Politics & Other Mistakes

Bailey bails out

Dennis Bailey used to be the best political consultant in Maine. I know that’s true because he was proclaimed as such years ago by none other than  me. At the time, Bailey was engineering the early campaigns of Democrat Tom Andrews for Congress and independent Angus King for governor (and, later, U.S. senator). Bailey was even successful (temporarily) in keeping casinos out of Maine. The former Maine Times and Portland Press Herald reporter seemed to have a golden touch with candidates and referendum campaigns, turning small timers into big shots with ease.

Then, Bailey made a liar out of me by trying unsuccessfully to transform political pumpkins into gilded carriages, including the likes of Rosa Scarcelli (who?), Dan Wathen (good judge, bad candidate) and, no kidding, the late David Flanagan (former CEO of Central Maine Power). Bailey also engaged in a behind-the-scenes smear campaign to derail the gubernatorial ambitions of independent Eliot Cutler (later revealed to be even sleazier than Bailey had claimed when the Feds seized his computer full of child pornography).

Shortly afterwards, Bailey decamped for Washington, D.C. to do consulting work for clients who had nothing to do with Maine politics. He wrote a book about surviving a life-threatening bout with Covid. And then, in 2021, fed up with Trumpsters, Bailey cleared out of the USA and moved to Portugal. He’s just released a book about that experience. It’s calling Olá Portugal: Why I Moved to the Land of Sunshine and Sardines (and how you can too).

Some of his friends accused him of quitting the fight against political creeps. His response to that charge comes off as a wee bit defensive:

“I felt I had done my part, worked on numerous campaigns and causes for nearly 30 years, some that had a real impact. But now the environment was poisoned. Trying to have a reasonable discussion with someone on the right who didn’t believe in basic facts was exhausting and pointless, and I took it as a sign things were only going to get worse. For my own health and sanity, I couldn’t do it anymore. Moving to another country for a better, happier, more fulfilling life is not my definition of quitting.”

Also, he had a new sweetie who lived in a suburb of Lisbon, the capital city.

Portugal has a few other attractions, according to Bailey. Most people speak at least some English and don’t resent those with no Portuguese. Housing is relatively cheap, although getting more expensive as increasing numbers of ex-pats like Bailey and tourists show up. There’s loads of ancient architecture. Health care is inexpensive. The weather is mostly fine year-round. The crime rate is low, as is the cost of living. The port wine is excellent, and beer costs less than water. You can bring your dog to most bars and restaurants. The tab at first-rate eateries will be a fraction of what a similar meal would cost in the Old Port. And you don’t have to tip.

The influx of foreigners is good for the average local, because the economy isn’t great. Per-capita income is low, unemployment is high, and lots of young people leave for better opportunities elsewhere. None of that is a problem, however, for ex-pats with a pension check.

Oh, yeah, politics. Oddly, given Bailey’s background, there’s only a smattering of that in this book. Portugal got rid of its fascist dictatorship a half century ago in a bloodless coup. In Bailey’s opinion, no one seems interested in going back, preferring a mildly socialist democracy — a decided contrast with what he foresees for the United States.

What there is in this book is plenty about food, only some of it appealing. The Portuguese love dried salted cod. They have dozens of recipes for it, none of which seem appetizing. Their lobsters are tougher and less sweet than ours. On the plus side, they eat lots of sardines and shrimp. They make world-class wine and cheese. Their preservative-free bread is fresh and delicious.

As the book slogs along, though, it becomes less of Bailey’s personal story and more of a conventional travel guide (“I’ll never get over how old things are here in Portugal,” he gushes like a rube). He discusses money, transportation, lodging and similar boring shit. He only mentions in an aside that at some point he married the sweetie.

There’s no question this would be a useful book if you plan to escape the Trumpocalypse. It would even be worth your time if you were considering an extended vacation to avoid being nabbed by the Trumpified FBI. But unless you have an interest in following the declining stages of Bailey’s career, it’s difficult to imagine why you’d want this much information on a country most Americans can go entire baseball seasons without thinking of even once.

And speaking of baseball, nobody there does. The Portuguese only talk about soccer.

How come nobody writes books like this about North Korea? Answers may be e-mailed to aldiamon@herniahill.net.