On to Leon

September 7, 2010

Our two hours of free time to explore the final destination of the pilgrims was up and we drove to Leon. On our drive to Leon, Tania played Nana Mouskouri's "Nuestras Canciones," a very soulful rendition of the classical Spanish songs such as the Malagueña, Granada, and others. Juan drove on the highway that was parallel to the Camino and I continued to see the scallop shell signs indicating the pilgrims' route; even saw a handful of pilgrims walking the dusty path.

We reached Leon after a very long and tiring drive. We headed up to the cathedral.  Apartment buildings were along each side of the street, with their balconies by the windows decorated with colorful petunia flowers. I saw a couple of men on a crane watering and tending to the flowers. I do not know if they were government-hired people or were maintenance crew hired by the apartment renters. Nevertheless, the apartments were pretty and they made the walk up to the cathedral enjoyable.

We reached the cathedral, beheld the west façade of pale yellow stone flanked by two towers, marveled at its beautiful rose glass window above its intricately carved portals. The portal displayed the last Judgment. Inside, sunlight filtered through the medieval stained glass windows, a kaleidoscope. People say that this cathedral has the best stained glass windows outside of France. Because of this awesome kaleidoscope of colors, the cathedral, Santa Maria de Leon Cathedral, was nicknamed "House of Light" or "Pulchra Leonina." This stunning sight certainly moved me. 

Inside was a feast of beautiful architecture, paintings, sculpture, and other art. I also saw the oldest choir in the country. I believe centuries ago people were more appreciative of art and would not hesitate to spend money on it. They gave time for art. Nowadays everyone is on the go; people do things fast: walk fast, drive fast, eat fast, and work fast—no siesta.

We had dinner in Leon in the hotel's dining room—round tables with white tablecloth. Ron and I were late for dinner although no one had started to eat yet. We had salad, baked chicken, and fried potatoes. The group conversation was good and varied. We came to know each other better. The school administrator from Hawaii proved to be a good conversationalist.

Sleep was good that night after considerable walking in the last three days, riding the bus, and soaking in the sights and architectural wonders of the cathedrals.

The Way of the Pilgrims

September 16, 2010

We were now on our way to Leon and as we neared Compostela (Santiago de Compostela), I saw pilgrims walking on the Camino (Camino de Santiago) assisted by walking sticks, carrying knapsacks on their backs, and wearing the scallop shell (the insignia) around their necks. Compostela is the destination of pilgrims from all over the world.

I became interested in Santiago de Compostela after I read Paulo Coelho's book, The Pilgrimage. Now I see the place and the pilgrims, not merely read about them.

The Camino de Santiago is a seven hundred kilometer route from Saint Jean-Pied-de Port in France to Santiago de Compostela, although pilgrims from different parts of Europe use a different route. The pilgrims use a guidebook, supposedly written by Pope Callixtus or by Aimery Picaude, a Frenchman. The book guides pilgrims on the "sights, shrines, and people that the traveler is likely to meet along the road." It also lists inns where pilgrims could receive complementary meals and lodging or little stores where they could buy food at a cheap price. Near the plaza, Praza do Obradorio, food is supposedly cheap, as pilgrims may not have money left at the end of the journey. The pilgrims' aspiration was to receive a "certificate of completion." To get the certificate, one must walk for at least one hundred kilometers starting at Sarria or ridden a bike or a horse for at least two hundred miles and must have a spiritual motive of doing the pilgrimage. Because the route was so long, some pilgrims would arrive in Compostela looking sicker than when they first started, so King Ferdinand and Queen Isabela constructed a hospital for the pilgrims.

