FARO (not the card game)

Urk.  My back seized this morning as I bent over the sink to brush my teeth.  I’m sure it’s a delayed reaction to the trauma of the fall.  I’m falling apart!  At breakfast we were inundated by hundreds of German tourists in the hotel restaurant.  This must be a very popular spot for them.  Today we’re off first to the city of Faro, which was a Roman harbor town, later walled in by the Muslims, and then occupied by the Christians.  Today it is the capital of the Algarve, a minor deal as the whole region has only 250,000 people.  Most of the ancient aspects were lost in the big quake, and everything is Baroque or newer.  The Portuguese coat of arms portrays seven castles surrounding a cross (right).  As we walked around we saw storks nesting all over the place.  They were perched on lamp posts, steeples, chimneys, you name it.  Our guide kept going on about how the the black stork is native only to Portugal, but I doubt it.  And, I don’t think these are black storks anyway.  I’ll leave it to my Audubon guru, Chuck, to set me straight on that.  We found we had to take much of what the local guides had to say with a large grain of salt.  Entertaining, though.

Part of the shopping district without, thank goodness, the ubiquitous wavy tiles.  These were easier on the eye (and stomach).

Scenes from Faro.

Wandering about town, we found a gelato shop and had a couple of scoops of luscious pistachio.  Then we peeked into a leather/cork shop and found some very handsome handbags for only 20E.  Even I couldn’t resist, so we got one for Loni (she now uses it everywhere).  After an hour or so, we boarded the bus to head inland to our next stop, Quinta dos Tesouros, and to a local liqueur manufacturer for a little tasting.  The facility sits in the middle of an ancient olive grove, and we all had to troop out to see what was billed as the oldest olive tree in Portugal, allegedly 2,000 years old!  Hmmmm.

One of the owners, Fatima, gave us the tour, followed by a demonstration of local spices which, I have to say, didn’t make a lot of sense.  But she was a jolly soul.  Those are carob beans, if you look closely, in the upper right photo.

  A docaria is a confectionary maker.  In addition to liqueurs, which I couldn’t taste, they offered a selection of truffles and sweets, which I did!  We were allowed two sweets and tastes of three liqueurs.  Now, this is my kind of stop.

Loaded with sweets and booze, we departed for Bras de Alportel to visit a cork processing plant.  Nothing to eat here.  When we first arrived, we had to take a tour of a very strange museum that supposedly chronicled fashions and life back in some bygone era.  I’m a little vague, because there was no signage explaining anything, and the guide droned on in an almost incomprehensible patter.  This was truly a yawner.  The shot below is an example of one of the more dynamic displays.  Zzzzzzzzzzzz.

That couldn’t end quick enough for me, and we went on to the cork.  The raw cork is stacked in big piles outside the factory.  Note how curved it is in its natural state.

The harvest is made by first making a vertical cut up one side of the tree, then peeling around and removing a solid sheet of cork.  This is done by hand axe, very carefully, so as to not cut into the trunk.  See the old photo of this process below (he’s peeling back a big sheet of bark).  The harvest runs from May to September.  Since the cork is filled with humidity during the summer months, they wait until September to weigh it.  Thousands of things are made with cork, including the little gasket Sofia is holding.  but the first harvest is not used for anything visible, as the density is not good.  The second harvest, at 25-30 years of tree age, is used for construction, flooring, etc.  Not until the third harvest nine years later does the compacted quality (fewer pores) get good enough for making into bags, clothes, wine corks, etc.

The first step in processing is to boil the raw cork in this huge square vat for one hour.  The cork is kept below the surface by that big grate that is lowered down.  During the boiling the cork swells and straightens somewhat.  It is then squashed down to flatten it out.

Bail, haul, and stack.

There are only five cork processors left, down from more than 70.  Man-made materials have pushed it out of a lot of applications.  Nonetheless, this warehouse is said to hold about ten million dollars worth of cork.  Yikes!  No smoking!

They don’t make any crafted products here, but they do sell them!  The prices were very touri$ty, and we weren’t tempted.

