirus managed to upset all our lives; most of our usual routines broke down, most plans had to be changed or even abandoned. The virus amplified the problems that we already sensed were there from before, but it also allowed us to reflect and focus on some of the essentials of our lives. Albert Camus observes in his novel The Plague (1947) how the most recognizable effect of an epidemic is the sudden separation of people who were not prepared to be separated. We say Good Bye one day to our dear ones, only to realize once the gates and the borders are closed that this was a Farewell far into an unknown future. The Now becomes incomplete and unfulfilled, the Past becomes a repository that slowly is more and more depleted, and the Future is moving further and further ahead of us the more we try to cling to it with the ongoing epidemic lasting ever longer. The epidemic becomes our cage, our prison.

When I stayed in Auckland earlier this year during the first outbreak of the pandemic, my friend and colleague Peter Gluckman reflected that this experience was for our generation what for the generation of our parents was the wartime experience. This is also what Camus’ novel is about. It is about the wartime experience of living through an epidemic, though not the wartime experience at the battlefronts, in the concentration camps, or in the ruins of bombed houses. Rather it is about the experience of being in a stage of siege, life behind the barbed wire. We experience this other kind of wartime drama, not the drama of those that die in battle, but the drama of those who stay behind and can only lament the dead. The drama of having to make do in a dysfunctional world, often without those that we usually would have around, and the drama of suddenly to realize that there is no reason in the world to assume that the virus will kindly withdraw from us when we think it may or should withdraw, when the initially projected days or weeks of endurance need to be extended to months and perhaps years of this state of emergency. The pandemic threatens our mental hygiene, it keeps us constantly close to the abyss of deep depression. Well, at least it does this to me. And one important reason for this negligence of a sound Ego is that there is virtually no one around to share our stories with. When the narrator enters into a soliloquy, without a listener, like Hamlet’s monologue, the essence of the narrative quickly turns into the absurdity of it all, the futile hope of there being care and concern somewhere to be found among those who could be virtual listeners. But there is no one. In the pandemic our lives pass without stories, and without stories, what life is there to hold on to?

This is why I had to write this book now. The pandemic threw me into isolation and, indeed, loneliness. But the pandemic also gave me a clear sense of me being a part of all of humanity, of solidarity with all the others caught by the pandemic, and of a responsibility to keep the talk going, to not let the narrative fade away. The writing turned into my surrogate talk, and through the writing I try to weave those invisible bonds with all of humanity, the bonds that make me feel connected again. If not the real talk, then at least the real writing! Scribo, ergo sum. I write, therefore I am.

Matthias Kaiser Bergen, in the times of the pandemic, 2020

A night in Lisbon.

Lisbon is a fascinating city. By now I cannot recount how many times I have visited Lisbon. This story, however, goes back to the early 1990’s. At that time, I had been there already perhaps twice or three times. Each time I visited the Alfama district and the Bairro Alto, finding good restaurants to eat and enjoying the life there. It was all safe and sound. But the story I now want to convey happened when I joined a conference in Estoril, a bit outside Lisbon, the famous place with an even more famous Casino, frequented by the upper class from Lisbon and a lot of tourists. The conference was a relatively big event, with perhaps a couple of hundred participants, mostly from Europe. It was all about Impact Assessment, a topic which I knew very little about, and thus I had decided to send a paper, and else listen to the talks to learn more about what these impact scientists were doing. I did not know anybody when I arrived there (something that rarely happens to me nowadays). I was scheduled to present my talk already at the first day, and it went well. The session was well attended, and the audience was receptive and I got some positive feedback. The first evening the dinner was in the hotel, attended by most participants. I joined, but found both the surrounding, the food, and actually my companions at the table slightly boring. So, I made the decision that the next evening, a Friday, I would travel to Lisbon to find a restaurant and have my dinner in the Alfama.

There is a regular train connection between Estoril and Lisbon city centre. Thus, the next late afternoon – after listening to some more talks, feeling I had done my duty for the day – I walked from the hotel to the train station in Estoril. There was a bridge over the tracks, and I remember I saw a train coming in with a bunch of youths on the roof of the train. This was obviously some kind of a test of courage for these boys. I was not thrilled by it, but found it utterly stupid and potentially neck-breaking. The thought struck me that perhaps my whole trip to Lisbon was a silly idea. Why would I risk ending up in the company of some crazy youngsters of whom there would probably be more downtown? But it was fleeting thought, and I continued with my plan. Little did I know!

