Day 46 Vigo Spain, A Birthday Bore

Day 46 –On to Madrid

On getting back into Porto, I jumped on a four hour train ($15) north to Vigo, Spain, arriving at about 10 pm. I splurged for my birthday the next day and got a decent hotel room to catch up on sleep and veg. It was the hotel Chess Mexico whose only relationship to Mexico was the Aztec design in the foyer. For only $50/night I got a hotel room that would go for 3-4 times that at home. I spent my the first half of my birthday walking the boring town of Vigo, which is mostly a seaport/ship broker town. It was Saturday and almost everything was closed because they are more evening oriented there. I did have a very good and massive fried calamari sandwich for $3.50. The second half of the day I stayed in my room and relaxed with my complimentary hotel wi-fi.

I wanted to go see the Islas da Cieres, the legendary vacation spot of the gods, but it has been doing nothing but rain and the visibility is poor. So I am off to Madrid on a eight hour train right now, in a first class cabin. First class was $18 more to get better seats, a movie I can’t understand, and more legroom. For such a long trip, it is definitely worth it, except for the movie. I have an offer by a Lisboa friend to use his Madrid couch to crash on while I am there so maybe I can save some money. We’ll see, I was supposed to give him more warning, I just didn’t want to spend another day in dreary Vigo.

My Portugal average daily expenses:

Algarve (south) $45/day
Lisboa/Porto $62/day
Madeira $198/day including airfare

Day 44 Leaving Madeira

Madeira was a very pleasant change for a few days. The island is almost entirely tourist focused and for good reason. On the south side it is warmer and tropical with banana, cherimoya, passion fruit, chestnut, and avocado trees, sugar cane, and other crops all terraced up the steep mountains that created the island way out at sea. I was on the 4th floor of an inexpensive hotel in the capital city Funchal. The room was more than I needed with a TV and phone, except it had no internet connection; I am getting used to very basic accommodations. While I was looking at the tram that ran above my balcony to about 2km up the mountain, I thought I would try to see if there was wireless in the neighborhood and lo and behold, if I stuck my laptop out the window I could get the lowest possible connection. With the assistance of a chair straddling the window sill I was able to have the computer safely outside the window. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Since I was only on Madeira briefly, I opted for a minibus tour (42 euros) of the west end of the island. There were only five of us and I got the front seat with operable window so I could take pictures. The island is all up or down except for a small plateau near the top of the island. I saw very few two-wheeled vehicles because, according to the guide, it was too difficult or dangerous with the steep streets. And when I say steep, I mean STEEP at times. It would be a great place to open a clutch and brake shop.

We stopped at the second highest sea cliff in the world at about 1500ft. Took a few pictures hanging off the edge and moved on to a small, not particularly notable, beach town, and then climbed over the center of the island to the north side, which looks like the mountains from “Land of the Lost.” I won’t bother trying to describe it, because I won’t do it any justice. I will only say it was awe inspiringly beautiful and lush green impossibly high mountains. At the top we were in clouds that changed by the second, allowing limited pictures unfortunately. We headed down to the sea and stopped at the, according to the guide, “the only souvenir stand I recommend.” Which of course means that he gets a cut of anything we buy. This was confirmed by the way he stood near the cashier anytime one of us made a purchase. The prices were still cheap, so I could not complain. I bought a small, molasses colored cake that was made with sugar cane, honey, and Madeira wine—very rich and tasty. For a dollar, I also tried a good sized glass of the local drink Poncha, made fresh at the stand. It is honey rum and lemon juice and goes down like punch and has a heck of a kick.

Next at Port Moniz we had lunch at a very touristy restaurant where I had scabbard fish, a very traditional meal on Madeira, and one of my new favorite fishes. The naturally formed lava rock swimming pools were closed because of the high tide had swallowed most of them. The sea was incredibly blue and the waves were huge and hypnotic to watch. Back over the mountains we saw a few of the several hundred cloud enshrouded wind turbines that cover the plateau and provide the electrical power for the island. It was weird to go up and up and up and then hit a very flat 23 sq mile plain.