Our final stop was at a restaurant in Sagres with, supposedly, a cooking demonstration of Portuguese cuisine.  This turned out to be a bust.  He started with Sangria preparation.  Really?  No mystery there.  Throw fruit in wine and drink.  The main was hastily done, and no technique really shown that wasn’t generic to any style of cooking.  It was a wok-cook featuring pork, tomato, peppers, clams & prawns.  While waiting for dinner to be served, they did pour some local wines.  Hmmm.  Maybe Loni should have had more chocolates and less liqueur at that previous stop.  Are those cheeks rosy from the sun or . . . . ?

The dining room was pleasant.  Loni, who couldn’t eat the shellfish, got a special plate of monfish cooked in a champagne-honey sauce.  Whoa!  That was the best thing in days.  Have to try that at home. 

We didn’t get back to the hotel until nearly 10 and we both were wiped out.  Unfortunately, my back was killing me and I woke up 6 times.  At least no parties tonight, so the place was quiet.  No group activity tomorrow, so we can sleep in.

GO SOUTH, YOUNG MAN

OK, not so young.  But we did head out to Cape Ste. Vincente, the southern-most point of Europe.  Not, however, without some drama.  I was running a little late for the bus departure, Loni already on board.  To get to the bus from our room wing, you go through the separate lobby building, which has a flight of stairs to the entry.  They were low, but treacherous, with a protruding lip on each riser that naturally caught my toe as I was scampering up.  I went down as if poleaxed, hard first on my right hand, then my upper right arm, and finally, for good measure, my right temple.  Bam!  I was a little disoriented for a moment, vaguely hearing the “are you ok’s” of those that saw me go down.  Things cleared and, despite an immediate soreness, I declared I was good to go.  Mmmmph.  I may have been mobile, but I was a hurtin’!  I put it down to i) treachery, ii) carelessness, and iii) (sigh) age.  Yucky picture to follow.

As near we can figure, this is Cape St. Vincente.  Note the tiny people near the point.

Our local rag has a feature where it will run your picture if you hold up a copy of the paper in some far-off spot.  Guess this qualifies, as it certainly is out of the way.  At least we could stop carrying it around with us after the shot.  We haven’t submitted it yet, so our 15 minutes of fame is still pending.  Wish I’d taken that dopey name tag off.

The coast up the Atlantic side from near this point was equally rugged.  No sandy beaches!

There’s a light house that sits on one of the fingers of this Cape, but other than using the bathrooms there wasn’t much to see.

We came across this cool sculpture just hanging around.  How would you like that in your front yard.  Made me hungry for octopus.

Back on the bus and we motored around a bay to another peninsular arm and the 16th century fortress at Sagres.  For context, this next shot is taken from the fortress looking back across the bay to the Cape we just left; you can see the lighthouse at the end.

The fortress was the home of Prince Henry’s School of Navigation and the “compass rose.”  The fortress is impressively huge.  That’s Loni peering back.  Henry liked it down here as it afforded quick access to Africa for exploring its coast.

The earthquake of 1755 destroyed virtually everything in the area, and the fort was rebuilt in 1785.  The big “attraction” here is the enigmatic Rosa Dos Ventos, a structure unearthed in 1919 and interpreted variously as a compass rose related to Henry’s sailing school, or a monumental sundial for naval purposes.  It’s 50 meters across, and about as exciting as drying paint.

Within the fortress walls, behind Loni is the small Church of Our Lady of Grace, built in 1570, replacing an earlier one destroyed in the big quake.  The interior is pretty spartan.

From here we were back on the bus and off to our lodging for the next couple of nights at the Vila Gale in Lagos, the largest town in the Algarve area.  It has an excellent harbor, and it was from Lagos that Henry began his explorations, and Vasco de Gama took off in 1499.  We were on our own for lunch, so we walked in from the hotel (about a mile or so) and found Pimento Pinpiri (I think), where we had a simple but very tasty lunch of tuna sandwiches and non-alcoholic beer.  I have no idea where that expression on my face came from.  I’m now sporting my cork visor whenever we’re out and about.  We only saw them in the one store.  Now that I’m wearing it, a bunch of folk on the bus have been looking for them without success.  One offered to buy it!

