Upward spiral, or our adventures in the land of castles and monasteries
So, back in just enough time to get my head on straight, get homework done and plan next weekend´s trip. Lessons learned:1) carrying a small sari along with is useful not only for wrapping around hips as belt or skirt, wiping sweat from one´s dripping brow or carrying small backages, but also quite suitable, when tightened with sufficient force, as a makeshift knee brace. 2) A diet of advil while useful in combatting swelling and joint pain, is nothing compared to a few late night bottles of tinto.
Kristina, her friend Emily and I got up early Friday morning, too early, after staying out past midnight for an open air Fado concert under the Arco de Almedina, the outlying edge of the original walled city. The voices of men in black capes echoed into the melting night and people stood mesmerized, damp in the humid summer air, cloth sticking to skin, and breath held. We caught an 8 o´clock train to Lisboa, found our way through the metro to the bus station with service to Mafra, and met Emily´s very young (I mean that in the nicest possible arched eye-brow sort of a way when referring to a 21 year old) Austrian friend Stefi by 11. We spoke a muddled mix of Portuñol, English and German (no, not me) and managed to find ourselves, an hour and a half later, on the sidewalk in the town of Ericeira.
Now what? Stefi, it would seem, had the plan, there was a sort of girl´s surfing competition, and she had it in her head that she could learn to surf, in a day, there. Apparently she had been invited by a Brazilian videographer who was friends with her new (she arrived in Portugal last week) roomates, and was there to film it all for his company. Before consulting, or rather after a muddled response from some boys on the corner, Stefi started walking up the road, thumb stuck wide in order to hitch a ride. I limped behind with my very small pack and when we spotted the Bombeiros, just across the way, decided to stop and ask about the competition myself. It was 2-3 kilometers the other way, he said, at Foz de Lisandro. About face, sun beating down, packs growing heavier by the minute.
Is it socially acceptable to hitchhike in Portugal we ask ourselves, minus Stefi who his busy taking three large strides turning backwards and jutting her thumb out into the air. It seems harmless enough with the four of us, but, as it turns out, the Portuguese don´t tend to pick up hitchhikers. Nonetheless, a young Belgian couple from the Flemish side let us all pile into their tiny car as they were headed for the very same beach (according to the guidebooks, Portugal´s best surf beach.) Between managing to change into our suits and stumble across the hot sand, we settled in, the four of us, to varying degrees of communication. Stefi procured the use of a body board by flirting with the life guards, and even the free use of fins (they rented them) and then proceeded to ask for instructions about how to use it. The water was cold, Atlantic cold, but swimmable free of neoprene suit, and the cool felt so good on my knee that I didn´t even care about the force with which the waves were pounding against my firmly rooted feet. Probably did more damage than good, but, I did manage to escape unscathed by the sun. I must admit that I am rather prud of myself for remembering daily to apply sunblock before leaving the house, regardless of my plans.
By late afternoon it was quite clear that Stefi had no intention of doing anything, and was mortified that we might want to eat again after such delicacies as bad burgers (or in my case a strange baguette with tunafish, mayonaise, canned mushroom and lettuce) and ice cream. Things were not looking good. Kristina and I began to make contingency plans, as our desires (mine decidedly unimposed) were being quite ignored. What would you want to go to Belém for? Stefi wanted to know... You know, the cathedral, the tower of discovery, the Torre de Belém, the pasteis... Ah yes, young indeed, and fully set on spending the weekend at the beach. We all agreed, by 8 that it was time to head into the actual town to find accomodations, or a bus schedule, or food, or all of the above. And of course, Stefi was unwilling to walk back into town, when there was a parking lot half full of cars and people leaving. «Your Portuguese is better, you ask» she said. I replied, «I´m really not comfortable asking people for things» «Well, neither am I!» «Yes, but, actually, I am really just fine walking»... tense silence. Stefi procures a ride for two, tells me and Kristina to take it if we want, and that she will try to get another ride. We decline, and start the climb up the stairs cut into the cliff where we pause to take in the spectacular scenery. We had agreed to meet at 9. We walk back towards the town in the crepuscular light, laughing about what to do next, fully appreciating the view of the tiny beachside resort as we descended upon it. We stop and ask for the price of a night at a Pensão, it is 50€. We breath easier. We find the turismo office at the edge of the Praça da república (every town has one of these homonym plazas) and find that the last bus back to Lisboa leaves in 5 minutes, but the so-called express bus leaves at 8:20 am. We agree that this is the best plan of action. Under the bowry of the trees there is the thunderous noise of thousands of small, anonymous birds that are flapping wildly and chirping in a frenzy. If a dog barks, there is a full second of paused silence before the roar of their locomotion reinstates itself, stirring the leaves and showering the plaza with the white dust of their dried excrement.
