World Travel Guide Online

Once you’ve seen one walking trail you’ve seen ‘em all? Not in these eight cases, where you’ll tramp on unusual surfaces and wander through some curious lands.

1. Plitvice Lakes National Park, Croatia

Once a battle site in the Croatian War of Independence, Plitvice Lakes National Park is an enchanting forestland sprinkled with cascading waterfalls and a placid string of 16 luminescent lakes. (It’s dissolved limestone that helped create this UNESCO World Heritage site over some 10,000 years.)

A network of trails, mostly on wooden boardwalks, traverses the tumbling waters. Spending five hours walking the “H” itinerary — one of several that the tourist office at the Ulaz 2 entrance suggests — captures all of the park’s key features.

The Upper Lakes, including the highest, Jezero Kozjak, are nestled in woods dense with beech and fir, while the Lower Lakes sit within a limestone canyon hollowed by caves that you can explore. The waterfall that perhaps attracts the most attention in the Lower Lakes region is the thundering Veliki Slap where the water tumbles some 230 feet.

2. Cappadocia, Turkey

You don’t have to close your eyes and daydream to be transported to a fantastical land. Just hike the myriad paths that weave through the valleys slicing through the Cappadocia region and you’ll feel like you just dropped into a Salvador Dali painting.

Standing sentinel all about are curious monoliths — appropriatly termed “fairy chimneys.” Many are undeniably sexually charged — phallus-shaped, to be exact. Centuries of erosive forces have also sculpted the soft volcanically-derived tufa into more PG-rated shapes, including mushrooms and cones seemingly wearing top hats.

Penetrating these spectacular columns are hand-carved portals into cave churches, houses, pigeon coops — the droppings were prized as a fertilizer — and even bee hives. Some of the richest array of fairy chimneys in this land that’s deemed a UNESCO World Heritage site can be found in the Love and Honey valleys. Mehmet Gungor is a one-man operation guiding authentic hikes in this region.

3. Great Wall, China

China’s Great Wall no longer stretches along its 4,200-mile-length that dated to the Ming Dynasty — some 30% has almost vanished. But the remaining sections — some within day trip access of Beijing — present walkers with varying states of preservation, from the overdeveloped Badaling portion with its museum, shops, and bathrooms to those wilder, dilapidated portions with no facilities.

One of the more authentic paths atop this serpentine wall wanders from Jinshanling to Simatai, a five-hour hike along mostly derelict ribbons encrusted with storied watchtowers and crenellated ramparts. Meandering over undulating peaks, the route often requires scrambling, sometimes on all fours, up and down tall decrepit stone steps and around gaping holes. But the sweeping vistas of the mostly forested hills, lush valleys and snake-like wall make the effort worth every step.

William Lindesay, an ardent Wall activist in terms of its preservation, organizes day and multi-day hikes on the crumbled sections.

4. Madeira, Portugal

Set some 600 miles from Lisbon, the leafy island of Madeira has a reputation among acrophobes as having some of the most vertiginous trails around.

This rugged isle is networked with some 1,000 miles of irrigation channels (or levadas) that are bordered by a narrow level-walking path. These aqueducts have been hewn into cliffs and solid rock producing claustrophobic tunnels and paths clinging at times to the edge of sheer chasms.

However, there are also plenty of more gentle levadas, including those coursing through Madeira’s native laurisilva forest. Even families can walk Levada dos Balcoes that starts in the mountain hamlet of Ribeiro Frio and terminates at a dizzying overlook of jagged high peaks and deep verdant valleys. Another levada starting from the same hamlet takes slightly more adventurous walkers to Portello, a four-hour trek past heather, lily of the valley trees and wild orchids. Madeira Explorers leads myriad levada walks.

5. Negev, Israel

In the Negev, a vast triangular-shaped swath of land where Abraham and other Old Testament notables once wandered, a network of walking wadis or dry streambeds veins this arid scape. After a rain, desert flowers bloom in these beds, but this innocent landscape can turn deadly in an instant should there be a flash flood.

Many wadis are aptly named: Along Wadi of the Tree, the broad canopy of a lone acacia provides welcome shade. The radiant shades of sandstone are conveyed by the name Wadi of the Gevanim or Shades of Color. The eponymous spring along the Ardon Wadi — another wadi laden with views of brilliant-hued sandstone walls — is an oasis for ibex and other animals.

One of the most interesting findings: the stone ruins of a caravansary or ancient motel of sorts for traders and their camels along the old Nabatean-run Spice Route. Adam Sela arranges hikes for all skill levels in the Negev.

6. Westmann Islands, Iceland

Heimaey, the only inhabited isle among Iceland’s Westmann Islands, shows off its volcanic origins wherever possible.

A four-mile path threads atop the towering cliffs on the island’s west side, starting at the 18-hole golf course where the lava fields are out of bounds. Flanked by the crashing sea and a conglomerate of black lava and verdant farmland, the trail provides plenty of close-ups of puffins, the island’s signature birds, as well as guillemot, oystercatchers and others.

The trail wanders near some curious features, including wooden racks hung with dried fish heads, and a 1940s ship’s motor beached on a stretch of black sand that also harbors plant fossils. Once the trail climbs to the island’s southern tip, you’ll be standing near an old weather station that’s recorded winds as high as 110 knots. Ruth Barbara Zohlen takes hikers along this and other trails on Heimaey.

7. Pico Island, Azores, Portugal

In the Azores archipelago, Pico Island’s most famous commodity is wine. But the island’s vineyards are hardly ordinary. On this volcanic isle, a maze of black lava stone walls shields the grapes from salt and wine.

The five-mile Vinhas da Criacao Velha trail slices through this landscape where waves tumble against coastal jagged rocks and natural pools, while small sandy beaches break up the desolate volcanic scape. The grapes responsible for Pico’s notable aperitif wine, Verdelho, grow along the latter part of the trail providing views of a seemingly endless expanse of vineyards that are a patchwork of lava stone walls. This landscape, where the grapes are cultivated on mineral-rich volcanic soil, is so unique, it’s designated a UNESCO World Heritage site.

Also visible along the path are the rocky profiles of the Islets of Madalena, stately old manor houses, and curious tracks, evidence of where wagons once transported grapes and wine barrels. Organized hikes can be arranged through Turispico.

8. Dubrovnik, Croatia

The defining feature of the medieval city of Dubrovnik is its defensive walls. And walking atop these slightly more than one-mile battlements that surround the city provides a commanding perspective of the city’s key historic details.

Beginning your walk when the wall first opens may help you avoid the prerequisite crowds. But come armed with the audio guide that can be rented at the beginning near the Pile Gate. (It provides a wealth of historical and architectural details).

With some sections not even two-feet wide and others towering some 80 feet high, the wall walk may cause some acrophobes to break out in a sweat.The series of towers, bastions and fortresses are surely an impressive testament as to why the ramparts were never breached. Protecting the southeast side of the old port, crenellated Fort St. John was considered the most powerful fortification. (This is where the city’s residents sought shelter during the Croatian War of Independence.)

The casual tourist would never suspect that desolate, forbidding Cape St Vincent was the site of two of the most significant events in maritime history. Even for us, after two hours of maddeningly slow driving, weaving our way around pothole after pothole, my wife and I were beginning to wonder if the “short” trip from Lagos was worth all the effort. Then our destination hove into view and we knew that our “pilgrimage” had not been in vain. Here’s why.

