Alentejo and Algarve

We checked out of our Lisbon apartment early and survived a terrifying taxi ride to pick up our rental car. We have discovered that, in general, the people are fearless to the point of being reckless. Drivers pass on blind hills and curves and expect you to create a "third lane" should they miscalculate. In Sagres where the seaside cliffs rise 250 feet above the sea, fishermen (and women) stand on the edge casting with 20 foot rods. Strong winds prevail here on the Atlantic side, but they stand firm--often looking right over the edge to check the lines. Not surprising, many lose their lives each year. A number of tourists have met the same fate.



We drove to Monseraz, an ancient hilltop village with 360 degree views of Spain and all the valleys and lakes in the area. Finally, some silence. It is truly one of the most beautiful places that we have seen in the world. Fortunately we were there on one of the few sunny days that we have had. It has been rainy and cold everywhere in Europe. But there has been one blessing from all that rain--the wildflowers have been amazing! For miles there are great swaths of color: purple, yellow, green, rust. Here in the Alentejo region the cork forests stretch for miles--punctuated by stands of scrub oak and eucalyptus. The forests look like large broccoli forests. Wild Spanish lavender and bushes of Mexican white poppies cover the hillsides. In many areas the air has the overpowering fragrance of orange blossoms.



The cork trees are known as sobrieros. Once it has been harvested, it is called something else. The first harvest of the bark comes at age 30 years. A horizontal cut is made--called a necklace. Skilled extractors make vertical cuts called rulers. The other end of the ax is used to lever the bark. The first extraction is generally not good. The tree is marked with a number. Ten years must go by before the next extraction--and the yield is again generally poor. Another ten years must pass before a good extraction is made--have you kept track?--that's 50 years. Cuts are made every ten years until the tree dies at age 200 years. If one is not skillful, the cuts too deep, then the tree is damaged for life and dies. After each extraction the tree is marked in white with another number.



We drove to the southern coast and checked into Lagos. We had two sunny days which allowed us to take some amazing pictures of the coastline. However, the rain set in and all our hopes of lying on warm sunny beaches vanished. The drive there was an adventure. We got off the beaten path and drove up a rocky dirt road into the mountains--half way in we began to question our judgment. But as always we found discovered gems along the way--life in the middle of nowhere. Recently tilled earth and old red tiled stone buildings indicated that people were out there--though we only saw one in the miles of driving. The car took a bit of a beating until we got back on paved road and found ourselves on narrow winding mountain roads amidst eucalyptus forest that eventually led us to a delightful mountain town called Monchique. The road then descends toward the southern coast.



The economic decline is evident everywhere--many building projects abandoned. Hundreds of pieces of property for sale. The people are down and look depressed. The quality of food is poor. Services are limited--ie no paper in toilets, and anything that depends on electricity (hand driers) have been shut. We found it interesting that the beaches were mostly deserted and absolutely pristine.


We abandoned all our plans for staying in the Algarve--the weather so poor. We decided to fly by the seat of our pants and drove to an old walled town on a river--Mertola. The town is an ancient Roman and Islamic site situated on a river. It is the first Portuguese town that I have truly enjoyed. Enchanting with views of mountains and valleys and continuing life along the river. There is an abundance of wild and domestic animal life here. Storks, cranes, sparrows flying about--river otters and jumping fish. Kayaking on the river is popular and we have seen young people jogging on the paved roads--the first kind of sport activity that we have seen. To get here we drove narrow country roads through miles of flowers, crazing sheep and goats and stands of cork and eucalyptus. We stopped whenever we could capture a beautiful scene or to hear the melodic sound of bells that hang on the necks of sheep and goat.



The weather prohibits us from hiking areas that we had planned. We've scoured the maps and news and cannot escape the rain, so we are heading for another old walled town--Evora. We are two days ahead of schedule and moving as we please now. There are many photos, many stories that will have to wait. Pray for sun.
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Our stay in Lisbon

We looked forward to warmth and sunshine in Portugal after a very cold and windy week in Amsterdam. We were blessed with daily rain and overcast skies, and both Linny and I spent most of the last few days sick. We did manage to rally and see the highlights. We rented a wonderful apartment on the Rua Prata in Baixo, the main downtown just up from the wharf. Amsterdam (indeed all of the Netherlands) is flat. Lisbon is situated among seven steep hills next to the River Tejo, picturesque like San Francisco. Lisbon's economy is suffering. Buildings are tired looking, nothing has been painted in generations, it seems. And yet. Everywhere are red tile roofs. And as was common in Portugal in the 18th and 19th centuries (and before), many buildings' facades are covered with tile. We have never seen so much beautiful tile. We saw most of the town by public transportation. First the electric trams. These 1920's cars ride rails, use overhead electricity, and manage up and down the hills with ease. The number 12 took us from the main square around the hill containing the old Moorish neighborhood, the Alfama. The streets are narrow. There isn't room for the tram and anything else, car, person. And there is no reverse. So--several times we had to wait until the road was clear so we could proceed. The Alfama itself, now home to diverse refugies from around the world (and former Portuguese colonies) is very poor, with many abandoned buildings falling into ruin. Depressing, really.




