Portuguese Discoveries
In 117 days, we’ve traversed 9 countries, clocked up an astonishing 10 000 kilometres, learnt how to say hello, please and thank you in five languages – and absorbed (and forgotten) more history than humanly possible to take in. Where next on our journey of European discovery? Why, the home of Port wine and Portuguese tarts, of course.
We begin our exploration of the ‘rectangle’ (as Portugal is cutely nicknamed) in the very north-east corner, just south of the Montesinho National Park. In Portugal (and in most of Europe, for that matter), national parks are a blend of small villages, mountains, valleys, walking trails, roads and waterways. It's an odd concept when you come from a country like Australia, where so much land has been left untouched, but I'm all for it if it prevents further development and the preservation of nature. In Montesinho, the pastures, fields, village animals, wood-fired ovens and mills – even the village bull or dog – are all shared and managed by the population, a tradition that hasn’t changed in centuries.
When we reach the small town of Carrazedo, we're greeted by Pookie, the village dog, who assigns himself as our protector for the duration of our stay. Part German Shepherd part Bear, Pookie is the cuddliest and sweetest doormat that anyone could ask for. Plonked outside our door, he is in prime petting position and he knows it. We're not exactly sure what his role is as 'village dog' but he seems well-looked after by the 30 or so residents that call the town home.
Pookie introduced, our human hosts take us under their wing, offering us nips of ginjinha and freshly-baked almond biscuits, to perk us up after our long drive. It is here in Carrazedo that we get our first real taste of the Portuguese language. To the untrained ear, its nasal vowel sounds and stressed syllables have an almost Russian lilt. We’re surprised by just how un-Spanish the people sound, despite the shared border.
Curled up in front of the fire for the afternoon, we're in no rush to be anywhere. Our cosy granite barn conversion is stocked with fresh bread, vegetables, local-made sausage and chouriço, home-made port wine and more ginjinha (a sweet sherry-like liquor made from macerated cherries). In a few days, we'll muster up the energy to hike along the old Roman road, to marvel at the caravan wheel etchings of times past – but for now, the cool mountain rain is best enjoyed from the inside, with a well-worn novel in hand.
Portugal is ubiquitous with Port wine – the sweet, sticky raisiny ruby-red liquid that we all associate with long Christmas lunches, Christmas pudding and brandy custard. Like Champagne, Port can only be labelled Port, if it comes from the Douro Valley, just outside Porto. Anything else is usually called fortified wine. When I said that the Rhine and La Rioja were the most beautiful wine regions I had ever set eyes on, I had no idea just how breathtakingly beautiful the Douro Valley would be. Back-breakingly steep vineyards line the banks of the Douro Valley as far as the eye can see. Everything in the high mountains of Portugal is green, lush and perfectly stunning – the wine isn't bad either.
After a leisurely day of wine tasting, cooking is beyond us, so we decide to head to one of the small Portuguese taverns to sample the local fare. The Portuguese are incredibly fond of three things (apart from their wine and sweets) – meat, bread and sardines. The most favoured dish in Porto? The beloved Francesinha. The Francesinha is a Croque Monsieur on steroids, created by a Portuguese man who loved the French sandwich so much that he decided to take it upon himself to 'improve' the recipe by putting a Portuguese twist on it. How could a Croque Monsieur possible be improved, you might ask? By packing it with cured Iberian ham, linguiça, fresh chouriço, thin steak, blanketing it in melted cheese and submerging it in a hot, thick tomato and beer sauce ... of course? (The hot beery tomatoey sauce is surprisingly pleasant.) And the name? Francesinha means 'Little French Lady' in Portuguese. It appears he was also quite fond of the French women. Because of its red-hot sauce and and provocative name, the women of Porto shunned the dish, afraid that they might get a reputation for being a little saucy themselves. It's a cute story – I hope it's true.
Another popular menu item in Portuguese taverns is the Alheira – a smoked 'pork' sausage made from poultry, bread and olive oil. As the saying goes: 'Every fake sausage has a story behind it'. History tells us that the Alheira recipe was created by the Jewish population of Portugal during the 1497 Inquisition. By hanging their Alheiras in the smokehouse, the Jews found a way to adhere to their faith, without attracting unwanted attention. The recipe later spread among Christians and remains popular today.
