Lake or Lac or Lack of Animals - Aug. 10th, 2015

First comes Canmore. Then, twenty minutes up the road and into the national park, comes Banff. Continue for another 45 minutes, and you've reached Lake Louise.

Though, in our case, we didn't actually reach Lake Louise until 4pm - we were too busy finding other fun to do around it instead.

We headed out at 9:30 to get to the Lake Louise Gondola (which is at the ski area near, but not on, Lake Louise) and some of the best bear-viewing acreage in the area. The ski slope is closed in the summer, and it is kept as habitat for bears - humans can only glide over it, drooling for a chance to see one of those macro-mammals.

As I mentioned, we were in the park, so the first fifteen minutes we spent just waiting for Valerie and Ben to buy the pass they hadn't on the way in. We passed the Columbian ground squirrels, grazing and popping out of their dens, down to the ski lift/gondola.

The ride up the 1200 or so feet was smooth and stunning. We could make out Lake Louise, nestled in the ridges of the mountain range opposite. The hillside rose with spruce and shrubs along what we guessed were blue ski routes. We swung in the open air, only slightly chilled by the slight breeze of a 14-minute ride up a mountain.

A group that passed us said they had seen a grizzly "up and to the left." I bet you know where my eyes were straining for the entire trip up.

 As we reached the top and began quizzing the attendant about the bear. "Yeah, she's up on that slope somewhere. She likes to wander around up there." She, of course, had strolled over the ridge as we were traveling up to see her, so grizzly fail #1.

There was a walkway to the interpretive center, but that was the only trail that was open because of the "bear activity." We reached the center just in time to hear the majority of the "pyramid of life" talk that a ski instructor-cum-park employee exuberantly shared with us.

Having a diverse plant life begets diversity in the herbivores, which leads to supporting multiple predators. However, the Lake Louise example of human interference came with the idea of preventing wildfires. Fires are needed habitually to clean the forest and increase diversity. The lodgepole pines in the are had become the prominent species, choking out the sun-loving and quick growing aspen, that thrives after a forest fire. The aspen had photosynthesis in its bark, so species that don't hiberate need it for their sustenance during the winter. The caribou required it, and once it was gone, they moved down into the Banff Valley so it would satisfy their hunger.

What's the issue with having all your caribou in one place in one park? Something might go wrong. And in 2009, it did, with the entire herd of about four dozen caribou buried underneath an avalanche. There are ideas to eventually re-introduce them, but first, think of the people that are controlling fires for us to restore their habitat for eventually re-introduction.

We had a buffet lunch, sitting next to a couple from El Paso and asking for their highlight reel. Once we left the cafeteria (and its hordes of tourists), we drove to the entrance to Moraine Lake.

A giant "Road Closed" sign blocked our way. A park employee was holding traffic outside as those that were leaving (and opening up parking spots) came out in ones and twos. After five minutes, we were released into the parking lot to find a spot.

Valerie, Ben, Deanne, and I rented canoes, partnering up and setting off.

We made it all the way across the lake to one of the feeder streams (which was a picturesque little babbling cascade).

Mom and Dad sat on a bench and read while we did this - I think we've started to wear them down.

Moraine Lake had served its purpose (blue, can canoe on it), so we left it behind for a late afternoon drive to Lake Louise and its famous inn.

Which originally was a small chalet, and has grown into a massive hotel, which is Swiss-inspired. The mountaineers that came to build trails and lead guests were all from Switzerland. Sadly, the bell boys had to run around in short pants and suspenders,

It was a hazier day, but the views down the pond were still stunning.

 Dad had downloaded a few geocaches, so we got a chance to explore those riddles. One was estimating the volume of rock in a giant skree pile. The clue itself involved multiplying a height and radius to get the volume of a cone. This then led to roughly ten minutes of us attempting to derive the formula for volume of a cone.

We failed, but there was some writing on rocks with other rocks as chalk by the end of it. We thankfully transitioned back into recent reads before the end of the hike.

It was 5pm, and we had some driving ahead of us. Instead of the faster highway, we were taking the Bow Valley Parkway, which paralleled the speedier route, but had better opportunities for wildlife viewing.

We got to an overlook about 3/4 of the way to Banff, after not spotting any along the road, and started peering at a valley below with our binoculars. Dad saw some movement along one of the lakeshores - a moose! Or... birds resting along a craggy stump.

With our lack of large mammals, except ourselves, we drove into Banff to find a place for dinner. While we didn't successfully spot any wild animals, Valerie managed to spot a pair of college friends from Alabama that she hadn't seen in a few years. Small world... small, human world.

We ate and drank at Saltlik Steakhouse until dark (which is pretty late in these parts). As we were getting the check, we realized that we hadn't actually figured out what the plan for tomorrow was.

Ice fields? Hike? We are probably headed back to Lake Louise and a steep hike to a teahouse, but stay tuned!

Cycling Marathon - Aug. 9, 2015

Before I get anywhere....

Yesterday's blog post(s) were missing some pictures, so I'll remedy that. Mountains. Surrounded by mountains.

