Swiss Family Grass

While Armacao De Pera should provide the idyllic setting for contemplative thought, what occurred was actually quite the opposite. Well, that’s not completely true. Andy and I did enjoy the expansive blue tiled pool daily for a refreshing afternoon dip. And, we did stroll the sandy beaches watching as the calm coast coaxed local laid back fisherman into the sea. But, it was what happened near the end of our stay that played out like a horror movie. One morning, as I walked Petey around the campground the unimaginable happened. Petey was minding his own business, sniffing the tall dense hedges for a place to leave his scent, when out of nowhere a long mangy fur covered leg extended from beneath the bushes with claws the size of needles. Next I heard a high pitched squeal. Petey retreated from the hedge and continued our walk, with only a frenzied pace to clue me in that something was wrong. I looked at his muzzle, investigating for any damage and then noticed that his right eye was squeezed shut. A moment later a trickle of blood dripped from his closed eye, and then what seemed a stream of blood to me began to darken the fur beneath his eye. Horrified I began to run back to the van to get Andy to assist me in prying the now closed socket open; sure that Petey was now truly a ‘one eyed jack’. Eye intact, we quickly discovered the source of the bleeding. The cat had managed to pierce Petey’s eye high above the lid. We quickly disassembled camp and drove to the nearest vet.

The veterinarian visit proved rather uneventful, other than the repeated, “That’s one lucky chap.” muttered by the vet during the examination. According to her, cat’s usually pierce right through the eyeball, leaving an alarmingly large gash and a nearly useless eye behind. In Petey’s case, the claw had somehow managed to nick the eyeball well under the lid, leaving a gash but no significant damage. I felt relieved and wondered how many of his nine lives he had now used up (yes I realize that’s a cat thing, but how else do you explain Petey’s crazy luck?)

Petey on the mend

After the ordeal at the vet we retreated to the campground for a day of shedding the unwanted stresses that came with the blood filled morning. We made plans to leave the next day and head north to check out a few campgrounds we thought might provide the perfect balance of sightseeing and relaxation for my sister Nicole’s visit. We had found out a few days prior that she would be flying in to Lisbon the last week of May to spend a week with us.

The following morning we visited a sand sculpture park near Pera. Artists from all over the globe assemble annually to create works of art from sand. The resulting masterpieces are both amazing and defy the laws of gravity. We arrived as the finishing touches were being put on many of the works, and watching the artists sculpt from canvasses of sand was truly mesmerizing.

We followed an interior highway northbound and then cut to the coast to find the beach at Gale where a three star campground hugged the beach. The campground required turning off the highway and following a gravelly potholed filled dirt road for nearly five miles. When we finally arrived at the secluded campground we were shocked to see hundreds of people milling about. We were flagged down by an employee who promptly informed us that the campground was full, a highly unusual and unlikely occurrence, considering the remoteness of the place. Later we discovered that the campground had been rented by the National Nursing Association and would be the home to an annual nursing conference with over a thousand people in attendance.

Weary and annoyed we continued up the coast to Troia, a ferry town that rests at the tip of a peninsula just south of where the Lisbon coast begins. Yet another kite surfing destination spot, we drove quickly through the one stop town while winds battled against the engine of the van. The road extends inland about a half mile from the beach, with protected sand dunes on one side and an estuary along the other. Once you reach the end of the peninsula, the road turns eastward and winds through small villages where the main attractions are the large storks that build nests atop tall poles lining the highway.

We drove to Odivelas and just outside of the town limits lies a campground situated along Lake Odivelas. The sleepy campground sits on acres and acres of dried ragweed like terrain and looks like “a commercial for allergy medication”, as Andy put it. Small, brightly colored wildflowers dot the hills and a few of the campers have picked flowers to make arrangements for their dining tables.

The lake itself is nothing spectacular, dammed at one end and lapping the dusty honey colored shores of the rest. The water level has dropped significantly, as evidenced by the banding lines that creep several feet up the shoreline. Bugs are everywhere, and we were grateful that we had a screen room to shelter us from the onslaught of flying things that dusk brings. There are no houses or buildings or city skylines in sight, and the only evidence that civilization is near can be see at night when an orange colored hue fills the sky off in the distance, announcing a small remote town to the east.