What happened here six centuries ago led to the discovery of the world as we know it today. Before then only the bravest of Mediterranean sailors dared to venture beyond the “Pillars of Hercules” (Strait of Gibraltar), and none was foolhardy enough to sail past the rugged cliffs which marked the end of the known world. All that changed in the 1400s: the world was opened up to discovery, exploration and settlement; and Portugal and other countries went on to acquire overseas empires and great wealth. All this was due mainly to the foresight and determination of one man – Portugal’s scholarly Prince Henry (1377-1440).

European spice and silk merchants had long been amassing great wealth, but the caravan routes from the Orient were controlled by the Moors and their allies, and were subject to arbitrary whims, tolls, bandits, etc. There were rumours of a fabulously wealthy Christian king named “Prester John” in central Africa, who supposedly controlled a better and safer route. Henry vowed to find him and the new route, but couldn’t succeed without sailors to brave the unknown seas and treacherous winds around western Africa. Since none was forthcoming he decided he’d have to train some himself, so he established a navigation and seamanship school near what is now Sagres, just to the east of Cape St Vincent. It was probably the world’s first great research and training institute, and it earned him a place in history as “Henry the Navigator”.

The school and accompanying buildings occupied a scarcely-fortified area of perhaps a dozen hectares (30 acres) on top of a high granite cliff. It attracted astronomers, marine scientists and scholars from all over Europe, and soon the hoped-for students began to arrive too. They were the “iron men in wooden ships” who would study and later go on to become household names, like Magellan, Columbus, da Gama, Diaz, and Cabral. There they learned to use the compass and to sail effectively against headwinds, and Henry’s naval architects developed a more seaworthy vessel for them, the “caravel”.

Henry was a tireless innovator and motivator whose foresight eventually brought tremendous dividends, but unfortunately he died before the most important discoveries occurred. His school carried on and discoveries continued to be made, until disaster struck. From 1580-1640, Portugal came under Spanish occupation, which meant that it became an enemy of England, instead of its traditional ally. Henry’s institute was almost obliterated in 1587 by Sir Francis Drake, who was having great fun marauding up and down the coast “singeing the Spanish king’s beard”. The great earthquake of 1755 wreaked further havoc. Only the chapel, a couple of small buildings, and the huge “compass rose” which Henry had laid out on the ground remained. And thus it stayed until recent times, when a modest reconstruction effort began.

Since there are no existing diagrams of the other buildings, architects have had to guess at how they might have looked. The fortress walls have been partially rebuilt, and there is a new building which shows a film about Henry and his school, but other work is progressing slowly, as funds become available. This is a fascinating piece of Western history, and I hope to live to see the day when its restoration is complete. We certainly got a better understanding of “saudade” (painful nostalgia) as we walked around the melancholy grounds. We weren’t alone there, for besides a few tourists we saw lots of weather-beaten men with long poles and lines perched on ledges high above the turbulent Atlantic, fishing.

Prince Henry’s school wasn’t the only reason we’ve visited this rugged area three times. As war after war ravaged Europe, Cape St Vincent saw important sea battles, including one involving, arguably, the greatest naval hero of all time. It was there in 1797 that Horatio Nelson in a small 74-gun ship took on the world’s largest warship, the 136-gun Santissima Trinidad and two other behemoths, with a total of 330 guns. He broke their line, led boarding parties, and captured all three. He then went on to harry Napoleon’s fleet throughout the Mediterranean, and defeated it decisively at Trafalgar eight years later, thus changing the course of history.

Today this is a wild and windswept place, where only a powerful but solitary lighthouse bears witness to modern ways. During our second visit, by which time the highway had been rebuilt, our car was even surrounded and escorted for a kilometer or so by a family of gray wolves, who seemed to want us to know whose territory we were invading.

The Cape is of interest to naturalists, since several hardy plant species are only found there, it’s on a major flight path for birds migrating to and from Africa, and rare eagles often soar overhead. There is also some tourist activity in the vicinity, since those seeking an undisturbed holiday can relax and rejuvenate at the luxurious new government pousada in nearby Sagres (while enjoying the great beer of the same name).

Too often we walk on historic ground without realizing its significance. If you go to the Algarve, I hope you will take the time to visit this wild but hallowed place. Go reverently and give thanks, for our world is a much better place because of what Prince Henry, Nelson, and many other “iron men” accomplished there long ago.

This trip to Portugal had been in the works for months. Jordan, my travel companion, is a kind of unrequited love of mine, so I
had more than one reason to hope for a memorable journey.

In Lisbon, we decided to stay with a man I met through couchsurfing, Joao, a person I now consider to be a good friend. His house is a kind of
freewheeling hostel, a meeting point for vagabonds, buskers, travelers, students – anyone looking for a cheap and easy place to stay.

Among the more interesting characters I met there were: Afghan and Kinga, the Polish traveling musicians living in a tent in the backyard, Andy,
the disarmingly intelligent British would-be writer, Denisa, the quirky Austrian university student, and an American boy whose name always escapes
me. There were several other folks who made their way through Joao’s small home throughout those few days. A beautiful
traveling jazz singer, a large Danish man who looked like he could crush my entire arm between his massive index finger and thumb, and my personal
favorite – the tiny, portly neighbor man, a Portuguese local, semi-fluent in English, who had one of those smiles that not only invites you to take
part in the magnificent joke he gleans from life, but demands it.

If it was memorable I had asked, it was memorable I received: Jordan fell ill with food poisoning during the third night, an unavoidable fate that
left him feverish and bed-ridden for a good 24 hours. I frantically ran around Lisbon for a few hours searching for an open pharmacy. I think that my
broken attempts at Portuguese hindered me more than they helped.

“Onde Eshta a Farmacia?” Where is the pharmacy?

I eventually found one after mishearing directions from several locals. I grabbed some Tylenol and a thermometer, ran back to Joao’s. The night finally settled down. I took a place in the large, minimally-padded “bedroom” next to the American boy. This was after I piled every blanket
in the room in a tower on top of Jordan, a 4-foot-high mound that was really impressive, once I stepped back to look at it. The British writer
eventually joined us; we decided on a Monty Python marathon. In the adjoining kitchen, many of the others were laughing, talking, smoking and
drinking; I caught the sweet smell of some kind of curry wafting in through the sheer hanging “door”. Jordan eventually fell into a fitful sleep. I
continued to worry and mother him, but life was good.

As we sat, the happy little Portuguese man I had met earlier, his cheeks pink with alcohol and his smile as brilliant as ever, pulled back the sheet to
have a look at what we were doing so quietly on a Saturday night. Acknowledging him, I pointed my finger at Jordan, the now shorter (as he had kicked off
most of the blankets I had thrown on him) pile of blankets curled up in the corner on my left hand side. His head was at a slight angle with the wall,
something he was obviously unaware of.

“Ohh, he is so sick,” said the Portuguese man."

“Yes”, I said, “He just needs to sleep. He’ll be fine.”

“Oh yes, he must sleep.” He paused. “And you must give him much, much love.”

He gave another pleasant fluctuation in his smile, indicating his sincere intentions, and sincere drunkenness.

“I will. He just needs some quiet and sleep.”

I wondered if he had noticed the slight rise in vocal pitch I gave out at the phrase: give him much, much love. I had been doing my best to mother the
poor kid, a feat that confused me more than anything else. I had carefully navigated the unstable cliff between friendship and romance for the past two
days. This illness had thrown me a big curve ball: how to comfort without getting too close?

“But what is this?” Noting Jordan’s slight tilt against the back wall, he took a couple of steps closer to where we were seated, pointing. “This cannot be
so very comfortable.”

“He’ll be fine,” I said, uneasy with his steps towards our side of the room, beginning to feel protective. The American boy next to me took out his headphones
to follow our conversation.

