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.