When my train arrived, I entered a wagon and looked for a seat. While I was going through the aisle, I suddenly heard my name. “Hey Matthias, are you going to Lisbon? Want to sit down here?”

I admit I did not recognize the guy. I am in general bad at recognizing faces again. The guy was some years younger than I was then, perhaps in his early thirties, blond and with no particular features that would make me remember him. He introduced himself, and conveyed he was from Finland – so let us call him Jaakko – and he also said he had attended my talk, we were at the same conference. So, I sat down opposite to him and confirmed that I was indeed going to Lisbon. We had some initial exchange about the conference, how we liked it and so on. All routine polite talk among some academics who escaped the conference.

Then he asked me what my plans were for the evening, and I replied I am going to the Alfama, and will go to a restaurant there for dinner. Oh, if I knew the area, the Alfama, and perhaps even a restaurant? Yes, I said, and I would try to find the nice restaurant again where I had been the year before. This sparked his interest. He said he was in Lisbon the first time and had no idea where one could go out for a good Portuguese dinner. But I obviously was somewhat known in this area. If I would mind if he joined me for dinner?

“No problem at all! We can go together, but I do not vouch for the restaurant, maybe it is not to your liking, but I like it.”

Jaakko was seemingly very happy with this agreement, he smiled and then he became very silent. If you have met some Finns in your life, you will know that this is normally not a sign of communication breakdown, rather it is the usual state of a Finnish conversation! As a rule, Finns not talk much, particularly not when in foreign surroundings. So, I did not worry, but looked out of the window instead, enjoying the view over the blue sea.

But my new Finnish friend was troubled by something, and he worked on how he could break this to me. Then it came out:

“Well, Matthias, I think I should tell you that I am gay! You may want to know this before we go out.”

“Well, Jaakko, I do not mind one way or the other. I am not gay, and I have no issue with your sexual orientation. We are going out to eat, and that is rather independent of being gay or not. Right?”

Jaakko nodded, but there was obviously more to come from him. After some hesitation he came out with the next confession:

“The point is, Matthias, I have a date in the city. I will meet a very beautiful boy, and we wanted to go out. Do you mind if the two of us join you?”

Why would I mind if I go out with one gay guy or with two gay guys? I just met this one, and anyway, I had a rough plan for the evening which the three of us would then follow. So, no problem at all!

Jaakko was very relieved and he started to tell me about this “boy”. He had met him on the plane to Lisbon, an English student, staying in town. They had “connected” so well when they met briefly, and therefore they now had this date. And Jaakko described his looks as so beautiful and innocent, as fine in his whole facial structure, and with a great sense of humour. Yes, I guessed humour would help get us through the evening.

He asked me about my life, and I conveyed that I was married with children. But Jaakko’s interest did not stay long with my life. He mostly returned the conversation to his life and how difficult it is for a young gay guy to find a mate, particularly in Finland. That was why he was so full of expectations now meeting his new acquaintance, and may be this could develop into something.

Oh heavens! The guy was already in love even before we actually met this student. But then we finally arrived in Lisbon at the train station. Jaakko was all nervous, if his date would actually show up. Remember, at those days we did not carry mobile phones, so dates were made by a landline phone, and then one had to show up. We left the train, and there at the end of the platform Jaakko saw his date! He was totally overjoyed!

The date introduced himself to me as Joshua, and he was very polite and smiling. My impression was that Jaakko could not find words for what he wanted to say to Joshua at this point, and he therefore might have been glad to have me around, too, because then the conversation was going fluently. Joshua was English, I guessed somewhere in his early twenties, and indeed quite good-looking. He was casually dressed, but with style, a bit on the conservative side, and certainly not like a very rebellious youngster from a university, more like a smart salesperson on holiday.

