These magic hills - April 11, Lisbon and Sintra

With one more (full) day left in Portugal (we leave tomorrow morning), we didn't want to miss out on Sintra, which was described in the most fairytale-like language. Just a quick hour or so ride from Lisbon, it was a small town with a bunch punch of castles and palaces.

There were probably four different places we were excited about seeing - we missed Quinta de Regaleira and another palace, so guess we'll have to come back to Portugal again someday...

We bought some Starbucks on the way to the ticket machines after taking advantage of the cold but fine continental breakfast at the hotel, then buying tickets was made more complicated by the fact that some machines took cash, some took card, and some just didn't work. We made it on the next train, and watched the city roll back and the burbs roll by. It wasn't until the last stop or two before Sintra that even the populated buildings rolled back into forests.

We were torn - we wanted to picnic at the Pena Palace (recommended by Rick), but we also didn't bring anything but the bottle of wine from last night to picnic with. We stopped at a cafe as we kept a lookout for the bus up the massive hill to the palace. We found quiche and some pastries, and packed it up as best as possible for the next hour as we trundled up the hill.

I was awestruck once we got closer to the hill where the palace and ruins of a Moorish castle both live. The palace looked like Disneyland - pastel pink exteriors with cake-decorated roofs, icing along the sides, and towers that were evocative of the Cinderella Castle.

We got to the entrance and lined up at the ticket booth. I was a bit worried - our Portugal book was a bit out-of-date and it appeared like we had to buy a ticket to bring in a picnic... Or just say that we were just bringing in snacks and hope my bag didn't get searched.

All that rule breaking got us hungry, especially when we learned the shuttle up to the castle (yes, despite a 20-minute bus trip up a mountain, the castle was still further uphill within its property) wasn't leaving for another twenty minutes.

I was concerned about the employees that were around the entrance, so we did some hiking to find a secluded spot, sat on a fallen tree, and ate our quiche. We were not caught. It was probably overly cautious, but I hate breaking rules. Besides, we got to see some of the gardens!

We took the minibus up, which gave us glimpses of the gorgeous day it was turning into, as well as the shocking castle. 

We disembarked, then headed up and around into a whitwashed, tunneled entryway. With the next burst of sunshine, we were in the land of Oz and Willy Wonka and Walt all at once. The perfectly manicured flower beds were right next to a keyhole door, which was very Islamic; the Moorish influences were present in the doorways and the onion domes on some of the towers.

It was with a sense of wonder that we poked around the palace. It was large, so we first circled the outside to see the astonishing views of the ocean, the surrounding countryside, and the Moorish castle ruin on another, lower, peak of the hill we were on.

The chapel was at the end of the circle. Inside was a stained glass window and a small altar. It was the most similar to the "outside world." No ridiculously crazy colors - just some art. King Manuel had it commissioned when he saw Vasco de Gama returning from his voyage, so that is pretty cool.

We headed inside to the living quarters built for King Ferdinand. After he died in 1885, it transitioned to his next heir, but the uprising in 1910 meant that the royalty fled and the palace stayed as it was until basically we visited.

There was a phone (that Ferdinand apparently heard the Lisbon opera from when he couldn't be bothered to go back for a performance) and some other oddly modern luxuries. but I was pretty much just in love with the courtyard and its peace within chaos. The rooms weren't all that crazy, except for the patterned wallpaper.

The property of the castle was recommended as well, so I sketched out a hike we could do to see "the queen's throne", a temple-looking thing, and some overlooks. The path started by going drastically down the mountain, then straight back up - not ideal, but it eventually got us to the pagoda, where we pulled out the wine and had the second half of our "picnic."

It was a gorgeous view across the trees to the palace from the "queen's throne" - a seat cut into some rocks. Given the difficulty we had in climbing the boulder staircase, I'm impressed that a regally dressed queen could make it up there.

We headed back down hill (yay) toward the lower gate, where we could hop on the bus again to get to the Moorish Castle before dark (or it closed, whichever came first). We took our time strolling through the gardens, voguing in front of flowers and shrubs, then finding the duck ponds filled with, you guessed it, swans. (You probably didn't guess it. There were ducks in the third pond, but the first two were white then black swans.)

Going to the lower gate meant that we got to walk through the grounds more, and it meant we could get on the bus before the mass of people that were trying to leave the palace swarmed it. We were only going to the next stop, but that was still enough away that the bus was the way to go.

Which brings us to The Moorish Castle - one of highlights of the trip for me. It was perfect weather, with a little breeze keeping us cool. It was situated in a ferny, shadowy forest, and you follow an ancient stone wall which then opens up to a gate (with a ticket booth). The path steeply rises, and you are within a new time then when you started.

Sure is the mysticism of ruins for me. Human-made, yet nature-enhanced, they are so foreign as to be beautiful. Alisa and I started climbing to reach the path around the complex.

We had some great interactions with other tourists. We played photographer for an English girl who was tired of taking selfies. I talked briefly to a German guy who wanted to know if I'd been the full way around, then promptly put his headphones back in and out-paced us to the highest point on the opposite side. With enough pictures as an excuse (get out of breath, must be a picture you can take!), we made it to the tower, the last defense of the castle. And we proceeded to spend 10 minutes creating a jumping picture. 

There was a cistern under the courtyard, but other than that, it was just the hike around the walls, and the imposing view, that won me over.

It was around closing time for the castle, and we were dog-tired. The long entryway was less romantic on the way out. The bus ride went through town, which was too tempting not to get off at. We saw the National Palace, then got some queijadas at Casa Piriquita. It was so nice to sit down and get served that we proceeded to order another round of pastries (a nutty tart) and some espressos... for not me.