We wandered a few shops after lunch and Loni found a little poncho thingy for Isla, and then it was back to the hotel for a little down time.  This place is a real resort complex, and our room had a lovely view overlooking the pool area and the distant ocean.  Panorama shot from our balcony.  Our room is at the bottom of a square “U” shaped building.

That shot distorts the distances;  things were much closer.

Our room, looking out.  Sleekly modern.

As we were relaxing before going out to dinner, they started setting up speakers and a platform for some live music that apparently was going to go off this evening right in front of our room.  Yike!  I went down to inquire about how loud and how late and could we change rooms.  All I got was, not very, possibly 12 midnight, and no, we’re full.  Augh!  Paradise lost!

Dinner was on Collette this evening, so we got on the bus for the short trip back into town and walked the narrow streets to Don Sebastino, which turned out to be only a few doors down from where we had lunch.  From Loni’s notes, we had appetizers of pate, fish paste, olives, pickled veggies, cheese and bread.  First course was a fish-rice soup.  Main was chicken in a clay pot, with onions, tomatoes, mushrooms and potatoes.  Nice and tender, but not remarkable.  Dessert was almond ice cream and chocolate mousse.  Geriatric party set:

After dinner, we repaired to the wine cellar for some tastes of port.  They had some dating back to 1881, but those weren’t on our menu.  The sommelier recommended, for a good recent vintage, a 2011 Quinta do Noval.  [side note:  online, it goes for $85-110]  As the drinking progressed, some of our Connecticut Italians broke into song with not bad voices.

The evening done, we bussed back to the hotel, into our room, and closed the window on the Portuguese dance party in full progress just below us.  They were at least true to their word, and things petered out about 11:30.   ZZZZZ.

Oh, yeah.  The gruesome pic.  Here’s the damage, about 2 days after.   Caution:  the following may be disturbing for the faint-of-heart or anyone with a modicum of taste.

                                                                 Blech!

CORK, OCTOPI, AND OLD PLACES

Bye to Cascais today, and part of our route took us past the suburbs of Lisbon (above).  The cities in Portugal are almost entirely high rises, even out in the sticks. Our driver for the rest of the tour, Nelson, showed up with his MAN bus which, unfortunately, has the same backbreaker seats as did the MAN one throughout Spain.  No lumbar support at all.  Thankfully, I always take an inflatable lumbar pillow when I fly any distance, and it worked fine for the bus as well.  Why do they make seats this uncomfortable when it’s so easy to do it right?  The Mercedes bus we used the last couple of days had great seats.  At least this one has onboard wifi which actually works.  We’ll be running down the battery on the phone in no time.  We skipped dinner last night after our big (and late) lunch, so we doubled down this morning at breakfast.  Bags out at 7, on the bus at 8.  Everyone managed to make it.  Collette does a thing on most tours where everyone rotates their seating position each day so as to allow everyone a stint up front, in the middle, and at the rear.  This is usually done by the guide sticking name tags above your assigned seat for the day.  Our guide this time is a little scatterbrained, and tried to do it by having people remember where they had been, then moving two rows.  Are you kidding me?  With a bunch of 80-year olds?  Chaos.  As the bus had about four rows more than was needed for the group, we just set up shop in the last row and stayed put for the duration.

We are passing through a lot of countryside containing cork trees.  Actually, a cork tree is an oak tree, and they look much like our California oaks.

 

It takes 9 to 10 years for a cork tree to mature sufficiently for its first stripping.  Then, by law, you have to wait nine more years for the next time.  Only the bark is taken by making a vertical slice, then peeling the bark off in one huge sheet around the trunk (the chunk at right is NOT an example of this).  The bark is rather thin upon cutting, but it is later processed by being boiled in huge vats, which swells the cork up to five times the original thickness.  The trees are each marked with the date of harvest, so that they know when it’s time to go back and cut.

Our first stop today will be the so-called “museum city” of Evora, which features a 2nd century Roman temple dedicated to Diana.  It certainly is a startling sight rising out of a more modern town.  (Loni’s in the white ball cap at the left edge of the group.)  I’m always amazed that such delicate-looking structures are still standing after a couple of thousand years of weather and human abuse.

