Drinking Port Wine, Right From The Source

Porto is the second largest city in Portugal, and one I’ve wanted to visit for a very, very long time. We had originally planned to spend a night or two in the city, but when we realized that it was less than an hour from Aveiro, we decided to make a day trip of it instead.

We took the toll road right into Porto, and stopped for gas as soon as we found a station. A strike of the union that does fuel transport began today so it’s expected that fuel supplies may become tight, so we’ve been topping up frequently to ensure we have enough gas to get to Faro in the south, where our departing flight leaves from. The cost of fuel has been around 1.55 euro/litre which is approximately $2.25 Canadian - twice what we pay at home, which means you don’t see a lot of 4x4, dual axle, Hemi-engined trucks driving around with single passengers. None of them would fit down any of the narrow city streets anyway. If our governments had any huevos, they would jack up the carbon tax levels to European levels and get serious about tackling pollution and climate change and stop wasting our precious resources. But that’s simply not going to happen.

After driving up and down a few steep streets we found a parking spot and slipped our little Clio in with a shoehorn. Then we started walking, first to a church with an excellent viewpoint looking over the entire area. The river Douro flows through the city, splitting it into two parts - Porto to the north and Gaia to the south, both built on hills, creating a dramatic and epic scene when looking across the river from either side.

Our aimless wanderings began, and soon we came across a big transport truck moving slowly down the street, blocking all traffic behind it, while dudes were unloading guard rails and installing them on both sides of the street, trapping the parked cars behind them. Ana spoke to a street cop and he told her it was for a big bike race happening today, and if your car got trapped in, you weren’t going anywhere. We realized this same street was the one we were parked on, but the truck was approaching fast so we ran down the hill, jumped into the car, and peeled out of there just before they dropped in a gate, trapping the cars parked in front of and behind us. Close call! We drove down the hill, close to the river and found an underground parking garage. But you have to understand, the Portuguese are masters at building parking garages, because they always put them underground instead of the hideous above ground ones we usually build in Canada. This one was amazing - we drove in and it led to a single, downward spiralling path with unusually high ceilings and rows of densely packed cars parked on both sides. We simply drove down, deeper into the ground, until we found the first unoccupied spot. On the inside of the spiral was another spiral going back up to the exit. Simple, easy to navigate, brightly lit, and so well designed.

The Porto waterfront has an electric atmosphere - both working and tourist boats passing back and forth, two levels of restaurants, bars, shops and galleries along the waterfront, but somehow done in such a way that they are not prominent or imposing. There’s a large pedestrian area along the waterfront, with a sheer 20 foot drop into the churning water with no guardrails or warning signs of any kind; the cities here, refreshingly, do not tend to not take on the responsibility of protecting people from their own stupidity. Do you really need a sign warning you to not get too close to the edge, or to step off the tracks when you see a tram coming, or move out of the way of the street/pedestrian walkway when a car wants to pass through? Here, they have allowed citizens the dignity of using their common sense.

Despite giving up coffee a couple of years ago, it’s not a hard and fast rule for me, and I enjoyed a fragrant, steaming, hot cup of Americano as Ana had a tidy latte while sitting in a riverside cafe, watching the action unfold around us. If we lived in Europe, I would be back on coffee in a second as it’s such an integral part of the culture here, along with the delicious pastries that always accompany it!

We walked across the bridge to the Gaia side and split up - Ana and the kids went to explore the shops and market while I went to the Taylor Fladgate port house for a tour and tasting. Gaia is the home of several dozen port houses, some that have been here since the 17th century. The vineyards are all located up the Douro, in the Douro valley, and during harvest time the barrels of wine would historically be shipped in boats down the river and unloaded right here for cellaring and transport.

The tour was fantastic, and the tasting at the end of two different vintage ports in the beautifully manicured gardens with peacocks strutting around was a nice finish. I would have loved to buy one of the hundred year old bottles of vintage port, but I’ll wait until one of my kids becomes a billionaire before I start upping my tastes to that level.

We reconvened and went for lunch at a place that was quite similar to the Time Out food hall in Lisbon, but smaller, then we walked back over the bridge to the port side to check out the bike race. As of yet, none of the leaders had reached the finish line, but as we stood there a rather ratty looking Portuguese elder on a beaten up bike came peddling down the lane with a buddy riding side saddle, both with smokes hanging out of their mouths, looking fresh from the local taverna, thoroughly enjoying their ride with a larger than usual crowd cheering them on.

Our walking tour took us throughout Porto, up and down the hilly, narrow streets, checking out shops and all the thousands of people scurrying around. The vibe was frantic, with the bike race (which we learned was the Portugal version of the Tour de France) and the massive crowd of thousands waiting at the finish line. We missed the finalists coming in, but were on the path for some of the later finishers, who each got cheered in by the enthusiastic crowd. It was very exciting.

