Sardines (17)

Just as I expected, I spot Rita and her mother inside a shop near the castle. This establishment offers only one product: sardines. Shelves upon shelves are covered with rows and rows of tins of Portuguese sardines. But these are not the typical tins you see in grocery stores in the United States and ignore. In Óbidos, the display is so stunning that it seduces the visitor to approach those sardine tins, which are covered in colorful, vintage-looking wrappers and whimsical labels, and read about the unappetizing content. Rita might even buy a few tins as souvenirs, which is basically what they are, after acquainting herself with the variety of oils and herbs in which these little fish were preserved. 

On one of the walls, the tins are arranged according to the year printed on the label. Each year in a different color. I don’t think the years on the labels represent the time the sardines were caught or preserved because they go as far back as the 1940s. It reminds me of the displays of birthday cards in drug stores that print the birth years on the outside, and when you open them, they say something mean about how old you are. Here, though, the number is accompanied by a description of an important event that took place during that year. I appreciate the gimmick but I am still not persuaded to buy one. My daughter will definitely not appreciate a can of Portuguese sardines, and my hard-core vegetarian friends will only frown at me if I hand them a sardine tin, no matter how attractive the label. 

I know I should not look down on sardines. They are rich in omega-3 fatty acids and calcium and have been consumed by many people all over the world for thousands of years. I also know that the Portuguese eat fried and grilled sardines. I learned that when I worked in Half Moon Bay near San Francisco, which is home to a small Portuguese community. But I never wanted to try them. The smell was somewhat intimidating. But looking at faux vintage sardine tins and reading about the different flavors they come in feels safe enough, so I linger in the store and check the multi-lingual leaflet that recounts the history of the sardine industry in Portugal. There’s even a version in Hebrew as a testament to the large contingent of Israeli tourists that passes through this lovely town.   

Vera approaches me with three tins in her hand. “I’m going to buy these,” she says, somewhat apologetically, as if she expects me to frown at her. “I have to bring my husband and the children something,” she further explains even though I give her no reason to think I’m judging her.  

“You think the kids will like sardines?” I ask, rhetorically. I know the answer.

“It’s not sardines,” she says and shows me the labels on the tins. 

Good call, I think when I see the label up close. The sardines in the tin are made of chocolate, not the real thing. These smart Portuguese, they don’t give up on us gullible tourists. They know we can’t return home empty-handed, as Vera explained. I can see the displeasure on her face. She doesn’t really want to buy these tins, but she feels compelled to show her family that she cares. 

“Cute,” I say. “It will make them laugh.” I hope my answer is supportive enough to make her feel that she is not throwing her euros to the wind. Just getting here was expensive enough for her and, unlike for her daughter, frivolous shopping is definitely not part of her genetic makeup.

She responds by making that typical Polish woman sound, a scratchy “ehhhh,” which conveys serious doubt and self-deprecation simultaneously.
I have to hand it to her. She is not one to hide her feelings and I sympathize with her predicament. This obligation to buy something you don’t want or need only to give yourself peace of mind is like going to the doctor to verify that a weird mole you noticed on your back is not melanoma. You suspect it’s been there for years, but you still make that appointment and pay for the visit only to hear that everything is fine, so you can keep enjoying life without worrying that your days are numbered. Sometimes, we have to do things we don’t like simply because it makes life easier in the long run. And buying silly gifts while traveling in foreign countries is certainly one of those things.

She turns away from me and goes to pay for the chocolate sardines. Rita is already standing by the cash register with a few tins in her hand. I leave the store before she can call me to come and see her choice of tins.