According to old records, walking the Camino did not use to be a pilgrimage but a penance imposed on criminals as part of their sentence. This later evolved into a pilgrimage. What motivates these pilgrims to walk 700 miles? Some believed in the healing power of St. James's relic upon contact or nearness to it; some aspired for self-purification gotten from contemplation provided by time and tranquility during the arduous journey; others wanted to experience the merits of constant prayer while walking the hundreds of miles. Yet, some said that they experience a sense of "awakened wonder" in beholding the different scenery as they traveled from the Pyrenes to Spain, meeting strangers in a strange land, communicating and adjusting to other people while seeking refuge, eating in hostels and inns, and dodging rain and welcoming the sun while treading on some old gravelly paths.

After seeing the pilgrims along our way to Santiago de Compostela, I felt the urge to do the pilgrimage myself. Would my sixty-six year old arthritic body survive the "perils" that could be encountered on the way? Intent, aspiration, and inspiration might provide me the strength to do it.

At Santiago de Compostela, we walked to the square, Praza do Obradorio, and the Cathedral. As we reached the square, our tour director, gave us a briefing of what we could do and when she expected us back in the bus. Ron and I immediately looked for the concrete embossed scallop shell in the middle of the square. I took a picture of my foot stepping on the shell to show that I have reached the place. Although not a pilgrim, I was satisfied with the thought that I had reached the place just as like the pilgrims.

At the plaza, we saw some pilgrims just arriving. A number of them had already arrived and were lying on the plaza resting. Some were in the cathedral praying; some were attending the eleven o'clock mass. I made a 360 degree turn and viewed the statue of Saint James, the hospital, and the cathedral. I went inside the cathedral and marveled at the intricate décor of the altar. 

With disappointment, I was not able to take a picture of the famous Portico of Glory as the cathedral's façade was under renovation.

After we had visited the surroundings, Ron and I went up and down some streets to look for a restaurant that would cater familiar food. We found one. We had empanada, a couple slices of cheese, bread, a can of coke and cerveza. Cost us 16.80E.

The short stop at Compostela was a welcome break from the road trip. It not only gave us time to stretch our legs, it also gave us the opportunity to visit the resting place of Saint James's relics. Unfortunately, the two-hour stop was not enough to appreciate everything there was to see and experience in Compostela. We had to go…to Leon.

THE PORT IN PORTO

The drive to Porto was pleasant and relaxing. We passed by olive tree farms, vineyards, cork trees, and eucalyptus trees. We reached Porto and saw the beautiful pastel-shaded buildings and the bridges of Duoro, a major river of the Iberian Peninsula.

 We stepped out of the bus to a lovely day; a comfortable weather that I guessed could have been 75 degrees Fahrenheit. A winery employee met us and introduced us to our guide. The guide showed us the old winery, now converted to a museum. Here we heard about Enrique who started his winery business at the age of twenty-one. Our guide said that Enrique was ahead of his time. His marketing strategy was of 20^th century approach. I was impressed by what I heard of his business acumen. Then the guide ushered us to the cellar and there we saw numerous barrels of wine. She took us to an underground lobby called the cave', a cordial, cozy tasting room where we tasted fine Port. We tasted young Port (Port Verde) and medium Port. I thought young Port tasted better. In a few minutes, she ushered us to a room where we watched a slide show of the way port was prepared.

According to the history of Port wine making, production traced back to the 17^th century when Britain was at war with France and the supply of good French wine to Britain through Portugal was not available, and the British needed a better quality wine than those red wines found the Douro Valley.

Port is a sweet red grape wine, fortified with brandy, not the commercial brandy but with aguardente, a neutral grape spirit. Adding aguardente stopped the fermentation thus making the wine sweeter but full-bodied due to the increased alcohol content being up to 19.5 or 20%.

Here are a few lessons on Port Wine that I extracted from Wikipedia:

The two broad categories of Portugal Ports are those matured in wooden barrels that allow a small amount of exposure to oxygen and those that have matured in sealed glass bottles with no exposure to air. Those aged in barrels mature through "oxidative" aging while those in glass bottles mature through "reductive" aging. Wine aged in wooden barrels leave a viscous taste to the palate while those aged in glass bottles are smoother.