That dark wall outline to my left as I take the shot of the temple is a former convent that has been transformed into one of Portugal’s “pousadas,” or historic hotels.  All over Portugal you can stay in historic buildings that have been converted to hostelries.  They aren’t cheap, and often are not located very centrally.  I checked online, and this one has rooms and suites between 150-220E. 

The local cathedral dates from the early 1100’s and is built like a fortress, early Gothic with thick walls and little windows.  There was something going on inside, so we didn’t enter.

 

 

 

 

 

Our group, 43 strong, created quite a mob scene when we all moved en masse while listening to the guide through our earphones.  More than once we found ourselves blocking traffic as patient drivers waited for us to clear.  Hope we weren’t “ugly Americans.”  I guess since they depend upon tourism so much, the locals aren’t all that perturbed.  Did I mention earlier that they make just about everything out of cork?  This store was just a sample.

Praça do Giraldo is the main square of Evora, and it is hard to believe that this calm and pleasant setting was the scene for some of the region’s most violent historical events. The square was the focal point for the murderous 16th century Spanish Inquisitions and more significantly the location of the 1484 execution of the Duke of Braganza, the leading nobleman of his time and a pretender to the throne who was undone by his conspiratorial correspondence with Isabella. Today it’s a popular place for tourists to sit at the open air cafes and restaurants and embrace the relaxing ambience.  We, however, just moved on through, one of the drawbacks of being on “tour time.”

After seeing a couple more edifices, we were on our own for a couple of hours.  Loni and I started wandering and found a lovely park.  When I look at these places I despair at the wretched condition of most of our own parks.

After wandering about, it was time for lunch and we again tried to find something out of the main tourist areas.  We didn’t quite succeed, since that’s where most of the restaurants are.  We found Docas Gourmet, which had picture menus (always a plus!) and where for 33.70E for the two of us we had the usual bottled waters and olives, then started with a delicious octopus salad;  Loni then had a pasta salad with ham, carrots almonds, onions and raisins; I had octopus in a rice broth.  I loved the tender, beautifully done octopus.

Back on the bus, we headed further south to the ancient, walled city of Monaraz. 

Perched on the top of a hill, this small town is a “jewel in the crown” of the Alentejo, Portugal’s south. It is a small walled group of dwellings that carefully preserve most of their original charm by retaining the old exteriors and the original quaint slated streets (which, by the way, aren’t the most comfortable things to walk on).

In the above shot, you can see the church towers peeking above the roofs.  Here’s the church looking back this way.

This lane we’re looking down in the above pics is the principal street of the town.  There are very few shops, even fewer restaurants.  The place is eerily quiet.  This group managed to find one of the few eating spots, and what a great vista while you’re sipping your brew.

The 150 or so inhabitants of the town are said to take particular pride in maintaining its somewhat medieval atmosphere, with its few narrow streets that are in parts are quite steep as they fall away to the defending walls.

The town itself allegedly was originally fortified by the Knights Templar after it had been recovered from the Moors in 1167.  At one end of the town is the 13th Century castle.

From the castle walls are panoramic views over the plains of the Alentejo, the waters of the Alqueva Dam, and stretching towards the Spanish border.

The courtyard of the Keep of the Castle has been adapted for use as an occasional bullring.

Here’s the main entry/exit gate, which leads out to the view in the 2nd pic below.

Through the gate, which is at the opposite end of the village (from the castle), there is a beautiful view of the remaining fortress walls, part of the town, and the vast countryside.  It really was quite lovely to be on this bump in the plains with 360 degree views, and kudos to Collette for guiding us to this remote gem.

Our last stop of the day was the Santa Vitoria Winery where we had a tour of the facilities and some tasting.  My taster is worth nothing these days, so I relied on Loni’s verdict of “pleasant, but nothing remarkable.”  Well, that’s ok, as they were really inexpensive.  Loni’s at right in the big pic.

With the right lighting and sky, the winery itself is quite attractive.  The chick ain’t bad either.

The winery and vineyards are part of a larger 3,000 acre project that includes our hotel for the night, the Villa Gale Clube de Campo.  No high rise here, but rather a gorgeous resort of one story buildings set in the vineyards in the middle of nowhere.  I really love taking pictures at the right time of day!

Yeah, I think I’m gonna like staying here . . . until tomorrow morning.  Cue portentous music.