After much discussion and various options, we all stayed together at a small hostel just up the street for 45€, in total. By 11 we were all showered, lotioned and back out for dinner, and finally met with Stefi´s friend for drinks at the «Luna Bar» a happening place, it would seem, with an equal mix of locals and vacationers from Lisbon and beyond. After just under 5 hours of sleep we checked out (I had to remind the dona to return my driver´s license), leaving Stefi behind to sleep and stay at the beach, but with the keys to her place in Lisbon, where we arrived just a short two hours later, post metro to the Bairro Alto.
The days seem to extend out into themselves, each one seeming like several distinct days, weeks feeling like months. It feels like years since I have been home, and while I am not tired of travelling, yet, I indeed feel like this pace cannot keep up. And still, I go... We made our way to the Praça de Comercio and from there, to Belén, visited the nave of the Jeronomite Cathedral, walked to the Torre de Belém and looked out over the city from the edge of the water. We wandered back past the Tower of discovery, commemorating the voyages of Vasco de Gama and the Portuguese incursions into the brave new world, which stood in front of the Ponte 25 de Abril (The Golden Gate´s identical twin). We lunched at a sidewalk café overlooking the park, drank too much sangría for the heat (at least Kristina and I did) and then returned to the center of Lisbon, so I could see the Rossio, afamed plaza, that housed several sculpted cows (which seem to be a recent and proliferating addition to the city, and I think a fundraiser not uncommon to to other large cities in the world). From there we went to the Castelo de Dom Jorge, high above, on top of one of Lisboa´s seven hills, and finally made our way down through the Alfama district, stopped to hear women singing Lisboan Fado in small taverns, and as the night was falling, around 10 pm, made it back to the Bairro Alto, to the house and back out for a late dinner at 11, weaving our way up the decidedly milder-than-Coimbra hills, between young (men mostly) in varying states of inhebriation. Our last stop was at a small park that overlooked the city, in which groups of disparate social classes and age groups congregate to sit, talk, drink and play guitar. We walked down the street and once more let ourselves into Stefi´s apartment, free of the other 7 roomates, and indeed, herself as she «missed» the last bus back in order to stay for the competition´s closing night fete. Just as well, though she was extremely generous to let us stay at her place.
In the morning Emily flew back to Frankfurt at 7, and Kristina and I indulged in the luxury of sleeping until we felt like it and then, exiting the uninhabited house after a nice morning shower. It was sometime around that time the morning before that I had thought to brace my knee, and though I must have looked quite silly, I was already feeling a good deal better, and able to ascend and descend stairs without having my leg buckle beneath my weight. We discovered that the guidebooks were not up to date as the Rossio trains station was closed, and trains to Sintra left from the Jardim zoologico. By noon we were on our way to Sintra where, after spending far too much (by Portuguese standards - 10€ each) on a decent but unstellar lunch (with one piece of lettuce masquerading as a salad) we decided to go up to the Castles that overlook the city. We should have taken the 434 bus, but failed to realize exactly what kind of an undertaking we had before us, and instead, walked for over an hour, quite probably 8 kilometers up hill with our packs (and lest we forget the excruciating knee) winding up the paved road through the (thankfully) high-ceilinged forest. The air was much cooler there than the 39 degrees in Lisboa, and while we were hot and sweaty (and I somewhat discouraged about halfway through the journey), by the time we reached the top, it felt as if we had actually accomplished something. At this point we realized that we didn´t have enough time to see both sites and split up, based on interest. She went to the Castelo de Mouros, which was the cask of a Castle that was mostly (from what I understand) in ruins. I opted for the Manueline Palace on the top of the mountain (as I like conquering things up high), which was extremely colorful, and at the same time a museum. I caved and took the 1.50€ tram up to the castle instead of walking another 20 minutes up, but mostly because time was short and we had a train to catch around 6 to make it back to Lisboa before 8, when the last bust left for Coimbra.
We met at the accorded 5:30 time and the bus was so packed that we were not charged the fare, as the driver just piled people in, mostly because they were all tourists and had bought the day pass. We made it back to Lisboa on the second half of our round-trip fare back to the estação oriente, where we got a 7:10 train back to Coimbra.
After stumbling out of the very last train (after transferring from Coimbra B) we decided once more for our favorite pizzaria and gelateria, when we ran into none other than our friend Juli with an adorable Parisian boy, Matt, who was instantaneously initiated into our club of the lude and inappropriate (being Parisian, I mean, come on). Juli´s friends found us there, and we drank red wine late into the night, an activity that Mathieu and I repeated last night as well. And now I am off to art history class, so the rest, as they say, is history.
