Then this happened... (or Unless They Were Portuguese)

Once you label me you negate me. 

                                                                                        —Søren Kierkegaard

The subtlest and most pervasive of all influences are those which create and maintain 

the repertory of stereotypes. We are told about the world before we see it. 

We imagine most things before we experience them. 

                                                                                         —Walter Lippman

Americans are fat. Dutch people never wait their turn. Germans love schnitzel. Ah, stereotypes. They come from somewhere; don’t they?  But as I like to point out, people see what they are looking for. 

Before we got to Lisbon, before some man on the subway just about went haywire scolding a young couple for leaving their suitcases in his way, before seven days of watching or riding in cars going waaaay too fast on city streets, I was told how…um…let me be more pc than usual…I was told that although Portuguese people are extremely helpful and more than willing to help tourists, they are aggressive. Their reckless driving tendencies were used as evidence. Yeah, like I said, stereotypes come from somewhere. Need an example?

Waiting for the metro

Gwaz got us to Lisbon. She got us to the underground, and she even got us on the right metro train on the first leg of our vacation in Portugal. Finding the first two available seats put us directly across the aisle from a young couple that was obviously doing something very similar, except for the amount of luggage they possessed. Seated in a typical arrangement of four seats two-facing-two means that someone is riding backward (so to speak) no matter which way the train is moving. It also means that when filled to capacity, two couples will face each other. In this case, the amount of luggage gathered around them precluded anyone from sitting comfortably across from them. Then this happened…

As the metro made its usual stops, the car began to fill. As usual, many people stood up for all the usual reasons. They prefer it. They are not riding very far. They have large parcels. They are accompanied by a dog. There are no seats. Or, as was the case for the man who made this inconspicuous trip rather memorable, there were no seats for a man with a dog. Uh…yeah…back to the stereotype thing…this guy was a poster child for Stereotypes Anonymous.

My man took one look at the two folks minding their own business doing everything they could to stop their suitcases from rolling away, he saw the two unoccupied yet unavailable seats in front of them, and, like I said, he lost his damn mind—in Portuguese. Because I was told that Portuguese people are helpful to tourists, here’s what I imagine he was trying to say: Good afternoon lovely tourists. Thank you for bringing your much-needed money to our struggling economy. Although it is not clear to you, it is customary for anyone with luggage to stand in the open areas nearest the exit doors. That way people like you would not block others from using all the seats.

I won’t even attempt to translate what he actually said. Oh mind you, he said it, and said it again, and again, then he repeated it just in case they missed it. He was even considerate enough to raise the volume throughout his explanation just so they were sure to hear him. (Not many people know this, but metros are noisy.)

Just glad it wasn't us!

Funny thing though, as I watched this real-life Fawlty Towers scene play out, I imagined John Cleese yelling at poor Manuel who couldn’t understand a single word he was saying. And, now, remembering just how uncomfortable those two folks probably were, I am reminded of a philosophy professor I had many years ago. He argued that anyone upset over waiting on line (or in a queue as the Euros call it) was making a statement that the people in front had no moral right to be there. I just say that life is timing. Had the man and the dog been first, the couple and their luggage would never than chosen to sit near. (Who sits near a strange dog that will kill you just for looking at it?) 

I cannot imagine them screaming about the rudeness of bringing such a dangerous animal in such tight quarters, unless they were Portuguese.

Sintra

To have seen the world and left out Sintra is not truly to have seen.

                                                                                                                                             —Old Spanish saying

 

Sintra Vila

I’m not sure I’d go that far, but I will say this: for as strenuous and demanding a tour of Sintra was, we were glad we did it. Sintra is popular and for good reason. Once the favorite summer retreat for Portuguese kings, their legacy and the monuments to their wealth attract thousands of tourists every year. Our visit was no exception.

Paço Real

Built along the north slope of the granite Serra da Estrela (the highest mountain range in continental Portugal), Sintra is simply beautiful and quite old. Knowing we could not possible see everything there is to see in one day, we chose three stops, which made for an exhausting albeit unforgettable day.

Our day started with a train ride from Lisbon, and we soon found our way to the local transit bus, which for a small fee would take us on a circuit high into the mountains. First stop: Palácio Nacional de Sintra in what is known as Sintra Vila. Because we knew our 5€ bought us a one-way, single circuit ride, and despite our better judgment after seeing the hoard of tourists already waiting for a lift to the next stop, we left the security of the bus. We were glad we did.