It was nearing the end of the day, so we returned to the car and drove west to the beach area and went for a long walk along the promenade. There was a Portuguese sludge metal band playing a free show in a gazebo, next to a market, so I watched the show while the gang checked out the stalls. They were surprisingly good, and I was pleasantly shocked that a metal band was playing in the park on a Sunday. On the waterfront there was a raised rock pathway, maybe four feet wide, with no barrier stopping you from falling down the fifteen feet to the jagged and treacherous rocks and ocean below. And you know who was daringly walking on this treacherous pathway? Little kids, families, people riding bikes, couples in love, dogs, and even an elderly pair of friends out for a sunset walk. Nobody fell in, and everybody was having a great time. The four of us sat on the ledge with our legs hanging down, discussing the likelihood of an Apple iPhone surviving the drop, and how one would go about retrieving it, which seemed unlikely.

A thought was given to having dinner here, but we decided to head back to Aveiro instead, and along the way Ana did some research on restaurants and found the highly rated Batista do Bacalhau, which we eventually found in a residential neighbourhood after twisting and turning through a dozen roundabouts and tiny streets, having no idea where in Aveiro we were.

Although the staff were enthusiastic and the venue was decent, the meals just weren’t that good. I ordered the cod house specialty, expecting it would be some sort of casserole, but instead it came out as a dry, baked cod fillet, standing in half an inch of olive oil with chunks of raw garlic and raw onion on top. The cod was ok, but that’s all there was to it - no spices, no pepper, no pimiento. And worse, the raw garlic was stingingly powerful and the one piece I accidentally ate caused me to reek of garlic the entire next day. Ana and the kids meals were ok, but not great, so we were disappointed. Cod is just not the sort of fish that should be served as a fillet - way too chewy.

But there was a huge treat after dinner. We had ordered a bottle of Portuguese white wine (vinho verde) to share but Ana only drank about a glass and a half and then started topping me up, so by the end of the meal I wasn’t feeling too capable of driving. Fortunately, we realized that our house was only about three blocks away, so Ana agreed to drive the manual transmission car home. Ana does know how to drive a manual, but she doesn’t like it because one time in Saskatoon she was driving my mom’s manual car and got stuck on a hill and couldn’t get the damn thing moving. It traumatized her severely.

So we all got in the car, buckled in, and let momma take us home. I gave her a quick briefing, saying this car had a very forgiving transmission, was easy to drive, and otherwise reassured her how fun and simple it was going to be.  She stomped the gas, popped the clutch and we lurched out of the parking spot, but then stalled out right in front of the giant window, with the patrons looking out from the restaurant. She started it back up and tried to go but it stalled out again.

“Give it some gas!” I said.

“I am!” She yelled.

“No you’re not, hit the goddamn gas pedal” I yelled back.

She gave it gas, but not enough, and as she released the clutch the car started jerking forward erratically, then stalled. And this horrible, burning smell started to waft into the car, which really heated things up.

“Give it some goddamn gas!” I said, “Or don’t let the clutch out so fast. One or the other. The damn car is burning up!”

“I am!! This car sucks. I hate manuals!” She said, as the car once again jerked back and forth, with our heads bobbing forward and back, and the restaurant heads also bobbing forward and back, watching us, mesmerized, probably speechless. I was hoping the horrible smell of burnt clutch hadn’t penetrated the restaurant walls.

“Floor the goddamn gas now. Then pop the clutch!” I urged, which she did, and the car lurched forward, leaving two black skid marks on the asphalt, but getting us successfully out of the vantage point of the patrons, and out of earshot of their uncontrolled laughter. I started to think that me driving slightly drunk might have been the better option, but nonetheless, we made it home just fine and Ana swore (for probably the 9th time in her life) that she would never drive a manual transmission car again.

Here They Come To Snuff The Rooster

I awoke at 5am to a whole shitload of roosters (I know it’s probably “gaggle of” or “fence of” or “skittle of” or some other silly ancient English word) cock-a-doodle-doing all over the neighbourhood, waking up everybody, even the dogs who then started barking at each other and howling and making all sorts of racket. As I listened to the chorus of noise I smiled to myself in bed as I remembered Ana’s 30th birthday in Rincon, Puerto Rico when we were vacationing with my dad and his wife Loretta and our buddy Toddy Van Hees. We were renting a house a few miles away from the beach that was surprisingly cheap. Actually, ridiculously cheap, but we soon found out why. The roosters in the backyard (and all the surrounding backyards) started screaming at 1:30 am, just after we had finished partying for the night, and they did not stop until the morning, which mean certain light sleepers (Ana, and I think Loretta) could not get to sleep at all. It is one of those memories that is so permanently stamped on my memory that anytime I hear a rooster, or even think of a rooster, that evening comes back to me instantly, and it always makes me laugh.