We spent four relaxing days biking the miles of desolate roads and batting rocks into the lake. One day we rented a paddle boat and with Petey in tow cruised the lake. Our only excitement came when a sea plane circled the lake a few times and then landed alarmingly close to our boat. To make an impact, the pilot repeated the water landing another time to our ‘oohs and aahs’ and near dives from the boat.

We drove from Markadia campground to a suburb of Lisbon, Costa de Caparica, linked to the picturesque capital by a Golden Gate Bridge fashioned span. Upon our arrival we set up camp and set out to explore the tiny beach town. The main square and pedestrian thoroughfare reminded me of neighborhoods bordering Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk, complete with guys hawking sunglasses and pirated cd’s and a carnival like atmosphere. The town itself looked like it has seen better days, but one chalked up the run down appearance to the heavy weekend traffic that arrived each Saturday and Sunday from Lisbon.

I’ve grown shy of bigger city campgrounds and transient looking suburbs since our stay in Badalona. Whenever we venture to the more heavily populated areas my radar goes on. For instance, when we arrived at the Costa de Capricia, I noticed that the campground was positioned along a main road and tucked between a municipal park and a National Guard station. The high barbed wired fence that enclosed the campground was draped with a nearly opaque outdoor fabric that I had assumed was for privacy. While walking the dog and getting my bearings I had noticed that over the rear fence of the campground there appeared to be a small encampment, made up mainly of shanties. I grew suspicious that maybe this beach town didn’t have the natural appeal that most of our coastal stops have brought.

After dinner the first night, we were washing the dishes and a couple from Belgium told us that a young German couple had their bikes stolen from the campground. Earlier that day I had found a cut bike lock and showed it to Andy. He had replied by saying, “Maybe someone lost their key and needed to cut the lock.” I knew better. So, we decided that the following day we would go check out a few campsites, one in Lisbon (a four star) and the other north of Lisbon along the coast in Guincho, a suburb of Cascais.

That night we heard shouting voices drifting from the park well into the wee hours of the morning. We barely slept, and most of the night was spent peeking out the windows of the van looking at the dark silhouettes passing by the heavily draped camp fence. Petey would bark anytime he heard voices, alerting passersby to our ‘guard dog’, and one bold 2:00 a.m. stroller made it a point to ‘shhh’ him.

The next morning we drove to the Lisbon campground, a hip backpackers paradise complete with top forty music blaring from the stereo at the pool. The sites were nice, but the campground is situated smack dab in the middle of a commercially developed area of Lisbon, a sprawling IKEA clearly viewed from the place. It did make for a good stop, as we were able to hit a large chain sports store and the IKEA to stock up on supplies for Nicole’s visit, specifically outdoor lighting for the screen room so that we could see our food at night.

From the Lisbon campground we drove to Guincho and instantly decided that would be our next stop. Spindly thin pine trees carpeted the campground providing much needed shade from the heat, and the beach was lined by a wide bike trail that followed the coastline to the Beverly Hills of the Lisbon coast, Cascais.

We returned to the campground late that afternoon, where our departure date was sealed by an actual villain versus cop scene that played out before our eyes that evening. As we were preparing for bed at night, Andy noticed blue police vehicle lights shining in the distance. Loud voices could be heard from the park, but as we had come to know, this was nothing unusual. Suddenly, we heard screeching tires and a door being thrown open, followed by running footsteps. We both looked out the screened windows of the camper to see what all the commotion was about. Next we heard someone yell ‘stop’ in Portuguese followed by a gunshot. We looked at each other in disbelief and before we could say anything we were ducking as two more rounds were fired off. We literally hit the floor of our van and did the best we could to shield ourselves from the gunfire. After that Andy said, “We’re out of here tomorrow morning…first thing.” A few moments later I noticed two shadows cloaked by the dim park light over the fence moving toward the street where the patrol car waited. I convinced myself halfheartedly that the culprit had been caught and slept that night with one eye open.

After the short drive to Guincho we set up camp and spent the day lounging in our LaFuma recliners, pretty much a constant theme during this trip. We took a cab to Cascais in the late afternoon (when it was cool enough to leave Petey in the van and caught the film The Da Vinci Code at a modern, well appointed mall. Andy thought the movie was so-so, and I spent most of the film with the thought, “Oh yeah, I remember that from the book.”, spinning through my head.