“No, no. He must move his head. He is uncomfortable against the wall. It is okay, I can move him. He will be comfortable and he will be so well.”

Alarmed with this promise to “move” him, I became more firm.

“No! No. Just leave him. He’ll be fine. He’s sleeping. He doesn’t even know his head is like that. He’ll be fine. Just leave him.”

Stepping even closer, he gave me what he assumed was a reassuring smile, as if he were a doctor convincing a child to take cough medicine.

“It is so very easy,” he said, his blood-shot, happy eyes looking with concern at Jordan’s awkward position. “We just lift him up.”

I was lost for words. He had straddled the sleeping 6’2” bundle of blankets that was my friend, lifted him halfway off the floor by the armpits,
and proceeded to drag him across the makeshift mattress-covered floor. Jordan woke up with a sudden shake and outburst of coughing in the arms of this
drunken Portuguese man, eyes wide, staring at me and the American boy sitting no more than 6 inches from him. I was mortified, unsure whether to laugh
or to attempt a rescue. Jordan’s expression was something I canonly describe as: what the hell!

I laughed.

This tiny man is shorter than I am, at 5’6”, and while a bit portly, cannot have weighed more than half of what Jordan does. His attempt at “moving” him
ended up as a strange sort of awkward and long-winded hug. Finally satisfied, he put Jordan down again, arguably unmoved from his original position.

“This is good,” he said, giving me another one of his characteristic smiles. “Give him much love. Much love.”

I thanked him, reassuring him that we would take care of our now vividly awake sick friend. (Although I wasn’t sure how much love Jordan was going
to want from me after this.) Between my own sobs of laughter and Jordan’s renewed coughing, I watched him awkwardly retreat across the pillow-strewn
floor and out of the sheet-door that separated us from the unsuspecting revelers outside.

The next day, when Jordan gave me an awkward pat-on-the-back man hug before hopping on his plane to Madrid, a part of me felt sad that our silly little love
story had come to naught. I couldn’t help but smile at the new love story that had been born throughout those four days. Everyone we had met at Joao’s
humble apartment had opened up their hearts to us. Joao gave of his home, Afghan and Kinga shared their music, the British writer lent his conversation and
his wonderful stories; even the funny Portuguese man offered his love to us both on that last night, albeit in a creative way.

I waved an honest goodbye as Jordan retreated across the turnstile to security. Life was good.

With the supercharged Euro dominating the world market, Lisbon, the capital of Portugal, is seeing major changes in growth and tourism, yet it is still one of the best travel deals when it comes to affordability. So when I recently had the chance to travel to this city rich in history and hipness, I packed my bags and headed for the airport.

The city of Lisbon has the feel of a place that’s rediscovered itself. With a population close to three million, the city of ancient alleyways is meeting the chic traveler. From new business towers, world class shopping, and a rich, night life, Lisbon is becoming a must place to visit. The city sits on the Atlantic Coast of Portugal where the Tagus River flows into the Atlantic. The weather is comfortable year round but September to November or spring, is the best time to visit. Portugal has a rich history and much of the architecture in Lisbon is a snapshot of that rich past. A city built on seven large hills, it reminded me of San Francisco – trolley cars and all – but that’s where the similarity ends. It seems every street in Lisbon holds some vast secret of its past, and every ancient alleyway whispered to me to climb down the steep steps to the little shop on the corner.

Getting Around
The center of Lisbon is compact enough that walking and riding the colorful trolleys that crisscross the city is the way to go. No matter where you stay, there will be a trolley car near by. Yes, some may be a hundred years old (mostly for tourists), but the sights from the trolleys are breathtaking at times, and they go slowly enough to take in the views. And you haven’t lived until you descend one of the steep, winding cobble streets by trolley. A must trolley ride is the number 28. It passes many of the major sites worth seeing. A day pass costs three Euros, which allows one to get on and off as many times as one wants to. The subway is also clean and safe. For a few Euros, you can travel the entire city. Cabs are metered; the best way to get to and from the airport.

Where to Stay
Of course where you stay depends on what you want to pay. From hostels to 4-star hotels, Lisbon offers a wide array of options. The Oasis Backpackers Mansion located steps from the very hip Bairro Alto area with its cafes and stores is a favorite of serious backpackers and those trying to get the most out of their Euro. It offers excellent showers, 24-hour Internet access, Wi-Fi and complimentary breakfast. I stayed at the very hip Jeronimos 8. Located in the historic area of Belem, it is steps from the famous Jeronimos Monastery and in walking distance to many of the historic monuments and museums of Lisbon. With a chic European design, the rooms were comfortable, the complementary breakfast was excellent and the bar was a great place to grab a drink with friends – free Wi-Fi, as well. If you really want to explore Lisbon in true fashion and stay in one of the finest inns in town, get yourself a room at the newly refurbished Sheraton Lisboa. Dignitaries, rock stars and foodies love it. (The chef, Henrique Sa Pessoa, was selected as the Portuguese chef of the year for 2005).

Things to Do
Walk the Alfama District. With its narrow streets and Moorish influence, it’s the perfect place to explore Lisbon and get a true feel for its history. The St. Jorge Castle built by the Moors is located there; offers a great view of the city and the Tagus River. To really know Lisbon, one must visit the Fado Museum. The history of Fado music is documented there and the sad melodies of this beautiful music is the heart of this romantic city.

There are many restaurants to experience Fado, but if you want to feel it up close and personal, have dinner at the Sr. Vinno Restaurant, a true Fado institution where some of the top Fado singers perform. Fado is a late night experience. Most times the shows get started around 10:00 p.m. No talking while the singers are on stage; the Portuguese take this music very seriously. The recently opened Berardo Museum, located in the Belem District, offers a world class collection of modern and contemporary art – from Picasso, Miro and Warhol, to a private collection of 500 hundred years of Portuguese tiles. It’s a must see.

Nightlife in Lisbon is also a great way to capture its ambiance. The party doesn’t even begin until 11:00 p.m. One can find a great bar or disco in any district, but one of the hottest areas is the Santo Amaro Docks. Located in the dock area under the 25 de Abril Bridge, this newly developed waterfront is a favorite of locals and tourists looking for good food, hip music and a beautiful atmosphere.

Getting outside of Lisbon proper is another way of taking in the charm and history of Portugal. One of the most fun things I got to do was a day trip to the seaside towns. From the Cais do Sodre train stations, a 30-minute ride will transport you to the charming seaside towns of Estoril and Cascais, both glamorous and historical, offering hi-end pampering, great beaches and a hip night life. The group I was traveling with stayed at a brand new seaside resort called Villa Italia in Cascais -a five-star resort. Portugal continues to build world-class resorts; Villa Italia is one of the finest. Whatever you do, don’t forget to try the grilled sardines, the pastries and the local wines. A trip is worth that alone.

Getting There
I flew out of Newark, NJ on TAP Airlines, the national airlines of Portugal, part of Star Alliance, voted best airline company in the world for 2007. Even flying economy, the food and service was good. In seven hours, I landed at Lisbon Portela Airport located five miles from Lisbon.

Portugal is held together by bridges, one of which is considered an icon: Ponte Luis I, an old double-bridge between the city of Porto and its twin Gaia, and with a link to the future by playing a part in Porto’s new metro system.

Completed in 1886 and still going strong, Ponte Luis is the work of an exceptional talent, Teofilo Seyrig, a disciple of the Eiffel Tower’s creator. Such a long life suggests the bridge has built-in qualities unaffected by age. It certainly is a technical masterpiece, a beautiful construction on a scenic location. Every single grey-black detail seems to be shaped not only for practical purposes, but also for artistic appearance.