I made myself and the roosters some nice cups of peppermint tea and we all sat down to write some journals. With all the late nights and action packed days, I’ve been having more trouble than usual finding time to write, and writing is something I really like to do on holidays. So this morning I did get some writing time in.

My crew eventually surfaced and we had a nice breakfast that included a few of the ripe plums plucked fresh from the tree, and then we drove into the Aveiro town centre. Aveiro is an inland town, but there is a lagoon system that feeds ocean water to the area and they have built a long series of canals used for transporting goods, but also very handy for floating tourists around on brightly coloured, overpriced gondolas. We bought tickets and hopped on a gondola for a 45 minute ride along with groups of other tourists from Portugal, Spain, Australia and France. The Portuguese tour guide gave us an introduction and told us he’d be conducting the tour in all four languages, which is pretty impressive, until he actually starts talking at rapid speed (I think to try and disguise the limited knowledge of the languages) and you can’t understand hardly a word of what he says. Fortunately between the French and Portuguese and Spanish we could make out most of what he was saying, which wasn’t actually that interesting, but we did quite enjoy the boat ride and got a much better idea of the geography of the town.

We wandered around in the town centre for a while, which was well laid out, quaint, cool and attractive, and came across a CD store. Yes, that’s right, a CD store. I used to live in England about 20 years ago (maybe more?) and I remember that new movies released in the US and Canada weren’t released in the UK until about six months later. Well the same sort of thing appears to be still happening, as I haven’t seen a CD store in Canada for at least six months. Hey Europe, here’s a tip - Spotify! Seriously, nobody is going to pay 16 euro for an Amy Winehouse cd. In fact, the majority of their CD collection was Portuguese Fado music, but they also had a pretty good selection of Death and Black Metal posters, which seemed like a strange combination, until you realize that metal and fado are a natural pairing as they both deal with the same topics - despair, longing, disappointment, failure, rejection, desperation, and supernatural creatures (Satan in one case, God in the other). I tried to fool Ana, telling her I found a poster of a famous fado guitar player named Angus Young, but she didn’t fall for it, so I tried it on Stella and she just gave me her “look” so I shut up after that.

It was a new town so we figured it would be a good time to try and find a barber again. And guess what? We actually found one! Both Magnus and I settled into chairs at the Lobeca men’s hipster grooming club and they started buzzing away. My guy had a perfect hipster look complete with shaved sides, long top, and moistened, shaped, oiled, and scented beard. I asked him for the “hipster light” and showed him a picture of a great cut I had in Madeira last year. He said to me, “No problem. You know, the trick with giving a good haircut is to take your time. Some barbers just start buzzing and chopping and do it way too fast and the customer comes out unhappy. I don’t do that, I take my time because I want the cut to be perfect.”

Well amen to that. And he did take his time, and even washed and shampooed my hair at the end so I didn’t have a bunch of tiny hairs falling down my back all day. About halfway through my cut, Magnus walked over, finished, and told me he was going to wait outside.

“See,” my barber whispered to me, motioning to Magnus. “Too fast.”

I thought Magnus’s hair looked fine, but when we met up after the cut he told me that he absolutely hated it and the barber did the opposite of what he asked for, which catapulted poor Magnito into a sour mood funk for the rest of the day.

We met up with the girls at an urban shopping mall, but before you think it was like some sort of Canadian shopping mall think again. It was perfectly integrated into the walking streets, with cloistered sections opening up to the sky, letting in natural light. There was a main stairway leading up to the flat roof of the mall which was not a surface of sticky asphalt, gravel, air conditioning units, pipes and ventilators but, instead, was a huge garden of olive trees and grass with comfortable benches for people to sit on. Somebody told us this was the deal the city made with the developer when they built the mall. Olive trees on the roof! It was simply amazing, especially since I don’t think I’ve ever seen a real life olive tree, and here I am looking at one for the first time on a mall roof.

We returned back to base camp, got our swimsuits on (except Magnus - he stayed home) and then drove out to the nearby beach called Costa Nova. The beach was great, but the waves were massive so we weren’t able to go for a swim without putting out lives in jeopardy, so instead we just played around in the sand, chilled out, and goofed around for a couple of hours. We also planned out the rest of our trip and Ana booked us accommodation for the remains days. We are so used to booking things last minute that we hoped to do the same thing during this trip, but there was virtually nothing decent left in the towns we wanted to stay in, so it took a while to find something, but Ana pulled through and got us booked into what look like reasonably good places. We’ll see. All I can say is that it was a huge help having the use of the two houses from our friends, so we are indebted to them.

By the time we arrived home Magnus was back to his old self and we whipped up a dinner to use up a lot of the food we had left. During dinner, Ana posed a question to everybody: if somebody bought you air tickets and gave you five grand in spending money, but said you had to go to either Asia or Europe, where would you go?

