Nicebirds of Paradise

Can you tell the story of a place from its animals? Or, perhaps to ask the question slightly differently, what can the local animals tell us about a place? While you mull these poignant queries and their possible insights into the fragile ecosystems of our earth, please do cast your eyes upon the little baby bird recently discovered on a window ledge in south east London as it appears in the photographs above and below.



If only the window had been a bit cleaner, it might be lamented, we would have had a better look at this nice bird, whose plaintive chirps and truly diminutive size suggested that he was making his maiden voyage from a nearby nest. Perhaps he had gotten confused or tired while flying and decided to rest here for a bit. In either case, the filmy window through which we observe him here only calls our attention back to the climate of England and the dismal, damp weather (note too the reflections of hubcaps off the wet pavement in the photograph above) in which most encounters with London animals must be made.



At the southwestern tip of the Iberian penisula, the city of Lisbon offers animal enthusiasts very different conditions. Dry, hot and sunny, Lisbon looks not entirely unlike parts of the San Francisco bay area. Note, for example, the Golden Gate Bridge look-alike in the far distance of the photograph above or the way in which the brightly colored bildings cling to the rolling hills like so many barnacles, as they do in the Bay Area.



Yet, some significant differences also apply. Namely, whereas the Bay Area is renowned for its innovative cuisine, gourmet dining and amazing produce, Old Ken must report that the food in Portugal is a pretty sad affair. And this is from a denizen of Britain—land of jellied eels, haggis and steak and kidney pie! How bad, you ask, can the food be? Well, let's play a little game of visualization, using the following as our key word: tomatoes. What comes to mind? Perhaps a succulent red fruit ripening on a vine in the summer sun? Okay, well take that tomato and suck out all the color and flavor. Then, add a whole bunch of chemicals, ship it halfway around the world, drop it on the floor a few times, cut it into thick slices, douse it in vinegar and serve it with some sorry romaine lettuce and slices of white onion. That, friends, is called "salada mista" (or mixed salad) Portugese style. The best!



Although it was chomping down on what appeared to be one of Portugal's few vegetarian meals, this hippopotamus—the notororious "river horse"—had come to resemble the food close to the nation's heart. Taut and darkened like a plump cooked sausage, this hippo from the Lisbon zoo (and what exactly was Old Ken doing at the zoo, you legitimately ask?) nonetheless registers the formidable heat of the city.



If it drove hippos to the trough—but, then again, what doesn't?—the heat clearly brought the city's golden retrievers to fountains in parks and public squares for a swim.



As Horace had it, ut humana canis. Unlike London, keeping cool by spending time out in the public space of the street—either sitting in a local square or in the doorway of the house—also seems to be part of the human culture. At least to Old Ken's eye, this more porous relationship between house and street seemed to encourage the kinds of colorful decoration (preparatory to the festival of San Antonio, Lisbon's patron saint) visible in the Alfama neighborhood as seen above.



If the indoors could extend outdoors, then the place for these nicebirds was definitely out in the street.



And far above the picturesque scenes of crumbling walls and colorful streamers baking in the heat, birds like the swallow above had some serious work to do—devouring insects, singing songs and so forth. If not a bird of paradise, this was certainly a paradise for birds. And let us just hope that our fledgling on the London window ledge was able to make it to safety—that he doesn't hear his tale told from bird paradise!