Ponte Luis abounds in a particular symbol, X, which suits a bridge that seems to have its own secrets. Made of iron, the X is perfect for supporting and holding heavy elements together, without losing its balance. There are hundreds and hundreds of them, those above forming an arch so strong that it carries the upper bridge and simultaneously holds the lower bridge in place. Brand new metro trains cruise freely on the top while trucks and cars circulate below.

Rio Douro, the dividing line, suggests it was a river of liquid gold. The gold comparison originates from the slopes of the Douro Valley where gold grows in the form of grapes, processed into world-leading brands of white, tawny and ruby port. Excursion boats can take you there, or at least on a Six Bridges Tour, a beauty contest with Ponte Luis as the inevitable winner. The flat-bottomed boats carrying barrels of port, rabelos, will take you nowhere. They just lie still, gathering strength for St John’s Day when they race against each other.

Nostalgic Porto

First-time visitors normally approach Ponte Luis via Cais da Ribeira, the northern bank, to enjoy the views while standing on the bridge span. Searching for a stairway or an elevator, all they find is a thin elegantly winding ladder inside the inaccessible towers on which the bridge rests at either end. A funicular could spare your legs, but it’s more fun to climb the steps of the nearest alley, looking up into the air to take in new angles of Ponte Luis.

Bairro da Ribeira is like a patchwork quilt spread on the hillside to dry in the sun. No wonder UNESCO found its pattern worthy of preservation: colorful facades, freshly painted or in decay, some narrow enough for two arms to embrace them; balconies with flowers or clean sheets fluttering in time with the breeze; a majestic Bishop’s Palace and church towers almost touching the white clouds on a pale-blue sky; offset by white canopies at the lower end; then the river in darker shades of blue.

Vila Nova de Gaia, the town opposite, combines tradition and modernity. No immediate hillside to match Ribeira, but a stylish riverside park and promenade, high-rise blocks in the background and a television mast atop Monte Gaia. More characteristic, though, are huge long warehouses with red-tiled roofs and recognizable company or brand names. Inside, the port is slowly maturing, proof that methods of the past do still create wealth, often finding its way into multinational pockets. On street level you get the mistaken impression that those who promote tastings represent family-run businesses.

According to maps handed out by the tourist offices in Porto and Gaia, the other shore is blank. They forget that the two sides are not competitors, but complementary by being each other’s greatest attraction. Asking explicitly for it, a complete map does hesitatingly appear. They could learn from the Association of Port Wine Companies who have opened an information kiosk, deliberately using Ribeira as a backdrop, also backing 36 identically sized signs along the water, each sporting a company logo, more than half of them with lodges in the port.

At the lodge of Quinta do Naval, a smart young man answers questions by mechanically repeating himself like a robot. There is nothing robotic about the young lady promoting Quinta da Romaneira. She invites people to a taste and a multilingual chat in her mini cafe, Dom Pipas, located at the bridge. Right outside, brave boys climb Ponte Luis to tease excited onlookers before throwing themselves into the river. To get back up, they ascend a vertical rock, at this point loudly arguing about Porto and Lisbon until the tallest of them cuts things short, "Porto is the capital of the North"!

Commercial Porto

Those crossing the lower bridge of Ponte Luis on foot need to be brave. The narrow sidewalks hardly allow people to pass each other, so when a thundering truck comes toward you, you might consider jumping into the water yourself. This means that preserving Ponte Luis has its price, but that is forgotten the minute you set foot on Cais da Ribeira. Looking back, the old-fashioned Ponte is again a timeless sculpture.

The spaciousness of the Cais prevents tourist domination. There is room enough for middle-aged women to sit on a wall singing and laughing their fatigue away. More professional are music bands moving from cafe to cafe. An elderly man tries his fishing luck with his wife behind him. Suddenly, everybody jumps, including the fish on the rod. A young lady tourist in black resolutely puts down the recorder she was playing on and rushes to assist.

Cais da Riberia is animated on hot summer nights. Even on chilly nights like now in September, hardcore fans endure, instead of moving uptown to warmer indoor places and leaving the only sparsely lit Ponte Luis alone. The shortest way to the modern town is via the upper bridge and straight forward. More spectacular is ascending through the steep alleys, get lost and perhaps end up at the Clerigos Tower, in daytime it offers a view of the entire Porto except a hidden Ponte Luis.

Modern Porto appears hectic and ordered. Everybody seems to have a career and business to look after. Grand buildings border the Avenida dos Aliados, where a spacious promenade and park connect the palatial City Hall at the upper end with the Liberdade Square at the lower. In the nearby Sao Bento train station, travelers are delayed due to thousands of azulejos, ceramic tiles, depicting the history of railway and Porto while pickpockets operate. Those exhausted from shopping in the busy Santa Catarina Street, can practice their good manners at the old-world Cafe Majestic.

It started to rain, a signal for middle-aged ladies with strong voices to swarm into the streets, "Guarda-Chuva! Super!" Their forearms are hung with umbrellas. The ladies are in a way typical of Porto, with their initiative and sense of business, the best example of which, though, is the riverside – an iconic bridge, a magic old town and nostalgic lodges were recognized as a true potential, further developed through a metro, World Heritage and modern thinking in the port industry. So Porto’s history will survive – carefully commercialized and with Ponte Luis I as its special star.

When in Lisbon, you can’t always walk down to the river. A busy harbor may turn you away. But if you visit the suburbs of Belem or Park of Nations, the same river, Rio Tejo, will open up and reveal its contrasts.

Belem, to the west, is a vital part of Portugal’s history, formed by the Voyages of Discovery, kept alive by Belem’s architecture and monuments. It’s easy to reach Belem, by the fast tram 15 from Figueira Square, or by bus. Park of Nations, eastward, balances between present and future, yet with a proper respect for history. The Metro’s red line, where stations are like galleries, will get you to the station of Oriente.

Be aware. When heading for Belem, make sure the tram takes you past two spectacular landmarks, the 25th of April Bridge and the giant Cristo Rei. They may lead your thoughts to the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, or the Christ statue in Rio. Then comes Belem, a green stretch with monuments spread on either side of a majestic park, disturbed by a traffic artery of trains and cars. Tourists have choices, one of the first is Confeitaria de Belem and their custard tarts baked since 1837.

A commotion is developing outside the pink Belem National Palace, the Presidential residence. Soldiers in parade uniforms, assisted by a military band, are ready for a parade, but in which direction and with whom is difficult to establish. A lady says the President is going for a Sunday morning walk, she’s obviously wrong. President Cavaco Silva has possibly escaped his Sunday duties and gone sailing on the quiet waves of Tejo instead, thereby missing a stylish parade.

Old West

Many an explorer set off from these waters in the Age of Discovery, the 15th and 16th centuries. Vasco da Gama embarked in 1497 on a voyage that led him to India, the reason why his name is linked to buildings and monuments all over Lisbon. One of them contains his tomb. It was begun in 1502 by King Manuel I and the following 50 years, perfected into Lisbon’s finest monument: Jeronimos Monastery, the heart of Belem. The style is Manueline, inspired by the King who elaborated the Gothic style through brilliant ornamentation, often with floral or nautical motifs.

Belem Cultural Center is devoid of style. It’s a concrete structure in modern design, housing exhibitions, a library, cafes and several spacious yards extending it enormously. The 1520 Belem Tower, a fortified lighthouse, is a pearl in comparison, also in the rich Manueline style.

Since 1983, it has shared World Heritage status, together with Jeronimos. The Tower appears like an oversized toy ship, but it guarded the harbor and served as a prison when under Spanish rule. Originally surrounded by water, Lisbon’s most photographed monument is now connected to a peaceful lawn.