Kristina, her friend Emily and I got up early Friday morning, too early, after staying out past midnight for an open air Fado concert under the Arco de Almedina, the outlying edge of the original walled city. The voices of men in black capes echoed into the melting night and people stood mesmerized, damp in the humid summer air, cloth sticking to skin, and breath held. We caught an 8 o´clock train to Lisboa, found our way through the metro to the bus station with service to Mafra, and met Emily´s very young (I mean that in the nicest possible arched eye-brow sort of a way when referring to a 21 year old) Austrian friend Stefi by 11. We spoke a muddled mix of Portuñol, English and German (no, not me) and managed to find ourselves, an hour and a half later, on the sidewalk in the town of Ericeira.
Now what? Stefi, it would seem, had the plan, there was a sort of girl´s surfing competition, and she had it in her head that she could learn to surf, in a day, there. Apparently she had been invited by a Brazilian videographer who was friends with her new (she arrived in Portugal last week) roomates, and was there to film it all for his company. Before consulting, or rather after a muddled response from some boys on the corner, Stefi started walking up the road, thumb stuck wide in order to hitch a ride. I limped behind with my very small pack and when we spotted the Bombeiros, just across the way, decided to stop and ask about the competition myself. It was 2-3 kilometers the other way, he said, at Foz de Lisandro. About face, sun beating down, packs growing heavier by the minute.
Is it socially acceptable to hitchhike in Portugal we ask ourselves, minus Stefi who his busy taking three large strides turning backwards and jutting her thumb out into the air. It seems harmless enough with the four of us, but, as it turns out, the Portuguese don´t tend to pick up hitchhikers. Nonetheless, a young Belgian couple from the Flemish side let us all pile into their tiny car as they were headed for the very same beach (according to the guidebooks, Portugal´s best surf beach.) Between managing to change into our suits and stumble across the hot sand, we settled in, the four of us, to varying degrees of communication. Stefi procured the use of a body board by flirting with the life guards, and even the free use of fins (they rented them) and then proceeded to ask for instructions about how to use it. The water was cold, Atlantic cold, but swimmable free of neoprene suit, and the cool felt so good on my knee that I didn´t even care about the force with which the waves were pounding against my firmly rooted feet. Probably did more damage than good, but, I did manage to escape unscathed by the sun. I must admit that I am rather prud of myself for remembering daily to apply sunblock before leaving the house, regardless of my plans.
By late afternoon it was quite clear that Stefi had no intention of doing anything, and was mortified that we might want to eat again after such delicacies as bad burgers (or in my case a strange baguette with tunafish, mayonaise, canned mushroom and lettuce) and ice cream. Things were not looking good. Kristina and I began to make contingency plans, as our desires (mine decidedly unimposed) were being quite ignored. What would you want to go to Belém for? Stefi wanted to know... You know, the cathedral, the tower of discovery, the Torre de Belém, the pasteis... Ah yes, young indeed, and fully set on spending the weekend at the beach. We all agreed, by 8 that it was time to head into the actual town to find accomodations, or a bus schedule, or food, or all of the above. And of course, Stefi was unwilling to walk back into town, when there was a parking lot half full of cars and people leaving. «Your Portuguese is better, you ask» she said. I replied, «I´m really not comfortable asking people for things» «Well, neither am I!» «Yes, but, actually, I am really just fine walking»... tense silence. Stefi procures a ride for two, tells me and Kristina to take it if we want, and that she will try to get another ride. We decline, and start the climb up the stairs cut into the cliff where we pause to take in the spectacular scenery. We had agreed to meet at 9. We walk back towards the town in the crepuscular light, laughing about what to do next, fully appreciating the view of the tiny beachside resort as we descended upon it. We stop and ask for the price of a night at a Pensão, it is 50€. We breath easier. We find the turismo office at the edge of the Praça da república (every town has one of these homonym plazas) and find that the last bus back to Lisboa leaves in 5 minutes, but the so-called express bus leaves at 8:20 am. We agree that this is the best plan of action. Under the bowry of the trees there is the thunderous noise of thousands of small, anonymous birds that are flapping wildly and chirping in a frenzy. If a dog barks, there is a full second of paused silence before the roar of their locomotion reinstates itself, stirring the leaves and showering the plaza with the white dust of their dried excrement.