Later that night I went out for the “Typical Night” tour for 30 euros. An older couple, a younger couple with a small boy, and I were the tour group. They spoke almost no English, but once again that did not prove to be a problem. It was an interesting night right from the start. At the restaurant the first thing I noticed was that there was a coat rack or two sticking 5 feet out of the middle of every table--a little odd. Dinner started with some Madeira wine of course. Garlic bread, pitchers of red and white wine came next, and then French fries, and milho fritos, which are mashed corn that is formed into cubes and fried (very tasty), salad, and then came the meat.... Four foot long skewers of sizzling beef where hung off what really are meat racks on the tables. One chock full skewer for every two people and if you managed to eat about half the skewer, they brought more. Ooof! That was a lot of meat. That was followed by your choice of fruit salad or ice cream. I opted for the green apple ice cream. The meal ended with espresso and aguardente (a brandy) and licor de aniz. Plenty of meat and alcohol that preps you for the traditional folk dancing and fado show that follows. I passed on the 5x7 picture (5 euro) of me sliding meat off the oversized skewer, just as I passed on the picture of me sitting on the tram, just as I passed on the picture of me eating dinner in Port Moniz with the traditionally dressed waitress. Like I said, they are tourist oriented and have figured out how to squeeze the maximum out of us. Well maybe from the people from the QE2 anchored in the harbor but not me.

Leaving the this morning, I was chauffeured in style to the airport as part of my package deal, got on the plane and had a slightly unnerving experience. We were about to leave when the stewardess announced that we had to wait for the ground crew. They opened the door back up and a few guys in fluorescent vests went in to talk to the pilot. After a few minutes, all but one of the crew, including stewardesses, went outside. I looked out the window and about a dozen people were standing around a guy laying under the jet engine. They opened panels, fiddled for a while, and some of the crew came back on board. The rest stood way back while the engine was cycled on and off, at times to great speed. During this procedure, the cabin systems were going on and off with lights and bells and emergency illumination blinking. This went on for about 40 minutes with not a word of explanation to the increasing anxious passengers. Then they shut the whole plane down and turned it back on again, like a Microsoft reboot. Apparently satisfied, they said, "sorry for the delay," and we took off with still no explanation. Now, I have been on many planes and I know what a jet engine sounds like. This was not normal sounding. It was a bit too motor boatish for my tastes and those of my terrified seatmate. One of the bad things about being on a mountainous island is that when you take off you are over water the moment you hit the end of the runway. Bad I say because no one has ever survived a water landing in a commercial aircraft in the history of aviation, anywhere. Those floating seat cushions are merely to make you feel better. Obviously we lived. Although for the first half hour my seatmate would sit sharply forward every minute or so and nervously verify the engine was still attached to the wing.

Day 42 Madeira

I spent the first half of yesterday doing two things: Going to the mall for free internet access, unfortunately, the wrong mall and I could not connect (the other mall was much further away), and also trying to find a box or tube to send a couple cool posters home. The post office doesn’t have boxes, only envelopes, and none of the dozen people I asked had any idea where to find something. It is as if the people of Porto never mail any packages. I don’t understand. I ended up taking a cardboard box out of a recycling pile and making my own triangular mailing tube. I used my pocket knife and a pen and cut and folded my way into being a public spectacle—I had an audience of about eight people that were baffled by what I was doing. It was hilarious. Then came the problem of needing tape which is also not available at the post office. I wandered until I found a hardware store, but they did not have tape to sell. The proprietor spoke no English at all, yet we got along fine and he used his own tape to carefully secure my package, refused any payment, and shook my hand with a smile.

This has been typical of Porto. A bus driver guessed that I wanted to go to the hostel and let me off right in front because I missed my stop a block back; another driver let me ride for free because he didn’t have change for a $20; other riders asked me if I was knew I the bus wasn’t going to the city center where most tourists go; shop people were always helpful; restaurant people didn’t treat me like a faceless tourist; and so on.