Henry the Navigator, a prince closely tied to seafaring history, educated and financed potential discoverers. His role is being redefined, though, suggesting that the sugar industry and Afro-Atlantic slave trade were his main interests. Nevertheless, he still adorns the Discoveries Monument from 1960, shaped as the prow of a ship, with Henry up front and a crew of 32 historical figures, among them, Vasco da Gama. Cristo Rei, on the opposite shore, seems to bless their next trip, whereas an approaching airplane is a reminder that all lands and continents are already explored. An artistic compass rose, at the feet of the monument, is followed by the park of Praca do Imperio where a sprouting fountain makes the Jeronimos Monastery in the background shine like a fairytale palace.

The riverside is an invitation to walk back, at least to the 25th of April Bridge, its suspension and locality form a monument of its own. Built in 1966, it didn’t get its present name till after the Carnation Revolution in 1974. Small lazy marinas lie along the way. The only active people are the men who take a break from wife and children, with a fishing rod in one hand and the open car within reach of the other. A car is what you need to frequent the trendy Docks, a line of restaurants and cafes in pointed wooden houses, just after the Bridge.

Modern East

Going east is a quantum leap. The station of Oriente is Lisbon’s new traffic junction and the entrance to Parque das Nacoes, Park of Nations, a city center belonging to the future, connected to the opposite side via the Vasco da Gama Bridge. Built for Expo ‘98, the 100th World Exposition, this place is planned to relieve the overall pressure on the capital.

The Spanish architect, Santiago Calatrava, receives you deep down in a cave and bids you farewell amidst slender pillars splitting like leaves and covered by glass, turning Oriente into a garden of white palms and giant lilies.

Everything relates to the sea and seafarers, in tune with the theme of Expo ‘98: “The Oceans, a Heritage for the Future”, held in a year appointed “Year of the Oceans” by UN, coinciding with the 500th anniversary of Vasco da Gama’s arrival in India. Here are buildings shaped as sailing ships, a pavilion that surely could be an upturned ship and a sagging roof of concrete imitating a huge sailcloth in the wind. One construction overshadows all others, Vasco da Gama Bridge, with its 17.2 kilometers, among the longest in the world, yet radiating lightness and simplicity.

The buildings were sold for after-Expo purposes. Several pavilions continued as a permanent Lisbon Fair, the entrance section was turned into a shopping center. Other pavilions got a new life as indoor arenas, a science museum, bowling alleys, Casino Lisboa and last but not least, an extremely popular Lisbon Oceanarium, where people proceed in long lines and semi-darkness through the fauna and flora of the Atlantic, Pacific, Indian Ocean and Antarctic. All the many species seem to interact in one universal eco-system, an illusion created by transparent acrylic sheets.

A footbridge from the Oceanarium across the Olivais Dock practically makes you walk on water, while telecabins keep circulating above. The sight of the Bridge never leaves you, though plants native to Madeira, Azores and Cabo Verde call for a closer look. Some joggers are around, otherwise few of the 25,000 citizens claim to live here. Activity increases during weekends when people come to enjoy the depths of the oceans, along with fresh air and a good lunch. Concerts, sport events and temporary exhibitions are magnets too. The ongoing construction of office and apartment blocks signal optimism.

Traces of previous buildings, among them a refinery, were systematically removed to accommodate Park of Nations, an approach also practiced back in 1755, when an earthquake nearly wiped Lisbon off the map. Ruins were removed to give room for a new Neoclassical city, today known as Baixa, downtown Lisbon. Belem survived. Being an exceptional living museum, Belem does deserve a tunnel to enclose its traffic artery, an investment that would make Lisbon authentically historical, neoclassical and ultramodern – three cities wrapped in one.

Road Tripping in Portugal – A Scary Story
Salamanca, Spain – Porto, Portugal Rregions

When I walked out of Spanish class I didn’t see the poster advertising an organized trip to Toledo. It was the Canadian girls standing around the don Quijote message board hollering “roaaad triiiip!” that caught my attention. Although a coach ride from Salamanca to Toledo and back could technically be considered a road trip, I was hoping for something more exciting.

Sebastian, myself, Fabienne and Jessica

I had no doubt that the good people at don Quijote, my Spanish school here in Salamanca, would organize a well laid out tour, catering for everyone’s taste. While I do like my Spanish classes that well-organized, I prefer my road trips unforeseen and lawless. Coach trips are just a bit too middle of the road for me. Plus coaches make me nauseous (the tour guide yapping away in the microphone doesn’t do much good for it, either).

I don’t want to pass judgment though. Few people annoy me more than those horribly contemptuous, “authentic” backpackers telling you how you should travel, belittling you for owning a Lonely Planet or for washing your hair. Not me. Nor will I force local delicacies down my fellow travelers’ throats when they really feel like eating Chinese food or Burger King. Want to get a picture of you holding up the Tower of Pisa? Be my guest. For all I care you can go to Louisiana and pick up an “I looted New Orleans and all I got was this lousy T-shirt” shirt.

We all have our favorite way of travelling but it really isn’t necessary to bother other people with it. Nevertheless, I would like to impose my travel mantra on you: road tripping – the real deal, no half-cocked coach trips. The preparations are minimal. All you need is a car, music and sunglasses…

The quintessential road trip vehicle is obviously a minivan. Preferably one with a big-ass spoiler and a knob on the wheel. Unfortunately, I do not yet own a black 1983 G-series GMC (uhuh, the A-team van)… So my friend and I went to a car rental place instead. Alas, no flower-power Volkswagens were available either. Considering there would just be four of us, we eventually settled for a less-exciting yet practical new Renault.

Music is at least as important as the car. Do not, and I cannot stress this enough, do not embark on a road trip in Southern Europe relying on local radio to entertain you. Bring CD’s and plenty of ‘em or you’ll go stark raving mad. You’ll want to keep the entire car happy so don’t be selfish. Think mainstream.

Our playlist went a little something like this. Plenty of guitars and classic rock for on the highway: Rolling Stones, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Jimi Hendrix, Bob Dylan and the like. I always bring some acid jazz or other lounge tunes for serious chilling. Saint-Germain always does the trick. For dead moments it’s nice to have a couple of lame sing-alongs that are so bad they actually become funny. I particularly love to hate “Yes sir, I can Boogie”, “Do you really want to hurt me”, “So lonely”, “Papa Chico” or anything by Vanilla Ice.

Don’t forget some cool music for cruising by the beachside. You know what I am talking about: one driver’s tanned arm out the window, shades on your nose and Don Omar’s “Dale con dale” cranked to the max. By the way, here’s a tip to make traffic jams more interesting. When no cars are moving, open all windows. Everybody but the driver get out of the car. Put on some party music (my personal favorite in this case: Vitalic’s “Poney part 2″). Get on the roof of your van (what do you care, it’s a rental…) and start partying like it’s 2999. Try and get the commuters to join you, the looks on their faces are priceless.

That’s it, we’re good to go. You could make an itinerary first if you want to… I prefer just asking around on where to go. Planning simply creates expectations the actual experience has to live up to. Chance adventures are that much easier to enjoy.