After the movie we walked the streets lined with high end shops and restaurants toward the harbor and people watched before catching a cab back to the campground. For those of you asking, “A cab? You’re taking cabs while camping?” let me just say… Bikes were out of the question. The return journey required navigating an uphill climb that might as well have been Mount Everest as far as I was concerned. The local bus costs two and half dollars per person each way, and a taxi was five dollars, total. You do the math…an air conditioned taxi would win every time.

Nicole arrived on a Tuesday morning and our already late departure for the airport was further delayed by a gridlocked pay freeway. Who knew? Live away from morning commutes and rush hour traffic long enough and you forget that it exists. That is until you are stuck in it when you are rushing to pick up your sister who has flown half way around the world to see you and your husband. Luckily, her flight was delayed. Delayed just long enough for a Portuguese airport traffic officer to stroll to our van and tell us that driving with bicycles attached to the front of our van is not legal in Portugal. I must be putting on my best poker face of surprise every time, because he gestured that he was going to ‘pretend his eyes were closed’ and let us slide. But, not before telling us that his comrade surely would have ticketed us.

After picking up Nicole we drove north of Lisbon to check out three campgrounds near Nazare. The third one was the charm, as we stumbled on a peaceful, modern, resort like campground just three miles from Nazare. We figured that Nazare would make a good starting point for three town that we hoped to visit during her stay. The campground was so welcoming and tranquil that we spent the first day kicking back at the site and catching some rays by the nearly deserted pool. The campground lies in the middle of an expansive coastal pine forest that was planted in the fifteenth century by order of then King Dinnis to stabilize the sand dunes and provide timber for ship building. The royal forest remains today, much as it was hundreds of years ago, perched high atop the cliffs that drop down to the unspoiled coved beaches north of Nazare.

At one point we took a drive along the road that weaves through the forest on route to the well hidden beaches and noticed that many of the trees have had portions of the bark stripped, revealing a blood red trunk with a small receptacle attached to the tree to catch what we assumed was the tree sap. Similar to maple syrup harvesting, but without the holes. The shocking defaced trees are in such stark contrast to the sleepy whispering pine forest that we have come to know along this coast that we slowed to a crawl to inventory the damage. To date, we have yet to figure out why the sap is being harvested.

Later that day we drove to Batalha to see the monastery, built by a young King Joao as thanks for answered prayers when victory in battle led to a Portugal freed from the clutches of Spain.

King Joao and his queen are buried there in a lavish tomb, and the tomb of Prince Henry the Navigator can also be found in the Chapel of the Founders, a highly embellished room located just to the right of the main church.

When we finished touring the Monastery we walked to a nearby residential courtyard and played Frisbee while we waited for the main reason for our visit to Batalha to begin; a food, wine, and handicrafts faire was scheduled to start at 6:30 p.m. Exhausted from an a round of Frisbee in the scorching afternoon sun we sat on benches in the square relaxing for the last hour before the faire began. I did have some relief from the heat, as I noticed an open hair salon and stepped in for a quick refreshing shampoo and nine euro haircut.

The faire proved to be a true highlight of our visit to Portugal. Artisans from regions all over the country manned booths selling distinctive art and decorative items, clothing, leather goods, and linens. Cheese, wine and pastry could all be sampled too.

While walking through the faire we noticed several ‘free wifi hotspot’ signs and decided to whip out the laptop and give it a try. After logging on, and beginning to check my e-mail, Nicole and Andy noticed that a flurry of activity was happening behind me. Apparently I was the first person to actual log on to the hot spot, and the men managing the link were eager to watch someone using the service. They came over and proudly displayed their sponsors signage and told us how this was the first time they had offered this service. Later, they brought by a photographer to take my picture as, ‘the first wireless user at the faire.’ We all got a good laugh and for the first time since Vinaros, free use of the internet.

Local organizations had booths all around the faire advertising regional cuisine, and we decided to dine at the Recreation and Community Center booth. With the advice of our waitress we had pork stew and a mixed grilled meat platter. Dinner for the three of us (which could have easily served five), including salad, beers, and bread came to nineteen euro. As we paid the bill I asked if the event was a fundraiser for the event, and when our waitress answered in the affirmative we left a ten euro tip.

