FARO
After the big city of Sevilla we head for Portugal, to a small coastal town named Faro. The southern coast of Portugal, the Algarve, is a popular destination for northern Europeans. Since we live on a nice beach in Mexico we don't need to frolic in the surf, but we wanted a break from big-city-life. Faro seemed like a good choice.
Along the way we pass even more olive groves, vineyards, sunflowers, all that wonderful mediterranean stuff. Road signs tick off the kilometers to the border. We cross an impressive bridge over the river and wetlands that divide the two countries, and we're in Portugal.
At our first dinner in Faro we share a long table with two Brits from Devon named Bill and Terry. They're on a golfing trip to sunny southern Portugal, and leaving their grateful wives at home. We're having dinner at Adega Nova, which is known for it's 'homestyle' atmosphere. Everybody sits at long tables, and you can talk to each other or not, as you wish. We take notice of Bill when he's grilling meat on a blistering hot stone. It's a pyrotechnic event with a lot of crackling noise and smoke rising into the air. It's not a subtle dish.
Soon Terry notices our wine glasses are low, and he fills them from the pitcher he ordered. The pitcher is now empty, so he orders another one and keeps filling our glasses. In the process we get plenty of information regarding the best places around London to find a reasonable hotel when we get there in a month. After several more pitchers of 'vino de casa' we take our leave, thankful we're only a block from the hostal. It was indeed a merry evening.
We're in wine country, which is pretty much anyplace in Portugal, Spain, France, or Italy. And there's lots of good wine to be had. We order the 'vino de casa' – whatever the house wine is – on the theory that it's already been open for awhile and it's had time to breathe off the impurities. They also pour lots of it and it probably hasn't killed too many people yet. Then there's the other theory, an important theory when you're trying to budget your money, that it's usually cheaper. You can order a carafe of the local stuff at many places in Portugal for 6 to 7 Euros, and so far we've had some very good wine, with no hangovers. But we're not really the most discerning drinkers. If it tastes good to us, it's a good wine.
Faro is much like Tarifa, if a bit smaller. It's another nice town where you're not burdened with Things To Do. There are some nice older buildings to explore (Hey, it's Europe. They're everywhere.), and there are plenty of nesting storks to look at, if you need a 'nature fix.' But overall it's a good place to kick back a little and do that relaxing we hoped to find time for. So far, there's plenty of English spoken in the area so we haven't had to deal much with Portuguese. From what little we've heard, the language sounds more than a bit formidable.
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After a couple of days to recharge, we're on the fast train to Lisbon. We zip along at 200 kph (about 120 mph) and watch the countryside go by, passing through more broad and fertile fields like we've seen in Spain. Yet the landscape appears somewhat greener in Portugal. A mountain range separates the two countries and probably causes a 'rain shadow' effect on the Spanish side, just as coastal California mountains create inland deserts in the southwestern US. The Portuguese side may get most of the rain.
In a couple of hours we cross the very broad Rio Tejo and find ourselves in Lisbon.
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LISBON
My first impression of Lisbon: 'Wow, there sure are lots of people around here who speak Portuguese!' After difficulties dealing with French and Arabic in Morocco, and the comfort of returning to Spain where we could manage the language, we find ourselves back in another very 'foreign' culture. During our two weeks in Portugal, the language will remain mostly a mystery to us. We can read it, somewhat, but cannot decipher the pronunciation, which sounds like a mix of French and Russian.
It becomes sort of an issue when we emerge from a Metro station onto a very busy street somewhere in Lisbon, and can't figure out which direction to head for the hotel. We also can't ask anybody any questions. Well we can ask, but we can't understand the answer! Even their Spanish has a heavy Portuguese accent. After a while we figure it out, drag our heavy bags about 6 long blocks to the hotel, and things are good. But the language thing will be tough.
A yoghurt carton at breakfast the next morning gives us another translation challenge. It says the yoghurt "Ajuda a poupar!" It helps you to….what, exactly? Does that mean what I think it means?
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Our first day 'on the street,' we find we're only a few blocks from the Centro de Arte Moderna, with daring kinetic works by Miguel Palma, and an extensive permanent collection of the best Portuguese artists. Across the street is an 'auto dealership' with a few vintage Fiats in the window. It's kind of an artsy neighborhood.