One day we took the bus to Belem, a part of Lisbon on the far western side. Here are the very famous tower, or Torre da Belem. First stop was the National coach museum, containing carriages which had belonged to the royal family. Perhaps seventy of them. It was wonderful to imagine them hitched up to horses, dressed up horsemen, and royalty inside. Next to the museum is a famous pastry shop, selling pastellerias de Nata--wonderful butter pastry shells filled with warm, delicious custard. The line extended into the street. And for good reason. The Jeronimos monastery was next--an extraordinary church with detailed cloister, and finally a visit to the Belem tower--part of Portugal's defense from the sea, and now a famous symbol of Portugal.




Another day we took the train to Sintra, a small town 40 miles to the west, Famous for two palaces which were home to the Portuguese royalty, the National Palace, and Palace da Pena. Sintra is a beautiful place and is not to be missed on any visit to Portugal. The National Palace is full of sumptuous tile, grand rooms, and an amazing massive kitchen ventilated by huge, conical chimneys. The town is full of touristy restaurants and curio shops. You take a bus up a steep, winding narrow road to the top of the hill where initially a monastery was built, but then taken over and converted into the king's palace, the Palacio da Pena. The style is Moorish, with turrets, unusual shapes, extraordinary tile, and surrounded by many acres of parkland full of hand-selected trees and shrubs. The day was misty and rainy. We caught a few glimpses of blue which told us that spectacular views of the ocean to the south and west would be had on a clear day. Other highlights of Lisbon included a visit to the national tile museum. Tile is a big deal in Portugal, a source of national pride, and for good reason. We have at least 100 photos of tile, and there will be more. This museum is in a former convent adjoining a church. We did not realize that a view into the church was part of the museum visit--and a wedding was taking place. We got to see the bride and groom kiss at the end. Today, our last day in Lisbon, we went out to the Gulbenkian museum. This is one of the most beautiful museums I have ever seen--containing the personal collection of an Armenian businessman who was involved in opening up the Iranian oil fields. Extraordinary! Art --Monet, Manet, Degas, Renoir, Rembrandt, Hals and many others; Chinese porcelain, Persian tile, rugs. It was fabulous. Few people there (it is out of the way, and well worth getting there).




Lisbon thoughts. Portugal has been through a tough couple hundred years. This was once a grand place, enriched by Portugal's exploration and "discovery" of routes west and east (remember Megellan, Vasco da Gamma?) The earthquake of 1755 leveled Lisbon, but allowed a grand city plan resulting in an elegant, designed downtown. Much of the 20th century saw the end of the monarchy only to be replaced by an "enlightened" depot. Democracy is new here, not unlike Spain. Only Portugal is much poorer. Entry into the European Union has brought new development, but dramatic increase in prices. Portugal is poor, no question. There is construction, here and there, but all is by hand. Large rocks are chiseled by hand to fill in the rail lines and streets. Signage is poor. Sites are disorganized. Museums, ticket offices, could all benefit from a few more employees and organization. We waited in lines--for buses that never came, or came and just didn't pick anyone up. Simple signs pointing to a bus stop, or the way to a major site coming out of the Metro, as you see in the netherlands, or France, or Spain, just aren't there. Tourism is a major, important source of income here. They need to capitalize on it.
Tomorrow we pick up a rental car and head south--initially the walled ancient city of Monsaraz, and then the south coast, or Algarve.
Until the next--Joel