Me by the car near the border between Portugal and Spain

Friday finally arrived and my partner in crime Sebastian and I picked up our fellow trippers (Fabienne from Antwerp, Belgium and Jessica from New Haven, Connecticut) in our brand-new mpv. After the all too obvious multi-purpose-vehicle jokes it was time to decide where we’d go. We didn’t have to talk for long about a destination. Of course we would drive off into the sunset, i.e. direction Portugal. The first couple of days were random but very enjoyable. Lots of good food, even more mediocre alcohol, uncalled-for dancing etc… During daytime we didn’t avoid the cultural sights although we probably spent more time at the beaches to shake off our hangovers. The scenery in Portugal was no less than breathtaking. Ironically, the many forest fires seem to have made the Portuguese landscape even more attractive, at least from a distance. The withered trees range in color from gold red to pitch black, contrasting with the burgeoning green of young weeds.

Fall was catching up with us so we turned our back on the beaches and headed inland, towards the mountains. We ended up in the strangest of mountain towns: Bragança. Although not at all a tourist hot spot, Bragança does have an awe-inspiring, 13^th century fortress. That’s not why I’ll remember it, though. This town is the spitting image of Royston Vasey, the English village from the comedy series “The League of Gentlemen” where ugly, inbred locals molest and eventually kill innocent passers-by. Obviously it wasn’t that fatal but Bragança did give us a scare.

The first local we saw, we asked for directions to our hostel. A big smile appeared on his face; he opened the door, squeezed his burly body into the back of the car and insisted on showing us the castle first. Scruffy-looking and reeking of liquor, among other things, he introduced himself as Ramiro, owner of the castle. He promised to give us an extraordinary tour. So far, we weren’t alarmed at all and so we decided to go along. The big guy seemed harmless enough; with his placid smile and doglike eyes he almost looked like the village idiot.

He apparently wasn’t. When we arrived at the castle, Ramiro pulled out a set of keys and opened the gate. No problem, maybe he’s the janitor, we said to ourselves while we set out on our tour. The guy we had figured for a well-intentioned simpleton was now lecturing us on European history, momentarily interrupting his discourse to demonstrate how you wield a 15^th century bastard-sword with amazing agility. Maybe it was just the sight of the castle at dusk but, all of the sudden; Ramiro’s smile didn’t seem so placid anymore…we were all getting a bit spooked.

When our guide, still carrying the huge sword, insisted we’d follow him to the fortress’ dungeons, we simultaneously started muttering protests:
“Desculpe Ramiro, we’d love too but we have to arrive at the hostel before eight…”
“Besides, we are all getting really hungry.”
“Thank you so much for the tour, though.”
“We’ll be back tomorrow, for sure!”
And we practically ran out of the place.

It looked a lot scarier at dusk the day before…

It may have been our heightened self-consciousness but we all felt like the entire village was staring and pointing at us. We did our best to ignore the glares and continued to the only hostel in town, where the weirdness did not cease. By now we were psyched up and seeing ghosts everywhere.
“You are not locals,” the clerk stated. Clearly, there was no fooling this guy. We slowly explained him that, not being locals, we had come to this pension looking for a place to stay the night. He nodded understanding. When we offered him our passports, he shook his head and smilingly said: “Don’t worry about it, I’ll get them later.” I heard Fabienne break into sobbing behind me.
“We are not Americans…” I began in a misguided attempt to relate to the clerk. No reaction.
“Can you recommend a good restaurant?” I tried.
“Yes, we have an excellent restaurant right here,” was all he said. Somehow nobody felt like eating at the hostel so Sebastian and I ran out for take-out pizza and Porto while the girls barricaded themselves in the rooms. Seb, as always looking at the bright side of life, laid out the gameplan for the night. After all, the whole thing had provided us with an excellent excuse to keep the girls company at night.

We did feel stupid though, waking up the next morning. No one had been poisoned or stabbed to death. Bragança was no Royston Vasey. Like little kids, we had let ourselves be frightened by some eccentric castle owner. And of course the villagers had been staring; they had just seen four flustered tourists dash out of their castle at nightfall. Word of the weird gringos had probably spread to the pension before we even arrived. You are not locals, indeed.

And so, shamefaced and tired, we got in our car and headed back to Salamanca, contemplating our road trip. On the radio Lynard Skynyrd were giving their best. Sweet home Salamanca!

Tasting Port in Porto
Porto, Portugal

Across the river from Porto city centre, on Castello Hill in Vila Nova de Gaia, the world’s greatest port wine lodges are located. I headed towards W. & J. Graham’s (est. 1820) because a leaflet inviting me to a tasting had been pressed into my willing hands as soon as I stepped off the heavily scaffolded Ponte Luís and, well, I might as well start up the hill and work my way down.

Not that this was a bad start: Graham’s 2000 Vintage Port was ranked in the top 100 wines of 2003 by Wine Spectator Magazine – out of a list of 12,000.

City View

So, at the stroke of twelve noon, I attended my first tasting of port in Porto. After a barely perceptive wrinkling of her nose at my scruffy jeans, the silky-smooth PR lady placed 3 tall, slim glasses onto the polished wood of a table fashioned from (what else) a wine barrel. I wouldn’t be getting a whiff of the 2000 Vintage or the 40-year-old tawny that had been offered to some of the better turned-out visitors, but I was getting an introduction.

First up was one of the (medium) dry, white ports which are popular in Portugal as an aperitif but still relatively underrated internationally. This is perhaps because they can be difficult to match with food. The PR lady recommended salted peanuts but this particular wine would go better with a fruit salad or melon. I took a sniff and a first tentative sip while the lady explained that this wine is barrel-aged for 3-4 years – and, to my mortal embarrassment, promptly choked on it. The civilized Brits chatting around the next barrel studiously ignored this. They wouldn’t speak to me anyway – I looked like someone who sleeps in a tent.

Once I had stopped spluttering and sneezing cracker-crumbs across the table, the wine slithered down my throat like a soft, dry sherry, only much better, leaving the slightest afterglow. On second thoughts, just forget sherry.

Next up was a 1998 late bottled vintage (LBV) barrel-aged for 6 years. It tasted like the typical Christmas tipple of my student days. Almost immediately the lady poured another glass, this time Graham’s 10-year-old tawny “to compare”. Being older, this wine is lighter in colour. Barrel-aged ports change gradually from a deep ruby to almost amber in wines 20 years and older. I hastily crunched a cracker to clear my palate and took a sip: liquid Christmas pudding. I savored it slowly and left the LBV behind. It would be suicidal to stagger down the hill on the narrow winding roads.

I did not really want to do another tour. Port is a little heavy on a sunny afternoon. So I followed the back road parallel to the main avenue, away from the main tourist circuit. There I came across a friendly woman sitting in the doorway of Wiese & Krohn. She smiled and beckoned me inside, even though I was on my own. I shrugged and entered.

The woman, Margaret, removed her slit-like glasses which perpetually threatened to fall off her nose and talked me through the history and methodology of port production.

Tasting Room

To my surprise, I learned that the house of Wiese & Krohn was founded by two Norwegians who came to Porto in 1865 to import salt cod and stayed for something better. The company passed through British into Portuguese hands and is still a family business, which is unusual. The Norwegian brandname was retained because the wines enjoy a good reputation in Scandinavia.

The Alto Douro became the first area for denomination wines in the world, demarcated in 1756 to prevent adulteration with inferior wines. What makes the area so special is the unique microclimate of the steep slopes, combined with very hot summers and cold winters. The narrow terraces still require manual harvesting of the grapes in many places.

The discovery of port was accidental: wines from the Douro region became popular with the British as a result of a ban on French wine imports. However, the wines would often spoil on the long journey back and so, Margaret explained, people began to add brandy to preserve it. Over the centuries, the manufacture of port evolved into a fine art.

Port derives its sweet taste from natural grape sugar. This is achieved by stopping the fermentation process by adding 77% proof spirit before all the sugar has turned to alcohol. Only in dry ports, always made from white grapes, is the fermentation process allowed to run its course.