After a brief introduction to the Portuguese cuisine, we’re bound for the port-side town of Porto – the beating heart of Port wine fermentation and exportation. We reach our apartment in the late afternoon, eager for a quick siesta before dinner and our customary introductory walk around town. Just as we're ticking over into full-relaxation mode, however, we’re woken by rapid gun fire. We jump up from our sleepy daze, rushing to the window. Did a car backfire? Is somebody having a domestic? We’re soon in hysterics at our reaction. So much for peaceful church-side views. Nobody panic, it's just a casual 21-gun salute.
The descent into downtown, towards the Douro River, is a pleasant downward stroll past colourful buildings clad with hand-painted Alzulejo tiles. (The return journey is a serious thigh-master workout that we should have seen coming.) The whole riverside town, perched on a hill, is like something out of a postcard. We’re greeted with evidence of Portugal’s rich Moorish past at every turn – but the Moors weren’t the first to call Porto and Portugal home.
Porto was founded in 1st century BC by the Celts, who managed to enjoy a couple of centuries of portside bliss, before the Romans came in – paving roads, introducing wine, spreading their language (Portuguese is based on Vulgar Latin) and enforcing 'organisation'. With the fall of the Roman Empire, the door was left wide open for the Germans, who stayed just long enough to instil the Portuguese with a love of bread and meat (Did someone say Francesinha?). The Germans taken care of, the Moors crept in, tiling their way north to Porto, where they settled for the next 500 years. Would you believe that, despite several invasions and occupations, Portugal’s land borders have remained almost unchanged since the 13th century? How's that for holding your ground?
And this is all before Portugal even began to dream of venturing out to sea!
In the 15th century, the Portuguese people were stuck between a rock and a hard place. On one side, they had the Spanish and their swords, who were constantly trying to reclaim land – and on the other, they had the Atlantic – forbidding, rollicking and wild. 'What could be worse than the Spanish!?', they thought, so they set a few boats loose into the Atlantic to see what they could come up with. Before Columbus came onto the scene, the Portuguese were also set on establishing an all-water route to Asia, by sailing south around the tip of Africa. (And so Cape Good Hope was named, in the spirit of optimism.) In the process, they accumulated a wealth of knowledge about geography and the Atlantic Ocean that put the rest of Europe in good stead to 'conquer' unknown lands. Portugal is considered one of the primary players in the Age of Discovery and Exploration – a fact of which they incredibly proud. When Vasco da Gama finally discovered the all-water route to Asia in 1497, returning round the Cape of Good Hope with a ship full of spices, he became the first European to reach India by sea.
Ask the Spanish where Christopher Columbus hailed from and nine times out of ten, they will tell you that he was Spanish. Ask the Portuguese the same question and they will tell you that he was born off the coast of Portugal on a small island called Madeira. The Italians claim Columbus as their own – as is their right. He was born in Genoa, after all.
But why the confusion?
Although Columbus was neither Portuguese-born or Portuguese-sponsored (the Kingdom of Castille, later known as Spain, backed his first voyage to the Americas), he was Portuguese-trained. He married a Portuguese woman, had a Portuguese child and lived in Lisbon for several years, where the people considered him one of their own. Spain's claim is much simpler: when Columbus overshot the mark, missing Asia altogether, he stumbled on the Americas, making the Kingdom of Castille very rich indeed. Was Columbus Spanish? You bet he was!
Speaking of claiming famous people as your own, the people of Porto are quick to tell you that it was between 1991 and 1993 – when J.K. Rowling was teaching English as a foreign language in Porto – that she was first struck with the inspiration for Harry Potter. According to urban legend, she would sit herself down in the Majestic Cafe, scribbling notes on napkins that would later form the first chapters of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. You can follow in her footsteps, drinking tea and nibbling Pasteis de Nata (Portuguese tarts) in the Majestic Cafe (of course, we do this), visiting Livraria & Lello (the bookshop that inspired Flourish and Botts) and admiring the black-caped students who walk the town, looking so much like the students that walk the halls of Hogwarts.
Founded in 1290, Coimbra University is the oldest university in Portugal and home to one of the most beautiful Baroque-style libraries in the world. As we've grown to expect, the university students are clad in black capes, no matter the weather, looking incredibly suave and sophisticated with their polished shoes, vests and ties. What we don't realise is that the university cape is also considered a type of traditional uniform for local performers, who don their capes to show the longstanding association that Fado has with the university. Fado is a melancholic, typically Portuguese-style of singing that is often accompanied by a 12-string guitar and a mandolin (The guitar player jokes that he spends half his time tuning it and half his time playing out of tune.) Somehow, Fado manages to come across as 'soulful, heart-wrenching and hopeful' all at the same time. The sound is all the more powerful, bouncing off the walls of the old chapel that we are cosied up in, sipping Port wine.