We shopped our way back to the bus stop. Alisa popped into the shop right next to it to get yet another espresso, and we kept watch as we were looking for the minibus to round the corner. She got her drink before it came, no worries.

We went straight from the bus into the train, which pulled off five minutes later. Good thing we bought round-trip tickets in the morning!

We got back to the hotel, did some searching, and I found a tapas bar on the border of the Baixa and the Alfama that was hadn't explored yet. I was sure that one of us was going to protest at the mile walk, but we all trouped along to find the restaurant.

Newsflash - Googling restaurants in English in Portugal is never going to find you up-to-date results. It had closed a few months back, a waiter told us at a nearby establishment. Sad, but at least I wasn't kick-a-pole angry. We looked at the menu for the restaurant that helped us out, but didn't see anything vegetarian. I'm not sure what sparked this, but I pulled open the door yet again to ask about vegetarian options... It appears the restaurants don't put their full menu in the displays on the street! If I had only known this sooner, we might have saved some frustration. Guess that's another reason we'll have to go back!

Alex ended up with an eggplant or squash or something that looked delicious. Alisa and I split a seafood pot and a cut of pork that was spectacular. The restaurant itself was borderline touristy (it had shelves of goods you could buy and take with you and all the waiters spoke good English), but still felt like it had real Portuguese character. The bartender, who didn't speak English, treated us to a shot that I can't remember what it was supposed to be (perhaps it was grappa again?) and told us - once he heard we were stuffed to the brim - that he'd put us in a wheelbarrow and get us back to our hotel. 

We enjoyed that meal. It was our last true one in Portugal, and it was a great setting to reminisce on the half dozen cities and many different settings we had managed in just over a week.

The next morning was for packing, eating breakfast, calling a cab, checking in to our flight, then settling down for the same selection of movies. We had yet another awkward layover in Newark, though we got Qdoba since we were out of security coming through internationally. Grandma and Grandpa picked us all up, I got to see my Ellie dog, and Alisa and Alex were on the road to their respective cities. One more country down, and back to work on Monday.

North to South - April 10, Douro, Porto, and Lisbon

It was a dreary day - Portugal is sad that our trip is drawing to a close. Just two more days before we fly back to the US.

Which is probably good, since my suitcase now weighs a million pounds. It's good we didn't hit another vineyard yesterday and buy more bottles, because I'm not sure where they would go. Wrapped in more clothes in a bag as well perhaps.

Our first half hour this morning was spent repacking our carry-ons to be our checked bags on the way back with the bottles that we purchased. Alex just had a bottle of wine, but Alisa and I love our grapes, so had probably 16 bottles between the two of us of wine, port, and olive oil. I fit eleven of them into my larger, expanded carry-on. My outfits for tomorrow and Sunday are picked out and not wrapped around bottles.

We finally got our tour and tasting a Quinta de Marrocos! The drizzle meant we just tramped up the hill to the start of his vineyards, then he pointed out his land from there. Above his terraces of grapes were terraces with gardens and fruit trees - now we know where all the delicious food and especially the compotes are coming from!

His family has been on the land since his great-grandfather. Caesar was trained as a chemical engineer (which I could see how that helps with the process of fermentation). Their latest addition was a buffet room that can seat around 60 - now the large tours (though I have no idea how they get buses up that hill) can all sit and eat together. It is hidden behind the building were we stayed, but it is very modern.

The land itself is graded "B." When we were at Panascal yesterday, we heard about the grades of the fields, based on a bunch of different qualities, like orientation to the sun, soil quality, age of the vines. (Panascal was happy to tell us they were an A grade field.)

We finally asked about the dogs' names. The male one is named after the quinta, so Marrocos. The female one was a "bad name" according to Caesar, possibly because she was named after a gasoline brand? It was a confusing name and conversation. Marrocos the dog was very insistent in leading us around - he even tripped me as I was going down the stairs because he ended up behind me and wanted to be in front!

After the fields, we headed to the buildings where the processing happened. The grapes come down a hopper, then are directed into one of four pits, half of which were granite. (The other half were poured concrete because the granite had degraded too much and I guess a port inspector thought it was too sketchy.) They still stomp the grapes here too.

We moved to the fermentation and storage room, cutting down the small path between the giant barrels and the stacks of bottles waiting to be labeled after aging. In order to make port, you need to add liquor to wine to fortify it. Though it is easy to make the liquor, the board in charge of the ports in the region doesn't allow producers to make their own and instead give out a certain amount of liquor to each grower in order to place a limit on the amount of port created.

We ended up at the smaller, older tasting room, where we started two days ago with Caesar (and a shot of a grappa-type grape liquor). We tried three more ports (a 20-year, a tawny, and a vintage), and grabbed another bottle of wine.

With that, we were ready to head out to Porto. We were thinking of going to Evora, but the three-plus hours to get there would mean we would only have an hour before driving back to Lisbon and dropping off the car. So we headed to the closer city.

A truck was blocking us in, but Caesar came down to say goodbye, give us a few last tips, and get the truck backed up a bit so I could do a three-point turn and be headed the correct way down the hill. We're going to miss our Douros Valley grandpa.

As we headed east, it was a bunch of winding switchbacks with stunning valley views. It took a bit to hit a highway, so we had the windows rolled down and the air moving to keep us all from feeling sick.

It was very sunny when we got to Porto. We followed the GPS to near a bookstore we wanted to see, then parked it underground. The driveways up and down were so narrow it looked like cars were just emerging from the ground.

