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September 26, 2016
Graffiti. Portugal is full of it. But while the travel websites and guide books don’t seem to distinguish graffiti (i.e., tagging or just scrawled words) from street art, I do.
Portugal is full of street art as well as graffiti. And the city of Porto in particular has an abundance of the former.
Below is a sampling. Enjoy!
I arrived at my hostel in the town of Leiria at 11:15 on a Friday night to find that the ground floor doubles as a clearly popular bar. “Reception” and the bar are one and the same, which left me competing with some drink-ordering young folk—not to mention waiting for two gin and tonics to be made—in order to check in. Once that was done and he’d shown me around (including the amazing rooftop view above), the bartender/hostel guy (who looks like he is straight outta Williamsburg, by the by—skinny jeans and all) showed me to my room and handed me my key. And a pair of earplugs.
Hey, you can’t say they didn’t warn you, right?
September 22, 2016
September 17, 2016
Spent a lovely afternoon and evening in the charming city of Porto (Don’t tell Lisbon, but I think I like it better.), taking waaaay too many photos. So in the interest of actually sleeping tonight, I chose ones from the latter portion of the evening, which are also, I think, the most dramatic.
OK, it’s only really “also known as” the Eiffel Bridge by me, who can’t help wondering why it wasn’t named that—you know, like the tower. Though I suppose everything the guy built couldn’t be named after him. He’s not Donald Trump, after all.
Anyway . . . point being, since I have been unable to remember which Luis’s bridge it is (V has been my default guess. So I was off by four. Or, I guess, IV.), I began thinking of it as the Eiffel Bridge. And this is my blog. So there you go.
Vila Nova de Gaia is, incidentally, where all the port is aged and stored, each in its respective vineyard’s port “cave”—which I thought was a word chosen by the port-wine-tourism conspiracy to lure us tourists in with something more exotic, mysterious and earthy-sounding than “cellar,” but turns out (Duh, Mia. Aren’t you glad you googled before posting?) to be Portuguese for, you guessed it, wine cellar.
Anyway . . . point being, this is where the port-wine industry pays its membership dues to the port-wine-tourism conspiracy. Which is to say you can visit the caves (which are emphatically not caves) for tours and tastings. Which I, as a lover of wine and victim of conspiracies, of course plan to do. Tomorrow. Before I get on an early-evening bus bound for my next destination. Should be interesting.
September 16, 2016
On my second (and last) day in Sintra, I visited two extraordinary palaces: the brightly colored fairy-tale majesty that is the Palácio da Pena and the Palácio de Monserrate, an extravagantly (and exquisitely) decorated 19th-century estate blending Moorish, Indian and Gothic Portuguese architectural styles, which was the summer retreat of Sir Francis Cook, an English textile baron.
Monserrate features a beautiful botanical garden (of which I sadly only had time to see a small fraction) with non-native plants from all over the world arranged according to their geographic origin.
The Palácio da Pena is thought of as one of the major expressions of 19th-century Romantic architecture not just in Portugal, but the world. It is surrounded by a forest and gardens—from which the castle is visible from all parts, apparently—that contain over five hundred species of trees also originating from the far corners of the earth.
As you can see from these too-up-close photos, I did not get a chance to see for myself (literally) whether the castle actually *can* be seen from everywhere in the gardens. This is because, sadly, due to the previous day’s rain (and not in some small part to mismanagement of time (aka laziness) on my part, I was left with only enough hours in the day—if I was going to see both palaces, which of course I damn well was—to basically do a shoot-and-run. My companion for the day’s adventure—Tauna, a lovely Aussie trauma nurse who lives in Hawaii—and I therefore were forced to become (thankfully temporarily) what she referred to as “terror tourists.” Honestly, we spent most of our time at Pena waiting for *other* tourists (terror and otherwise, but mostly terror, in our terribly impatient opinion) to get out of the way of our shots. If you want to see one of those great, iconic shots of the full castle, you could, of course, google it and see many, but I humbly suggest that you rather view such a photo here first, on this great website I discovered last night (when they liked my post; thanks, guys!), Salt of Portugal.
So, yes, once we’d seen and photographed everything we possibly could at the castle (the fabulous views will have to wait for when I post my entire photo album), we were off to make our way to Monserrate—which, with an accident that put all traffic to a standstill such that we got off our bus and started walking (until we got back to town, where we found a tuk tuk; they have tuk tuks here!)— we also barely had any time to see. After our photographic and just general love-fest with the house, we were in a hurry to leave, but I did some quick time recalculating and decided we had 20 minutes to see the gardens (which I policed very strictly, believe it or not; I *had* to make my train), after which we were blessed with yet another instance the good travel luck/karma (depending on if you asked me or Tauna) we’d had that day for the most part, when the every-half-hour bus we needed to catch (or walk an hour back) appeared about one minute after we’d crossed the street from the palace to the bus stop to check the schedule. (It was almost quarter past the hour, by the by.) Phew!
And so I made my train and then my bus and arrived in Porto by 11:30pm (Arrived about eight minutes ahead of schedule and my hostel is four minutes from the bus station . . . nice). So tomorrow’s photo(s) shall be of Porto (and not just of me drinking it, though that will happen at the end of my self-propelled five-or-more-hour walking tour, you can count on that!).
