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Fri, Feb 10 2012
The English Angle: Happiness...
Happiness can hit when you don’t search for it. Back in the UK, I once lived in a posh block in central London. It was a well serviced and maintained condominium, near Lord’s cricket ground and opposite Regent’s Park. A bus outside the door took you to Oxford Street just 10 minutes away.
Enter a local pub and you’d likely see George Best or Wendy Richard, both sadly now gone, propping up the bar. The pavements were smooth and even, the elegant stores and coffee shops of St John’s Wood High beckoned you nearby. I was miserable as hell! You never saw ordinary families, just wealthy old folk who frequented the beautiful mosque opposite. Perhaps it was the lack of community spirit. Or was it living behind Marylebone railway line, with its howling winds roaring up the track? Whatever the reason, I just hated living there.
I expected to find happiness when I moved to Portugal. I’d watched many old movies. A particular favourite was the Burton-Taylor romantic weepy, The Sandpiper. I expected, while I walked the dog along the beach in Albufeira, to bump into a drop-dead gorgeous painter who would invite me in for a vodka-martini. Never happened; I met only demented Portuguese fishermen muttering to themselves.
Foolishly, I’d imagined that eternal sunshine, palm trees and ocean would usher in contentment. Actually, being in a holiday town all year round can drive you insane. It doesn’t engender relaxation among permanent residents. Quite the opposite. At three in the morning your soul burns to disillusionment.
Gradually, with no Liz Taylor painting on the beach, even living near the sea lost its allure. It was also a place for established couples (I was alone). I was going to solve that by meeting a British expat or Portuguese woman. I would be invited to exquisite dinner parties and we would contemplate the meaning of life beside log fires. Never happened.
Truth is, the Algarve was a dull place in which to live; the Portuguese are decent and respectful but they have an inner, almost intangible sadness about them, known as saudade. The coastline seemed to attract more than its share of expat dullards and ne’er-do-wells.
I met a Bulgarian woman in Lisbon. In the end we moved to Mladost. I live in a run-down socialist pre-fab block with ghastly pavements, clanking metal doors, dark corridors and a litter-strewn communal area. I love it there! People always greet you warmly. Families play happily with their children in front of the block.
They’d never do that in London. We look out of the big bay window in the morning, the sun streaming in, ravens flying through the walnut trees, Vitosha towering in the background. Living near a mountain is oddly comforting, more so than proximity to the sea. So what is happiness? Happiness is an autumn day, rustling through the golden leaves in Mladost with one’s wife and child. A million years have passed by since yesterday.
Enter a local pub and you’d likely see George Best or Wendy Richard, both sadly now gone, propping up the bar. The pavements were smooth and even, the elegant stores and coffee shops of St John’s Wood High beckoned you nearby. I was miserable as hell! You never saw ordinary families, just wealthy old folk who frequented the beautiful mosque opposite. Perhaps it was the lack of community spirit. Or was it living behind Marylebone railway line, with its howling winds roaring up the track? Whatever the reason, I just hated living there.
I expected to find happiness when I moved to Portugal. I’d watched many old movies. A particular favourite was the Burton-Taylor romantic weepy, The Sandpiper. I expected, while I walked the dog along the beach in Albufeira, to bump into a drop-dead gorgeous painter who would invite me in for a vodka-martini. Never happened; I met only demented Portuguese fishermen muttering to themselves.
Foolishly, I’d imagined that eternal sunshine, palm trees and ocean would usher in contentment. Actually, being in a holiday town all year round can drive you insane. It doesn’t engender relaxation among permanent residents. Quite the opposite. At three in the morning your soul burns to disillusionment.
Gradually, with no Liz Taylor painting on the beach, even living near the sea lost its allure. It was also a place for established couples (I was alone). I was going to solve that by meeting a British expat or Portuguese woman. I would be invited to exquisite dinner parties and we would contemplate the meaning of life beside log fires. Never happened.
Truth is, the Algarve was a dull place in which to live; the Portuguese are decent and respectful but they have an inner, almost intangible sadness about them, known as saudade. The coastline seemed to attract more than its share of expat dullards and ne’er-do-wells.
I met a Bulgarian woman in Lisbon. In the end we moved to Mladost. I live in a run-down socialist pre-fab block with ghastly pavements, clanking metal doors, dark corridors and a litter-strewn communal area. I love it there! People always greet you warmly. Families play happily with their children in front of the block.
They’d never do that in London. We look out of the big bay window in the morning, the sun streaming in, ravens flying through the walnut trees, Vitosha towering in the background. Living near a mountain is oddly comforting, more so than proximity to the sea. So what is happiness? Happiness is an autumn day, rustling through the golden leaves in Mladost with one’s wife and child. A million years have passed by since yesterday.
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Thanks for the wonderful article. Just be happy and give your best to your love ones. I assure that you will attain happiness that never end.
This comment has been removed by the moderator because it contained foul, abusive or discriminating language
Gabriel - Thanks. Yes, I recall Hanover Gate Mansions, which was pretty near Oslo Court and very similar in appearance. (I can see why you made the comment you did about the Marylebone trains !)
I never lived there, but I had two girlfriends (separated by over ten years !) who did. It was a bit of a Shaggers' Palace, but not good for long-term relationships, as you say.
(PS Do apologise for me to the Moderators if "Shaggers' Palace" contravenes the site rules, but it was indeed the "mot juste" at [...]
Read the full comment the time.)
Mr. Gabriel,
I am Portuguese and I am getting a bit upset about your comments on the Portuguese and the country. Not so long ago, you wrote about the Portuguese restauraants that resemble toilets, now you state that the people are filled with an inner saddness called saudade. For your enlightenment, saudade means 'missing someone' but is a much more meaninful expression than the English 'missing'.
Just because you did not find happiness there, it does not mean it is a sad and depressive place. Maybe that is in fact what you are,a sad person. Nothing [...]
Read the full comment wrong with that, but stop blaming the UK and Portugal. You should be able to be happy anywhere, after all, every country has it's positive and not so positive characteristics. You sound like a statistition, manipulating data for your convenience. Having said all that, I wish you have a positive and rewarding life wherever you live. Carlos
To Epaminondas: Hanover Gate Mansions in Park Road
Was the "condominium" block of flats that you lived in "Oslo Court", by any chance ? (Adjacent to Prince Albert Road, on the north side of Regents Park). I seem to recognise it from your description, which is pretty accurate and describes the local atmosphere very well.
Beyond that, yes you are right. I can recall being far happier in the 'squalor' of a Polish "Dom Studencki" student hostel than in Oslo Court (for example) ! It all rather depends on the person one is with.....which I think is precisely your point.
[...]
Read the full comment
To Danielle, yes, go ahead.
It seems that often happiness boils down to not being lonely and detached.
Great article. When I visit my wife's family in Mladost I am always rather shocked at the poor maintenance and garbage but there is also something of a community feel, what with the dogs living on the street; yet obviously fed and cared for, the feeling of safety despite the poverty (I have never felt intimidated there as in many "rich" countries). It's hard to define but there is still a sense of community, disappointment, reality and hope for the future all at once. Most of the west seems to offer isolation and a feeling that whatever happens it will [...]
Read the full comment not be enough. Strange really.
Can I quote you in my upcoming book? We are coming from and to the same place, spiritually and geographically(almost).
If you are a contented person and happy it does not matter where you live.
Happiness doen't result from geography. It doesn't come from the surroundings or the circumstances. It's a choice - or maybe a series of them. For more, see http://amzn.com/144218776X