Barrel-aged ports are called Tawny port, such as Colheita (col-YATE-a), and Garrafeira.  A Tawny port came from red grapes aged by exposing them to gradual oxidation and evaporation in wooden barrels. These wooden barrels gave them the "nutty" flavor. Wine enthusiasts typically consume Tawny Port as a dessert wine and as either sweet or medium dry. Port is assumed to have spent at least two years in barrels unless the bottle indicates its age. Indicated age such as 10, 20, 30, and over 40, does not mean the actual age, but indicates the target age profile for the ports. However, most people mistake this as the minimum average age of the blend. Colheita, although is a kind of port where the actual vintage year is mentioned, should be distinguished from Vintage port. A Vintage port is one that was bottled about 18 months after being harvested and one, which will continue to mature after being bottled. Colheita on the other hand may have been in barrels for more than 20 years before being bottled and sold. A Garrafeira is a rare intermediate vintage dated style of Port. It uses both the oxidative aging of years in wood—between three and six years—and the further reductive aging in glass demijohns—eight years of more—before bottling.

Examples of bottle-aged ports are Ruby port, Reserve, Pink port and White port, late Bottled Vintage (LBV), Crusted, Vintage port, and Single Quinta Vintage Port. Of all the Ports, Ruby port is one extensively produced. It is a product of grape fermentation in tanks made of concrete or stainless steel. These tanks prevent oxidation and preserve its rich claret color. The port does not generally improve with age. Reserve port is a premium Ruby as approved by the IVDP's tasting panel. Pink port is made from the same grapes as those for making vintage, tawny and ruby ports the only difference is that it is fermented the way a rose wine is. It has the hallmarks of a light ruby containing a fruity flavor. White port is made from white grapes, although if matured for long periods, the color darkens eventually reaching to a point where it would be hard to distinguish whether the wine was originally red or white. It can also vary from dry to very sweet. Late Bottled Vintage is originally destined to be a Vintage port but was left in the barrel longer due to lack of demand. It is lighter bodied than the vintage one. Crusted port is usually a blend of several vintages and will improve with age. Vintage port is made only from grapes of a declared vintage year, as declared by each individual port house.

After our wine tasting and tour, we headed across the street that was along the riverbank, back-dropped by beautiful, colorful houses or apartments looking like being stuck together. From the street we saw Rabelos, a type of boat used to transport port down the River Douro. These barrels of Port are headed for storage in caves at Vila Nova de Gaia near Porto.

 After a relaxing few minutes, we headed for our hotel. There was no time to explore Porto. We missed visiting the Porto Cathedral, one of the oldest surviving structures and other tourist attractions such as the Palacio da Bolsa, the Palacio de Cristal, and the tile-adorned Sao Bento Train Station.

We stayed at Vila Gale Porto Hotel and had dinner there. We slept relatively early this time, in contrast to the night before. It was a peaceful night, a good one that we needed to unwind and get ready for the three-hundred-sixty-one-mile ride to Leon, with a two-hour stop at Santiago de Compostela.

FATIMA

September 2010

Today, we headed up for Fatima, south of Porto, approximately one hundred twenty three kilometers north of Lisbon to visit the Basilica of our Lady of the Rosary. This time we had a new driver, Juan (Joao in Portuguese). For Ron and me, the visit to Fatima was one of the highlights of the trip, in fact, one of the reasons for including Portugal in the tour. It sufficed that we were not going to Fatima as pilgrims but as tourists. We wanted to see the place and to walk on the very ground that was sanctified by the Blessed Virgin when she appeared to the children ninety-two years ago.

On our drive to the Basilica, we stopped at a religious souvenir shop. Ron and I bought rosaries and a small statue of the Lady of Fatima.

As we resumed our drive to the basilica, Tania distributed religious medals to each of us. She also raffled off a souvenir. I was the lucky winner. It was a colorful wooden carving of a rooster, a memento of the legend of Santiago de Compostela.