The second half of the day I wandered across the bridge to the Port caves, a 10 minute walk. I went in a few and settled on Vasconcellos, which is a small, high-quality, family house. I was the only one for the English tour and got personal treatment, and a very nice bottle of Tawny before I left. There was no way I was going to Porto with buying a bottle of port; besides, it is so much cheaper from the family that makes it than after a few middlemen in the states. I spent 20 euro for a bottle that would have cost me twice as much at home.

Today I flew to Madeira on a plane (made by Airbus) that had more leg room in economy class than I could believe. I actually was able to cross my legs comfortably! I was almost disappointed it was only a two-hour flight. It was nice seeing a driver holding up a sign with my misspelled name on it. Normally, I have to scrounge for transportation. My room is big and has a separate enclosed balcony with a view of a small park, old town Funchal, and fog shrouded mountains above. At my balcony table, I ate roasted chicken with rice and port and enjoyed the view as the sun set in vibrant colors over the tropical paradise of Madeira. Wow.

My internet connection is only 1 Mbps with the lowest signal possible, so I don’t think I will be getting pictures online. I’ll try, no promises though.

Day 40 Porto

I stayed in Lisboa one more day and drove through rain up to Porto with my roommate Ricardo, a Porto resident. He was very generous and proud of his city; we went out to eat, drove to the hostel, got me checked-in, hit the tourism office for maps and info, went to a travel agency and arranged a trip to Madeira, and then drove back to the hostel, all the while he helped me communicate with people in Portuguese and gave me an guided tour of his home city. At the end, I had to force money on him for gas.

I have to say that my first impressions of Porto have been very positive. I am told that the Port wineries are within walking distance of the old town, and have free samples! Things just keep getting better.

One negative is that I cannot get online with my own computer at the hostel so I have to go to the shopping center to upload anything. That means that I have to find it again (we stopped there briefly to check wi-fi access) and take a bus or two quite a way to get there.

I am going to Madeira from Wednesday to Friday. It is a two hour plane ride to the island and includes airport shuttles, hotel, breakfasts, and was only $300 for everything. It is good to travel in the off season.

In the massively tourist laden Lisboa, I was only able to identify maybe half a dozen American couples. According to Ricardo and others, Americans don’t go to Portugal much, particularly after 9/11. Ricardo says he only sees two or three Americans a year in Porto. I have yet to understand why this is. I know that my impression of Portugal before I came was that it would be much poorer than it is. People here may be less well off than others in Europe, but they are not burdened by the endemic poverty that cripples countries like Mexico. Overall, Portugal is doing well.

Day 38 Leaving Lisboa

In my last post I described the Palacia da Pena as not obscenely large; yesterday, I went to the National Palace in Mafra and it is more than obscenely large. If the 1200 plus rooms in the palace and monastery are difficult enough to visualize, add the small detail that I went through only 40 rooms and I walked two kilometers (about a mile). The king at that time had asked the Franciscans to ask God to help his wife bear a child, promising that he would build them a monastery if it happened. Buying off God worked for him and his wife bore a child the next year. Such a self-important man wasn’t about to build a monastery for only 13 monks and built it for 300 instead, and an enormous basilica, and a small 880 room “hunting palace.” During one of the 33 years it took to build, they counted 52,000 workmen at the palace. To make it worse, the royal family spent a total of three or four days a year there. It is impossible to use that many rooms with anything less than an army so most of the enormous furnished rooms were nothing more than hallways between used rooms. The “hallway” between the king’s and queen’s rooms was about 700 feet long (223 meters). Pictures were not allowed so I did not take any, but since we only had six people in our tour, the tour guide took a picture of me sitting on a Charles V bench!

The bus driver to Mafra was the most reserved I have seen, opposite of the driver I had to Cabo da Rocha. That guy must have been Mario Andretti’s suicidal brother on meth. We careened through a dozen small villages at amazing speed considering that at times it would have been generous to say that it was a one-lane road. Delightful stucco buildings painted in muted pastels take on a much more menacing appearance when they are within two inches of your bus window at 35 mph (60 kph) on twisty village lanes. I have to give him credit, he knew exactly how big his bus was. Roundabouts were like going to Six Flags from where I was in the back of the bus, it was wild.