Stella answered first. “Well, the whole point of going on vacation is to look good, and because people look so good in Europe, I’d choose Europe.”

We all looked at each other, and then at Stella, and burst out laughing. “I did not know that,” I said. “I’ve been traveling for a long time and nobody ever told me it was all about looking good. I’m going to have to start changing my clothes more often.”

Stella definitely is the family fashionista, and is certainly falling in her mother’s footsteps.

Magnus chose Asia for the opposite reason - because people didn’t care what you looked like or who you were and accepted you as is. Ana chose Europe, but would go in the shoulder seasons when prices were lower. I was split down the middle, simply because I could live on five grand in Asia for months and months, but there’s so much of Europe I have yet to see. I decide to go with the same answer as Ana - Europe in the off season.

And with that, we retired for the night.

There Are Bats In The Library

The whole gang was up early to give the house a good cleaning before we left, after which we had breakfast, packed the car, and were on the road headed north for the university town of Coimbra. Two unexpected things happened along the way. First, as we were blasting up the toll road at 120 kph, my phone rang and showed a European country code. We answered it on speaker and it was our old buddy James Hooley, whom we probably haven’t spoken to in at least ten years. I first met James on a work project in the Bahamas, circa 1998, and we had so many adventures there I can’t even begin to list them - but I will say that several of these adventures were on the sailboat we bought with two other buddies and did serious damage to the coral heads surrounding Nassau. After our time in Bahamas, we met up again on another project in the Netherlands, and actually lived together for a while there. From what I can remember, the last time we saw James was in England around 2003 so it has been a long time indeed. He is now married with two boys and living near Zurich, Switzerland, and was wondering why we weren’t passing by his place during our trip to Europe! I promised to send the kids to live with him and go to university in Zurich. It was so great to talk to him.

The other unexpected thing that happened as we approached Coimbra was traffic lights. Yes, crappy old inefficient North American traffic lights. I have no idea whose idea it was to install these, but it made me very sad indeed as we sat there at red lights with no other cars approaching from any other direction, wasting gas and time.

We entered Coimbra and drove straight to the oldest university in Portugal, which has served as a centre of learning for over 700 years, and is also the location of the original palace of the first king of Portugal - Alfonso Henriques, and the birthplace of many of the kings after that. We arrived shortly after opening time so had to wait only a short while to get tickets, after which we walked into the main square and were mesmerized by what we saw. It was an expansive cobblestoned courtyard enclosed by ancient buildings including the palace, a chapel, and the Joanine Library, which is the jewel in the crown and houses around 60,000 books mainly from the 16th to 18th centuries. We first visited the chapel, then went to the library at our designated 11am entry time. The academic prison was on the ground floor and was used to lock up students charged with heinous acts, such as arguing with a professor or talking during the lecture. Seemed a bit severe, but I suppose education was a little more rigid back then than it is now.

Walking into the Joanina Library was unreal, and it felt like a movie set - elaborate gold carvings, vaulted ceilings with colourful paintings, ancient oak bookshelves stocked with 500 year old leather bound volumes (some of which were actually checked out, I’m assuming by academics), ladders reaching to the upper levels, and antique hardwood tables and chairs. Absolutely stunning, and beautiful beyond description. We were told that two colonies of bats live in the library and eat up all book-destroying insects. I could have stayed in that library for hours, and would have loved to leaf through some of the books, but it was definitely a “view only” location as security ropes prevented you from getting close enough to touch anything.

The palace was another masterpiece, from the array of halberds, still used today for academic ceremonies such as initiating a new rector, opening the academic school year, and awarding doctorate degrees, to the Hall of Acts ringed by portraits of Portuguese kings, and the examination room where eerie and dark paintings of every rector of the university were hung. Overwhelming.

There were many other buildings in the university region, but only two others were open to the public, one of which was the Natural History Gallery, which we visited, and found thousands of specimens of plants and animals brought back from the Crown sponsored voyages to Africa, India and Brazil during the 1800’s. There was also several rooms full of scientific instruments dating back to Age of Enlightenment which were used by the departments of Chemistry and Physics.

It was nearing lunchtime so we headed into the Coimbra town centre and found a great cafe called Churrasquiera O Beirao that was full of locals and we enjoyed a delicious lunch - swordfish, roasted chicken, olives, bread, all delicious. Ana and I enjoyed a half bottle of white wine for the maddeningly low price of 2.50.

Our final lap for the day was to the town of Aveiro, and along the way we passed several groups of people walking on the highway, which seemed odd, then then we decided they must be pilgrims walking to Fatima, as they had backpacks and walking sticks, but we weren’t able to stop and actually ask any of them to confirm this.

