Chapter I

Some pictures to go with this may be found at:

Pick and choose as you like.

3/18/05 Viernes, Dia zero: Iberia bound
When Papacita Ed & Mamacita Beth set off on their trip to visit NiÃ’a Katie in Sevilla, for her Junior-year semester abroad, they got a more promising start than NiÃ’a did back in Februario, when she faced blowing snow and closed airports. Now there were only warm breezes from the south to speed us on over Delaware Bay on the sunset flight from Baltimore to Newark. Flt #4791 turned out to be a smaller plane than Mamacita likes–she hates prop planes– but at least this was a small jet and the air was smooth. Papacita, however, loves small planes, and enjoyed the views while perusing “Breathing the Blogosphere” by James Patrick Kelly: 40 recommended weblogs. (No the millerblog wasn’t there).

3/19/05 Sabado, Dia uno

Adventure #1 started in the hour of landing in Lisbon. Mamacita, her lovely hermana Kathy and I (papacita, your dutiful scribe) had groggily worked our way thru the airport customs, picking up the bags and heading towards the main lobby. I was in the lead and glanced at the Customs-Declaration-only area we didn’t have to pass through as I headed for the opaque glass exit doors. Exiting that sector, while pushing my two rolling bags, I assumed that Mamacita & Hermana were following, but as the one-way doors closed irrevocably, I found myself in the main terminal, in the midst of Portuguese fast food, and ex-passengers fleeing from the never-never land of Customs into the light and air of Portugal. I stood there, looking back at the opaque sliding doors, wondering where my companions were. Going back was a “n„o-n„o”, as two uniformed guards informed me. In fact, waiting close to the doors was also a “n„o-n„o”. So I moved a few m away by the wall and waited and waited.

Meanwhile behind the “n„o-n„o” doors, our poor Hermana was desperately looking for her jacket, maybe it had been left on the plane or the luggage concourses, but no luck, no jacket.

Finally, about when I had concluded that mamacita & hermana had been dragooned by the Customs-declaration people, and the agencia were searching every seam of every garment, they emerged, somewhat downcast, from the opaque door. So we walked out to find a taxi to the hotel and NiÒa. A quick ride thru the avenidas to the Orion Eden in the PraÁa Dos Restauradores (The Plaza of the Two Restaurants?), and we strolled into the lobby, finding NiÒa Katie waiting for us. She had ridden 6 hours on the midnite bus from Sevilla, navigated the Metro to get to the hotel, and looked (through our sleep-deprived eyes) refreshed and relaxed.

We found that our suite had a kitchenette, a living room with pull-out couch (2 beds) & bedroom with bath. We all blew Z’s for a couple of hours. After waking, we tried unsuccessfully to get cash at an ATM, and then had lunch. Luckily Hermana Kathy had the foresight to bring euros from the estados unidos.

Following our invaluable Rick Steve’s guide book, we went to the funicular around the corner and rode up into the Barrio Alto (high city) to see the views of the lower city (Baixa) and the opposing hill (the Alfama). Again following Rick’s advice, took the train to the Torre do Belem, a castle in a mixed Gothic-Manuelite style on the river, but it had closed a little early, this being almost the beginning of Semana Santa (about which lots more later).

Back into town by taxi, we searched fruitlessly for the trolley that takes visitors up the hill to the castle on the Alfama, and ended up taking a taxi. The Alfama is one of the oldest districts of Lisbon, which was mostly devastated by the 1755 earthquake. We found lots of fabulous views down into the now-darkening city. The twilight makes Lisboa look less ramshackl„o and more romantic„o.

We toddled down into the Centro, and found a hidden restaurant on the 6th floor of a nondescript downtown bldg. Recommended by amigo Rick, The Cimmarr„o is a Brazilian restaurante with a special 6.00 euro deal. 4 kinds of meat, hot rice & beans, and a complete buffet of cold salad dishes. Their vinho do Casa was terrific, costing only 8 euros/bottle.