 

The Swan Room (Banquet Hall)

Construction on this site began in the 10^th century by Moorish rulers, and Portuguese royalty used the palace until the 1880’s. Paço Real (as the palace is known) is easily identified by its twin chimneys. As with anything this old (especially with the means and inclinations of extremely wealthy inhabitants), the palace underwent extensive renovations and additions over the years. The result is a strange combination of building styles and a virtual maze of room arrangements.

 

View of Sintra Vila (taken from the Moorish Castle)

The consequences of our decision to tour the palace became more than apparent as we watched busload after busload of tourists skip our stop. Hey, when no one gets off a completely full bus, no one can get on—so we waited. When finally a bus with limited available seats did stop, Gwaz used her travel-tested wits to slip under or over or beside or around or some way or other through her peers and onto the bus. When the attendant read her ticket, which indicated passage for two, he pointed at me and demanded that the massively bunched-up crowd should part not unlike the legendary Red Sea. Now I know what those Hollywood types feel like on the red carpet. Just to keep me grounded he added, “I know you’re big, but you must stay together.” I bit my tongue.

The Moorish Castle

 Next stop: Castelo dos Mouros (the Moorish Castle). Travelling skyward at angles that would make a mountain goat dizzy, we finally arrived at the Moorish Castle, sort of. The walk from the bus stop to the castle entrance was challenging to say the least (but nothing compared to what awaited us). Built in the 8^th century, high, high above Sintra Vila, the Moorish Castle is breath taking in every sense of the phrase. On clear days, as it was for us, the view extends for miles in every direction. Built from and among massive stone blocks, the castle is an engineering marvel considering its age and location. Upon learning that the castle was conquered by Alfonso Henriques in 1147, I had but two questions: how and why? Firstly, it seems unbelievably inaccessible especially when arrow-firing guardians want it to stay that way, and secondly, why not just ignore it? It is so far removed that the only way the resident army could possibly engage an enemy was to wait for them to attack.

 

(l-r View of highest ramparts, view from highest vantage point, Gwaz coming back down)

Nearing the end of my 62^nd year above ground, I know a few things about myself. High on the list is that I cannot wish away my acrophobia, so after a walk around the castle ramparts that only the Flying Wallendas would enjoy, we found ourselves looking up at a set of 1200 year old steps leading to something I would never see. With death on one side and demise on the other, I chose to wait for Gwaz to return. (Even she admitted to having to sit down whenever anyone passed her on the stairs.)

 

Palácio da Pena

Much to our surprise and far different than it had been earlier, without much delay we caught the bus to the last stop: Palácio da Pena. Resembling what one might expect from Walt Disney, the Palácio da Pena is halfway to heaven. No exaggeration: when the bus left us off, a sign indicated that the palace was 1500 meters ahead. What it didn’t say was that the 9/10’s of a mile was almost straight up!

View from the castle below

The palace we see today was built in the 1800’s by the king consort, Dom Ferdinand II, the husband of Queen Maria II. It stands over the Hieronymite monestary first built here in the 16^th century. The guidebook describes it as “an eclectic medley of architectural styles.” Uh…yeah…that’s close. The guide goes on to say “it is filled with oddities from all over the world.” Again, correct.

Dom Ferdinand saw his dream fulfilled with the completion of the Palácio da Pena in 1885, the year he died, having outlived the queen by 32 years.

As the guidebook says: filled with oddities from all over the world

Oporto, Portugal

(A note to anyone considering a gym membership: Save your money; take a trip to Portugal. The food is better and you’ll get the same amount of exercise.)

Views of Oporto

Portugal is old world. From the topography to the architecture, Portugal is beautiful; stunning really, and while impossible to miss the civic celebration of its rich heritage, one quickly realizes that tourism comes with a steep price (pun intended). It took just one day to test adequately the tensile strength of my tibialis posterior. In other words, my calf muscles were so sore I wasn’t sure I could even walk let alone navigate the ridiculously steep streets.

Steep enough?

Our full first day, Sunday, was in Oporto, the second largest city in Portugal with an urban population of 250,000 and a sprawling metropolitan area extending from the city center to the Atlantic Ocean with a population of nearly two million people. Established as a Roman outpost named Portus Cale (most likely the origin of the word ‘Portugal’) some 300 years before the birth of Christ, its present-day name was derived from “o porto,” a translation of the English phrase “the port.” Located on the Douro River, “Porto” (as the city is called by almost everyone) is perhaps best known for its namesake wine—port.

Day One began with a failed demonstration of map reading skills. Put it this way: the real-time differences between what a tourist map shows and the reality of age-old streets was seriously complicated by the continuous choice between uphill or down, knowing full well that either way led directly to the other (and my calves were already beginning to seize up.) No sooner had we reached the top of the first “hill,” and before we started wandering aimlessly, we found the Church of Saint Ildefonso. An 18^th century Baroque style gem named in honor of a 7^th century saint, Ildephonsus of Toledo, the church was constructed entirely of granite but later covered with approximately 11,000 blue and white tiles depicting the life and times of its patron.