After what seemed like a very long drive we arrived in Aveiro. The week before we left Canada, we were in touch with Ana’s cousin Nellie, and her husband Glen offered us the chance to use his parents’ house in Aveiro. Normally they would be here at this time, but they were not able to come this year so the house was empty and available. We opened up the house, got the water and gas turned on, made up the beds, and then I put the kids and myself to work cleaning up all the fermenting fruit beneath the plum tree, which was causing quite a smell. I picked one of the ripe plums from the tree and cut it open to find the darkest red flesh, almost like a beet, with the red juice instantly staining my fingers, and it was delicious. I ate two more.

It was time for a grocery run so we drove a short ways to the shopping centre, picked up food, returned home for a backpacker dinner, then went straight back to the centre for a late movie at the cinema that Stella was lobbying for. We watched “Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark” and it was an excellent low-gore horror movie that we all enjoyed, except Magnus, who just does not dig on horror.

Around midnight we returned home and crashed into bed for a wonderful night’s sleep.

Finding Bryan Adams in Portugal

I’d like to know why I’ve already heard four Bryan Adams songs on the radio as we’ve been driving around in Portugal. The radio disc jockey, also known as “The Computer”, even decided to queue up a Nickelback song right after “Summer of 69”. How appropriate. But it makes me wonder why on earth they are playing this stuff in Portugal when I am quite sure they do not have any Canadian content rules like the ones we are stuck with back home. Perhaps there just aren’t enough old crappy Portuguese pop songs to fill the daily setlist on the FM nostalgia stations?

It was another massive sleep-in day as I didn’t get up until 8 and we didn’t leave the house until close to 10 as Ana burst into a round of laundry right after she woke up. I didn’t think we’d have much for clothes to wash by this point in the trip, but I am a grub and rarely change my clothes on holidays whereas Ana changes her clothes daily and Stella multiple times a day as she considers herself to be some sort of fashionista. Magnus lands somewhere in the middle.

We returned to Peniche to see it in the daylight and to visit the waterfront military fort (Peniche Fortress) that had been used as a prison for many years. Magnus said this would be an easy place to escape from, and I told him no way. Then one of the displays had details of the half dozen successful prison escapes that had happened over the years, both with and without subversive prison guard assistance. These kids have been proving me wrong way too often recently.

The old town centre of Peniche was nice, but a little gritty. Magnus and I looked around for a barber, as we’d done in every town in Portugal so far, finding either no shops, shops closed for siesta, shops that didn’t chop dudes, or shops with no available spots. We were starting to look like Shaggy and Scooby. Ana was busy trying to find some gold bling bling for her goddaughter Nina, but she struck out too. We left with not a great impression of Peniche, especially after Horacio told us last night that the local marina where he used to moor his sailboat is falling apart from disrepair. And Olivia told us that it has become overrun with foreigner surfers who are squeezing out the locals. So our vote for best local seaside hang-out definitely goes to Areia Branca which is such a lovely place. Saying that, we did drive out on the Peniche peninsula and found some spectacular rock formations and ocean views.

Our next destination for the day was Foz Do Arelho, which is further north up the coast from Peniche, and a place we thought would make for a nice lunch spot. After driving around for a bit through the town we eventually found the massive, and I mean massive beach, with a river running through it terminating in the ocean. The beach was so big it looked like a desert and was growing by the minute because of the falling tide. After a pretty terrible lunch (imagine eating a poor quality beef steak with veins of tough fat and gristle that you need to saw through with a knife…and then imagine trying to chew through that same piece of meat in a sandwich) at one of the many restaurants overlooking the beach desert, I slipped into my swimmers and went for a fast dip in the salty river water. The rest of the gang opted not for a swim, but Ana and I did go for a long walk along the river all the way out to the ocean, which was probably over a kilometre. I was kicking myself at the end for not bringing a camera along, because when we looked back over the river towards the shore, it could have been the Whitsundays in Australia, as the draining water had created sandbanks throughout the river with blue patches of clear water surrounding them. Many people were swimming in the water, or just wading across it, while others were scattered about the sand sunbathing, but the area was so huge that it still felt empty.

Caldas Da Rainha was the next town on our itinerary, mainly because Magnus’s internet travels discovered a Magic The Gathering card shop that opened at 4pm so we drove directly there for him to buy a package of cards. The town had also been recommended to Ana by compadre Rosa as a good place to shop. Well, we had trouble finding the old town centre so instead parked near a giant central park and shopping mall so the ladies went shopping while Magnus and I walked the park. Both were a little underwhelming, but we still enjoyed the stop.

The waterfront of Areia Branca is where we ended up for dinner snacks at Solmar restaurant and to once again enjoy the amazing ocean views. Today the water was far too rough for surfers, so all the young dudes we saw surfing the other day were instead working at the bar! The Solmar menu was fantastic as they had all sorts of cool seafood options like clams, mussels, octopus, and fish, but also tremendously good chicken wings. We latched into some food and I had my first caneca of the trip, which is a giant mug of beer, half a litre in size, and man was it good. Because I’m the only driver listed for the car insurance, I’ve had to mostly behave myself during the day, and I’ve been too beat at night to enjoy much of the cheap Portuguese wine and beer. There is a strong likelihood I could make it to the end of the trip without even a mild hangover…which is probably a good thing for this aging body.