It took all of us to get oriented on the map in the Rick Steves book. We found a church that was on the map, and popped in to see if there was a bathroom we could use. Instead, there was a service going on. 

On our way to the bookstore (thankfully just two blocks from the parking garage!), we stopped in a cafe. We were excited to go upstairs for lunch, but our excitement quickly waned as it took ten minutes to get a menu and another ten to get our order in, which was additionally complicated by their lack of good vegetarian options. Alisa and I ended up with Portuguese hamburgers, which were skinny, but fine. 

In order to amend our not-so-great lunch, we had some pastries from the ground floor - a baking soda-esque cookie and a stack of almond deliciousness. 

So. This bookstore. JK Rowling had worked in Porto for a bit, and this store might have given her ideas for some of the Harry Potter ambiance. 

Besides the typical rows and shelves, this bookstore had a gorgeous staircase right in the middle. It was two curving spirals of grandiose wood - you can see exactly how this would make one think of the Harry Potter world. 

We had just another hour or so in Porto, so Alisa and I scurried up a nearby church tower to see the ocean while Alex cooled off in the sanctuary.

The view from the top was beautiful - a bright, sunny day with parks giant stone buildings, and the ocean in the distance. 

The walk down actually spit us out in the balcony, so we played "hide and seek" with Alex as we popped out by a window, went up, popped out another window, and eventually made our way down to the sanctuary. 

Alex has been feeling congested, so we popped into a pharmacy on our circle back to the car. 

Everything was behind the counter, so we waited in line, then got the assistant to help translate the medications that would work. Helpful having Alisa the pharmacist along - she even talked through the meds that weren't over the counter in the US that they were handing out with no perscription in Portugal. Very interesting. 

We all popped in a cough drop and went to peek at the tiles in a railway station real quick. I picked the wrong building, and we yet again ended up inside a church with a service going on. We did make it to the train station, and got a glance at more blue and white tiles with scenes on them before walking back towards the car. We walked down a block of a long park, then up some cobbled alleyways to our underground lot. Alisa was recognizing that our trip was almost over, so wanted some espresso to go before hitting the road.

Alisa took a turn on the drive back to the Lisbon airport, where we were going to drop off the car with the company in the same turnaround that we picked it up in. Hopefully, we wouldn't be late this time.

The GPS that I had rented for us from the "Rent-a-stuff" kiosk had its final task of getting us to the airport. Since we were running just a tad behind, we got to hear its beeps of protest as we cruised with the flow of traffic (and slightly above the speed limit).

Even though I was the copilot, I was rude and took a nap - during which, there was apparently a flaming overturned car on the other side of the highway. I'll just say I didn't have an espresso before leaving.

We got to the dropoff area not five minutes before the rental car company was supposed to show up. We took our stuff out of the car, then I headed inside to return the GPS. I had just finished up signing when I saw Alisa and Alex walk in with our luggage. The company was punctual and found us easily - I'm just glad we didn't repeat a performance of Monday's interaction with them.

We dragged our stuff to the taxi line, then hopped in what was our best taxi ever to the hotel. He got our hotel, grunted, then proceeded to make the fastest, cheapest trip we'd had to that part of the city. He cut off someone to get ahead a single car ahead. He drove on the tram tracks. He yelled. And then, when we got to right in front of our hotel, he said, in good English, "That restaurant is good. Owned by a friend of mine." Though we never tried it, it was a startling thing to come out of the mouth of someone who we thought didn't know English.

Needless to say, he got a good tip, and we headed inside for yet another hotel. The one had an elevator (though it only fit the bags, and we were only one floor up, so that was the one and only time we used it), and a continental breakfast to look forward to for the next two mornings, but the WIFI was only in the lobby.

The sun was hardly hitting the horizon, and it was time to do some due diligence to figure out where to eat. Alex and I poked around on our phones in the lobby, and found a vegetarian buffet (since she wasn't quite sold on the idea of another fado dinner). It was past the neighborhood where there was a lot of nightlife a few days ago, and the fado, so we figured we could circle back if we wanted.

We took the tram up the hill, but, just as we got a few blocks away, my phone died. Alex had snagged the address, so we walked the three blocks until we found the street it was supposed to be one (passing at least one tapas place that reminded me of Spain), walked down two more blocks (passing a park that had lanterns in it), and found it, a few yards after the house number it gave was supposed to be.

The buffet had quite a bit of vegan as well as vegetarian food. We had to sit outside, despite the slight chill, because it was hopping! And it makes sense, because, though the waitstaff was a bit slow to get us our wine and then our desserts, the food was all fantastic. Don't worry - we found some fried stuff, so it wasn't too healthy.

While we were outside, the table near us was trying to get the umbrella out of the way so they could converse. First they tried pulling it out of the table. Then they tried putting it up. However, in the tilt, the disk that was supposed to circle the top was now off to one side, so cranking it upright was just causing fabric and struts to be bent.

It turned into a fifteen minute affair, and most of the outdoor deck was captivated, as asserted by the round of applause once the umbrella was finally correctly opened.

Though we didn't want to move, it was getting chilly, so we moved on back into the hustle bustle of the Bairro Alto. After wandering a few streets, we popped into a one-room bar and got some sangria while the punk waitresses wandered in and out, smoking cigarettes while outside.

Thirst quenched, we braced ourselves for the crowd the had developed all over the streets of the neighborhood. A few scattered taxis with gaping tourists tried to navigate the small streets with crowds of young adults. We encountered quite a few beverages being consumed outside, some glowsticks, some friends supporting other friends, and one poor soul pouring her heart out to the gutter (in a literal sense - I thought the Europeans were more sophisticated in their drinking, but everyone makes mistakes. Or it was a tourist.)