Sharing a large park on the same block is the Museu Calouste Gulbekian, one of the most renowned in Portugal. Like many museums in Latin America and Spain, cameras are permitted as long as you turn off the flash. I wander through the exhibits getting shots of fabulous porcelain pieces, paintings by the world's most famous artists, and the bust of a gentleman who gives me a whimsical smile. I get only an indignant glare from another bust.
The grounds outside are heavily wooded, with sculptural pieces set into wooded glens. There are water features that distract the mind so the feeling is of being far from city life. It's easy to ignore the nearby traffic that somehow sounds so distant.
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After a long 'museum day,' we're hungry. And we're thirsty. Lisbon is a good place for that. There are lots of restaurants in the nearby neighborhood that serve a variety of fare. And again, the wine is plentiful, cheap, and delicious.
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You can't visit Lisbon without taking Tram 28, the oldest tram in the city, as it winds, rattles and screeches through the oldest neighborhoods. There are skinny spots between stone-walled buildings where you'd best keep heads, hands, and cameras inside the tram. Along the way we pass the distinctive and colorful tile-covered facades of Lisbon. Laundry of every hue, pattern, and shade flutters from ancient and intricate wrought-iron balconies. We see plazas and harbor overlooks that beckon to be explored at a later time.
We notice a tremendous number of Smart Cars in the Lisbon area. They take up about half the space of a regular car (and probably get twice the mileage), so it's no wonder they're popular in crowded cities. But there are so many more here, we wonder if there's some program in Portugal to subsidize their purchase.
After struggling its way uphill, the tram goes downhill. Brakes scream as we shudder and shiver to each stop. We find ourselves grateful to whoever invented brakes, however ancient the ones on the tram may be. The juddering of old horsehide on steel wheels is a reminder of how far the technology has advanced. At the end of the ride we find ourselves in some distant part of the city, at the gates of a famous cemetery. A visit to grassy graves seems less interesting than what we passed along the way. We decide to pay another tram fare and hop off at one of the little plazas we passed along the way. We step off at a little plaza, and watch two buffed young guys hitch a free ride, hanging onto the outside. Everybody just shrugs.
The plaza is a good overlook with some decent fast food and a view over red tile roofs to a cruise ship dock, with a SilverSea ship gracing the view. We'll probably never be on one of those exclusive ships (have you seen the prices!?!), but they're nice to look at.
After lunch, we wander slowly downhill through skinny streets filled with shops, and more colorful laundry hanging in the breeze. You could make a case for balcony-hung, flapping laundry as 'the Portuguese national flag.' We make our way back to the Martim Moniz Metro station for a return trip to the hotel, with time left over for a short nap. We're due later at a little place called "O Mamma Mia," just a few blocks from the hotel, for dinner and jazz.
We'd passed this charming small restaurant the night before and noticed a flyer in the window offering an evening of jazz. We stopped in and put our names on the list. The owner, a jazz lover, had decided to try it once and see how it worked out. The duet he picked, a pianist and a singer, did an excellent job and it was worth the modest cover charge. Fine food and good wine, with good jazz in an intimate cafe setting, the owner was very pleased with the result and plans to try it again.
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On Sunday we catch a different tram along the riverfront to the famous Mosteiro Dos Jeronimos. It's a "Don't miss" in guidebooks, but there was a long line for tickets to enter this huge and fabulous gothic structure. But we were distracted by so many other nearby 'Sunday in the park' activities that we wandered off to see what else was going on.
There was a colorful book fair to explore, and we're suckers for books – even in languages we can't read! There were excellent street artists, trees that looked like Van Gogh designed them, and an old lady in black who would read your palm for a few Euros. She looked like she'd just stepped out of the Middle Ages.
Then there was the adjacent Museu Colecçao Bernardo. We spent much of the afternoon there viewing and photographing works by most of the 20th century's finest artists. I got a little fascinated by the winding stairway with the Calder Mobile hanging over it and lingered for a few more photos.
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After an afternoon coffee and pastry we walk another kilometer or two toward the 'nearby' Torre de Belém (it didn't look that far on the map!). It's a fantastic gothic confection that functioned as a fort to protect the city from sea-borne invaders. It's full of cannons that probably saw little use.
