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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