There was a single bar that was taking up what looked like three blocks worth of street space. It was the first bar once you got up the tram, and we had heard that you work your way down the hill throughout the night, so maybe we were just early.

But we were fine with early. We had been on the other side of the country just this morning (albeit, a small country, but nonetheless). We stopped in for a bottle of wine at a nearby tasting room/cafe, but barely made it through our glasses and took the bottle home with us. We walked down the trolley track, since the tram had stopped running for the night, and made our way the few blocks to our hotel.

We were tempted to stop by our favorite bar outside our previous hotel (which was just a block down from our current one), but the idea of sleeping persevered. Our A/C was a mystery machine, so we attempted to get a breeze going for a good ten minutes... before passing out regardless.N

Levels of grapes - April 9, the Douro Valley

All of the hills and the steep driveway with two switchbacks up to our quinta (estate) last night revealed itself in awesome glory this morning. Our our front door lay tier upon tier of vines on flowing hills along a river, topped with fruit and olive trees.

We agreed last night on having breakfast at 9 (which was a bit of a surprise. I hadn't remembered breakfast as part of the room, so we had bought pastels de natas. We just had them for dessert instead). I assumed I'd be up by 8, but the curtains blocked out the sun and it was five to nine when Alisa asked if we should be getting up. 

We threw on some sweaters and headed over. Leaving the house, the valley was immediately upon us. We could see the verdant hills before us, sculpted into terraces of vines as far as the eye could see. What was hilly at night was dazzling in the sun. 

Across the patio, into a dining area decorated with iron and old pots and pans and a giant fire area, we made our way to breakfast. 

Oh, and the spread on the table. Words can't describe and we dove into it before taking a picture. 

The first morning had three kinds of rolls and then slices of bread. To accompany them, a quince marmalade, two homemade jams (fig and pear), cheeses, and deli meat. Additionally, fresh squeezed orange juice, some cereal and yogurt, and coffee for the others.

We rolled out at like 10, and I asked a woman whom I'm assuming is Caesar's daughter to call Quinta de la Rosa to book a tour. 

After some running around to get the phone, then some back and forth with the other quinta, we got a tour even though there was a conference or something going on. Given that it was 15 miles down the valley, we all just left without showers. 

The river led us to and through the town of Pinhão, over a bitty bridge, and up the next hillside. 

 Quinta de la Rosa was much slicker than Morrocos. They completely produced their ports and wines in the valley, instead of shipping their grapes into Porto to a company that ages and stores them like smaller vineyards. 

We walk in to ask for our town, and a young man greets us. He says his English isn't good; when we respond back with our weakness in Portuguese, he says he's actually French!
This Frenchman takes us through the process of production. The granite pits for grape stomping (yes, it is still done, and it makes a difference!), the steel tanks for the initial fermentation, then the barrels for the non-vintage ports. 

After a full day of learning about ports, I'm still shaking on some of the differences. Ruby ports are younger - they are bottle-aged, if anything, not barrel-aged. They have more black fruit notes. Tawny ports are barrel-aged - what I expected all ports to be. Those are barrel-aged, and the year on them is an average. Some earlier aged grapes and some later aged grapes might turn into a 10 year port. Nothing about the bottle changes those, so drink whenever.

Then there are vintages. After the first round of fermenting, for a few days, a vintner can sample and see if he wants to request a vintage from the controlling board. They taste it and confirm or deny. A vintner can also hold off for a bit, letting the process continue and getting a late bottle vintage out of the grapes through the same process. I can't remember how vintages are aged, but I think it is in the bottle. 

Then there's white port, which can be whatever the quinta wants to do with that one for all I know. 

What I do know is that tawnys normally taste like cough syrup to me and rubies are better. However, I would also always prefer a glass of wine to a glass of port. Maybe a sip, but a glass is too much. The tasting pours were often too much for me; as I was driving, I enabled Alisa to learn and relish ports by dumping my extra into her glass. 
We actually started with wine at de la Rosa, but it was my first experience with these grapes, and my palate hadn't warmed up to the roundness and subtely of them yet. It was no Pinot, that's for sure!

A rose, two red wines, then one each of a white, ruby, and tawny port and our taste buds were starting to learn. 

We asked for suggestions of the next winery (well, "port"ery) to try and were directed to Quinta de Pégo. 

We circled back through Pinhão, then found Pégo. It was up a few switchbacks, then into an in-hill parking garage. We walked down past cleanly groomed yards outside modern wood walls, which looked like individual suites that could be rented. 

We poked our heads into the reception area, then the kitchen and found a staff member who took us down to the tasting room. 

Pégo was owned by a Dane who built up the hotel side of the business as it was getting off the ground. They were only a few years old, but the sommelier-esque woman was incredibly knowledgeable. 

She gave us a try of their wine (growing more accustomed to the taste, but still missing the bite, the pepper I get in other wines) as well as a ruby port. I'm pretty sure I bought some, as the trend would start to become. 


She warned us as we were leaving that many of the places close from 1-2:30 for lunch. We were getting a bit munchy, so we drove into town to see if there was a place that looked better and easier than our cold pizza.

The ease couldn't be beat, so we carried that and the final three pastel de natas from Lisbon up some steps to eat on the street. The train station had some great blue and white painted tile scenes that winked at us as we ate. 

We were going to dawdle a bit, but the threat of getting double parked in forced us out. Given that I could only taste so much per hour, and we'd had lunch in the interim, I decided to just pull into the next Quinta down the road. 