A few shops down from the restaurant was a nightclub that, for some reason, also sold ice cream and something called “bubble waffles” which the kids coerced us into buying for them. Because it was still early there were no customers so the server had plenty of time to make this huge bubble waffle for the kids to share. They inhaled it like homeless kids with a sweet tooth, and there was not a piece of waffle, ice cream, fruit, or M&Ms by the time they were done. I’m surprised they didn’t eat the paper bowl it was served in.

Tomorrow, we move from Paco (and this amazing region!) to our next destination - Aveiro.

Let’s Go To Horacio’s For A BBQ

I dragged myself out of bed at 8 and the rest of them slept for at least another hour. Because we kept the window shutters closed at night, the bedrooms were completely dark in the morning, making it more difficult than normal to get up and going. Our compadres’ house is fantastic and seems to be stocked just as well as their normal home with everything you could possibly need, so my solo morning routine was great - boil water in the kettle, make some tea, grab a seat in the comfy couch and then start typing. One of the things I love about the concrete construction of the homes here is that everything is so solid and rigid. The doors open and close perfectly, the windows have a tight, perfect seal, and there’s no creaking of loose nails on any of the stairs when you walk up and down them, so when I’m creeping around in the morning I don’t disturb anybody. The water heating systems are all the on-demand variety so there is no need for hot water heaters, and there is also no need for furnaces with the temperate climate. It is a shame that Artur and Rosa get to spend so little time here, but I bet their trips will get longer and more frequent in the coming years.

Today’s first destination was Obidos, an ancient walled city located on a hilltop, less then 20 minutes from home base. We’ve been using Ana’s phone for navigation, but the computer generated voice has been having more than a little difficulty with pronouncing the street names and they usually come out as an unrecognizable, scrambled mess. It doesn’t help much when the street names are so bloody long - how about “Rua Padre Jose Rodrigo Paula do Rossio” or “Rua Joaquim Dos Santos Borda D’Agua” or “Avenida Doctor Francisco Vale Guimaraes"? Of course, there are hardly any street signs showing the names, as the street names are usually painted on tiles on the nearest house to the corner. But when the odd street sign appears, there’s no way to fit the full name on the sign so they they have to abbreviate it to the point of comedy. What do you make of “Av. Dr. F V Gu”? It’s no wonder the artificial intelligence voice stumbles. But at least they add a few gaps into the street names - its much worse in Iceland where they wallop you with street names like Svalbarosstrandarhreppur. Good luck Siri.

Because of our later start we arrived in Obidos at prime tourist time and the busses were already releasing their payloads of snap-happy passengers through the main city gate. From afar, the city looks big, and almost dreamlike and unreal, but when you get up close and into the city, its size diminishes and you can walk straight across from wall to wall in just a few minutes. Ana found a local woman and struck up a conversation and discovered there are only about 50 people who actually live in the city and, up until about 15 years ago, there were no tourists here, so she didn’t mind having all the visitors as it livened things up a bit.

The walls were high, and had a nice walking path on top, but were closed because of work being one on them, which was too bad as I would have liked to do a full loop and imagined myself with a crossbow taking pot shots at the tourists below, both inside and outside the protective walls. Ana was completely mesmerized with the city, and was able to look beyond the throes of tourists better than me, but I did find it fascinating imagining what it must have been like living here hundreds of years ago when the walls were probably the difference between life and death. It was impossible to not compare this place to Game of Thrones or any of the other movies about life during the medieval times. It really put me in the mood for skewering an enemy.

Our next destination was the seaside town of Nazare, famous for the enormous surfing waves that appear here during the winter months. Ana’s been particularly fascinated with this town after seeing images like the one attached here, of a guy named Garrett McNamara surfing a hundred foot wave in 2013, thereby opening it up to the international surfing scene. We drove into the town centre and it was a madhouse of congestion - people and cars everywhere, and we had to circle for a long time to find a parking spot. Once a quaint little fishing village, Nazare bears no resemblance to its past and is a clusterfrick of cheesy tourist seaside drivel. For example beach activities included bumper cars, bumper boats, real life Angry Birds catapulting, bubble soccer, go-karts, and of course dozens of bars and restaurants. The only genuine thing I saw were racks of drying fish, and three old ladies trying to sell these leather fish snacks to tourists. Saying all that, the beach itself was expansive and beautiful, and the area was rimmed by an impressively high cliff that nestled in the town and made it feel a bit homey. There was a lovely boardwalk and a wide bike lane for moving up and down the beach. We did a short drive to the north of the town where the big wave surfing happens, but the ocean was calm so there were no waves to be seen, although there were still thousands of tourists there and plenty of infrastructure to serve them.