As Juan continued to drive, we passed by the place where the three children, Francisco, Jacinta, and Lucia used to live. In a few minutes, we reached the Basilica. I did not expect to see that the grounds leading to the basilica was considerably spacious. There was a concrete lane where the devotees walked on their knees towards the shrine. There was a chapel by the tree where the Blessed Virgin appeared to the children. A celebration of the Eucharist was going on at the chapel when we arrived, so Ron and I attended it. After the service, we entered the Basilica, lighted votive candles, and silently said our intentions.

From what I read, I learned that Fatima, a town that used to be a small village, whose main product was olive oil, got its name after the Moorish princess who was converted to Catholicism during the Reconquista. It was in Fatima that Our Lady appeared to the three sheepherders, Jacinta, age seven, Francisco, age 9, and Lucia, age 10. According to church records, the Blessed Virgin appeared to the children on 13 May in 1917 and again on each thirteenth day of the month until October of the same year. During the appearances, a supernatural phenomenon occurred, the sun dazzling radiantly in different colors and seemed to be dancing and even zigzagging towards the people that witnessed the occasion. According to the children, during all the appearances, Our Lady had consistently urged them to pray the rosary, to pray for world peace, do penance, and pray for the repentance of sins. She also told the children three secrets, two of which one of the children revealed later, the last secret revealed by the Vatican during Pope John Paul's time. The townspeople and the authorities did not believe what the children related. They said the children were crazy, liars, or dupes. Fearing the authorities, the parents were not supportive of the children. Yet, the Blessed Mother provided the path to truth and faith. Today pilgrims travel from all over the world to Fatima, either to ask for favors or to give thanks for favors granted.

We spent about an hour or so in Fatima and we proceeded to Porto, the region where Port wine originated. As we drove on to Porto, I thought deeply about Francisco, Jacinta, and Lucia. If I were a parent in their time with the same economic and social class as the children's parents, would I react the same way the children's parents did? Most likely, I'd also be in fear of the authorities and I would most likely tell the children to hush up. It was the mood of the time. I am thankful that I live in a place and a time where freedom is in the heart of the country.

 

The Fado

September 2010

We got back with just enough time to freshen ourselves and to get ready for the dinner at a typical Portuguese tavern in the old quarter. Our tour brochure described the place as a "characteristic Portuguese tavern." The description in the brochure gave me an impression of it being just a typical tavern – a bar, some food, and a stage for the show. We arrived there to find an unimpressive tavern, its small door facing a narrow street. We got in. I realized how wrong my preconceived idea of the tavern was. As we entered the small door, we were ushered to a cozy and quaint place, yet elegant in its own way. Exquisite pattern of intricate lacework on wood as those of the Alhambra embellished the ceiling and sidewalls. The usher led us to our seats and I was lucky to be seated at a table that was right next to the stage where the Fado and the folk dances were to be performed.

Fado is a Portuguese word meaning destiny or fate. Unlike the Coimbra Fado, the Lisbon Fado is a mournful song, originally about the sea or about the life of the poor. It symbolizes a feeling of irreparable loss that has a lasting damage to one's life or one's soul. However today, it could be a song about anything as long as the faddista follows a certain structure of the song.

I was seated next to Florence who was seated just below the stage. Across her was her husband Paul who sat next to Jose Gonzales and his parents. Ron sat to my left. We were virtually looking up to the performers. Without any obstruction, we watched the faddistas sing their soulful songs of lament to the accompaniment of the two guitarists who, from time to time, would make eye contact with each other as if savoring the music and feeling it with their souls. We enjoyed the performance so much that Paul could not contain himself from shouting "bravo" and "ole" at the performers. Ron also showed his appreciation vocally especially when one of the guitarists demonstrated his expertise and superbly picked his twelve-string Portuguese guitar.