Most potential invaders were probably intimidated by the very sight of it, and decided to go elsewhere. Water swirling around the base gave off a menacing sound that encouraged us to pay close attention while crossing the catwalk. A sailing regatta in the broad river provided a nice background for photos, although the sailors of old surely never envisioned anything like fiberglass boats and dacron sails.
We take the tram back to the Cais Do Sodré station in the heart of the waterfront, but it's a hot afternoon and a cold beer sounds like a good idea. We happen to pass "O'Gílín's Irish Pub," and can't resist taking in a bit of its odd ambiance. The Portuguese have actually had a long series of treaties with the British, and the Pub is a Lisbon landmark. The relationship with the Brits goes back several centuries, mostly as a way to keep the Spanish off their backs.
But we have to make it a fast beer because we're actually on a long uphill ramble (again!) into the Bairro Alto to find "Sr. Vinho," a 'Fado' club we read about. We struggle upward through narrow streets lined with houses that are a few centuries old. Everywhere we go, the tile details and iron balconies reflect the city's characteristic flair for design. We arrive, exhausted and hungry, and ready to experience the soulful singing of Fado.
It's an art form that recalls the sadness of loss. Loss of a lover, a loved one, a righteous cause, anything will work. Fado, and loss, is a deep part of the Portuguese soul, much like the mournful gypsy-flamenco heritage of Spain. In true Fado tradition, each performer sings three very sad songs – which we don't understand. But we get the overall feeling of it. A bottle of good wine also helps. Afterward, it's too late for the Metro, so we catch a taxi back to the hotel, and get another glimpse of nighttime Lisbon. Do they ever sleep?
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Metros are a wonderful way to get around in a large city. You rocket from one point to another, avoiding all that above ground traffic. It's especially handy when you arrive in a new city, catch the Metro near the train or bus station, or airport, and emerge right near your hotel. The problem is, you don't see or experience much of the life of a city that way. As a remedy, we'll take the Metro to some area we want to explore, and take the bus back. That way we can usually recognize where we need to get off the bus!
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One of the things we miss mostly in Portugal is the abundance of hand-dipped ice cream shops, that are so common in Spain. On a hot evening, after a good dinner, it's hard to beat an ice cream cone as you wander by shop windows, mingling with the crowds. But a cooling ocean breeze seems to moderate temperatures in Lisbon and the evenings are very pleasant. Maybe they just don't feel the need for some 'ice cream relief' the way Spaniards do, living in the hot interior of the Iberian Penninsula.
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Daily life goes on apace in Lisbon although the headline story in the June 25 issue of Lisbon's Diario De Noticias says "Government Advances Privatizations More Quickly and Cuts State Jobs." Pressure from the European Union mandates these cuts to balance the Portuguese budget and reduce their debt burden to 3% by 2014.
Even so, by early July the Greek crisis will cause the country's bonds to be downgraded to "junk" status, on a par with El Salvador. Moody's provides 'risk numbers' for countries worldwide based on their overall debt burden. "El Pais," the Spanish newspaper carries a graphic showing the numbers assigned to four Euro countries. Greece is in the stratosphere, and after the Greek default, the numbers for Ireland and Portugal spiked strongly upward. Spain's numbers were far lower, but still above the comfort level of their main European partners. This will result in cash flow problems which will likely lead to higher unemployment and social instability, already a problem in all 4 countries.
There's a lot of construction going on in Lisbon, but these countries all rely heavily on tourism, which has fallen due to the worldwide economic slowdown. The overall effect on the European Union is yet to be seen.
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Interestingly for those of us from New Mexico, and apropos of nothing else in particular, Portugal's Treasurer is named Maria Luís Albuquerque. She's not responsible for the country's current economic policies.
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Alas, there's so much more to see and do in Lisbon, but we have a schedule of sorts. We pack our bags and head to the Gare Do Oriente train station. It's another sweeping modernist structure by Santiago Calatrava, the famous Spanish Architect and I'm glad we arrived early enough to get some photos. Soon we're on another modern, fast, roomy, and very comfortable train through the Portuguese countryside. We're on our way north to Porto and the Douro Valley, the very charming heart of Portugal's wine country.
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