The highway from Coimbra to Lisbon is lined with towering eucalyptus trees, their ruby-red leaves turning in the heat. When you are far from home, small reminders of the motherland really bring about a sense of nostalgia; the sight of eucalyptus trees is one of those things. We soon learn, however, that the Portuguese people are far from fond of these rapid firestarters.
On our way to Lisbon, we make a detour to Sintra, in order to admire the eccentric and colourful Pena Palace. Not since the works of Gaudi, have we seen such an unusual mix of architectural styles. From neo-gothic, to neo-islamic, Pena Palace has it all. The castle itself is beautiful but the surrounding gardens, sprawling over some 200 hectares, are what really makes Sintra worth exploring. With exotic trees from as far as Australia, America, China, New Zealand and Japan, the park is a labyrinth that you can get (literally) lost in for hours.
We don’t know it yet, but we’ve timed our arrival to Lisbon with the biggest festival of the year. On June 13, the streets of Lisbon come alive to celebrate San Antonio – the patron saint of Lisbon – and the party doesn’t stop until sun up. Everyone is in a romantic mood, gifting newly sprouted pots of basil to their newly sprouted loves. A group of loved up young couples, ready to marry, apply to the state for a fully-funded group wedding ceremony, where they will collectively receive the blessing of San Antonio (who is also know as the marriage saint). The group wedding is televised and Nonnas all over Portugal are known to bake cookies, brew coffee and host parties where everyone is invited to watch the nuptials live. The spirit of the city is lively, with tunes pumping, beer flowing, sardines barbecuing – and, most importantly, shots of ginjinha (in chocolate cups) lined up, ready for consumption.
I mentioned earlier that the borders of Portugal have remained largely the same since the 13th century. By the 16th century, Lisbon was one of the largest and oldest capital cities in Europe, having become incredibly rich and powerful, off the back of their most-prized colony – Brazil. Things were going well, the city had never looked better, the kingdom of Portugal was blooming.
If you’re sensing a twist of narrative and a ‘then something went drastically wrong …’, you’d be right on the money. On 1 November 1755, a devastating earthquake ravaged the city, destroying 90% of the city’s structures and killing close to one quarter of the population. Not much was known about seismology at the time and even less was known about the need for tsunami evacuation. Feeling their safest away from the crumbling city, the residents of Lisbon lined the river, completely unaware that 40 minutes later 3 enormous waves would engulf the harbour and downtown area, claiming more lives. To make matters worse, the hundreds of candles lit for All Saints Day, were dangerously knocked over, causing a firestorm that was to burn for days.
Some say the devastating earthquake of 1755 was punishment for Portugal’s greed. Some say it was the wrath of God. Others were more cynical – if it was the wrath of God, why was Alfama –the most sinful and unsavoury neighbourhood of Lisbon – the only neighbourhood to be spared? It is said that the earthquake of 1755 was one of the first proponents of the period of enlightenment, which encouraged the pursuit of science and reasoning, along with the French Revolution. The people of Lisbon agree on one thing – the earthquake and subsequent tsunamis were lethal. Our tour guide (his timing is terrible) jokes that the city is well overdue for another earthquake of epic proportions. Thanks buddy.
Having thoroughly enjoyed the sights and delights of the vibrant and cosmopolitan Lisbon – earthquake threats and all – we’re ready for a coastal change. Our first stop along the western coast of Portugal is in a tiny town near Odeceixe (yes, it’s pronounced ‘Oh, der sexy’), not far from the Algarve. For a few days, with nothing but solar power and a composting toilet, we’re forced to talk to each other (I mean switch off and enjoy the nature that surrounds us). No internet, no TV, just books and the beach. The western coast of Portugal is untouched, rugged, underpopulated and underdeveloped – perfect for sunbathing, swimming and lounging. There's no doubt in our minds – Portugal is home to some of our favourite beaches in Europe so far.
After the quiet of Sao Teotino, Albufeira (also known as Britain's Bali) is an assault on the senses, that we don't altogether dislike. With its tacky souvenirs, Thai massage huts, hair-braiding stands and pubs, Albufeira is like a calmer version of Kuta. The beach is still beautiful, the beer is still cold and the boozed-up Brits are great for a laugh or two, as we cheer on England in the soccer, singing 'Sweet Caroline' and celebrating a well-deserved win against Tunisia.
After almost a month in the rectangle, we're ready to break out of the box and make our way to Seville – the home of flamenco, gazpacho and tapas.
Tchau. Obrigada!