While we heard and watched the Fado and the folk dances, we had an appetizer of chorizo with wine. Caldo verde, which was kale soup, followed the appetizer, then the dinner of cod, potatoes, greens, roasted turkey with mushroom sauce and rice. A dessert of flan punctuated with a demitasse of dark coffee ended the meal. There was an assortment of wine served during the meal. Dinner ended with a glass of Port.

The Fado show ended, so did our dinner; and it was time to head home to the hotel. We exited through the little entrance door, while the performers lined down the aisles and outside. Florence and I congratulated the two guitarists who happened to be outside and we expressed our appreciation, in English, of course, and they responded in Portuguese. Florence said that she was sure they understood what we said.

It was a dinner and a performance to remember.

THE PLAYGROUND OF THE ROYALS

 

After our short visit to the Belem area, we drove to Cascais and enjoyed the view of the long stretch of the Atlantic Coast along the way. We passed Estoril, where the Royals used to come for the resorts and the casinos. From the tour bus window we saw the Mediterranean beaches which looked different from those of the Pacific which were mostly crescent-shaped and covered with white sand. The ones here were equally beautiful, however, they were more rugged with cliffs and rocks hugging the shore, waves lashing against the rocky cliffs. Short stretches of sandy beaches dotted some areas. The day was pleasant and the temperature very comfortable and soon we reached Cascais. Here we had a relaxing lunch with the Gonzales family.

Cascais originally was a fishing village and one that thrived on agriculture. It did not only have fish in abundance, it also produced wine, olive oil, cereals, and fruits. Although we still saw a few fishing boats and fishing nets, it was now a place for tourists and sunbathers. We also saw the ruined fortress, reminiscent of the Spanish invasion in 1580.

Here tiles were used whether to pave pathways, small plazas and squares or sidings of buildings. Tiles of different designs covered the sidewalks and cobbled promenades. I was particularly impressed by the tile design on the square here. They were of hues in blue alternating with white giving an illusion of waves.

In spite of the number of tourists visiting Cascais, still it had remained quiet, peaceful, and idyllic.

 

REMEMBERING THE PORTUGUESE EXPEDITIONS

The Monument of Discoveries, designed like a prow of a ship with images of various explorers carved into it, is a reminder of the era when Portugal was at its greatest in sending expeditions to discover the other side of the world. At the monument's forefront was a map of the different routes the explorers took to explore the world. Viewing it reminded me of the time when Ferdinand Magellan, a Portuguese, wanted to navigate and make discoveries of the world and sailed under the flagship of Spain, because the Portuguese royalty denied his request. It was in this expedition that he discovered a group of islands now known as the Philippines, named after King Phillip II of Spain. I just wondered what the Philippines would have been like if Magellan did not land there. Would the Rajahs and Datus continue to rule the Philippines and keep it a Moslem nation?  

From my spot at the Monument of Discoveries, I saw the 25 de Abril Bridge and the monument to Christ the King that stood similarly to the one in Rio de Janeiro. After exploring the Monument of Discoveries, Ron and I walked to the Tower of Belem, a four-story tower used as a fortified lighthouse that served to guard the entrance to the port at Belem. Because it stood on the mouth of the Tagus River, the tower served as a defense system then. It also was the place for holding ceremonies before expeditions departed for places like Africa, India, the Far East, and Brazil. After the era known as the Golden Age of Discovery, the tower no longer served its purpose and it provided space special occasions.  Once it served as a political prison and as a customhouse.

Ron and I took pictures and forgot about the time limit that our tour director gave us. We entertained the idea of entering the tower but the long line of tourist trying to get in discouraged us. The discouragement prompted us to return to our bus instead and we realized then that Ron and I exceeded the time limit when we saw some tour members having a searching look, trying to spot us. They then told us that our tour director was looking for us. It was a very embarrassing moment.