Sandeman is a corporate giant, but their logo is so good. It's a silhouette caped figure with a hat - and a glass of red (port, probably). We didn't want a tour - we knew we'd be walking through the vineyards on our next stop anyhow. 

It was going to be a quick stop. But then the tastings were very generous pours. And the sweetness was starting to catch up with us as we were reclining in easy chairs overlooking the valley. 

So we dawdled and talked. Alisa took some ridiculous picture of Alex as I was in the bathroom "so big you could have a cocktail party", so I came out to some uncontrollable giggling. 

And surprise! We bought more bottles. We left Quinta de Seixo (the name of the Sandeman property) down the long slithers of switchbacks. If you weren't sober at the top, the long way down gave you some extra time. (Of course I was fine to drive, but just sayin'.)

Quinta de Panascal was recommended by Rick and by de la Rosa. It was up a delightful little side valley with its own feed into the Douro River. 

It was so fragrant stepping out of the car, parked in front of a stone wall with spring just bursting over its tiers. We walked up the steps, identifying some roses then just admiring the nameless, floral bouquet. 

Panascal had an audio tour, so we plugged in our headphones that we acquired from the proprietor and we were off, trailing a couple with a one-year-old in a front pack. 

The narration was done by a "vaguely bored Snape," by Alisa's judgement. It was well-timed with the walk along the terraces, and gave lots of details about how port is made and what exactly it must be for different DOC specifications. 
We eventually caught up and passed the couple, after offering to take their picture. 

At the final stop, we all began to chat. Originally from Israel, they work in the hotel industry in Germany, but are thinking of moving to the US. "Must be warm though!" We gave suggestions like Austin, Atlanta, Charleston, and DC. Mostly, they were excited to talk. Apparently, no one just chitchats in Germany. 

In the tasting room, we sampled three different ports. All of them were topnotch - end of day? Or best producer? Perhaps both!

They also had an olive oil. Alisa was basically drinking that too. 

We got to hang out with little Leah as her parents alternated tasting their port and chasing her around. 

We had reserved a dinner at 7 back at Morrocos, and we were going to have a bit of a break inbetween to unload all our purchases into the living room for a puzzle of a packing adventure tomorrow morning. 

Caesar and his daughter didn't get the same memo; he thought we were coming at 6pm to do the tour and tasting with him, then dinner after. We postponed it for the morning as well. 

Dinner was in the same lovely area as breakfast, and was just as lovely. Katerina, Caesar's daughter, had placed our more jams (sloe and pumpkin squash), rolls, and cheese, and these delicious little sausages. Then we had a creamy vegetable soup. The mains were a mushroom omelette for Alex and fish (cod, perhaps), for Alisa and I, with roasted potatoes just covered in olive oil and crisped up.

Caesar had come in at the beginning to raise a glass with us, and he was almost settling in for a good long conversation with Katerina pushed him out. (She clearly knows what her father is like - loves a good chat!)

The amusing thing was during our second (or maybe third, I lost track) course, we engaged her in conversation, and she also the gift of gab. Her stories were fun, talking about her college years with her husband and her education as well.

We finished dinner with a chocolate cake with a final port. This was a ruby, and I essentially took a sip and a bite simultaneously so the sweetness and moisture of the port could infiltrate the cake. Alisa and Alex were both up to the gills in port, so they left a lot untouched in that final course.

When Caesar came back, as we were letting ourselves digest a bit before the "grueling" twenty-foot walk back to our little cottage, we asked for another bottle for a post-dinner beverage, and we got the slightly sketchy unlabeled white (that was our second option for dinner if we didn't want the red).

After a day of drinking, that one didn't get quite finished. It was a decent accompaniment to our final three pastel de natas (which of course we ate - it had been like an hour since we finished dinner!) We did some expenses, did some Facebooking and IMing, and then chatted until I fell asleep on the couch. 

Steep roads - April 8, Nazaré, Tomar, Coimbra, Aveiro, and the Douro

 We had a lot to fit in: our final UNESCO monastery, the university town, and maybe the Venice of Portugal before arriving at the estate we were staying at. 

We were at breakfast right around when it opened. Nazaré's breakfast buffet was a great spread, so one (maybe two) croissants with Nutella later, we were sufficiently buzzed to check out and get to Tomar on the hill. 

The receptionist was not the best this time around. I had here call to try to get us a tour of Quinta de la Rosa the next day, but she kept asking when and for how many and how many nights we were staying there... It ultimately never went through, which I suspected. Also, the computer was starting up very slowly, so a room I had already paid for (and really should've just left the key for) took ten minutes of waiting. Though the signs above the reception desk were hilarious to try to decipher. The pictographs in Portugal have been overall excellent. 

We packed up our VW and drove to Tomar. It was a green town in small dip in the foothill, with a winding route up to outside the monastery walls. 

Tomar housed the Knights Templar, so all of the pop culture that increased their mystique recently increased our tendency to explore.

First we circled the gardens, then up the wall to some of the turrets.

 By the time we got back to the front door, a group of Chinese tourists had arrived as well. Selfie sticks galore!

There were three different cloisters, with halls between each, then a monk dormitory on the top floor. There were at least four floors, and we needed to walk every step of all of them. 

The monastery had come together in some pieces, with the most odd being the Manueline (the king who rebuilt after the earthquake, I think) window. A couple floors had been cut off to make space for it, so the cloister just had this outjutting with a giant window in it. 

There was also a chapter room (housing) that was roofless. They ran out of desire to finish it, so when they did a royal ceremony in there once, they put sails over it as a temporary roof. 

There were rooms for bedrooms, rooms for studying, rooms for eating, rooms for guests to stay in. It's really hard to imagine the cold stone walls actually holding life. 

