I have reached the point in my trip where I am absolutely exhausted. If I never see another bus, train, or plane, it might be too soon. And I still have three planes, a bus, and a long car ride before I find myself even close to back where I started. Do I regret it? No.
Just spent the last four days tooling around Portugal. Lisbon (Lisboa) is a lovely city that reminds me of several cities. As you enter the city to your right is a huge platform with a statue of Christ with his arms out like the one you might see in Rio de Janeiro (only Jesus is smaller because by the time the got around to constructing the Christ part, some asshole had stolen the majority of the money donated by all those faithful Catholics). Past this if you're on the A5, you'll find yourself crossing a bridge identical to the Golden Gate Bridge in San Fransisco (built by the same firm). Then as you walk around in the old part of time you'll find a very cool elevator and some street cars that remind me a lot of what you might find in Vina del Mar in Chile. But despite the familiar parts, Lisbon manages to pull it all together in a way that is beautiful and uniquely Portuguese from the tiny uneven hand made cobblestone sidewalks, to the lovely plazas filled with statues of men on horseback. I found myself pleasantly enchanted. We arrived with several hours of daylight left, so though I was tired and cranky from the ride, I decided to walk a bit and made my way right to the heart of the city.
Sunday afternoon seems to be the same everywhere, a time to chill, to have a glass of port or to sit in an outdoor cafe watching the world pass you by. While the rest of the city seemed dead, closer to the water there were lots of people and surprisingly lots of black men, just hanging out and eating their queixadas (little cheese tarts that taste like cinnamon and are a must try delicacy found in any Portuguese bakery or cafe). Where in Madrid I have seen a large population of what appear to be African vendors, in Portugal there seemed to be a lot of Brazilian or African men just hanging out, seemly much more integrated into the population. I wonder what the difference is. I didn't find anyone I could ask though. I walked all the way down to the waterfront which reeked of freshly caught fish, then made my way back to the hotel for a grilled cheese sandwich and sweet glass of port.
The following day I visited Sintra and Cascais with the tour group. Who goes to Portugal in late September in the middle of the week? Lots of old people from Brazil, Argentina, Venezuela, Columbia, and Mexico. I was the only person from the US (the second youngest...the youngest being my 11 year old friend). There was one woman from Vancouver, Canada (the only person on the bus who didn't speak Spanish). Everyone seemed to stick to their nationality though I was adopted by the Mexicans. I made friends with a family on a trip from Mexico City to New York to Madrid. The mom is a jewelry designer and sells her work in stores around the world. She was in Madrid for a jewelry exhibition, but wanted to take her son and her mother to visit Portugal. So we walked the gardens and the castles together, accompanied by my seatmate, another gentleman from Mexico city.
Portugal seemed to have more Castles per capita than restaurants. Every time you turn around...oh that's so and so's palace. Oh, that's King Whoever's summer house. In Sintra we visited a beautiful castle called Castelo Dos Mouros, the Castle of the Moors. It was built by the Moors in either the 9th or the 10th century, but then taken over and remodeled by King Ferdinand the 2 in the 19th century. That's the short version. All around were these beautiful gardens. The entire town of Sintra is like one huge botanical garden. Everything grows there from kiwi to agave (what they make tequila out of), jacaranda, cork trees, pine tree, oaks, eucalyptus. You name, it grows in Sintra because it's a perfect temperature almost all of the time. After a fabulous lunch of Bacalou (a typical Portuguese dish...cod fish grilled in a strew of onions, tomatoes and spices) we headed to Cascais, a beach town filled with charming little shops. Afterwards we went back to Lisbon. I planned on having a night cap, but I was so tired I couldn't pull myself out of the room.
The next day we went to Fatima. Fatima is a city famous for being the site where three little kids met the Virgin Mary. Mary seems to be following me around Europe. Just before arriving to the city we made a pit stop for coffee at what I can only describe as a one stop shopping for all things Christian. It was literally a warehouse store filled with everything from statues of the Virgin, including a whole selection of glow in the dark Marys, to rosaries, vestments, candles, vials of holy water, crosses made of all different materials and engraved with common names, and of course postcards and port and the obligatory gallo (or Rooster) which is everywhere.