September 15, 2016
I spent the better part of the afternoon today exploring the somewhat surreal, somewhat magical grounds of the Quinta da Regaleiro mansion and gardens in Sintra, Portugal, the brainchild of Italian opera-set designer Luigi Manini, who appears to have been hired to bring his fantasy to life, no expense spared, no idea too over-the-top. The guy had clearly read a lot of fairy tales as a child. And then graduated to Knights of the Templar adventures. (Apparently the main house is full of Knights of the Templar symbols for those in the know. Which I am not. Sorry.)
Here you will find many a fountain and grotto, as well as several underground tunnels—not all of which are shown on the tourist map, including the one from which the Labyrinthine Grotto above gets its name. It somehow hadn’t occurred to me to wonder about the origin of this lovely grotto’s name—any more than it occurred to me to wonder who Leda was when I went to Leda’s Cave.
So perhaps it is fitting that, since I never bothered wondering, I found out the answer purely by accident, and not without a bit of luck. Which I needed, because a few minutes after I’d wandered into a dark cave tunnel armed with nothing but my camera to “light” the way, it was looking like I’d have to turn around, as it was so dark I didn’t even know if what was in front of me was more tunnel or I was about to walk head-on into a dead-end wall. But then rescue came in the form of an Aussie mom-and-daughter pair wielding a phone flashlight, which enabled us to continue walking—somewhat precariously at times, as the further we went, the wetter it got (which should have been our hint right there)—and find out where the tunnel ended, i.e., at the grotto at which I’d taken the above photo about fifteen minutes earlier.
So, yeah. The whole place is pretty crazy. But also pretty. But also, yeah, kind of a nutty dream movie-set of a place.
Unfortunately, it was also a pain in the ass that it rained most of the time I was there, and when it got heavy I had to sit on a carved stone bench under a carved stone overhang for an hour and wait it out. (I know. First World problems.) The silver lining, however (Hey, how many times does one get to use that in the context of actual rain?), was that when the rain lightened up enough for me brave leaving (with my sun hat turned rain hat and my linen shirt damp and useless against the cold), I again passed Waterfall Lake, which had been my first stop at the Quinta three hours earlier, when it had been so full of pain-in-the-ass tourists (I know. How dare they?) that it was impossible to get a photo without them marring it. With the rain falling, it was now blissfully empty. So, Mother Nature taketh away, but she also giveth, and the above photo is proof. Obrigado, mãe.
Below is the mansion, in which, presumably, the man who let Luigi Manini’s imagination run wild—Brazilian coffee magnate António Carvalho Monteiro, aka Monteiro dos Milhões (Moneybags Monteiro. Of course.)—and his family lived.
Lastly, I give you the view from the top of the admittedly pretty incredible “Initiation Well” (before the rain got heavy enough to scare away the majority of us tourists, unfortunately).
For all these sights, but especially the latter, the interweb’s photos are far superior to mine. So I suggest giving it a google if you want a better idea.
Tchau! (Yes, that is really how it’s spelled in Portuguese. Obrigado yet again, interwebz.)
September 14, 2016
September 13, 2016
Spent most of my second day in Lisbon wandering the winding streets of Alfama, which resulted in my getting lost, both figuratively and literally, among its narrow streets and old-world homes and charm.
As the city’s historically Jewish and Muslim neighborhood, that Alfama has retained all three is not a coincidence. It is at least partially due to the fact that after the massive 1755 earthquake devastated the city, chief minister and master rebuilder Marquês de Pombal—while apparently holding quite tolerant views for the day, such as “You can’t kill that person just because he’s a Jew.”—chose not to implement his new formal (and “earthquake-proof”) grid style here.*
Alfama is full of little lanes and alleyways, steep hills and (when you’re lucky) stone stairs to help you scale them. And there are places within the district where you can stand and all you hear are the birds and the voices, laughter and music coming from the residents’ homes (or the streets, where they do much of their socializing and sometimes even their cooking, apparently). It was truly amazing to be in the middle of a city unable to hear any traffic sounds.*
At one point I turned onto a street so narrow that one man was sitting in his doorway chatting with his friend “across the street” as if he were across a dinner table. (Actually, I’m fairly sure my family dinner table growing up was wider than this street.) Which led to the highlight of my afternoon: petting the homeowner’s big, happy, lumbering mutt of a dog named Di (“Because it’s Di everything,” said his weathered owner. “Di Rosa, Di Silva . . . De Nero,” he grinned winningly at me, flashing his charmingly awful teeth.), who almost immediately got up, leaned heavily into my legs, then proceeded to heave his massive girth (He was almost as wide as the street. No exaggeration.) onto the cobblestones, rolling over to gleefully demand his belly-rub. As was his right.
*Shout-out to my Lisbon Chill-Out Free Tour guide, Pedro, who taught me everything I know about Lisbon (which, granted, still isn’t much, but it’s a hell of a lot more than it was yesterday).
September 13, 2016
These are a few shots from my second day in Lisbon, which started with a 3.5-hour walking tour* and ended (with wine tasting . . . yay!) after I’d walked about 5 more hours.
*Shout out to Lisbon Chill-Out Free Tour and my excellent guide, Pedro, for all the interesting history and great present-day tips.
September 12, 2016
This is a view from the Miradouro de Santa Luzia in Lisbon. (Miradouro means viewpoint or lookout—like “mirador” in Spanish . . . am I forgetting the exact word in English?)
Below is the lovely little garden there. The miradouro is shaded by a trellis covered with dangling grapevines. Also lovely. (Sorry, no photo. You’ll just have to take my word for it. Also: Lisbon.)