3/20/05 Domingo, Dia Dos

Adventure #2: Somewhere between the hotel and The Cimmarr„o, mamacita lost her wallet. After discovering that, she spent some time burning up the international phone lines to cancel our credit cards and her driver’s license. Luckily she didn’t lose her ATM card, which was not in her wallet. We had now to depend on Hermana and NiÃ’a to pay all our bills!

In the early morning we found the Metro in PraÁa Rossio, after reading the
base of the obelisk in Dos Restauradores, we learned that “Restauradores” means “Restoration” of the Portuguese kingship and departure of the Spanish in 1640. The Lisbon Metro is magnificent. Decorated tiles cover the walls of all the stations. The floors are all marble and spotless, the trains are frequent and rapido. We rode to EstaÁ„o Oriente to pick up our rental car, where it turned out that the sole agent of Avis had gone to the airport for an unexplained reason. We waited for his return while munching on fruit from the “Hiper Mercado”. On his return, Beth showed the agent our rental agreement. “But this is for March 21. That is tomorrow.” Oh well, so we’re a day off. We shifted gears mentally, and revised plans. We would take the train to Belem, a riverside suburb with many Muse„os, parks, monuments and a castle. The castle, unfortunately closed before we got there, but it’s small and compact, so we got to see it from 3 sides. Up the river, there was the Ponte Vasco de Gama, which looks a lot like the Golden Gate Bridge. The reason it does, is that San Francisco’s bridge was designed by the same engineer who planned the Ponte V. de G. Behind it on a high hill is a famous looking monument which resembles the statue of Christ in Rio de Janiero. The locals proudly assert that the Lisbon statue is bigger.

The following day, we got our car and drove to Sentra, a picturesque town near the hilly coast north of Lisbon. Several kings (Manuel, Ferdinand, Carlos?) had lived there, and made their marks architecturally and botanically. The town is surrounded by a temperate rainforest, which is now a UN world-heritage area. The castle at the top of the hill above Sintra is full of (what else) ornate tiled walls, and the views are spectacular when there is no fog. (Unfortunately, there was fog.) The rooms had intricately carved woodwork and rooms stuffed to repletion with art deco furniture. Mamacita said that she was “really glad she was not a queen and forced to put up with such crowded extravagance.”

The forest park below the castle was filled with trees, ferns, and flowers
imported from tropical rainforests by the king and queen in the 1880s & ’90s. it reminded us of the UC botanical gardens in Berkeley, but Sentra’s botonico is far more extensive. We walked down the trails, a rainforest drizzle dripping down on us. wondering where exactly we were headed. At last we came to a road with a bus stop. According to a sign there, the last bus was due at 17:30, in just 10 minutes. We remarked on our perfect timing, but 17:30 came and went without a bus. Maybe we had missed it? So we began hiking up the road, and a km or so later reached the place we had first entered the forest. No bus came. “We’re doomed to walk all the way back to Sentra in the rain”, I thought. But soon the bus chugged up the road to us.

We got on, expecting to ride smoothly onwards, but the road was so slippery, the bus wheels just spun fecklessly. With many gesticulations, the driver had all the passengers move to the back of the bus, weighting the rear wheels so he could get traction. Standing there, we all mentally pushed the bus. We moved upwards slowly, and we could smell burning rubber of the tires. After endless slipping and sliding, we reached the top of the local hill. It was all down hill from there. But the driver popped out of the bus and disappeared. Perhaps he was picking up pieces of hot rubber from our trail and re-surfacing the tires? Or helping some poor driver who was slipping on the asphalt like us? We never did learn, but he returned eventually and we continued on down into town.

Back in picturesque Sintra on a steep, rainy sidestreet, we shared a great dinner with Portuguese Vinho Tinto, pizza, and penne shrimp in a restaurant tiled with marble and blue ceramic. We were surprised to be charged for bread, olives and butter, after they were placed on our table without our requesting them. But that, it turns out, is a common practice in Portuguese and Spanish restaurants, and we adapted, and we geared ourselves up for our next ciudad–Madrid.

–To Be Continued —
–rakkity