After we paced back and forth, slowly circling down, I had cold feet (literally) and we stopped for a coffee, tea, and hot chocolate break for Alisa, Alex, and I respectively. 

We popped back in the car as more trickles started, and found our way to Coimbra. We pulled in to what Rick Steves said was a free lot, but this guy directed us to a spot and waited while we finished parking. We asked how much and he kinda shrugged. Then we figured out he was just a guy looking for tip. The euro we gave him was really just insurance that he didn't break into our car.

Finding restaurants where Alex can eat well has been hard, so we did some research for Coimbra. As I said, if the biggest university town in Portugal doesn't have a vegetarian restaurant, then there's no hope for the country. 

We followed the odd directions to a very cold, sterile mini-mall that will soon be in a wonderful location as Coimbra builds up their waterfront a bit more. 

We went up one floor, then, remembering the translation ("second floor" means "second floor after the ground floor"), went up again to find a small cafeteria with trays of wonderful smelling entrees. 

We were given the grand tour of the menu by a very enthusiastic server, pointing out the ingredients, bringing an asparagus out to show us when he didn't know the name, and telling us how it is all vegan as well. 

That lunch was freaking delicious. Warm, homestyle food piled high, with a lemon thyme tea and a bean soup. 

With that nourishment, we were off to walk up the pedestrian central of the old part of town. An annoying light drizzle had begun, so we didn't dally getting to the church at the end of the  street. 

I think this church was one of the most moving moments of the trip. We walked in and walked right into a group standing around the church singing haunting old hymns. 

The majesty of the church, the rumbling bass of the male voices that were nearer to us and the heavenly echoes of the entire choir - it was breathtaking. Overall, not a remarkable church, but a remarkable experience.

The rain was still falling as we walked up and passed through the market building on the way to their elevator/funicular combo.

A glass elevator took us up halfway, then a tram finished up the trip. 

The windy street up to the university center had students all over - really, all of Coimbra had students all over. We saw our first black cape - instead of just being the quirky thing it is in the US, the capes were actually proudly worn by the freshmen at a welcoming ceremony and continued to be worn after. It was a sort of uniform that means that the students' background isn't revealed - an equalizer. 

Also along the way was a fraternity house with a skull and crossbones, as well as many graffitied political statements. These "pirates" are one of the many collectives where a groups of students live together and share meals. Like our frats back home, different houses have different reputations. 

We reached the Iron Gate, but it was covered for remodeling. Our ticket had a specific time we could enter the library, so we looked at the church first. 

It was smaller - still had plenty of ornamentation, including some great tiles and a renaissance altarpiece. You can only get married in it if you are an alum though!

We walked through the drips to the library. The door stays closed so as to decrease the amount of humid air let in. There was a sign with the next entrance (ours) and a group gathering around it.

The massive doors opened right at 4:40, and we walked into a trio of high ceilinged rooms with the knowledge of world as of the 1800s. It was two stories of shelves, ornate wood tables with inlaid mother of pearl, and tiles and painted ceilings of the Renaissance style. 

I surreptitiously took some pictures. No flash so I didn't hurt the books, but not exactly allowed...

Really, it was like an ancient version of the dream room in Beauty and the Beast. Actually, quite a bit of this trip has been seeking out fairytale locations. Castles, stone walls, little villages.

But back to the university. The books can be used for their original purpose, but by scholars with some previous permission. It wasn't quite the student hangout that the library was at CMU though. Also, no nap pod. 

We exited downstairs to a jail of some kind that was never fully described. Following signs labeled "Academic Prison" was amusing though. Gave the easy one-liner of "my college career was an academic prison."

We next went to the Grand Hall. The academic ceremonies all take place here, and it had a viewing balcony that we got very wet while walking (balancing) along.

With the rain still coming, but the pedestrian street not far away, we decided to brave the steep slopes and slippery cobbled streets to get down there. 

We passed a church that had some importance. I have no idea now why, and we didn't go inside. Instead, we got some - you may have guessed - pastries and coffee. 

Of course, the second we sit down inside, the rain stops. It was some good people-watching as we dried off a bit. Trendy students, other tourists, and a few randoms inbetween.

We finished up by the pedestrian main street after walking down a now staircase path called the road of ribs, because that's what it was originally made of. 

I didn't think that the quinta (estate) we were staying at in the Douro Valley had breakfast, so Alex and Alisa grabbed some pastries while I set the GPS to Quinta de Marrocos. 

Well, not entirely. We didn't have to be there until 11, and there was "the Venice of Portugal" that was only slightly off the path. So we swung by there.

It wasn't really worth it. We saw a canal with parked gondolas, then drove to a park in the middle of a residential area because it looked like it could be interesting (and wasn't).

I got stuck up a super skinny street, so did a super K turn (it was like a K turn if K had another line coming out of it). Then, after our unsuccessful meandering, there was a Telepizza and a parallel parking spot right near it. Bingo - dinner time. 

The parking spot was pretty long, but on an uphill curve. I started great - rear wheel by their bumper, full turn of the wheel, back, wheel the other way, continue back...

Somewhere in the process, I might have hopped the curb. And I was perfectly parallel to the car in front of me?

It was a good belly laugh before a pretty good dinner. Camembert bites were yum!

And back on the road. It was dark and windy, and a little drizzly. We were pretty alone on the road. There was a grocery store on the way that we attempted to stop at, but it was closed. And I drove through a tube to try to get back to the highway... And drove back through it when Alisa got (rightfully) sketched out by the next road that Garmin wanted us to take. 