There are 16 grape varieties used in the production of port, but only 3 or 4 of these, all of them red, can yield Vintage ports; the most exalted of the wines. Vintage years are few and far between: the best of the twentieth century were in 1963, 1970 and 1994. The 2000 vintage is also extremely promising.

After no more than 2 years in the barrel, vintage port is bottle-aged in black bottles, stored horizontally, for a minimum of 8-10 years, which means that the 1994 vintage is only now ready for drinking. I joked with Margaret that I’ll have to wait for my 50^th birthday to sample the 2000 vintage. Who knows – perhaps I will. I began to understand the three-figure-pricetag of even the most recent vintages.

Next up is Tawny port which stays in barrels for a minimum of 3 years; 5 years and older is referred to as ‘aged’ Tawny. The name derives from the tawny owl (really!) because of the wine’s property to change colour with time spent in the barrel. Aged Tawny falls into three further sub-groups: ‘reserve’ (aged for 5-8 years), ‘blend’ which is aged for 10-40 years and is composed of more than one harvest and ‘colbetta’ (‘harvest’) which, unlike the blend, derives from a single non-vintage harvest year written on the label. Unlike a vintage, this port does not improve in the bottle but these wines can mature in barrels for a long time.

Margaret took me to one end of the vaulted cellar where a few barrels rested in a rusty wire cage. “Look at the dates,” she said. There were barrels dating back to 1865.

“Won’t they have turned to vinegar by now?” I blurted out.

She gave me a horrified look. “They are still maturing. Recent analysis has shown them not to be at their peak, yet.”

“When will that be? Next year, fifty years from now?”

“We don’t know.”

“And what will happen then?”

“I don’t know either, but these wines are not for sale!”

That’ll be one big party, then.

Finally there is the LBV which, according to Margaret has “some vintage characteristics” but is not bottle aged. It matures for 4-6 years in barrels then should be drunk soon. LBV labels carry both the year of harvest and bottling.

“Phew,” I said, “This is complex.” Margaret laughed; she had barely begun.

She led me to the upstairs tasting room where more barrel-tables awaited, but this time we were alone in the cool, echoing hall. She polished the glass surface, placed three glasses in front of me and poured three different white ports.

“These are all made from the same grape variety,” she said.

First up was the 8-year-old ‘Branco Seco’. It is oaky, slightly chocolaty and leaves an afterburn. “This is perfect with toasted, salted almonds,” Margaret said. She is right; there is an almondy hint to this wine. Margaret knows her stuff. I liked this wine a lot.

Next up was the 4-year-old ‘Port Senador’. It is sweet, but a little bland to my taste.

Finally, ‘Porto Lágrima’, also often labelled as ‘Porto Lágrima de Christo’, literally ‘Christ’s Tears’ which are reputed to have been sweet rather than salty. Aged for 4 years, this wine tastes like a burst of sweet grape juice.

“How come they are all the same variety?” I asked.

“The sugar content differs because of the length of fermentation.”

Ah yes – stupid me!

Margaret fetched two more glasses and poured an LBV from the year 2000.

“But 2000 was a vintage year!” I blurted out. Margaret rolled her eyes patiently: “Well, yes, but remember that only certain grape varieties can produce vintage wines. Also, vintage port can only be derived from grapes grown on certain slopes with the perfect climatic conditions.”

But of course.

“However,” she continued, “a LBV port will have some vintage qualities.”

The question of what these are died on my lips. I took a sip – it was sensational. It tasted of summer sun and fruit. Margaret said it reminds her of the smell of crushing grapes at harvest time. I asked her how come I had never tasted an LBV like this in the UK. She said that these wines have to be drunk soon after bottling, over the space of a few years they will slowly begin to oxidise, so maybe the wines I had in the UK were off. She was being polite and I didn’t mention Graham’s 1998 LBV, either.

We (or rather I, for Margaret abstained) finished with ‘Porto 10′, a tawny blend. It is very dry with a hint of grape-seed. Here I must say Graham’s surges ahead, by some distance.

We spent a while talking about port and the talk drifted to the weather. Apparently, 2004 was a horrendous year for grape production, with a windy and wet summer throughout. In fact it was raining constantly until mid-October.

“It is changing, you know,” she said: “I remember hot summers and cool winters as a kid.” Don’t we all. The talk shifted to the consequences of global warming. In the light of so much worse to come, it has never occurred to me that, soon, great vintages will be a thing of the past, too.

5: Spain & Portugal

Gaudi Lizard at Parc Guell.

There is no better place to start in Spain then the magical city of Barcelona. We were fortunate to arrive during “La Merced”, the festival in honor of the Patron Saint of Barcelona. There were parades in the streets, live music and fireworks at night. Talk about a country that really comes to life after dark! What a lively bunch. Old and young alike were out walking the streets and dancing all night! Eating dinner after 8:00 PM allows for long days and sleepless nights.

Las Ramblas is the place to start any tour of this city, as it is the main walking street with vendors selling everything from food to caged birds. There are street performers of all kinds too. Of course, the city is known for its famous architect Gaudi, who designed a good many of the buildings and houses and the magnificent cathedral, La Sagrada Familia. This cathedral was started in 1882 and is still only half complete. It looks like a gigantic sandcastle and is a true work of art! Parc Guell, another of Gaudi’s works, is a wonderful park that is one of a kind. With colorful mosaic tile, it boasts the world’s largest bench with a great view of the entire park.

After spending several days in Barcelona, we headed northwest to the beautiful Basque coast of Spain. San Sebastian, a city rich in culture and history, was a perfect place to stop and enjoy ourselves. San Sebastian is known for its gastronomic delights – the traditional Pintxos (pronounced pinch-os) and Txakoli.

There are streets lined with bars and restaurants, and the thing to do is to go from place to place tasting the Pintxos, or Tapas, set out on each bar. They charge per piece and it is fun to see all the different kinds they have as each bar competes against each other. There is everything from smoked salmon on toast points to mushroom and ham-stuffed pastry shells. “Txakoli” is the local white wine, that is perfectly light and goes well with the whole tasting experience. The beach in San Sebastian is the shape of a scallop shell. There is a dolphin named Paquito who has taken up residence there and is often seen welcoming the boats into the bay.

Don Quixote where are you?

From Bilbao’s stylish Guggenheim Museum to the cute 12th century city of Santillana del Mar, Spain offers pleasant coastal scenery along the north. We drove through the lush mountains of Picos de Europa where there are many hiking trails along deep gorges, green valleys and rocky rivers. Leon has one of the most beautiful cathedrals we have seen with one square mile of stained glass windows (128 total). Santiago de Compostella, a city that still attracts many pilgrims today, was packed with faithful followers. St. James is thought to be buried in the cathedral. We found excellent camping in Sanxenxo along the water where we watched a wonderful sunset. Pontevedra was a wonderful city to see as well.

We crossed over into Portugal and loved it right away, with its white houses with red tiled roofs. Everything was very clean. Viano do Costelo was certainly hospitable, sitting on the Rio Lima and the coast. The codfish baked with olive oil, potatoes and onions was a local specialty that we did not miss out on.

Porto is fantastic. We dropped off our cute “disco” Twingo here, after driving her 3,000 miles from France. We were going to miss the luxury of having our own transportation. The river front in Porto is amazing with the port wine companies and their boats everywhere. The Palacio da Bolsa, which is the old stock exchange, is incredible, not only because it took 68 years to build, but is also a UNESCO World Heritage Sight. Coimbra, home of one of the oldest universities in Europe built in 1290, is a must-see!