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Lisbon

Hello all--Bom Dia!
Yesterday morning we packed up again and set out to meet the airport shuttle. When we got to the lobby the area was full of men dressed in long black wool coats. They all had the same hair color and cut; the same black suit with tie and were all of equal height (about 6'2") and they were roughly the same age--there were about 30 of them. There were also men with cameras, tripods and microphones. Our shuttle was delayed and we were a little concerned. The concierge said that the Turkish President was arriving and that the shuttle might not be able to make its way through security and traffic. I stepped out of our hotel and saw an entire block lined with security vehicles, news vans and police. We were staying within feet of Dam Square. When the word was given--the earpieces went in and the men moved in a very coordinated way. We had no idea that within minutes the Turkish president would be meeting the Dutch queen on Dam Square to place a wreath. Later we read the details in the paper.
We got on the shuttle and an old man who resembled an aging Lurch began to yell at us and a couple of Italian tourists. It seems we needed to purchase our tickets in advance, despite contrary instructions from the concierge. He allowed us to purchase on the spot in cash as he loudly admonished us--it would have been humiliating if it weren't so surreal and funny. He drove like a maniac! It was a relief getting on the airplane.
We were warned to take caution when ordering a cab--get a price quote first and ask for a receipt and have knowledge of what the customary charge is before getting into the car. I fumbled around with Portuguese until we got a decent quote and for good measure Joel and I spoke to each other in a combined Spanish French lingo in order to avoid speaking in English. We arrived at our sweet apartment after calling Ilda--who does not speak a lick of English. We have a two bedroom apartment that is three blocks from the Rio Tejo and the Praca do Comercio. The apartment is totally outfitted with a modern kitchen and bathroom, internet, etc.--much like our apartment in Valencia. This kind of accommodation is always so much better than staying in a hotel. We are walking distance to all of the main squares, markets, restaurants and transportation (trams, metro, buses).
The first thing we did was to unload our gear and set out for the center of the old town--Rossio. Lively at day's end with every nationality represented. The streets are all granite and marble mosaic squares--each piece measuring 2 inches square--mostly in black and ivory color with elaborate designs. They are extremely uneven, often rising up an inch or two in an undulating pattern. Unlike Spain, nobody would dare wear a pair of heels. Sensible shoes are a must or you risk an ankle sprain. We made our way to the "supermercado" and surprisingly it was like a large convenience store. The produce was spare and unappetizing. Police are


in the markets because desperate people are doing desperate things.
After unloading the groceries we walked at sunset to the water's edge. Some people were waiting for the ferry, others staring into the water or at the horizon. The tone was serious--maybe even a little sad. We wandered until our feet could take no more with the unforgiving hardness of the sidewalks.
Today we are going to catch a train to Sintra. Much love, Linda and Joel



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Bye bye Netherlands (for now)

Saturday we took the train to Utrecht and realized how wonderful it is to hop a high speed train and be in another city within minutes. Why can't we do this in the US? Initially we were very turned off by the town as the train station is attached to a shopping mall that was developed in the 70s. Back then it was all the rage--the train allowed for quick and easy access from other towns. But, if you're a traveler--you have to walk through (I am not exaggerating) a half mile of enclosed stores and food stands. When we emerged, the village was a sea of people--Saturday in the sunshine brought everyone out. Difficult to walk through and nearly impossible to find a place to eat. We kept walking until there were no people to be seen and it was quiet and beautiful. I was photographing someone's house when he drove up and asked me if I liked his house! Yes, I said. I was admiring the artwork and flowers in the windows. He and his wife invited us into their walled garden where we talked about flowers and life in Utrecht. It was one of those special moments that happens when you are open to meeting strangers.

It pays to learn a little Dutch before ordering food. Joel and I had no idea what we ordered. Consequently, we received (and ate) two raw beef sandwiches. It did have pesto and arugula on it--but . ..

Exhausted when we returned we spent the evening in the "world's smallest pub". Packed and lively. Again, meeting and conversing with new people is always interesting. We sat next to a Brit who was just coming through for a few days--on his way from Kazikstan (sp?) where he works for the oil industry. He told us about the presence of the Brits and Americans in the area as they attempt to drill the hell out of what they believe is the largest oil field in the world. He gets paid very, very well and has a bodyguard attached to him at all times when he is away from the work field. He says that it's great for a single guy because so many men were killed in the cold war and the pickings are slim for the local woman. Very friendly ladies. K....stan is larger than all of Europe with room to spare and has the greatest weather fluctuation in the world. A couple of weeks ago it was 35 below and then days later 50 to 70. Much more to tell about that . ...
Sunday we took the train to Haarlem. It was a frigid 35 and quite windy. We made the trip to see the old church--but it was closed. Bopped around and then returned and finally got into the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam which was incredibly moving.