After much discussion and various options, we all stayed together at a small hostel just up the street for 45€, in total. By 11 we were all showered, lotioned and back out for dinner, and finally met with Stefi´s friend for drinks at the «Luna Bar» a happening place, it would seem, with an equal mix of locals and vacationers from Lisbon and beyond. After just under 5 hours of sleep we checked out (I had to remind the dona to return my driver´s license), leaving Stefi behind to sleep and stay at the beach, but with the keys to her place in Lisbon, where we arrived just a short two hours later, post metro to the Bairro Alto.
The days seem to extend out into themselves, each one seeming like several distinct days, weeks feeling like months. It feels like years since I have been home, and while I am not tired of travelling, yet, I indeed feel like this pace cannot keep up. And still, I go... We made our way to the Praça de Comercio and from there, to Belén, visited the nave of the Jeronomite Cathedral, walked to the Torre de Belém and looked out over the city from the edge of the water. We wandered back past the Tower of discovery, commemorating the voyages of Vasco de Gama and the Portuguese incursions into the brave new world, which stood in front of the Ponte 25 de Abril (The Golden Gate´s identical twin). We lunched at a sidewalk café overlooking the park, drank too much sangría for the heat (at least Kristina and I did) and then returned to the center of Lisbon, so I could see the Rossio, afamed plaza, that housed several sculpted cows (which seem to be a recent and proliferating addition to the city, and I think a fundraiser not uncommon to to other large cities in the world). From there we went to the Castelo de Dom Jorge, high above, on top of one of Lisboa´s seven hills, and finally made our way down through the Alfama district, stopped to hear women singing Lisboan Fado in small taverns, and as the night was falling, around 10 pm, made it back to the Bairro Alto, to the house and back out for a late dinner at 11, weaving our way up the decidedly milder-than-Coimbra hills, between young (men mostly) in varying states of inhebriation. Our last stop was at a small park that overlooked the city, in which groups of disparate social classes and age groups congregate to sit, talk, drink and play guitar. We walked down the street and once more let ourselves into Stefi´s apartment, free of the other 7 roomates, and indeed, herself as she «missed» the last bus back in order to stay for the competition´s closing night fete. Just as well, though she was extremely generous to let us stay at her place.
In the morning Emily flew back to Frankfurt at 7, and Kristina and I indulged in the luxury of sleeping until we felt like it and then, exiting the uninhabited house after a nice morning shower. It was sometime around that time the morning before that I had thought to brace my knee, and though I must have looked quite silly, I was already feeling a good deal better, and able to ascend and descend stairs without having my leg buckle beneath my weight. We discovered that the guidebooks were not up to date as the Rossio trains station was closed, and trains to Sintra left from the Jardim zoologico. By noon we were on our way to Sintra where, after spending far too much (by Portuguese standards - 10€ each) on a decent but unstellar lunch (with one piece of lettuce masquerading as a salad) we decided to go up to the Castles that overlook the city. We should have taken the 434 bus, but failed to realize exactly what kind of an undertaking we had before us, and instead, walked for over an hour, quite probably 8 kilometers up hill with our packs (and lest we forget the excruciating knee) winding up the paved road through the (thankfully) high-ceilinged forest. The air was much cooler there than the 39 degrees in Lisboa, and while we were hot and sweaty (and I somewhat discouraged about halfway through the journey), by the time we reached the top, it felt as if we had actually accomplished something. At this point we realized that we didn´t have enough time to see both sites and split up, based on interest. She went to the Castelo de Mouros, which was the cask of a Castle that was mostly (from what I understand) in ruins. I opted for the Manueline Palace on the top of the mountain (as I like conquering things up high), which was extremely colorful, and at the same time a museum. I caved and took the 1.50€ tram up to the castle instead of walking another 20 minutes up, but mostly because time was short and we had a train to catch around 6 to make it back to Lisboa before 8, when the last bust left for Coimbra.
We met at the accorded 5:30 time and the bus was so packed that we were not charged the fare, as the driver just piled people in, mostly because they were all tourists and had bought the day pass. We made it back to Lisboa on the second half of our round-trip fare back to the estação oriente, where we got a 7:10 train back to Coimbra.
After stumbling out of the very last train (after transferring from Coimbra B) we decided once more for our favorite pizzaria and gelateria, when we ran into none other than our friend Juli with an adorable Parisian boy, Matt, who was instantaneously initiated into our club of the lude and inappropriate (being Parisian, I mean, come on). Juli´s friends found us there, and we drank red wine late into the night, an activity that Mathieu and I repeated last night as well. And now I am off to art history class, so the rest, as they say, is history.
posted by ilana at 6:46 a.m.
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