With all of us in the bus now, we drove to the Hieronymite Monastery. This magnificent monastery, where Vasco da Gama's body lies, was built as a monument to him, to honor his successful voyage to India in 1497. It was said that it was in this monastery that Vasco da Gama and his men spent the night in prayer before their departure. It used to house the Hieronymite monks, a congregation of hermits who devoted themselves to a life of prayer, study, and austerity. The monks had to abandon it in 1833 when religious orders were abolished in Portugal. Today it is empty, unused, and deteriorating. One can just imagine the expense in money and labor or even life of a construction worker for a construction that lasted fifty years only to end up in disuse except for masses and weddings. But then, times come and go.

IN AND OUT OF MY WORLD: Alfama, District of the MoorsSeptember 14, ...

IN AND OUT OF MY WORLD:





Alfama, District of the Moors
September 14, ...: Alfama, District of the Moors September 14, 2010 Day 3 Our first breakfast was in the hotel dining room, elegantly ...

Alfama, District of the Moors

September 14, 2010

Day 3

Our first breakfast was in the hotel dining room, elegantly prepared with tables covered with white cotton tablecloth. The meal was buffet but with healthy offerings, giving us the zest to embark another Portuguese district, expecting to be captivated by its uniqueness.

            As everyone finished the morning repast, we went to the Moorish district of Alfama, driving through Avenida da Liberdad, a historical tree-lined boulevard each side tenanted by banks, airline offices, grand hotels, high-end shops, and original mansions now occupied by families or businesses. Thoughts of previous occupants of these mansions and the goings-on there  centuries ago preoccupied my imagination.

We reached Alfama and met our local guide Dulce. She gave us a good discourse on the history of the district. She said that in Arabic, Alfama means spring, the spring that flowed from this district to the Atlantic Ocean. Today the district is a good reminder of the Moorish occupation of Portugal particularly Lisbon. It is here that the Moorish community started and is as alive today as it was in the year 711. Here the Moors established its rule of Lisbon and renamed it Al-Isbunah. They established Arabic as the official language, and proclaimed Islam as the official religion. The Christians however, were free to keep theirs. Today, eighty-five percent of the people living in the district are Catholic, twenty-five percent of which are active in the Church. The church was and is their hub, the activities holding the community together. The residents say that if you want to find someone, go to church on Sunday.

The Alfama district is not only the reminder of the Moorish occupation it is also a reminder of the great earthquake in 1147. The earthquake devastated the whole of Lisbon except the Alfama, and some believed it to be a miracle.

Alfama is within the city of Lisbon complete with a church, tiny squares, little stores with daily staples and commodities, and maze-like narrow streets. 

We walked through the labyrinth of narrow streets between apartments of several floors. The buildings are so close to one another that neighbors could figuratively shake hands with each other by the windows. 

Although some of the homes are now dilapidated, the vigor and enthusiasm of the residents have not waned as evidenced by the pots of flowers adorning their wrought-iron balconies, or the laundry drying in clothes line between the apartments or on the balcony railings, or the caged birds in their windows. Our tour guide said, this is where the poor live– according to European standard – the rent being as low as 30Euros a month. Because of the low rent and the availability of staples and commodities within the area and the strong sense of community, the people do not have the desire to move out of the district. Some have lived all their lives here. There are no elevators and the old ones living in the higher stories are saved from going up and coming down to buy their groceries by having someone hoist their commodities in baskets up to their apartments. Neighbors help one another. Although some of the buildings are in ruin, most of the tiles on the walls that adorned them remain. Dulce then pointed to the outer walls of the apartments and to the tiles that originally paved

 the streets.

After walking, going uphill, and downhill (with the fear of someone spitting from the upper floor windows), we left Alfama for the other sites such as the Monument of Discoveries—also called the Portuguese expedition monument—the Tower of Belem and the Heironymite Monastery.