Today we got up bright and early, took the tram, then a bus to the airport, then another bus to Lisse to see the great Keukenhof Gardens. The pictures on our flickr site speak volumes. It was sunny but extremely cold and we had to duck into greenhouses stop for coffee to stay warm. As a gardener and lover of flowers, I was really in heaven. We did the trip in reverse, uploaded the photos and are now going to have some Indian food. We have had mediocre Chinese, Thai and Dutch food. We finally lucked upon an Indian restaurant yesterday and we're going back with the winner. Got to run. Blog time is up.

Micah, thanks for the photos of the little chickies! Oh my they are sweet looking. Wish I could hold a little fuzzy one right now. Take are all. Much love L


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Amsterdam!

After weeks of planning, we finally locked up the house and David drove us to the airport. The trip doesn't ever feel real at this point. There are endless thoughts about whether or not the gas was turned off, the back door locked and the thermostats turned down. Do we have passports? Who has what? Then the abbreviated good-byes while the other cars are pushing to get curbside. Then you see the familiar lines of people waiting for security checks and you wonder--are they going to make me check my bag, strip me down, give me a hard time. On the other side you stroll around, read all the papers, check and re-check everything--just passing time. When the call comes to board it never fails: no matter how carefully instructed, people cannot seem to manage to queue up properly. All protocol, manners and civility are lost as people nudge each other in a push to get aboard. I want to stand on a box and yell "it's not the freaking California gold rush, people! We're all entering an aluminum capsule that is going to hurl itself up several thousand feet and you are at great risk! My face might be the last you see .. .so how about some kindness here!" Once settled, Joel and I give a high five--we're really doing this! But it still doesn't seem real. For me, it always happens as we descend through the clouds and I get the first glimpse of my destination. Seeing the lay of the land, the way traffic moves--and I realize that there are people down there who speak a different language and I am about to meet up with a new people, and a new place. Then it's real.
Unfortunately, we didn't sleep during our very quick 9 1/2 hour flight. The airport seemed quiet and we headed outside to catch the public bus for the 45 minute ride into the city. Gray, cloudy, damp and thousands of people! Brisk morning slap in the face. For all the mass transit in this part of the world, you would think there would be adequate space to accommodate suitcases. After all, these are buses leaving the airport. But no . ...so you squeeze yourself in and apologize 50 times before you (if lucky) find a seat. Entering Amsterdam is like most large cities . .a glimpse of countryside, then industrial areas, and then working class areas--whoa--thousands of bikes! Flying by! No helmets. They are all variations of the wicked witch in Wizard of Oz. All nationalities. Young, old, babies, dogs--they are all on bikes! As we make our way into the heart of the city we are wedged in between a tram on one side and cars, bikes and pedestrians on the other. We are let out at Leideseplein Square and experience our first harrowing descent from the bus (or tram). You step onto a two foot strip of pavers with bikes whizzing by. Pedestrians are low on the pole here . ..they almost seem targeted. Bikes have the right of way, then trams, then buses, then cars and finally the lowly flat footer. This is the point at which I always ask myself--why didn't we take a cab? Why am I ladened down like a camel? We make our way down long narrow streets lined with bikes--locked down on everything--fences, poles, rails--thousands of bikes! All the photos in books and online cannot prepare you for this. Those photos are images of stationary people and bikes--not endless streams of bicycles that you have to dodge. It doesn't take long before you figure out the street protocol. Do or die.
Our hotel room looks out on Vondelpark--much like our beloved Laurelhurst, without the massive trees. Great for biking, strolling and observing local life. Our room is tired with a soft bed and a shower that is essentially a curtained corner of the bath closet. It is Tuesday and our anniversary is Thursday so we decide that we are definitely moving on to better digs for a proper celebration, but for now (then) we enjoy where we are and jump into bed to try and get a nap in to combat jet lag. No dice--no sleep--we hit the streets.
We have our first Indonesian meal--no English menu and no idea what we are about to eat. I can tell you it was delicious. We are seated at the window and are amazed at how many people are out there. We watch near collisions of bikes and trams and cars and people. . .but it doesn't happen. There is a dance going on out there--a rhythm in the city--even with the myriad of tourists. The city is full of life. It is intense!