For what it is, I think Nazare is a pretty cool place if that’s what you are looking for. We were just a little surprised as we honestly didn’t do a lot of research on the town beforehand so were expecting something completely different.

We returned home for a short chill out session then went back out for a dinner date at our friend Horacio’s house in Areia Branca. Horacio’s brother Cesar is a long time friend of ours who passed away just a few weeks ago, and we had hosted the entire family at our house for dinner the year before, so Horacio had insisted we give him a call if we were ever in Portugal, so that’s exactly what we did!

Horacio’s partner Ana greeted us and introduced us to their longtime German friend Olivia, who was living in Areia Branca for the summer attending surfing school. They cooked up an amazing dinner of various cuts of pork (seemed like half a pig) cooked over their charcoal grill, chicken, salads, rice and bread and we enjoyed such a lovely evening getting to know each other over glasses of wine and great conversation. It is always such a treat when you have the opportunity to visit a local’s house when you are traveling, as you get a short glimpse into what life is like. I only wish we had more time together to visit, but hopefully we will see them again sometime soon.

It was just after 11 when we returned back to the house, exhausted yet again after another big day in Portugal.

I’m getting tired of all these UNESCO World Heritage sites

Yes, Paco is a tiny little village, with not much to do, but its location is perfect for day trips as there are so many places to see within a 90 minute drive. After an amazing sleep and hearty breakfast of fresh buns, Azorean cheese, eggs, bananas, and granola, we set off for Tomar, which is the location of the original headquarters of the Knights Templar, or at least the headquarters they built after becoming a fabulously wealthy organization. The driving in Portugal is easy and fun and there are virtually no traffic lights as practically all intersections are handled with roundabouts and the odd stop sign, making me wonder how we cocked our traffic handling up so completely in Canada. But that is a topic for a future post.

The reason we wanted to visit Tomar is my dad and stepmom had visited it last year and Dad said is was one of the most amazing things he’d ever seen. We didn’t arrive until about one hour after opening time, so I was getting a little nervous after yesterday’s human congestion at Sintra, but as we drove up we found the parking lot to be mostly empty, and after walking in the main gate found ourselves to be virtually alone, and feeling very small next to the giant ramparts, stone steps, and massive wooden doors of the front of the structure. Above the doors was a limestone facade, reaching up at least thirty feet, that was carved with elaborate designs and human figures that reminded me a bit of the Sagrada Familia cathedral in Barcelona. The main entrance was actually through a small side door, and we paid our entry fee which was only nine euro for all of us - a pleasant surprise after paying 49 euro for the same privilege at Sintra.

The building was simply massive, but also elaborately designed. The building has a long and fascinating history as it was repurposed many times and added onto or renovated by a succession of Portuguese kings. We kept reading the word “cloister” in the guidebook we have with us, which is a cool word and fun to say, but had no idea what it meant. Well, this building had a series of seven or eight cloisters, which are basically a part of the building that is open to the sky in the middle but is surrounded by a covered pathway. The word also has a religious connotation and usually refers to a holy building where you may find a monk or two.

One of these cloisters lead to the main chapel, which was simply unbelievable as it was a domed, octagonal room that stretched up so high you could barely make out the elaborate carvings and painting on the ceiling. There were life sized (or maybe larger?) carved figures imbedded into the walls, and Christian paintings of vibrant colour throughout. Images of the Templar cross (which is thick and red and always appeared on the chest of the uniforms and armour worn by the Templar Knights) appeared in a few areas.

What else did we see? A room filled with massive jugs for olive oil storage, expansive gardens, spiral stone staircases, fountains, limestone latticework on the ceilings, thick engraved stone columns holding everything up, and a four mile long aqueduct built to supply water to the building were just a few of the highlights. The building was simply amazing, and on the same scale as the largest temples in Angkor Wat in Cambodia, except better preserved. It was also such a great example of how fabulously rich Portugal was during the Age of Discovery when their ships were racing out across the globe, bringing back riches that were used primarily to build glorious religious structures. I’m reading a book about the history of Portugal, and one of the overarching themes is how the Portuguese were so good at these daring, bombastic exploits that demanded courage, ingenuity, risk-taking and a real sense of adventure, and these traits allowed them to conquer the world. Unfortunately, what they were not so good at was the boring stuff - long term planning, prudent financial management, and administration, which led to their country’s downfall when the spoils of colonialism dried up to a trickle as they were surpassed by England, Spain, France, and the Dutch. It was a good run.