Taking a day off from sightseeing we hung around the campsite the next day, and then drove to Nazare Saturday. Up until this point of Nicole’s visit the weather was mild and pleasant. When we woke up the morning when were to visit Nazare, it seemed to jump twenty degrees. Nazare, known for its beach and sun and fun atmosphere is busy and tourists share the promenade along the beach with older women dressed in traditional skirts and head scarves hawking rooms at their pensions. While a beautiful setting to soak in local food and culture, there isn’t one shade tree to be found, and the whitewashed walls of the buildings leave one squinting to see. The heat and bright sun left us drained and searching for ways to keep the dog cool (one of which involved dragging him into the ocean).

Sunday was yet another day of relaxation as we all lounged around reading. The grounds at the campground are well landscaped, and include a trail that ran the perimeter. Each evening Nicole led us on a walk that ended just in time to watch the sun set behind the tree line of the pine forest and slip into the Atlantic.

Our next adventure led us to Alcobaca. The whitewashed village hosts many outdoor cafes surrounding the square of the great monastery. The sun was blinding and we took refuge from the heat under a giant sun umbrella. We bought pastry from a café and dined as we took in the views of Mosteiro de Santa Maria.

One of the richest monasteries in Portugal, Mosteiro de Santa Maria gained its’ wealth from the fruitful bounty the local landscape provided. A stream fed by the local river was even diverted into the monk’s kitchen to provide both water and fresh fish for the monastery. With all its’ riches, architecturally, agriculturally, and aesthetically, the true fame of the monastery comes from a real life ‘Romeo and Juliet’ story.

The love story involves Prince Dom Pedro and Ines de Castro. The prince fell in love with young Ines, a woman of Spanish descent. His father, the King, refused to allow the marriage, fearing the influence of Ines’s family over the throne. So, the two wed secretly and when the King found out he had Ines murdered. Pedro, alone and broken hearted waited until he ascended to the throne to take his revenge. After being crowned King he had Ines’s body exhumed and crowned Queen and made all in the court kiss the decomposing hand of his newly crowned queen. Next, he had her buried at Alcobaca. He designed her tomb himself, a richly ornate tomb resting on top of sculptures of her murderers. Then, he guaranteed their timely meeting when he had his own tomb designed to feet to feet with Ines’s so that they would rise to face each other on Judgment Day. Their burial place is at the end of a long nave in the chapel that opens to a bright and airy space where the tombs draw the eye from all angles. The surrounding cloister is graceful and serene and one can imagine monks scurrying from one room to the next with purpose as they completed their daily routine. Throughout our visit, opera music filled the air as singers practiced in one of the grand halls, using the natural acoustics to fine tune their voices. Of all the monasteries we have visited during this trip and in past travels, Alcobaca is the only one that’s beauty is only matched by its’ rich history.

We left Nazare the next morning to drive to Evora. Along the way we stopped to purchase a basket of freshly picked strawberries from a farm. We also stopped to attempt to put out a grass fire. Or, I should say Andy tried to put the fire out. Along the national road, we spotted a wildfire that was spreading along the road. Andy grabbed our mini fire extinguisher and went to work..in vain. The fire went out initially, then resumed ravaging the hillside, with flames growing in size. We drove to the nearest town and happened to see a uniformed officer walking along the street, carrying a basket of wild greens. Yes, I said wild greens. He looked like Peter Sellers in the Pink Panther and looked like he had been strolling the fields gathering wild dandelion leaves all day. Really a weird sight. He pulled out a cell phone and called the Bombeiros and assured us they were on their way.

Our drive continued and it took nearly three hours along a narrow two lane highway, the landscape almost completely agricultural. The campground we chose lies a mile outside the walls to the old city, and from afar one can see the cathedral that anchors the city to the hill filled land.

Evora is a city designed for walking. Neighborhoods are linked by winding pedestrian thoroughfares and squares that provide a perfect resting point while double checking the map provided by the tourist office. Evora is rich in sights and we climbed up and down cobble stoned streets to take in as many as we could.

Evora is probably best known for is Capela dos Ossos. Built adjoining the Gothic style Igreja de Sao Francisco, built in 1510, the Capela is the result of sixteenth century monks determination to emphasize just how mortal we as humans truly are. The chapel walls are built from the bones of five thousand human skeletons, with one intact skeletal body hanging for good measure.

