Past Imperfect

Reading about Fellowes' account of his characters' infamous night somewhere between Estoril and Cascais, I felt the obligation to write down my own not so scandalous but memorable evening on the very same shores. Nostalgia is a terribly contagious thing.

It was, naturally, another conference, my very first in fact. As is the tradition with conferences that run a week long there is a climax that usually comes midweek- an outing, a dinner that the hosts provide. Our Portuguese hosts had thought that this should be a dinner at the Estoril Casino. We took the slow train from Cascais - on the way back we'd realized it was quite within walking distance- and got off at Estoril, and the casino was quite unmissable, at the end of a park that sprawled all the way to the rail tracks which were right by the rocky shore. We took photographs in the fading light as everyone had dressed up more or less and we wanted to have documents to prove it later I suppose. As we approached the grand entrance I felt upbeat and said something to the effect of 'It could be interesting. We could see someone famous or something.' 'The Devil?' J interjected gleefully as he always liked to check how much the ways of European heathens gave me discomfort. As usual, I only smiled.

Passing the ever so sorry looking slot machines we moved into the great salon and were seated in some sort of balcony. It was pretty dark as the first course arrived- some kind of onion soup. We had contrived to sit across a very funny English academic and were trying our best to bring the 'absent-minded professor' in him. Then there was light on the stage and a boring array of men and women appeared dressed as tropical fruits. In the din, there was no way I could ask the waiter whether they had a vegetarian option and with the English prof's performance rather dull this evening I considered making an early exit, though I had no idea how I would go back to Cascais on my own at that hour. I looked at the slobs of meat the others were eating and then turned right to see that the female dancers were taking their tops off. I took this to be my exit cue and excused myself promptly and when I turned my back to the table to go J was trying to shout from behind 'But how are you going to....' Indeed, I did not know, but it was nice to get out into the fresh air. I loitered a bit in the park, and then decided I should brave the walk to Cascais. Once I had taken that decision I saw another group leaving the place and a rather worried J said 'We looked everywhere for you!' and another one of them added 'Yes, well, there was mass exodus after the second course, I don't think the entertainment helped'.
And so we all merrily walked back to our hotel in Cascais.