We found the sign, then turned up a really high, sharp driveway. (This was the beginning of a trend for the next two days.) We knocked on the door of the house at the top as a giant dog greeted us - and happy, talkative Caesar answered the door!

He let us into our suite of rooms, which was a separate little house across the tiled patio. It was old fashioned eclectic - yarn rugs over the wood floor, a weird porcelain basin in the front hall, metal bed frames, and a comfy couch facing a oddly furry trunk. 

We strolled down to his little shop to grab a bottle of wine before bed. It was both a great and a very time-consuming decision. Caesar had a captive audience, so he told story after story. All of them centered around marrying rich and moving to Portugal. His crazy neighbor was the center of one of them - married into a rich American family, started the cruises along the Douro, got a divorce, but is still close because they have a son that will inherit it all. Then one about a trio of friends that were all in school together, then all got rich and married and spent their thirtieth anniversary of meeting drinking through the Douro. I know there was at least one more story, but I walked toward the door at one point, and he said "Oh, you must want to go to bed", then regaled us with more stories. 

It was awfully endearing. When we finally tore ourselves away, We just hung out in our little house, drinking and talking until the wee hours. 

Stone and sand - April 7, Bathalya and Nazaré

We have been waking up to alarms every morning, which is fine. We've packed in a lot (and will continue to do so!) which means that there is just enough sleep to keep us awake for the interesting stuff (and the three-person car situation means that there can be a napper in the back).

The sun was shining brightly when we woke up, but the air was brisk. It was fresh though... Until we opened the bathroom door. The "poop smell", as the ever-mature Alisa calls it, was definitely coming from in there.

Breakfast was a delicious spread of some typical foods (runny scrambled eggs, bacon), some interesting foods (spicy sausage, slices of ham and cheese), and some delicious foods (spread of bread, Nutella, homemade jams and sauces).

The view out to the Atlantic wasn't too shabby either. We went out on the balcony to take it all in, but it was too brisk to eat out there. 

The weather helped us decide - to Bathalya!

This second monastery in our UNESCO World Heritage site trio was here. The Monastery of Saint María was a Gothic monolith in the middle of a small town. The bright sun threw the intricate lacy stonework into deep contrast. We entered through the side of the church, which Rick thought was gloomier than the last. 

We disagree. The stained glass windows surrounding a warmer church with a lot more people and a sunnier day definitely could have been the difference for us though. 

Off to the side in the rear of the church was the Founders' Chapel. King João I and Philippa were lying side by side in the center of the octagonal stone room. Their story is much nicer than that of Pedro and Inês (his father and mother). João had conquered the Spanish with help from the English, so he was told to marry Philippa. He tried to dodge it by using his vow of celibacy since we was a Grand Master of the Order of the Cross. Taking refuge in a monastery didn't work (or maybe it was the mistress that he brought with him), and he ended up marrying the already twice-royally rejected Philippa. (Two other kings had already turned her down.)

She is my new hero though. And those kings are stupid. Educated by Chaucer and John Wycliffe, but also compassionate as she raised his mistress' children, she encouraged Henry the Navigator (her son) to do his thing. It was the early 1400s and the Golden Age of Portugal had arrived.

Besides the king and queen on center stage, there were also a few of their kids around the perimeter. Henry the Navigator, then another prince that was captured and died when the ransom of a city wasn't paid, and a regent for the next king, Alfonso. 

This monastery was a bit different from the others with its military significance. Their Tomb of the Unknown Soldier is guarded by the ministry. While we were in there, a group of offers were pacing off steps for something. I was amused by the ceiling; its star center was so difficult to construct, only prisoners sentenced to death would be tasked to work on it after it collapsed twice. However, it made it through the 1755 earthquake!

A museum of military objects was nearby, but the sunny, green cloister was much more engrossing. This one's fountain had goldfish in it - probably a recent development. 

We circled around the exterior to get to the unfinished chapel. The round room has Duarte (Philippa and João's son) and his wife laying in a cubby around the edge. He died young, before completing the chapel, and his future family decided to make the door prettier instead of putting a roof on it. 

I love the open air idea. It had a very different feel than the covered and finished chapel for Philippa et al. 

We set up a group picture in the front of the ornate entrance to the church (while an old, ragged guy in a bike was confused as to what was happening and nicely waited for the minute of running back and forth). With a bit of money left in the parking meter, we went shopping. 

We've been seeing rooster ornamentation in all the shops, but this was the first to finally tell us a story about a man incorrectly accused of murder and sentenced to die. He said "as surely as I'm innocent will that cock crow" as he pointed to a roasted rooster on the magistrate's table. 

And sure 'nough, it crowed, and he was cut down and saved. 

There's also been a lot of tile and cork. Portugal uses tile to keep itself cool in the summer. It transitioned from an interior necessity to an interior and exterior art form. "Carpet tiles" are a tiled pattern that repeats across a whole wall or area; others just have large scenes painted across many tiles. The colors are primarily blue and yellow, with some red. I think they are beautiful. 

Portugal is the world's biggest cork producer, and they milk that in the tourist shops. Things we've seen made of cork: shoes, bags, hats, ties, earrings, necklaces, bracelets, pencils, magnets...it's impressive. 

With the day starting to grow warmer, we turned around and made our way back to Nazaré. We drove along the beachfront before heading straight up hill for parking. We grabbed all of our beach gear (swimsuits, books, sunscreen) and stopped by Mr. Pizza on the way to grab a beach "picnic."

Along with our yummy vegetariana pizza (one of the easier things to find as vegetarian), we got some sort of pink bubbly wine. While we were waiting, there were two pastelerias next door, so I went searching for some pastel de feijão. The first one didn't have the white bean pastry, so I bought some natas. The second one did have some, so I bought the "fay-zhou".