Lisbon at Night and Dinner in Cacilhas

A Moveable Feast in September

An optional dinner at a restaurant across the harbor was to follow the "meet and greet" social. To get to the harbor, Jose (Zhosey) drove us through the city, past the castle that looked magnificent at night, past the old aqueduct, across the bridge named 25 de Abril Bridge, past one of Lisbon's main squares, the Praca do Comercio, past the palace, the Spanish embassy, and other buildings of architectural delight. While we were on our way to the restaurant, Tania gave us a short history of Lisbon and from my later research, I learned that Lisbon went through a series of name change—from Olissipo to Allis Ubbo, meaning safe harbor, then Ulyssippo, Olissipona, Ulishbona, and finally Lisboa or Lisbon in English.

In a few minutes, we reached the dock and took a ferryboat across to Cacilhas, the old quarter of Lisbon. Marilyn, a tour member asked me what Cacilhas meant. I said that in Spanish, casilla means box, and we Filipinos use that word to mean an outhouse. She said, "No way. They would not name a place like that and we won't be eating in a toilet!" I knew she was about to laugh and I was about to do the same but we sounded sincere in our conversation. The conversation seems so funny now when I recall it. My mouth would slightly twist with a controlled smile whenever I think of that moment. The restaurant's name was Farola, meaning lighthouse. This was a marisqueria, a seafood restaurant. Farola was supposedly a workers' restaurant although not with a worker's price. Our multicourse dinner was 40Euros (2010 price) for each of us. First we had two glasses of wine as an aperitif, then we had a plate with few tablespoons of that looked like lima beans—a  dish we did not know how to deal with. We looked at it and considered it until Fernando, the waiter, came and taught us how to split the beans between our teeth as you would with sunflower seeds by holding it between your thumb and forefinger, then slipping the skin off and popping the meat into the mouth. Well, that was quite an exercise. I am now sure it was meant to break the ice because we started to converse and get to know each other. In a calculated timing or maybe as soon as Fernando noticed that we had stopped popping beans into our mouths, he came with boiled gambas (shrimp) which we peeled by hand, of course. Because there were not too many gambas, in a minute or two and between conversations, we found ourselves wiping our finger with the napkin. The waiters were all alert in serving us the succeeding courses. The salgados (an assortment of fritters or croquettes) came, and then sopa, then sapateira (or boiled crab) served with sautéed crab innards, which proved to be delicious. After savoring the crab innards, we had arroz marisco (rice with shrimp), then bacalhauia bras (cod with potatoes) and finally the sobremesa (dessert) of fruit with whipped cream. Of course, the meal had to end with a good Vinho Porto or Port. The 40Euros seemed an appropriate cost for the multicourse meal if nobody told you, that the dishes were the size of tapas.

            Fernando, our waiter was charming and entertaining. When he saw Ron's nametag, he said that Ronaldo is quite famous in Portugal and Ron said, "I know, and my father's name is Fernando, like yours. What is your last name?" Fernando said, "Rodriguis." He took a pen and paper from his pocket and wrote his last name, because he said the spelling was different. "And, I'm from Madeira," he added. The other Ron across the table from me said, "Oh?  My father's father was from Madeira and he spelled his last name the same as yours but he changed the spelling to make it sound American."

Well, there was quite a reunion between the two Madeirans and a kinship between Ronaldo and Fernando. After the sobremesa and wine, it was time to wind down and leave Cacilhas (which really meant 'bay'). Marilyn saved a brochure for me saying that I could use it if I was going to write a travelogue. I could not print the whole brochure but here is a peek of it, which I, admittedly do not understand:

Restaurante

Farol

Marisqueira

-Peixe e Carnes Frescas no Carvão

-Bacalhau com Broa

-Mistos de marisco

-Condições Especiais para Groupos

-Cozinha Aberta até as 24 horas

Driving back to the hotel, Jose made detours so we could have a short night tour of Lisbon. We took the 25 de Abril Bridge instead of the ferry. Our tour director informed us that 25 de Abril Bridge's original name was Ponte Salazar, Europe's longest suspension bridge. Driving around the city was like another sobremessa, a dessert after the dessert. The city's architectural layout and the fascinating illumination was a delight. It was an enchanted evening.

