The Angels’ Share, Yellow Cranes and A(H1N1)

Last week was a real corker! I was in Porto, Portugal to celebrate a childhood friend’s wedding, but also for a bit of a break. The wedding was yesterday. The bride and groom got there on time, but the registrar was nearly 1 hour late. That is Portugal time. However, it was brilliant to be there and see my friend Keith wed his wonderful bride Ana. The ceremony was in Portuguese (with English translations), and although a little long-winded, it was great to meet up with old friends and make new acquaintances. The wine flowed, the dancing was embarrassingly ‘dad dancing’ and the company welcoming and warm. 

Coming to Portugal from a very cold and wet England, I was hoping for some sunshine. Apart from one day where the rain fell incessantly, the other days were sunshine filled and warm. I walked around in my shorts and t-shirt which seemed to keep the local population amused. Many folk, out and about, were still wrapped up in their winter garb. Porto turned out to be a wonderful place. It was steeped in history, and the mix of the old and the new was truly eclectic. There was plenty to do and see. 

It was a case of when in Porto, drink the port. There were many Port Houses to choose from and it was the Calem that had been recommended, so that where J and I went to take the tour. Immensely interesting, the tour took you through every stage of the port’s production. What was staggering was the length of time the port was stored in vast vats and barrels before being bottled. In most instances it was stored for many years (10, 20, 30 years). The port is left to mature with hardly any interference from the wine makers. But there was talk of the ‘angels’ share’, which accounted for the gradual loss of port from the vats over the years. Nobody knew what happened to the port or what caused its disappearance, hence the name ‘angels' share’. 

The tour ended with the sampling of 3 different ports – all of which were superb. During the week I took many opportunities to refresh my memory of what that port tasted like. There were many wonderful buildings to visit – not least of which was the main railway station – Sao Bento. The main entrance hall (and this was huge) was covered in blue and white tiles, which told of Portugal’s history in pictures. We crossed some of the highest and most beautiful bridges I have ever seen, wandered up and down small cobbled streets no bigger than alleys, with tall, colourful and incredibly narrow houses. We went up in a funicular railway and down in a cable car. And apart from the old tram service (worth £2 of anyone’s money) we walked everywhere – to the pristine beaches, the riverside bars, parks and churches. The only downside was the scarcity of vegetarian restaurants or even a vegetarian option on the menu. I have never eaten so many omelettes in my life. Sometimes, twice in one day. It was like being on the set of Gavin and Stacey. 

Everywhere there was building work going on. I must admit to becoming obsessional about the many yellow tall cranes that were everywhere. Unlike in the UK, these cranes were operated by remote control. I have to say, on many occasions I stopped and stood transfixed by the way the crane operators used their remote controls to move the cranes. Not only did they do so with pinpoint accuracy, but also at speed. It was fascinating, although J couldn’t see it herself. 

What we did both find fascinating was the MIPO Museum. It is a museum dedicated to the work of the Misericordia, and looked back over the past 500 years. The Misericordia is an organisation founded on the benevolence and generosity of many philanthropists.  Whilst there was much to be seen around early health and social care services, I was interested to see what was said about mental health. I wasn’t disappointed. On March 24th 1883, using the last of a huge legacy left by the Count de Ferreira, the first ever psychiatric hospital in Portugal was built and opened. By 1900, the hospital provided inpatient care to 520 people of both sexes. There were 14 wards and patients which were ‘organised’ by mental health condition, age and social groups. It is still there today, although the quality of care provided, now reflects contemporary approaches to mental health care. They are also great believers in the use of art as a therapeutic device, something I will see for myself next Monday.

I was surprised by the look of the hospital (seen in one of the museum’s photos) which bore an uncanny resemblance to the hospital in which I undertook my nurse education and training back in 1975! Likewise, there were the usual exhibits of ‘straight jackets’ and other mechanical restraints on show. Coincidently, both the bride and the groom have a professional background in mental health care. Keith, who is 23 days younger than me, started his mental health nurse training a year after me. Unlike me (the retired me), he still works as a quality and risk consultant in health care organisations in different parts of Europe. Ana (who is a Social Worker by background) continues to work in a mental health hospital in Porto and has responsibility for the quality of the services provided.

Unfortunately, they both went down with a heavy cold in the week before their wedding. They described it as ‘flu’, but given their presence at the wedding yesterday, I strongly suspect it wasn’t. Flu can be a killer. Neither of them had had this year’s flu vaccination. This was somewhat surprising as 95% of the Portuguese population believe that the flu vaccine works and is beneficial. However, within the health professions, only 30% of the European health workforce had a flu vaccination last year. It may well be that Keith and Ana are like many of the doctors I know who refuse to have the flu jab in the totally unbelievable belief (in the context of their scientific education), that they may get the flu from the flu jab. In any event, their ‘flu’ didn’t interfere with their wedding or the celebrations and I wish them many years of happiness together.