This morning was an omelette kind of morning. The scent of Dad cooking bacon wafted under the door at 8, so of course... I hit the gym first, and encountered some other guests groaning their way through crazy workouts.

Our plan was to bike from Canmore (the town just down the hill from the condo) to Banff... and back. The first idea was to just rent three bikes, and half of us go one way, and half go the other way. Everyone was excited about both ways, so we headed out at 10 to rent bikes.

The first shop we went to had four bikes. But Sports Experts let us call around, and we found Valerie and Ben bikes at the Ramada nearby.

Originally, we were all going to bike along a trail that started near the Nordic Center - but it was "rooty and rutty", so the only options were Goat Creek Trail, at the top of a dusty gravel road past Grassi Lake, or riding along the highway.

Valerie, Ben, Deanne, and I all were excited about Goat Creek (and I think Dad was too, but sadly, someone had to drive, so he sacrificed for us kids), so we drove a Jeep full of bikes and a Subaru full of people up, then Mom and Dad drove them back down to the bike shop, where we would all end up this afternoon.

In the process of getting the bikes in and out, my back wheel "quick released" itself. We had another bike to model it after, so assembled it with a few minutes of work. Ben attempted to make football stripe grease stains on Val's cheeks - I was just content with wiping as much off on a bandana as possible.

The first hill of the trail was one of the steepest we encountered. Then, the biggest puddle of the entire trail had me and Deanne walking our bikes through the woods around it to avoid getting mud splashed.

 

(I later got splashed a bit; black pants with pretty dust polka dots were my ensemble by the end. The idea of cleanliness became over-rated.)

 Most sweeping views were blocked by trees, but the trail was calm, save the gravel spewing out from under our tires

 The trail to Banff along Goat Creek was about 19 kilometers. That's nearly 13 miles. We chugged along, and found a few rolling hills that were really starting to take the wind out of our sails. The last straw was the sign that said "Banff - 9.9 kilometers". All that, and we weren't even halfway?

 There were only three more big hills before the great downhill came. The pro was that each of the uphills started as a downhill toward a cute little bridge and some babbling brook. I started to hate bridges by the end though - it was just an indicator of sweat on the way back up.

We hopped out at Fairmount Hotel. It's a castle. From a website:

We coasted down the hill past a small gaggle of tourists taking a picture. Ben goes, "It's a reindeer!" We investigate to find a five-ish point buck hanging out by a log cabin.

But that wasn't the only log cabin we were seeing that day! It was Open Doors Banff! Once a year, a dozen or so of the historic houses, some now private residences, invite guests in to hear about their history. We poked into a few, learning about the Luxtons, the Whytes, and this guy named Wilson who did everything from put Lake Louise on a map to help found the Canadian Alpine Society. The latter one we learned while at a graveyard tour.

But, we had a return trip to make, and Val and Ben's bikes had to be back by 6pm. At 4:15, we took off. #bikeselfie!

The trail was so smooth compared to bouncing down gravel. It was a bit longer, at 22km or so. At 5pm, we stopped for a group picture at a little over the halfway point, then Ben, Valerie, and I continued on to Canmore, sit-bones aching, to turn in their bikes and grab groceries for dinner.

Deanne and I were cooking. I grabbed everything I could remember from the store, then met up with everyone else and got the rest of the list from Deanne. We were in the kitchen cooking by 7, while the rest of the family headed to the hot tub to relieve those sore tushes.

After we served a blueberry-walnut salad with chicken and chive risotto with a side of grilled eggplant and zucchini, Dad said to not expect food that quality on their cooking night.

It should also probably not be in that quantity either. The bag of risotto rice seemed small enough, and doubling it to use it up seemed like a good idea, but now there's a blender-full of puffy rice using up some limited fridge space (and one of our limited containers as well).

Well, our second meal will probably also be risotto - glad everyone enjoyed it! And tomorrow - Lake Louise! (And sore tuckuses...)

Tourist Traffic Jams - August 8, 2015

The moutains' majesty was very apparent once the sun was up. I was awake at 7, found the fitness center, then joined the family in the first of what I'm sure are a fair few brainstorming and planning sessions. Then, the first order of business - getting food.

My parents decided that there are six nights at the condo, and six of us staying here (my little sister Deanne is the one that hasn't been mentioned yet), so each of us is in charge of a night of food. In practicality, it means that we have all now partnered up and are doing two nights per pair.

But this shopping trip was just breakfast, lunch foods, and snacks. And it was still 12:30 by the time we got back to Dad (who volunteered to avoid the crazy and download geocache sites instead of trying to shove six to a car) and had our first lunch with the miscellaneous fare we had acquired.

We had found a "lantern tour" of the Cave and Basin National Historic Site at 7pm, and there was a pizza place in Banff that Valerie and Ben wanted to do for our first nights' dinner, so we decided we had to leave at 5pm to get there.

It meant that we had time for a hike! And, while I heard "grassy lake" and imagined walking peacefully around a serene pond, it was actually Grassi Lake, and a retaining pond up the side of a mountain that fed a waterfall into a reservoir.