            Sleep was very much welcome after a long flight, a good dinner, and good wine—a very appropriate way to end the pleasurable moments of the day.

A Moveable Feast in September

                                                                                                                         September 2010

Day 2

We arrived in Lisbon nine hours after we left Seattle, although in theory, we lost a day. At eight-thirty in the morning, we found Aeroporto do Lisboa to be moderately busy but not chaotic.  As we exited, we felt the crisp air, a sample of its fine subtropical Mediterranean climate. The weather could have added to the excitement of being in another country, however because of the long flight and lack of sleep, I was alert just enough to appreciate the beautiful weather.

            We only had a carry-on luggage—a lesson we learned from our previous European trip. We took with us the minimum amount of luggage for ease in traveling. Because we did not have to go to the baggage-claim area, Ron and I exited the airport in no time. A few feet beyond the exit door, we spotted some of the tour members, who had already worn the tour company's stick-on nametags. Ron and I approached them and we introduced ourselves to each other.

            In a few minutes, a pretty, young woman with long dark hair and a beaming smile, holding a tour company flag, greeted us. She was going to be our tour director. Her exuberance and enthusiasm was refreshing and contagious because my tired body started to pick up energy. After some hand-shaking and welcoming words, she gave Ron and me our name tags and then directed all of us to the bus that would take us to our hotel. Ron wrote out his full name on the blank name tag and requested that he be addressed as Ronaldo. He figured that in the group, there could be other Rons. True enough, we later found two other Rons. He also said jokingly, that people would remember his name easily because of the soccer player well known in Portugal and Spain. Thus, he was Ronaldo throughout the trip.

            As we boarded the bus, we were introduced to our driver Jose (pronounced Zhosey in Portuguese.) Then our tour director greeted us in Portuguese. "Bom Dia", she said, after which time, she started to orient us to the Portuguese language. My research of the Portuguese language was interesting. It is a "Latin-descended Galician-Portuguese" spoken during the medieval times and that later, it took on some Arabic influence and borrowed some words from Africa.  The etymology of words and origin of languages had always fascinated me and I found this version of the evolution of the Portuguese language fascinating. While she elucidated on the Portuguese language, I struggled to recall the few Portuguese words I tried to commit to memory, however, I was not too worried about communicating with the locals because most Portuguese could speak English.

 

We lodged at Tiara Park Atlantic, across Tiara Park. As we entered the glass revolving door, I saw a baby grand piano in the lobby. I later found out that this hotel is a member of a classy chain, the "NH" hotels. Picking up the key from the receptionist, we proceeded to our room, with the hotel staff following us with our luggage. We opened the door to a nicely decorated room—a bud vase with fresh flower on the table and chocolates on the bed. The ambience conveyed a welcoming mood. The bathroom had a bidet common in European hotels. On one corner was a digital weighing scale—a convenience for weight-conscious customers. Bedding and towels were all white, a pleasing color to contrast to the mahogany-colored furniture. I judged the bedroom was perfect. We then rested as we waited for the tour director's welcoming-and-get-together with the tour group at five in the evening.

            At the gathering, forty tour members showed up. The expected number was forty-two. The two came a day later, having come from another tour. Each one of us introduced ourselves by giving a little speech. I recalled meeting a lawyer and his judge-wife, a husky elderly man who worked for the CIA and his retired police officer wife, and one who originally came from Ukraine and his radiologist wife. I was surprised to meet a couple from my state, Washington, who now retired in Arizona. There was a threesome of female retirees. They said they went to college together and became close friends throughout the years. A couple and their son originally came from Cuba. There was one from Hawaii with her friend. It was not easy to remember all their names but as we eventually grew to know each other better, we started to call each other by our names.

            The get-together proved to be pleasant, my apprehensions of being with people I didn't know gone, and I started to relax. In an hour or so, some members already showed friendliness and warmth.