Portugal

Since the last time I wrote, I´ve traveled north through the entire length of Portugal and I´m now in Santiago de Compostela, Spain. I began in Lagos, a touristy beach town on the south shore. I arrived ready to try a few Portuguese words, but the hostel manager explained to me that old town Lagos is mostly British now. About 30 years ago, the Brits came in and bought almost all the business properties, so English is the main language. The local Portuguese people have been pushed out into the suburbs to live in high rise apartment complexes. I wasn´t prepared to see such a tourist trap, but when I gave up on the town and hiked out to the coast, I began to see why everyone travels there.

The cliffs along the ocean are dramatic and colorful. They give way here and there to quiet, protected coves of coarse sand. The walk along the edge is rough and slippery, covered in sharp-thorned shrubs. Some beaches have concrete steps leading down, others have steep, dusty inclines. I learned quickly that the harder it was to get down the cliff, the more rewarding the beach. The dirt thins out the tourists pretty well. I didn´t find anything cozy the first afternoon, but by the next morning I discovered a perfect spot, shaded by a low little cave-like indent in the base of the cliff. The beaches face southeast, so by 1:00, the shadow of the cliffs begin to creep over the sand, pushing sunbathers closer and closer to the water. Luckily, this coincides with the retreating tide very well. The water was a little too cold to really enjoy, and it was full of a lacy seaweed that clung to everything.

Besides the beaches, the best thing Lagos has is an English bookstore called The Owl Story. A British couple own it and they have over 220 owls in one form or another collected. In two days of laying on the beach and reading, I finished Pride and Prejudice, Emma, and a Thomas Hardy book called Far from the Maddening Crowd. I think I´ve satisfied my craving for British literature, finally. All in all, I wouldn´t recommend Lagos for anything but beach time, and I looked forward to Lisbon for a glimpse of Portuguese culture.

I was delightfully satisfied in Lisbon. I had one full day to explore, and I went from an art museum, the Gulbenkian, to an absurdly elaborate example of Manuelian style, the Jeronimos monastery. I tasted Belem pastries in the bakery they were created in almost 200 years ago, and explored another Moorish castle, San Jorges in a labrynthine neighborhood that survived the earthquake of 1755. I also heard live Fado, which can be described as Portuguese blues, sung by women usually. I would recommend this city to everyone, and I´d love to go back and spend a leisurely week soaking it in.

I took a train to Porto on my way to Santiago, and only had one evening to spend. I tasted all kinds of port wine and saw a Portuguese version of New York´s 5th Avenue. I was impressed by the gritty decay of buildings here. There are so many left empty and falling apart, with shattered windows, gaping doorways and light visible through the charred remains of roofs. Porto´s tourism slogan is AuthentiCITY, and they consider themselves the workers, rivaling Lisbon´s partiers. It was overall a very creepy urban landscape, and fascinating. I was ready to leave the very next morning.

I only have 5 minutes left on this internet, so I can´t say much about Santiago. The church is beautiful, full of tourists and pilgrims completing their walk. The weather is cold and wet, a windy kind of drizzle that makes me feel right at home. I am taking an overnight bus to San Sebastian in an hour and I´ll be lounging on a north shore beach by tomorrow. Then I´ll be in Pamplona to meet Mom and Lee and see the Running of the Bulls.