We parked in an upper lot, then walked down the road to the trailhead. It was a pretty narrow bit, so with cars parked on either side, it was a single lane. Fine if everyone was headed in the same direction - not fine when some were trying to exit and others weren't letting them. We almost abandoned the hike to see the drama unfold.

We took the service road trail up, so it was graded (though not anything I would ever drive on).  The top had two pretty little lakes - there just happened to be power lines overhead and a pipe that helped feed the power plant below. There were rock climbers, dogs, kids in strollers and backpacks, and the shrieking one who was tearing down the trail (and making sure there wasn't a bear for miles).

Valerie and Ben split off to take a different path straight to the condo. The other four of us pattered down the "difficult" trail, with stone steps and great views over to the falls. Grassi was a nature lover and path builder, and he lived in Banff until he died in 1980 at the age of 90, so the lake was named for him. Not, as I first suspected, actually grassy.

The plan to leave at five was successful. A few showers, some changes of clothes, more discussion on tomorrow's plan (biking! old buildings!) and we were headed through Canmore. Which is easier said than done at 5pm on a Saturday. Cars were everywhere. The drive that took us 15 minutes to get to the Save On Grocery store in the morning was easily doubled. When we got to the edge of Banff at 5:45, with an hour until we were to report to the tour, we decided to switch the plans. We parked in the first two spots we found, got to a grocery store for some revitalization food (and to prevent the hangry from emerging), and idled our way through the rest of Banff, getting to the Cave and Basin at 6:30.

And it was all closed. The sun had emerged, and was beating down on us (as much as sun can when it is 80 degrees in the sun) as we circled the first building, then the second, looking for confirmation that this was the right place.

At 6:55, the gaggle of tourists was rewarded with the sight of a ranger. We paid our $10 each (Canadian) and were off. I got extra delighted when a costumed character (Richard - one of the discoverers of the hot spring) popped out and began with his lines.

We walked through a darkened tunnel to the hot spring - a geothermal sulphur-y pool that was lit by a strobe light and Billy's lantern. The water made it tough to hear, but the story of their discovery was told. It was 1883, and Billy and his brother and their friend would be rich!

We touched some of the water (from a bucket with permission - otherwise it is illegal), and tramped our way back through the tunnel to a train picture where the first Prime Minister "greeted" us. He told how he took the land for the health of all Canadians as he traveled across Canada on the CPR - Candian-Pacific Railroad. I was a little disappointed because they ran out of lanterns.

The tour ended with a stunning 10-minute film. (Mom and Dad took the floor because they miscounted seats or oversold tickets.) The beauty of the Canadian national parks is dazzling, and the polar bear cubs were pretty adorable as well. Given that we've just seen chipmunks so far (and a potential lynx by Ben last night), we might be lucky to see a macro mammal, but I'm not holding my breath.

The Tavern had bison pizza, and the twenty minute wait was made bearable by a stroll down to the bridge over the Bow River. The salads and pizzas were good, and the drive back to Canmore and the Worldmark resort was worlds better than during the tourist traffic jam earlier this evening.

Though there was talk of games, in actuality, we all checked our internet accounts then headed to bed. There is going to be lots of cycling in the morning!

Getting to Canada - Aug. 7, 2015

In typical Walters fashion, it was a convoluted process to get the uniting factions to the resort in Canmore, just outside Banff.

I was flying up from DC via Ottowa. Valerie was flying up from Atlanta via Salt Lake City. Ben was flying up from Atlanta via Toronto. We were scheduled to get in within an hour of each other, with my flight being last. I was to meet them at the Hertz counter where we were picking up a car.

Getting to the counter, I didn't see them. I wandered out to the garage... no sister + boyfriend. So I turned on my phone to connect to the free wifi at Calgary Airport.

Oh, speaking of the phone - I had spent the last hour in DC downloading some podcasts, checking email, and just generally running the battery low. This wasn't a problem until I rooted through my bags and couldn't find the charger that I thought I threw in. When I got to Ottowa, I spent an hour and a half of my two hour connection standing at a counter at the Apple Accessories store and playing on their iPod Touch while my iPhone was charging. I figured I'd save up that 80% for when I was by myself in Toronto at the end of this trip and just use others' devices while with them in Banff.

Back to the rental counter - Valerie had shot me an email that she was delayed by thunderstorms and Ben had missed his flight, so both of them were now coming in around midnight instead of 10pm (this is Mountain Time, mind you - so that's 2am Eastern). So I asked the guy at the counter if he could switch the rental to my name so I could do the paper. Nope - Valerie is a Hertz Gold, so needed her to get the discount. But, he did let me pick out the car then.

"I think I know what you're going to choose," he said, and began working his way through the keys. Mid-sized SUV - eh. RAV4 - eh. Jeep Wrangler? Yeah, put that one aside for us!

Valerie made it through customs and to the rental desk in the next half hour. We had just finished signing the paperwork and were going to check the status of his flight when he got off the elevator. Thanks to the built-in GPS, it was an easy ride to the condo, and we got into bed at 2am. The shuffling of pieces actually worked.

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.