Being a pedestrian here can be dangerous. Some drivers will slow or stop for you if you are in a crosswalk and others will speed up to discourage you from crossing. Never assume you have the right of way.

It is my last full day in Lisboa and I am spending it catching up on posting pictures, planning my trip to Porto, packing, and resting.

Day 36 To the End of the Earth and Back

I bought a one-day pass ($15) for unlimited travel by bus and train in the Lisboa region and jumped a train to the touristy little village of Sintra, about 40 minutes away. Tourist cash has kept up the city well, almost too well, since it feels charming yet a little too picturesque for reality. The main attractions are the National Palace (closed while I was there), the Castelo de Mouros (Moorish Castle), and the Palacio da Pena (Disneyesque palace). The latter two are just up the hill and are worth the trip.

Little other than most of the outside wall is left of the Castelo de Mouros. It rambles over the top of the mountain like a mini great wall of China, with views of several villages and the Atlantic ocean in the near distance. The interior is overrun with an untamed verdant splendor that is a wonderfully relaxing break from the masses and hectic pace of Lisboa.

The Palacio da Pena is the former home of Kings and Queens of Portugal and was built by incorporating the remains of an ancient monastery. On first seeing the facade, I half expected to see Donald or Mickey pop out at me at any moment. The color scheme and ornate, turret intensive architecture screams Disney. Closer inspection reveals a much more elegant and regal structure. Unfortunately, they don’t allow any photos inside the palace. And contrary to what my mother has said, I don’t ignore “No Photo” signs. I respect the need to preserve antiquities that can be damaged by flash cameras. I only sometimes ignore the signs when the only reason they don’t want you to take a picture is that they want to sell you theirs. The scale of the palace is very human, not the oversized, god-like grandeur that I normally think of when I think “palace.” The rooms are modest and even the ballroom is not obscenely large. It feels like a home. The detail, on the other hand, is definitely royal, clearly showing both the money and labor that it took.

Stopping at a large, circular window on the stairs, I couldn’t help but imagine a king standing in the very same spot and gazing across his domain, his brow furrowed by some pressing issues of his time. I didn’t envy his station or burden, but felt thankful that I was only passing briefly in his shadow.

I went by bus to Cabo da Rocha, the westernmost point of Europe. Also once thought to be one of the edges of the world, there is little to see other than tour buses of people and a gift shop of course. It lacks the sharp drop-off of land as that of Sagres, the most Southwestern point. Cabo da Rocha is one of those places you can tell your friends you have been. I saw the view for 5 minutes and waited for the bus to Cascais for and hour.

Cascais, vacation home of Portugal’s rich, is overrun with sports and luxury cars, fine hotels and restaurants, and overdressed people. It is a nice waterfront city but too expensive; I headed back to Lisboa on the train after about two hours.

I will add more to this entry later.

Day 34 Lisboa

During the five days I have been in Lisboa, I have seen the Castelo Sao Jorge (Castle of St. George), the Aqueducto Aguas Livres (Roman aqueduct), many plazas with grand statues, public art everywhere, a few ornate churches, an assortment of towers and other monuments, a few interesting historic neighborhoods, and enough cobblestone to cover New Mexico. Not a single museum in the lot. I have intentionally been avoiding museums in order to avoid tourist trail burnout. I like museums; I just have wanted to soak up the local culture as much as possible first.

The Castelo Sao Jorge is on a hill right in the middle of town in the labyrinth of the Alfama neighborhood. Some of the nameless alleyways are so small that you cannot see them until you are standing in front of them. If it wasn’t a sunny day, allowing me to keep a sense of direction, I am sure I would have gotten lost. It was sunny when I was there and if there had been a wind to blow some of the smog in the distance away, the view would have been spectacular. The castle is surrounded by what is now a graceful meandering park filled with shady trees, benches, and of course, cannons. It is a lovely place to spend a few hours relaxing. Up at the castle itself, I wandered around the high walls and watched a group of small preschool children, all with matching red hats and pink smocks, play in the courtyard, climbing trees and frequently alarming their guardians by fearlessly scaling the crumbling stone walls.