Since we were literally “back on the road” after five weeks of driving, we quickly discovered that buses were the cheapest and safest way to travel in Portugal and Spain. The one time we took the train in Spain it was ridiculously bumpy – we felt like we were on an amusement park ride. We would stick to the bus after that experience!

We took a bus to Salamanca, where the most beautiful plaza in Spain, Plaza Mayor, awaits you. Salamanca is a university city, and the young crowd makes the city quite entertaining. The city was decorated with individually designed Toros made of paper mache. Neat!

To Avila next, with one of the best preserved medieval defense perimeters in the world. Segovia has a Roman Aquaduct �-kilometer long with 163 arches on two levels and not one drop of mortar used in its construction – an architectural masterpiece!

We arrived in Madrid to meet some of our good friends from Atlanta. What a great city! The Palace with its 2,800 rooms, the Plaza Mayor, Plaza Santa Ana, the Royal Gardens and the Hermitage of San Antonio de la Florida are only some of the “best of the city” to see. After four days in Madrid, we headed south to Cuenca, the city made famous with its “hanging houses” over a cliff. Next, we visited Toledo situated high atop a hill. There is a fancy new escalator that takes you all the way up to the old town. If you are into miniature war figures, the Alcazar has a museum filled with thousands of these little guys.

Our search for windmills, castles, and Don Quixote began when we left for Consuegra in the region of Castilla – La Mancha. Although the small town is not equipped for tourists, it is a fun stop on your way somewhere else.

Toro in the Plaza Mayor.

Ahh, Andalucia was calling our names. Cordoba, our first stop in this sunny region in the south, was breathtaking. The Mezquita, the famous Mosque turned Cathedral, with its red and white striped arches was an elaborately decorated sight. Granada was next, where the Flamenco dance originated in the Sacramonte area amongst the gypsies. There is a super view of the Alhambra from the streets of Sacramonte. The Alhambra deserves nothing less than a full day visit. There is so much to see!

Marbella’s sunny shores, golf courses, and beaches were filled with tourists from all over northern Europe. The water is so clear, and far off in the distance, you can catch a glimpse of Africa. Ronda, a tiny stone washed village, is considered the mecca of bullfighting. The Puerto Nuevo, the new bridge, is a mighty crossing built between a gorge.

Tarifa, the windsurfing capital of Europe, greets you with harsh winds but makes for a beautiful, empty beach with nothing but white sands and blue waters. The storks greeted us again in the southern most tip of continental Europe and Spain. They were ready to migrate further south with us and we would soon make the crossing together to Morocco.

Laundry Day, Finally
Iberian Peninsula

August 29
I woke up this morning after getting a little sleep on the overnight train from Marrakesh. Some old, one-eyed woman kept yelling at me in Arabic but she finally went to sleep. I arrived in Tangier and then got my boat to Algercias before heading to Seville. Getting a train was difficult, so it’s the first time I didn’t use my Eurail pass.

Flamenco performances are a passionate combination of clapping, singing and dancing

I settled into the old Jewish quarter, which has a lot of narrow streets to get lost in. I didn’t look around much today. I did go to a Flamenco performance though. It’s a combination of clapping, singing and dancing. The men usually clap and sing while both men and women dance. The theater was small and intimate so I got to read their facial expressions. I liked the woman who looked mad when she was dancing but I think she was just concentrating.

August 30
I got a better look around Seville today. It’s an attractive place to be in. It’s part Christian and part Muslim in this area called Moorish Spain. I started at the Cathedral, which I believe is the biggest in Europe. It’s also quite elaborate and includes the tomb of Christopher Columbus. The Alcazar is nearby and is more of the Muslim architecture.

I wondered around for a while and explored some of the nooks and crannies of the city. I looked at the university as well as the Gold Tower. One thing I thought was very attractive was the Plaza de Espana. There are a series of monuments located in a semi-circle, most with blue and yellow colored tiles. Every ten feet or so there is a picture relating to a specific city that tells its history. There’s also a series of bridges in the plaza and it just looks different from other plazas.

August 31
I moved to Lisbon, Portugal today again by bus because of limited train service. I really like trains more because you can spread out and just like the feeling of being on a train. However, on the bus a very nice, I’d say 40-something woman was talking to me. The bus stopped a couple of times for us to stretch our legs and she gave me some sandwiches from her backpack. I must look shabby because it looked like she felt sorry for me. She was going up north to pray, there’s a holy city up there – can’t remember the name.

I arrived at sundown and by the time I got to my hostel and started walking around it was dark. The city is dark. There are not many streetlights so the actual city is very dark. I asked the women at the hotel where I can go to watch a good Fado. She said I should go to bar, that the Fado is for old people. I told her I wanted to go anyway so she suggested a place. Lisbon is also very hilly which made a very short walk seem long.

The sculptures on the Belem Tower head off to sea

I saw a Fado show. Fado is a series of deep, sad, dark songs, which are performed while the audience is eating. The woman at the hostel is right – it’s more for old people but I enjoyed it and the dark songs are a good match for the dark city of Lisbon.

September 1
I went to the most touristy part of Lisbon today which is Belem to the west of the city center. The Jeronimos Monastery is spectacular but much of it was off limits I think because of a wedding. The Belem Tower is close to the monastery and I liked it because it is built into the ocean and thus the men in the sculpture are heading into the water.

I went to another part of Lisbon, which could be called the Exposition part of the city. It is where they had the Expo 98 project and there is a lot to do here. They have a large shopping mall and parks with different types of waterfalls and water activities. They also had a huge Oceanarium. I liked the theme as they had the four corners of the world and all the fish that would be present in the specific corners. Then they had the center which showed all the fish the earth has in common.

The final area that I visited was the area around San Jorge Castle. I walked part of the way but it was too steep to go all the way up. It’s a tram/bus combination to get up there. The bus ride is good because the streets are so narrow that if you stick your hands out the bus window you can touch the houses. I got up to the castle near closing so it was an abbreviated version but there were several sculptures inside. The sunset was nice too because this is an elevated area and thus has a good overlook of the city and the ocean. Nighttime produced a very bright full moon so I stayed up by the castle for a long time.

September 2
I took a side trip to Sintra today. They have several interesting sights here. I climbed up to the Mouros Castle, which was a good walk through a forested area. At the castle is an overview of the city and other nearby buildings. I continued on to the Pena Palace, which is unique because of the colors and design. Then on to the National Sintra Palace which is also unique because of the two chimney-shaped objects coming out of the palace.

September 3

A unique feature of the National Sintra Palace is the twin chimneys

Today was a long, hellish travel day. Last night I traveled from Lisbon to Madrid. During the day it was Madrid to Barcelona and now I’m getting on a train to Nice, France. Also, I lost my crucifix that my dad gave me. I still have the necklace but the crucifix unhooked itself. I could use that in Italy next week. I hope this doesn’t mean my luck is running out.

September 4
A very busy day in the French Riviera. Arriving in Nice, I went to look for a hostel I found in my travel book. I rang the bell for the hostel and a woman with no teeth met me and took me up. It’s not the hostel from the book, she runs down and gets people to go to hers thinking it is. It’s good enough.

I then went to the laundry mat and did my laundry for the first time on the trip, over two months. I just had my coat on and was able to wash everything.

Then I fetched a train to Cannes to see where they have the International Film Festival and looked at all the yachts. Back to Nice for a quick walk on the beach before heading to Monaco. I looked at some more yachts and the castle area. I did not have enough money or nice enough clothes for the casinos. I also went to the church were Grace Kelly is buried and saw her very simple final resting-place