Of course,
it's not a uniquely Iberian thing, there clearly seems to be an ongoing
obsession with the fine art of campanology all over the European continent, not
least of all in France. However, the Iberian variety do seem to be unusually
bold - as in LOUD!
These great
clappering rogues have often brought me (the typically unwary visitor) many a
rude awakening at secluded Portuguese Praças. Just as, perhaps, I might have
embarrassed myself by rudely dozing off mid-coffee-break on a sultry summer's
afternoon, "BONG!-BONG!!" go those bells. Yes, no fewer than two
obligatory (extra loud) "BONGS!" that might put Big Ben to shame when
experienced at such close proximity. For some reason, church clocks in Portugal
often chime twice at the top of each hour, as if there was even the remotest
possibility that anyone who isn't absolutely stony deaf could have missed the
first almighty CLANG!
Even English
cities with their vast, grey (Coronation Street) chimney-scapes are endlessly
filled with often repetitive bell chimes which grate through mist and murk
bearing the unmistakable wafts of coal smoke and kerosene; tainting the chill
Autumnal twilight.
In Ireland, at
6pm sharp, Irish TV dedicates a whole minute of its daily programme schedule to
the monotones of an "Angelus" bell which routinely rings out before
Radio Telefis Éireann's main evening news bulletin. This is an Irish
broadcasting tradition that predates television in Éire, hailing all the way
back to Radio Éireann days which broadcast from studios located at the historic
An Post (GPO) building in O'Connell Street during the 1950's.
Unnerving
Frankly, I've
always been slightly unnerved by the sound of even the most distant church
bells. Having been brought up in a tiny Welsh community where, if my childhood
recollections serve me correctly, chiming church bells always seemed to hold
somewhat funereal undertones. In later life, whilst visiting large English
towns and cities, weekend mornings often commenced far earlier than originally
anticipated because the dreaded chain-ringers commenced their high-decibel
rehearsal routines bright and early. Seemingly endless renditions that
prematurely led me (bleary eyed) to the nearest coffee shop. I remember feeling
distinctly unnerved by those ecclisiastical renditions because they evoked such
somber childhood flashbacks; of days spent whispering behind respectfully drawn
curtains.
I guess the
abundance of ancient (yet still highly efficient bells) are to be expected in
any great European city where there are bound to be an abundance of churches
and cathedrals all merrily tinkling, bonging and jangling especially on the
Sabbath and during religious festivals. Festivals that often hold particular
reverence in certain regions. For instance, the run up to Easter is
particularly well marked in Sevilla where the incessant chimes of carillons
resonate across this beautiful city, seemingly at all hours. Just as you might
find yourself settling down after a prolonged recital, glass in hand with some
reading material firmly grasped in the other, another jubilant high decibel
rendition shatters that transient moment of relative tranquility. The likes of
me, so verily spoilt by the blessings of a quiet rural upbringing, begin to
pine for long lost days when our village church bells only soberly chimed the
passing of the dear-departed or proudly proclaimed the occasion of a joyful
summer wedding. Yin & Yan, in perfect harmony.
Uncannily loud
Whilst there
are church clocks in Portugal that routinely strike the hour twice, there are
some that do so half-hourly or even every fifteen minutes. How many of us have,
in perfectly good faith, booked our Airbnb hostelries in some remote Alentejo
town only to discover the floodlit church clock (just across a picturesque
alleyway) obligingly reminds everyone of the time every 15 minutes without
fail. What will not have been noted in all the Airbnb bumph is that this
happens all night long.
By now, you
might well be forgiven for thinking that this article may be looking
increasingly like the sorry diatribe of a helpless insomniac. However, I will
defend my abject moaning by again declaring that those bells do tend to be
uncannily loud! I didn't miss the opportunity to tentatively point out this
minor omission to our charming Airbnb host, politely declaring that the
relentless tolling was certainly never mentioned in any of their bumph.
However, I was gazed at curiously by all and sundry because I'm sure that
fatigue, by this juncture, was quite likely to be making me come over all Quasimodo
as I gormlessly protested about "THE BELLS!... THE BELLS!!" - that
most apocryphal snippet from the Hunchback of Notre-Dame.
At the very
least, I can console myself with this thought. I've taken to obsessing about a
matter that might one day generate a vaguely constructive outcome for all the
world's light sleepers and those of us who might require a little bit of hush
in order to think? My deep-seated fascination with "ACME NOISE
GENERATORS" stemmed from what's been little more than a pet gripe? Perhaps
if I protest with suitably weighted gusto, I can create for myself a
semi-ambassadorial role for the long-lost luxury of undisturbed (bell-free)
slumber? I may even aspire to liberate entire conurbations from a key element
of maddening noise pollution? There are, surely, numerous less honorable
aspirations doing the rounds? Hardly Bond Villain territory really.
Outrageous grumpiness?
Realistically,
perhaps it's just a state of outrageous grumpiness that has finally riled my
once contented soul? It must be. Because these days, should I happen to be
dining solo, I often catch myself peering irritably over my spectacles like
some excessively bumptious headmaster; cynically scanning and cunningly
observing the folks sitting at the next table. Will they or will they not stoop
to annoyingly photographing their platters of food? By this juncture, my own
dinner (however excellent) has sunk into the realms of a secondary
(unphotographed) consideration. The wait to find out whether the culinary
delights destined for the next table pass as being Instagrammable will be
brutal. I will have already bet with myself that if I call it correctly and
they DO go into snap-happy mode, I won't have to leave double the usual tip.
Serious stuff indeed!
As if by magic
(Mr. Benn style) the waiter arrives, bearing epicurean delights in all their
freshly-plated glories. Amid the obligatory "obrigados," "de
nadas" and all the usual assorted pleasantries, there comes a general
consensus that everything looks perfectly delicious. So out come the cutlery,
pure white napkins are carefully unfolded and it's now just a case of will it
be eyes-down for a full tummy or will the ever roving lens of ubiquitous mobile
phone-cams momentarily trump all?
My
people-watching tendencies often continue well past the hour when the last of
the busy swallows return to their nests. Waiters will be stacking away the
outside chairs and tables whilst the last desultory murmurings of mirth,
merriment and gossip ebb away along with the last drops of the evening's fine
wines. Suddenly "BONG!" - the bell of the nearby church declares it's
midnight with the usual jarring reverbs. Yep. It's going to be another long
night!
Douglas Hughes is a UK-based writer producing general interest articles ranging from travel pieces to classic motoring.