 

Church of Saint Ildefonso

To be honest, we started the day with a plan to visit the train station, which as it turns out we never did. That’s because in a place with so much history and so many unbelievably beautiful things to see, there didn’t seem to be any bad choices. We tried to find it, but somewhere between where we were and where we wanted to be, we saw the Se Cathedral of Porto.

Se´

It has been said that every great city has a great cathedral, and Oporto is no exception. Easily spotted and unmistakably identifiable from almost everywhere in the city, the cathedral is considered one of the most important buildings of Romanesque style in all of Portugal. Built in the 12^th century and enlarged in the 14^th and again in the 18^th, the cathedral resembles the fortress it became when the French in attacked the city in 1809.

From the vantage point high atop one of the highest points in the city, we could easily pick out our next destination—the river (and all downhill, but to be candid, I never did decide which was worse on my seriously struggling calves). Just to make the day more challenging, we were more than half way to the river when we decided to use the bridge to cross, which, of course, meant trekking back uphill! Coupling my clinical fear of heights and drum-tight calf muscles made for a memorable, if nonetheless harrowing twenty minute crossing.

 

View from the bridge

Once on the much appreciated far side of the river, and eventually to the safety of sea level, we strolled the highly commercialized banks of the river. Hey, it’s what tourists do; right? After a stop at Sandeman’s for a taste of port and re-crossing the river (this time on the lower level) we made our way to one of the few high-priority items on our must-see list—the St. Francis Church.

St. Francis Church (left)

 

View from the street

From the banks of the river, everything, and I do mean ‘everything’, is uphill. So, after a breath-taking (not to mention calf-killing) walk, we arrived at Sao Francisco do Porto. Although the church no longer conducts religious services, it attracts countless visitors. Several years ago after leaving St. Peter’s Basillica in Rome, Debbie remarked that she wasn’t sure she could visit any more churches because, as she asked, “What’s left to be seen?”

We found our answer in Porto.

Once described as “the Golden Church,” the St. Francis Monument Church is (as the guide brochure says) “a natural and world masterpiece.” Having seen it myself, I can’t say it any better (although I couldn’t find the “natural” part.) The entire interior of the church is covered floor to ceiling with carved chestnut; and as breath taking as it is astounding, the entire body of work is gilded with an estimated 600 kg of gold. Although age and countless other factors have dulled its luster, the walls seemed to radiate light.

Tree of Jesse, hand carved and gilded as is the entire interior woodwork

Although little evidence exists, tradition contends that St. Francis himself established the first monastery in Portugal in 1214. What is for certain is that by 1237 the Franciscan order was established in Porto. The church we see today was begun in 1245 and not completed until 1410. In the 15^th and 16^th centuries, St. Francis church was favored by several of Porto’s wealthiest families. With a renewed source of funding and changing aesthetic preferences, the church underwent significant changes, and in the 17^th and 18^th centuries the interior was covered with gilded carved wood.

Outdoor cafe on the Douro

Our walk back to the river was made less painful by the promise of libation and knowledge that the funicular (inclined railway, from the Latin word “funiculus” meaning rope) would carry us uphill and much, much closer to our hotel.

Inclined railway

Before checking out of our hotel on Monday and taking a bus to Lisbon, we had one more stop to make—Livraria Lello, the Harry Potter bookstore. Touted by Time magazine as one of the 15 most beautiful bookstores in the world, Livraria Lello was a favored hangout of then-unknown author J.K. Rowling, who taught English in Porto. That’s not hard to believe. With its neo-gothic architecture, remarkable woodwork, gorgeous stained glass, and sweeping staircase, the bookstore is a favored hangout for many people—most of whom are tourists. Entrance is by ticket only (three euros, which is deducted from the purchase price of any book), but that doesn’t seem to deter many people.

Ticket please!

Referring to its Rowling-Harry Potter connection, Time wrote, “It doesn’t take long to appreciate Lello’s potential as a muse: a stained-glass atrium puts the spotlight on the bookshop’s deep-red staircase, spectacular enough to stop you in your tracks.” Um…yeah…that last part—stop you in your tracks—that’s exactly what happened. One inside, one can hardly move for all the snap-shot-taking gawkers, like me, stopped in their tracks. (Note: before the entrance fee was instituted, photos were prohibited. Instead of trying to enforce an unenforceable rule, the management became smarter than the problem.)

Livraria Lello Bookstore