And then we started our walk through the city-centre and up the hill in the direction of the Alfama. Both Jaakko and Joshua treated me as if I was the know-it-all tourist guide. They left the direction to me and asked all kinds of questions about Lisbon and Portugal in general. I think I must have an appearance in my behaviour and conduct which conveys to others that I know where to go and what to do, and else also can provide touristic guidance by the by. I really do not know what it is about me that I often end up in such a situation, leading others to restaurants or guiding them through the maze of small streets in strange cities. In general, I think I am normally as lost as they are, but I do not show it. Whatever, the three of us slowly walked our way up to the Alfama, close to where I remembered the restaurant to be.

The Alfama was extremely lively on this Friday night, young and old were out for some social life in one of the many restaurants and bars. Of course, there was quite a number of tourists mixed into the crowds, but somehow, they could not change the overall impression of genuine Portuguese life. We walked up the small streets until we came to the place that I recognized again. The pedestrian walkway divided up into two others, in a V-shaped manner. The restaurant was on the corner of this V-division. One had to climb one half-floor up, and we found a table on the open terrace section, overseeing the crossing of the walkways. I ordered my favourite dish of barbecued sardines, and I think my companions just followed my order. We had a good bottle of vinho tinto, and the conversation was going well, with my companions talking about their work or study, their life at home, and all kinds of other topics. After dinner I believe we also had some dessert and coffee, but, whatever, the talk was flowing and the time just passed, so it was getting late in the evening.

But then a commotion happened two meters below us, on the side street closest to us, just a good look down from where we sat. There was a bar opposite us, and outside the bar a crowd of people was shouting something, obviously some kind of a quarrel had erupted in the bar. A middle-aged man was in the centre of it, having the crowd against him. Then he suddenly left in a rage, and the commotion stopped. We observed this from our vantage point of looking down on the crowd, but when it quieted down again, we just returned to our small talk.

This lasted about ten minutes or thereabouts, but then the whole commotion erupted again. We saw the man who had left earlier had now returned and was again the centre of the argument. And then it suddenly happened, right before our eyes. The man drew a revolver out of his jacket and he fired two shots in the air. Loud. The crowd screamed and more shouts from some of them. Then he fired a third shot, we could hear it, but could not see if it was in the air or in the crowd. It was turmoil and loud spectacle. We probably felt safe enough, elevated as we were, but on second thoughts I am not sure if that was really justified. We just were mesmerized by the whole scene.

Then we saw that the man drew a woman by her arm, the woman shouting at him, but he was obviously in command, so he basically drew her away from the crowd and went up the street with her.

In the meantime, the waiter had come to our table and was watching the scene together with us. He just shook his head and sighed. We immediately asked him what was going on down there, and if he should call the police. He just shook his head, showed a sarcastic smile between his bad teeth, and then he informed us:

“Oh, do not worry! This was just Emilio who wanted to fetch his wife. He is an extremely jealous guy and does not tolerate that she has some innocent fun with other guys here in the bar. He is a regular, and he does the same scene probably every second or third week or so. It is tragic, he does not know how to express his feelings other than with some gun shots in the air. Poor guy really, but a nuisance for the rest of us!”

And then the waiter filled our glasses again and turned to the other customers.

Okay, we witnessed not some criminal episode in the heart of Alfama, but just a marital fight that was a tad more extreme than with most others, but obviously a not-too-unusual behaviour here. Our heart-rate went slowly back to normal and we had some stuff to talk about for the rest of the wine in the bottle.

At this point I felt I had enough excitement for the night and thought we should round up soon. The waiter presented the bill when it was close to midnight. We split the bill in equal parts, going Dutch as they say, except that Jaakko in the last minute realized he should pay for Joshua, which he then did. I looked at my watch, and announced that it is probably time to head back. As far as I remembered, the last train back to Estoril was leaving shortly after midnight, which I told my companions, and we could make it in time if we started now. But that woke up Jaakko and brought him back with a very decisive voice.

“No need to rush to the train, even if it is the last one. We can easily catch a taxi back. The night is still young and we should go dancing now, as these Portuguese people assumedly are doing also. I saw a nice place, a dance palace or disco of sorts on our way here, we should go there now.”