In one of the castle towers is a camera obscura installation that is very cool. It is a dark room with what looks like a nine foot (3m) white bowl in the middle. When the guide operates the mirror and lenses in the top of the tower, it projects a live view of the city into the bowl. As he pulls or turns some hanging levers, he can turn and aim the mirror to see all the way around the city. I wasn’t supposed to take this picture, but I did anyway and was promptly told not to do it again. I figured it was without flash and didn’t hurt anything so I would gladly take a mild scolding so I could get the shot.

I was also a little bad at the Roman aqueduct. It is impressively large but not much to see once you get on it. You walk about half a kilometer across the top to the other side of the valley and there is a locked gate with a park on the other side. I wanted to get the two feet to the park without spending 40 minutes walking all the way back and taking a bus to get there,. I figured that since they have built everything for shorter people, like the metal hand holds at my forehead height in the metro (bumped my head five frickin’ times so far!), I should take advantage of my long arms and legs so I quite easily swung off the side of the walkway and around the barbed barricade. So there!

I was going to go out with a group of people here to see some Fado last night, which is the Portuguese performance art of heart wrenching singing and narrative poetry, but after some inexplicable delays we ended up spending the evening playing pool and talking in the hostel bar. Maybe it is for the best because I was told we wouldn’t get back until 8 or 9 in the morning! When they go out here, they go out late.

The parking laws here are very strict; they say that if you can only park if your car fully fits in the space. If it doesn’t fit, you have to park on the sidewalk, or double or triple park, or park perpendicular in a parallel space with half your car sticking out into the street, or in the middle of the street, or anywhere else you happen to stop. If you can’t park in any of those places, you absolutely cannot park. Actually, the only real rule is that you have to leave just enough room on the street for another car to squeeze past you or everyone will honk and yell.

Day 30 Lisboa Portugal

The bus to Lisboa was the nicest bus I have ever taken. It was like a Cadillac of buses with ergonomic leather seats, fold down trays, a water dispenser, and a movie to watch. It was luxurious. The view was disappointingly uneventful and only mildly scenic. Getting to the hostel from the bus station was only a matter of walking down some stairs, paying 13.20 euros for a five day metro/bus pass, two transfers, and walking a block, losing my metro pass and receipt in the process, forcing me to buy another, oops.

The central Lisboa hostel ($20 USD/night) is old and stately on the outside and ultra-modern on the inside. All the plumbing fixtures are stainless, including sinks and vanities, toilets, and urinals. Perhaps most strange for a hostel is that the furniture is in good shape and all matches. The hostel even has a fashionable full bar with a pool table, video games, and cheap drinks. The downside is that it doesn’t have a kitchen for the visitors to use, leaving dining out the only option after the free breakfast.

Lisboa itself is beautiful. Almost everywhere you look is postcard worthy. The hard thing is that things are so close together, it is hard to get good pictures of everything I want. The city feels very old, but not ancient as I expect will Rome to be. Many of the buildings are covered in ceramic tiles, a Moorish influence I think, and have a unique character that I haven’t seen before. I’ll try to get the Portugal gallery going soon.

My Portuguese is pathetic still and I have to rely on English or body language for most things. It hasn’t stopped me from going to the tiny local cafes with minimal signage and cryptic menus in illegible handwriting. I have had a few classic Portuguese dishes: whole sardines (some organs intact) cooked over a wood charcoal grill with roasted potatoes, olives, and some local beer; some of the most fantastic grilled chicken ever, served with crunchy home-style potato chips and local beer; and of course, bacalhau, which is a salt dried cod that came with chick peas, olives, salad, and local beer. Notice the common theme? To avoid getting fat, I have been working hard to avoid the ubiquitous pastelerias (pastry cafes) but for 50 cents for a high quality espresso and another 60 cents or less for the pastry, my will power has faltered, repeatedly.

I feel very comfortable here. For a big touristy city, the people here are pleasant and helpful. The temperature has been between 68 and 75 degrees, very nice.

Research note:

There is one question that I have been asked repeatedly, "Why did you elect Bush?"

