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!
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