First, I tried some economic argument and asked them to consider that the train is much cheaper than a taxi, because it is quite a distance to Estoril. But this reasoning did not cut it at all! Phh, everything here is so much cheaper than what we are used to, so we surely could afford a taxi!

Then I tried my personality argument, arguing that I am not really the type for a disco, and I might get tired soon, and tomorrow is another conference day, so maybe I should just leave them here to go to the disco alone without me.

That was a non-starter. Both argued now that we are together in this adventure and we should stay together for the rest. And by the way, perhaps I should just try how I like it in a Portuguese disco, perhaps some dancing would get me into a better mood.

Well, there was absolutely nothing wrong with my mood, I was in a relatively good mood, I just tried to be reasonable. And I admit, I felt a bit like the fifth wheel on the cart with these two love-birds, but I did not say this. I just gave in, and we were on our way to this disco, now with Jaakko taking the lead. So, let it be dancing!

The disco was not far away. It was rather big inside and there was a huge crowd. The music was loud as expected, and they played some mixture of Latino-pop and rock. The dance floor was packed with couples, and beer and other drinks was constantly served at the tables. We found a small table close to the dance floor, sat down and ordered three beers. Obviously, given the sound level it was hard to engage in any long conversation here. Jaakko and Joshua realized this and very quickly they were off to the dance floor, dancing together, also the slow dances. Nobody cared about a gay couple between all the others, actually nobody paid any attention to all the others at all.

And there I sat, alone, and watching the crowd. What to do? I sipped at my beer and contemplated what my strategy should be. After a while I figured it would not do any harm if I tried some dancing as well. But with whom? There were many utterly pretty young Portuguese women around, and I admit the thought struck me that it would not do any harm if I could find some female company for my time in this disco.

I am not the type of guy who easily approaches strange women and asks for a dance, much less for more talk at the table over a beer. On the other hand, this was what people did in this place, so why not give it a try! Thus, I mustered all my courage and approached a woman who was in the company of some other women. After all, I did not want to risk a scene of Portuguese jealousy as the one we had witnessed earlier that evening! And yes, I succeeded in getting a dance partner, and we made it to the dance floor. We danced probably for three songs or so, without being able to say much to each other. And as it turned out, language was quite an issue. Her English was not fluent, and I certainly did not speak Portuguese. It ended with her going back to her company, and me still without any companion at my table, where I now was sitting alone again. Joshua and Jaakko danced all the time, and were very much engaged with each other.

I think I tried to dance another time with another woman, but only to get the same result. Left alone after the dance was over, and sipping at my beer. I started looking at my watch, and regretted that I had let myself being talked into this.

The time approached three o’clock and the waiters came for the bills, signalling that the disco was closing now. Good, I was looking forward to getting back to the hotel now! We left the disco and looked for a taxi. Unfortunately, so was half of the visitors of the disco! There was a taxi stand just outside with a long queue of people waiting, and taxis coming only every once in a while, not often. After waiting for about minutes, Jaakko took the lead again, and said he would look for a taxi a bit around the block and then left us to explore the possibilities. After a short while he returned, was all excited, said he found one and this was now waiting for us just a five minutes-walk away.

Indeed, there was a taxi parking in a side street, and behind the steering wheel was the chauffeur slowing dipping a spoon into his yoghurt. He was eating yoghurt, late at night! Perhaps this should have told me something, perhaps I should have picked up a slight warning signal here, but I didn’t. Just a vague feeling that something might not be right. Jaakko and Joshua took the back seat, while I was placed next to the driver. I told him we wanted to go to Estoril, and the driver was wondering how to get there. I told him not to worry, I knew the way roughly and could help him with directions, so please just start.

And then we left into the rest of the Lisbon night!

We drove down the narrow streets from the Alfama, approaching the city centre. You should know that there are a lot of one-way streets there, and most streets are very narrow anyway, often with tracks for the tram in the middle. One has to pay close attention to where one is driving, and traffic was still lively this Friday night.