We walked the two blocks to the beach, found a raised stage, and spent the next few hours eating pizza, drinking our wine, eating our pastries, reading, blogging, and napping. It was a balmy 75, and perfect for sunning yourself.

Some construction workers came up to the stage and started taking off the back boards, and we continued to lay there and watch them for a while before determining it was time to get some sand between our toes. 

We packed up again, and headed the next 50 yards to the actual surf (maybe it was low tide, or maybe it's just a wide beach). Some local teens were jumping around in the waves, but after hot warm it was in the sun, the water was way to cold to even sustain wading in. 

We were playing our usual game of "pose in front of the pretty background" (there's a reason Alisa's camera has over two thousand pictures on it), and I asked a gentleman to take a group picture for us. There was some French being tossed around, but we finally determined he was German, and I got made fun of again for finding another German man to talk to. 

It had been a while since the bottle of wine was finished, and walking on the sand was a workout, so we hiked back to some hole-in-the-wall to use the bathrooms... And grab a glass of vinho verde, a young white sparkling wine from the very north of Portugal. 

As the sun was past its prime, it was an easy decision to put our beach gear back in the car and head up to Sítio, the section of the city up a funicular from beachfront Nazaré. 

The fun train-up-a-hill started in a building in some random back streets, then continued up and through a tunnel and into a tiled, cobbled-stoned neighborhood.

The city square had a church that we popped in. A painting near the entrance told to story of Mary appearing to a man that was so engulfed in his deer hunt he nearly followed his deer over the edge of a cliff. The deer did not get the same life-saving treatment. 

The church had a black Mary statue that was hidden in the rocks nearby while the Islamic Moors had control of this area. Some beggars and some tile work and this church was cute and similar to many others. 

We headed down to the arm of Nazaré-Sítio that holds the lighthouse. It is a wall of cliffs on the Nazaré side; the north side is a bit more of a gentle slope down to the undeveloped north beach. 

The cliffs were gorgeous from the Nazaré beach, but now they were gorgeous and exciting! 

Alex was less than thrilled with the decisions Alisa and I made to climb around on them, but the most annoying part was a RV full of Germans started telling her how stupid we were for going out on a ledge. 

Both of us were aggravated that they were making Alex uncomfortable and painting her as an accomplice when she was just letting us make our own choices - which had nothing to do with what those Germans thought was smart or safe. 

We hiked downhill to the lighthouse, then walked down some stairs on the outside to reach nearly the point of the outcropping.

Another couple was sitting and enjoying the fresh air near us, and I volunteered to take a picture. In their limited English, they said their phones were dead, so they didn't get any pictures of the gorgeous beaches and ocean. 

I didn't want to accept that, so we took a picture, got their email, and Alisa sent it to them later that night. We were memory enablers. 

We had a bit of a discussion with them. The woman was from Porto, and she didn't think that the Douro Valley was very pretty. I was a bit concerned, but figured it would be a good next stop regardless. 

We hiked up the steep street back to Sítio. In the square were about three or four carts of dried fruit, nuts, and seeds and an old, plump, traditionally dressed lady selling them and beating off the seagulls with a long stick. Each cart we passed handed us free samples of cashews or a dried piece of fruit, but we weren't going to buy and continued walking to the pedestrian street behind the houses along the cliffside. 

Sadly, it isn't barnacle season, so we couldn't try those tasty treats. 

We found a pretty view, but there was a man taking some pictures where we wanted to pose. We stood for a while, waiting, while he maybe attempted a million pictures of the seagulls that were cruising on the currents by the cliffs? Regardless, we had almost given up by the time he left, but got our shot. Which I'm sure will actually just blend in with our hundreds of other pictures of us and different seaside backgrounds. 

We continued the pedestrian path until the funicular, then headed down for sunset. 

Yesterday's was up in the hills behind Nazaré. Now we were near the beach. 

As sunset was finishing, I wanted to stop by some restaurants to see if they had any vegetarian options before hopefully getting some time to chill at the hotel. 

Well, with some GPS and address complications, it took a while to get to the two places (which didn't have anything posted, so we assumed nothing vegetarian.) We went back to the hotel, where I found a hotel restaurant that looked good. By that point, it was nearly 10, so there wasn't much of a break (no one got to shower) and we were still a bit frazzled from the previous driving experience. And while I wasn't hungry yet, Alisa and Alex were ready. 

So we drove down to Hotel Maré. And then accidentally drove past it and found Hotel La Mar and assumed it was the same thing.

They pointed us in the right direction. We circled and saw it, then circled again to find parking. 

When we got to the front desk, I got the news that threw my whole plan out of whack. They were closed. 

I was so angry, frustrated, disappointed - I was trying so hard to find a place that we all could have a good dinner, and I was being thwarted at every f-ing turn. I got if-Alisa's-camera-wasn't-in-my-purse-I-would-have-thrown-it mad. I kicked a concrete pole. I hate having to make Alex uncomfortable with fish, or essentially making all of us have to settle because the place serves Western or tourist food. 

Alisa and Alex handled my meltdown well. And we had fish (mine was sea bass) and wine and a pineapple soaked in port for dessert. And chocolate mousse. It was a double-dessert kind of night. 

And you know what? It worked just fine.

And just because I still had my swimsuit on (and Alisa suggested it), I jumped in the freezing ocean.

(Less cold now that there wasn't a difference between the hot sun and the surf? Or the adrenaline and the 100 yard dash to the water over sand.)