SIDE NOTE: The Rooster Story. There are several versions, but the one I liked the best is about a young man who was a pilgrim on the Road to Santiago. There are several Inns on the road that serve as resting places for pilgrims. Our hero chose the wrong Inn. He was a quiet man who, while polite, wasn't that entertaining of a guest. Somehow his silence managed to offend the woman who owned the Inn. She waited until he wasn't looking and then hid a valuable crystal vase in his backpack. As soon as he left, she called the police and told them she'd been robbed. They found the pilgrim matching his description around midday and asked him if they could look through his belongings. As he was no thief, he readily agreed, having no idea that he was being set up. Of course the police found the crystal vase...which the pilgrim had never seen before in his life...and decided that he was guilty. The penalty at that time was life in prison, but before they took him in, they asked him if he had any last requests. Since it was around lunch time, he asked the officers to feed him one last good meal. So one of the officers took him to his home where his wife had prepared a roasted chicken. The pilgrim, for the millionth time told the man that he wasn't guilty. Then he asked God for a sign of his innocents. If I'm innocent, then that chicken will get up and walk away. Of course the chicken was dead and roasted, so the likelihood of it walking anywhere was pretty slim. But that turned out to be the miracle, the chicken rose from the plate and crowed the pilgrims innocence. The pilgrim didn't go to jail and a colorful rooster became a national logo for Portugal. END OF SIDE NOTE.
So we entered Fatima. The bus dropped us off at the Cathedral which is actually 2 cathedrals, one new and one old, a small chapel, a fountain with curative properties, a garden, a candle store, a candle alter, and a large open space in between it all marking the territory of the compound. I drank the healing water, washed my hands and feet, bought 3 candles, lit one, and prayed. Despite all the people and all the rampant capitalism, I did feel like I was on holy ground. I let the energy of Fatima course through me and ground me. And then, since I still had an hour left, I wandered around the town which was filled with stores selling Virgins. I really don't care for the whole religious tourism thing. It seems cheap and opportunistic. So I bought myself a pastry and was happy to go back to Lisbon.
After being surrounded by so many people wanting healings I found myself with a headache and feeling kind of motion sick and ready to be alone. I promised my Dad I would get him a sweatshirt from the Hard Rock Cafe though, so when we got back to the hotel I just dropped off my candles and set off with Pedro and the Suarez family in tow to buy a shirt and bottle of port for la Bea. This ended up being a much longer excursion that I intended. We found the Hard Rock with ease, then decided to lunch at a little Italian spot. Afterward, we wandered down towards the waterfront where we discovered Papa Bubble, an old-fashioned artisan candy shop where they make hard candy and lollipops by hand. We watched them stretch the candy and it was delicious and kind of whimsical. It was dark by the time we got back to the hotel.
Then we were up early the next day and on our way to Merida where we saw Roman ruins...which just made me think about the US and how similar we are to the Empire of ancient Rome. We're taking over everywhere and replacing the native cultures with our own made up brand of crap. While it was fabulous to turn on the TV in the hotel and have not only CNN and BBC in English, but also MTV, VH1, and 2 Fox channels playing Grey's Anatomy, House, Bones, and several of my favorite shows in English. It was also a little scary. I mean why? There was plenty of TV in Portuguese to watch, but there is something kind scary about how popular the US is...it's not exactly popular, it's like some insidious form of colonization. Conversion by media. And it's not just here...it's in Spain too and Africa. I remember being in Ghana and being asked for t-shirts or jeans, anything US. But why? It's definitely something on my mind. It makes me wonder if pretty soon there'll be no point to traveling because we'll all have assimilated into the same thing...and is that really a good thing? I mean yeah UNESCO is out there turning all these cultural landmarks into world heritage sites, but is this unity or international colonization? I'm happy to be back at my Madrid home.
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