We began to walk the canals marveling at the architecture (with one eye out for bikes). We collected our dinner along the way: first a cheese shop with "old" gouda--some of the best cheese I have ever had; a fruit stand; a bakery; a sweet shop. By that time, the work day was coming to an end. We were strolling around Vondelpark watching green parrots flying about, joggers, parents picking up children from tennis lessons (on their bikes), and hundreds of people returning home from work by way of bike--some riding side by side in conversation, others texting or talking on the phone, others looking relieved and refreshed. There is the occasional smell of marijuana. It is early Spring and the magnolias have blossomed and the tulips are up. The trees have not fully leafed out but there is the color of Spring green everywhere. A man bikes by with three of his children aboard and another one follows on his own bike with a dog in tow! We are now sufficiently tired and return to the hotel and have our collected dinner. I sleep like a log, but Joel is up all night.
We woke to sunshine and blue skies and walked to the Van Gogh Museum. There were lines all the way down the block and plenty of tour buses. We had fortunately purchased a Museumkaart beforehand which allowed us to skip through, but the museum was still packed with people. For those of you who will be traveling in the future, the art museums are best viewed in the late afternoon or a couple of hours before closing when all the tour buses have left. The museum contains 200 Van Gogh paintings. It is remarkable that these masterpieces were all done in the space of ten years--from age 27 to 37! We learned to get ahead of the tours or view other rooms until they left. "The Potato Eaters", "Self Portrait", "The Room", "The Sunflowers"--but for me, the paintings done the year he was in Arles are personally moving. I love his paintings of fruit trees in bloom against blue skies.
We ate our first stroopwaffel while sitting in the sun with The Rijksmuseum in view. Joel was still slugging along with jetlag so we caught the tram to the east side of the city. We then got on the metro and walked to the Jewish Historical Museum which is housed in the original Great Synagogue of the 17th century. We went back into the metro to eat lunch. While traveling through there, we had noticed a small place with Surinamese food. Intrigued, and with good past Metro dining experiences we decided to order. Now this is the best part of traveling--meeting people. It didn't take long before we were in conversation with Gerardo--the owner and cook, who has lived in A'dam for 15 years and is originally from Surinam. His best bud, Ruben, came in shortly and the four of us enjoyed a lively conversation. We heard all about the colonization of Surinam by the Dutch, slave-trading, food, music, religion (Gerardo says that in his country the Jews and Muslims live side by side in peace), relationships, children--everything really. We were there for a while and reluctantly left after taking photos of them. We are definitely going to go to Surinam someday. Prior to meeting them, I had no idea where it was located.
I AM GOING TO APOLOGIZE FOR THE LENGTH OF THIS FIRST POST. Catching up is always much more difficult. I swear that future ones will not be this long. ..bear with me.
We walked along more canals to The Hermitage museum that hosts a constantly changing exhibit of art on loan from the mother museum in St Petersburg, Russia. It happened to be Rubens and some other not so interesting portrait artists. I'm good for about five mural sized Rubens--and then I'm just done. With tired feet we retraced our steps to the Metro, then the tram and stopped at Leidesplein to visit the Bulldog Coffeehouse (wink wink)--that was, ahem, followed by french fries, chocolates, Belgian beer and the walk back through Vondelpark. Miraculously, we found our way back and fell into a deep sleep. Only to waken with that "oh shit" feeling--check out was 11 and it was 10:30 and we were groggy with clothes strewn about and travel gear everywhere. Before long we were on the sidewalk trying to figure out where the hell we were and where we were going. It was a slow walk to the tram --that, I repeat, is just too small for suitcases--and headed for Dam Square, the site of the Palace and the New Church. Our hotel is on the plaza with great views of the city. It is definitely more crowded here, as we are steps from the Red Light District and there are plenty of looky-loos.
We eventually made our way to the Rijksmuseum to see the great Dutch master painters--Rembrandt, Hals, Steen, Vermeer. No words. Okay, one word--beautiful. We took a canal cruise through a number of canals and then out to the harbor where the water meets the North Sea. It is really a must-do when visiting this incredible city. We got off at Leidesplein again--is there a theme here? Visited the Bulldog, and then promptly got lost. We wandered for a while--and I felt really lost for some time because I just cannot get this language. Romance languages, yes--but this Germanic sound is truly foreign. The signs are not in English or Spanish or French. But eventually . ..ah, starched sheets, the church bells tolling, and finally a really good sleep.
Today, Chinatown and the old Buddhist temple; the Red Light District where in the harsh light of day the "old, cheap" gals on the alley behind the Old Church look pitiful; St Nicholas Church with mass in Spanish; and a brief step into a bakery for hot Spanish chocolate before braving the cold, rain outside. The skies have now cleared while writing this and so we are going out to the Anne Frank Huis and to walk the Jordaan neighborhood.
Last night was our anniversary and we feel truly blessed and happy to be on this adventure together. I'm going to post photos this evening on our flickr site when time permits. I'll send off a quick link to the site when I write next. Missing you and sending you love, Linda
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Location:Amsterdam