From the ‘Chapel of Bones’ we followed lavender colored tree lined streets to Diana Park for a view of the Roman Temple ruins, considered the “symbol of the city”. Still standing from the second or third century (depending on the guide book you read), the temple has fourteen intact columns and rests on top of a massive stacked stone base.

Back at the campsite we usually closed each day with a round of Frisbee. I had no idea how good of a player my sister was, and Andy and I spent our days trying to perfect our Frisbee skills to the level of Nicole’s play.

On our way out of Evora we stopped at Pasteleria Conventual for custard pies and traditional conventual cake made with almonds, squash, plums, and candied fruit. My sister’s and I have always dreamed of having a shop that sold both Portuguese and Jewish foods, and we hoped the stop would spark our interest again, providing a sampling of the delicate yet rich pastry found in Portugal.

From Evora we drove to Lisbon. Nicole’s visit was quickly coming to a close and we decided to spend her last night in Lisbon, seeing the sights and hearing the sounds of Portugal’s capital city. That evening, we dined at a Goan restaurant near the Castelo de Sao Jorge. Goa, once a territory of Portugal, was handed back to India in the 1960’s. The food is rich in flavors and spicy. We asked for our dishes to be prepared ‘extra hot’ as we had not been fortunate enough to find many flavorful foods during our travels. When the food came, it was aromatic and with adequate zest. So fiery in fact, that I could feel my stomach turn into a ball of fire as the meal hit. I’m not really sure that the food was as hot as we are accustomed to at home, or if my palate has become so dulled during our travels, that any hint of spiciness would provide a shock to my system. Andy felt the lava hit later in the evening, validating my theory that we are just out of touch with our normal ‘flaming hot’ eating habits

After dinner we took in sweeping views of the Tagus River from a hilltop viewpoint and wound our way down the streets near the Se Cathedral peeking into the many antique stores that line the neighborhood tucked neatly next to the Alfama district. We walked until we reached the Avenue da Liberdade. The famous street was abuzz with excitement as late diners emptied from closing restaurants onto the street. I picked up a box of malasadas for breakfast the next morning and then we followed the street to Rossio square where we found an exhibit of painted fiberglass cows. One of the cows (embellished by Portuguese artists) caught my eye, a combination of blue and white Azulejo tiles and a sunny side up egg. This sight sums up Portugal well…tiles and food with an egg on top.

It was with a heavy heart that I dropped Nicole off at the airport the next morning. Andy and I always feel sadness when a visitor leaves, and with Nicole it was no exception. She had shared with us what no other visitor during our travels had; life on the road. We left the airport in a daze heading north toward Coimbra. It would take many days for the memory of her presence to pass, and somehow we eventually fell back into our trio, Andy, Petey, and me.

In Coimbra we toured the University, stopping at the famous Biblioteca Joanina. Completed in 1728, the library is recognized as one of the most, “original and spectacular Baroque libraries in Europe.”

The University building was once home to the Royal Palace of Coimbra, the oldest royal residence in Portugal. The historical notes that accompany the tour are steeped in centuries of royal inhabitation and military conquests. Touring the connected buildings that line the grand courtyard one can see architectural touches spanning multiple centuries. Inside, stops such as the Capela de S. Miguel remind us that the academic pursuits now taking place on campus came after the royal line embellished the sanctuaries and grand salons.

From Coimbra we drove north to Madalena, on the outskirts of Porto. What we had planned as an extensive stopover quickly ended as the campground lacked the proper maintenance to keep the place comfortable and the campsite became inundated with ants. We had plans to meet a family friend for dinner late in the week and decided we would try to reach her by telephone to see if we could meet in Spain instead.

With Porto behind us we continued up the coast to Viana do Castelo. The campground connected to the rugged coastline by a short wooden walkway and from the beach you can see the small port that brought Viana do Castelo its’ wealth. From across the bay you admire the city, with its’ dramatic drop to the water. The town itself has wide streets that blend both modern and old architecture. Perched high atop the city is the Basilica de Santa Luzia, said to have one of the most beautiful views of Portugal. You can see the basilica from miles away, resting atop a jagged hilltop like a jeweled crown.

We got most of our sightseeing in the first day of our stay, and that was a good thing, because the next day, it rained and rained and rained. Thunder clapped throughout the day and we spent our time finding new leaks in the van and mopping up ever growing puddles of water. Tomorrow we’re off to Porto to meet up with friends and stroll the riverfront of Oporto