After the visit to the Templars we wandered into Tomar’s town centre and found a lovely area of cobblestoned streets, shops and restaurants and sat down for lunch, where I had the “special hot dog”; special because the wiener was wrapped in cheese and ham before being placed in the bun and then topped with lettuce and crunchy, dried onions - delicious. There was a hipster barber on one of the main streets where Magnus and I tried to get a cut, but they were all booked up. The ladies did some shopping and found a few items of interest before we returned to the car and drove to our next stop - Fatima, the most important religious site in Portugal, and the second most important Catholic pilgrimage site in the world after Lourdes in France.

I knew that Fatima was a place where the Virgin Mary appeared to three young children back at the turn of the 20th century, but I was not prepared for the scale of the site, as I had never seen photos of it. We first walked through the main pedestrian area that was packed with nothing but shops selling religious stuff, and let me tell you, there were more Virgin Mary statuettes there then you could shake a holy septor at. The site itself is a massive open tiled area that can hold hundreds of thousands of people, who religiously arrive twice a year during pilgrimage times. There was a steady stream of people walking on their knees across this area, as part of the final rituals that you perform on a pilgrimage, another of which involves throwing wax candles into a hot oven that creates a waxy odour, pervading the entire area. Through a loudspeaker came the sounds of a woman saying the prayers of the rosary as hundreds of people were packed around, joining in. We walked up the steps to the main cathedral that houses the remains of the three children and was built on the very site where the apparitions occurred.

It was an intensive, spiritual experience, that we’ve seen and felt before in other religious sites, such as the Hindu and Buddhist temples we visited in Asia, but I think it was especially strong for Ana, who grew up with the Portuguese catholic tradition in her home. We were wishing Ana’s mom could have been here with us, as this is a place we know she has always wanted to visit.

On the way out we stopped in a market area where they sold a huge variety of religious artifacts (Magnus has never met a market he didn’t like, but I would have thought a self-declared atheist like him would have been less interested in a religious market. I was wrong.) Ana found a few items of interest and we asked one of the vendors to explain the reason for these strange candles that were for sale, in the shape of arms, legs, heads, babies, and so on. She explained that people come here with very specific requests, such as to heal a particular body part, or to have a baby, or even to bless their house or car, so they will buy a candle in the shape of whatever they need, and then burn that candle in the ovens as part of the ritual. I asked Ana to look for a catamaran candle that would increase the likelihood of us owning one soon, but she said it didn’t really work like that. It was worth a try.

The next once in a lifetime stop (or three in one day, in our case) was the monastery in the town of Alcobaca. It was getting later in the day, but because we were getting a little worn out we stopped for coffee and an ice cream at a cafe just outside the main square. There, Magnus started lobbying to be left out of the monastery visit.

“Dad, I’ve had enough. I don’t even like European history,” Magnus said.

“What do you mean? You love history and ancient stuff,” I countered.

“Well maybe, but I’ve had enough”

“You just need to soak up the culture. In fact, you should snort up the culture. Snort it right up your nose, it’s good for you,” I added.

“Fine, I’ll snort up a bit of culture, but if we get bored then Stella and I are leaving and coming outside to goof around.”

We approached the expansive area leading up to the monastery and found something unique in all of Portugal - a surface they have not tiled or cobblestoned. It was a field of packed sand that was strangely appropriate, and visually stunning.

The monastery was overwhelming, from the life-sized carved wooden images of all the kings of Portugal, to the soaring ceilings, to the giant cooking ovens, to the burial chamber for all past rectors, to the fact that all monks here lived by a vow of silence their entire lives, and were only allowed to speak occasionally in a single room, as long as it dealt with the administration of the monastery, like complimenting the chef on the quality of the breakfast oatmeal, or requesting a multi-ply toilet paper upgrade. They weren’t allowed to talk about European football, pop culture, interesting nuns they had met, or anything else of much interest.

The kids made it through the entire visit without complaining, then we let them rip around outside for a while and visit a few shops before we jumped back in the car and headed to home base. But we weren’t quite done yet. After a short break, we packed back into the car and drove to Peniche, a seaside fishing town just 20 minutes away. And after a drive around the peninsula where we saw dozens of caravans and motorhomes with surfboards strapped everywhere, we were surprised to find a major festival happening in the port side area with thousands of people and a big carnival with rides, a market, games, and legions of black-bearded Portuguese carnies, smoking and huckstering.

We waited for quite some time to get a table at one of the many seafood restaurants overlooking the fishing port, then once we were seated we ordered up drinks and food. The place was heaving and despite the servers racing back and forth, working as fast as possible, it took forever to finally get our meals, but we weren’t in a rush. My grilled sardines and Ana’s mackerel were just ok, and the kids’ meals were adequate, but the atmosphere was pretty cool with so many people passing back and forth outside and the sounds of the nearby carnival ringing out. We didn’t finish up until after 11 then the kids went on a couple of rides and we wandered around the carnival\. It was well after 1am when we arrived home, so we all collapsed into bed after an unusually full day.