Day 28 Lagos and Sagres

I am sitting in Lagos in a comfortably shabby hammock and enjoying the cool afternoon shade of a palm tree with nothing pressing to do other than drink ridiculously inexpensive and delicious local red currant beer and catch up on my travel blog. I wish life was always this rough.

Lagos is entirely a tourist town. It is similar to Cancun, Mexico in its draw for young people to party. It seems that everything is geared for summer youthful hedonism or off season geriatric sight seeing. Not really my scene.

Yesterday, I threw a rock off the end of the earth. Well, it was once thought to be the end of the earth. I took a bus (3 euro) 32 kilometers to Sagres, the farthest southwest point of Europe. The continent ends, appropriately enough, very abruptly with a 100 foot tall cliff that plunges straight down into what looks like very deep ocean. It is no wonder people thought that the world ended there; beyond is only azure curve of the ocean as it meets the horizon. After walking about 4 kilometers in a round about fashion to the point, I walked another 6 kilometers to Cabo Sao Vicente, the third most powerful lighthouse in the world, and had a 270 degree view of unobstructed horizon from straight north all the way around to the east.

At that time, two things happened. First, I was astounded by the sheer number of older British tourists that ceaselessly piled out of tour buses that arrived every few minutes. Second, a visual memory hit me quite suddenly; the bus schedule listed both Sagres and Cabo Sao Vicente for most of the day, but only went to Sagres at the end of the day. It was of course, the end of the day when I realized this. I tried hitching a ride with no luck and ended up walking the 6 kilometers back to Sagres. It was rapidly getting dark and there was no way other than an expensive taxi to get back to my prepaid room and backpack in Lagos. I opted for a quarto for 25 euro, a single room that is sometimes with a family, but in this case was entirely private with a shared bath. At a deserted café, I had a beer and a shrimp omelet that came with fries and a tomato and onion salad for 6.50 euros. I was tired, but had a bed and food--nothing to complain about. The next day I missed the first bus back to Lagos by about 20 seconds. Oh well. I had an espresso and pastry and sat for 2 hours, until the next bus, looking beyond the rows of palm trees to watch the sky and ocean slowly exchange hues of blue.

When I got back to Lagos I went three doors up from the hostel to get a haircut at a salon. They spoke no English, yet we managed quite well. For 9 euros I got the best and most precise haircut of my life. It must have taken her a full hour to make sure that every, and I mean every, hair on my head was exactly the right length. Ears, eye brows, side burns, everything. She was truly meticulous.

Tomorrow I am taking the bus to Lisboa; a four hour ride for 15 euros. Even though, I like the relaxed Mediterranean life here, Lagos is not for me.

On a research note, I found the overwhelming opinion about Americans by Brits, Germans, Portuguese, Brazilians, and Spanish, is that we think we are better than everyone else. “Americans think we are number one in the world.” "They think they know everything." I got this from direct and overheard conversations. Before I came, I was needlessly worried that people would be hesitant to tell me how they really feel; they have been quite frank. I have yet to actually run into any Americans here so I cannot provide any personal observations of my fellow citizens.

Day 25 Praia de Faro

When I think of a city with an international airport, I think big. I am wrong in this case. Maybe it shows my travel inexperience. Faro is a cute little town with a small walled old city and only two hotels. I am told it is a booming tourist town in the summer. The old city takes about 2 hours to see fully and shopping holds little interest for me since I have to carry or post whatever I buy. Due to Faro’s surrounding wetlands, the beach is only accessible by a 20 minute bus ride. The beach is very nice though, with a course reddish beige sand and a the waves come in tall enough for some exhilarating body surfing. And thankfully, the water is a whole lot warmer than Oregon.

My new friends/dorm mates here are Andree from Brazil (living in Germany), Kay from Germany (lived in Brazil) and Luis from Lisboa. They all speak Portuguese of some form and English. A few other people we are hanging out with speak Spanish and rapid fire heavily accented Austrailian English. One of the most fun aspects of hostel life is communication. It is a always a source of laughs as we struggle with similar and dissimilar words. Conversations can take the strangest turns.