The first thing that happened was that I realized our driver was driving on the left lane in a two-way street. I told him this, and said he should stay on the right. Okay, he said, and moved to the right lane. But then a minute later he turned in the wrong way in a one-way street against the traffic. I shouted you are driving the wrong way, stop or get back. And then I caught his glance. He was looking at me with these empty eyes, and obviously not really comprehending what I said. I looked into his facial expression, and then, finally, I understood: This guy was heavily on drugs and certainly not fit to drive!

“Slow down” I shouted, I reached over to the steering wheel and basically, I directed the car carefully against the traffic through this short one-way street. I had him turn into a two-way street at the next corner, and made him stop at a traffic light.

“Jaakko, we should leave this taxi now, this guy is full on drugs, so let’s get out of here as quickly as possible!”

No success with my appeal.

“Oh, he will do okay, it was so difficult to find a taxi, so let us stay in here, and help this guy to find his way!”

Then Jaakko and Joshua turned to each other again, now closely in the arms of each other. I was helpless, and the traffic situation needed my constant attention now. I left my hand on the steering wheel, supporting his driving, and giving him clear and explicit directions:

“Slow down!” - “Move to the right lane” – “Move to the left lane!” – “Stop for the red light!” – “It is green, start driving slowly again!” – “Turn right!” – “Turn left!” – “Keep the distance to the car in front!” and so on! It was exhausting, but nothing of my nervous guidance seemed to stress my travel companions. They just held on with what they were doing! And the driver was quietly doing what I told him, though with his usual empty stare and apathic behaviour, still heavily under the influence of whatever drugs he had taken. I was turning into a nervous wreck! Could it get any worse?

We reached the city centre, and had to stop at a red light of one of the main squares downtown, before turning into the direction of Estoril. And the drama unfolded!

The right back door was opened, and Joshua very quickly got out of the car, shouting a quick “Thank you, bye bye!” to us! Joshua escaped back to his hotel! Understandably perhaps, but absolutely devastating for Jaakko! He was in tears!

“Matthias, Joshua left me! What did I do wrong? We had such a nice time together, and now he just left me! What did I do wrong?”

“Jaakko, relax, he wanted to get home. Nothing went wrong. You just call him tomorrow, and perhaps you can have another date with him! Now, let’s see if we can survive the rest of the trip home!”

Cars were honking behind us, and I told our driver he might slowly start again, and move on the right lane, just straight ahead.

“Matthias, I still do not understand. We were so perfect together, it was all developing the right way, and then this! Why? Help me!”

I was not much in the mood of helping the poor guy with being lovesick, I felt I had enough up my sleeve helping our driver to drive safely and getting us to the hotel again. I turned all my attention to the road again, and instructing the taxi driver. He, on the other hand, was much disturbed by Jaakko being all in tears, and asked what is wrong with him. I told him Jaakko was just lovesick, and that was nothing to worry about.

Wrong move! The driver turned around and started telling him how Portuguese people know all about love and being lovesick, they make all their music about this, and if he ever had heard a real Fado, this was just love in music.

“Look on the road, please, leave Jaakko to me, just pay attention to the traffic, we will study Portuguese ways of love and the Fado tomorrow, but please drive on!”

I was totally busy with paying attention to the traffic, and hoped that all other problems could be postponed for now, for a late beer in the hotel. But it took only five minutes before Jaakko turned to me again. This time he gripped me by the shoulders and with heavy breathing he inquired more:

“Matthias, you are a man of the world, are you not? You have travelled a lot, been around in big cities, and know a lot about how things are in these cities, right? What do you do when you need sex? When you want to buy sex?”

Oh, heavens! This was just what we needed! While still attending to the driving I quietly told him that, of course, in many big cities one can buy sex at certain places, this is mostly tolerated by the authorities, you just have to know the right places.

“But how do you know where to buy sex when you are in strange city? How do you find them?”

“Well, I guess, normally hotel concierges would know, or mostly taxi drivers know their city and can show you the way to these places.”

I should not have said this, but my concentration was on the traffic and still guiding our driver from one lane to the other, mostly with the active support of my left hand on the steering wheel.

“Taxi drivers? Ask him, please ask him now where to buy sex in this city!”

This woke up our driver again. He turned to me:

“What does he want to know, he asks for help, right, about what?”

“He wants to know where to buy sex in Lisbon, but do not worry, please just drive on!”