Obidos
Last two nights in Portugal, Obidos:
We left Porto, somewhat regretfully, similar to our feelings on leaving Lisbon and Barcelona having good feelings and a good time in each of these places. We also made a pact that we would not order any more cod. What’s amazing to me is that there is still cod left in the ocean on the European coast. After the usual driving in the wrong direction for a few miles, we got back on Route A1, heading south, towards the town of Obidos, pronounced Obidush, (rhymes with “tush.”) Portuguese looks similar to Spanish on paper, but sounds Eastern European orally spoken.
This country has the turnpike business down pat. The roads are built on the P3 model — a developer (bank) fronts the money. They engage a contractor to build the road, and a concessionaire to maintain the road and collect the money. This all gets put into a bid package and the best deal wins; the country needs not to front any money for the project. And while food and lodging are inexpensive in the country, the toll roads are not. $6 Euros here, 5 Euros there, here a Euro, there a Euro, everywhere a Euro. I haven’t checked my charge card yet to see the total amount of tolls. I may be calling you for a loan. Could be the reason why there are no traffic jams in that country. It was pouring rain most of the two hours drive on our way south Obidos, about 1 hour to Lisbon from there.
Obidos is a small, walled city on a hill, built in the 12th century, a beautiful little town. We drove into the town through the one gate that was big enough for a car to squeeze through and stopped at our hotel for the next two nights, “The Literary Man.” Here you can see Mare poring over a book in their restaurant. The hotel has about 50,000 books. The town is a Unesco historical site. The founder of this hotel was looking for a small village that would claim itself as a place that housed books, as a destination that would set itself apart. As a result, there are two or three other villages in small cities (forgot where they are located in Europe and perhaps Africa) that have picked up the torch. The city book foundation receives books from all over the world every year and houses them now in a variety of places. The town library is housed in a converted small church, a very good use of the building.
After dropping off our bags at the hotel, we climbed to the top of the wall and traipsed around the wall, taking in the views of the surrounding farm land. Let me tell you, this wall and walkway are not OSHA certified. I am lucky Mare wants to keep me around. All she had to do was give me a hockey hip-check with those Italian hips and I would have been a “goner.”
Seemed like a sleepy little town, until the tourist hordes arrived via bus from Lisbon, only an hour away. As we turned the corner on one small street we encountered the tourists, like sardines swimming up stream towards the library, formerly the church. This is a very good use of that building as churches are as plentiful in this country as Walgreens, Duane-Reade, and CVS pharmacies are in New York City, one or two on every intersection. They weren’t there to read, however. Next door to the library, the town was having its annual chocolate festival. Besides the books and the chocolate, another reason by which this town is known is its “ginja” production. No, these are not the Japanese knives featured on television. It is a liqueur, much like Cherry Heering, which, for 1 Euro, one can get a small chocolate cup that holds about an ounce, which gets filled with the liqueur.
After our harrowing walk atop the wall and swimming upstream against the tourist hordes, we went back to the hotel, which, besides the book collection, has a “gin bar,” with over 50 varieties of gin. I had a local gin distilled from apples, pears, and botanicals, with tonic that is local to Portugal (no Schweppes here-they scoff at it), in a large red wine glass filled with two large ice cubes, one of which had basil frozen inside, the other with coffee beans. What a nice touch and nice flavor. The bartender took on as a challenge, the drink we had in Lisbon and Porto, the “basil smash,” — gin, mulled basil, similar to mulling mint for a mojito, a little simple syrup, lemon, egg white, and three drops of Pernod, shaken vigorously. Man, it was good-Mare let me have a sip, but only a sip.
At dinner, I had a pork dish, which, of course, I koshered, and Mare had lamb chops, both costing around 16 or 18 Euros. Mine was pretty damn good; unfortunately, the rib lamb chops Mare had were about 1/4 inch thick and cooked in the “kamodo,” as was my pork, those green egg looking cookers that cook quickly at a very high heat. Unfortunately, it cooks too quickly, turning those thin chops into tasty, but barely chewable shoe leather. (This was the only dish we sent back to the kitchen on our trip, not wanting to do that in a foreign country which has different customs. On checking out of the hotel, they did take that dinner off the bill.)
On our second day there, I decided to jog around the outside of the walls of the city. I got about halfway around when it started to pour. One thing about a walled city. Purposely, for protection, there were only two entrances and I was in between both of them. Came back to the hotel looking like a wet dog.
On Sunday, the day prior to returning to the Lisbon airport, we drove to Peniche, a town built on a small peninsula, jutting out into the Atlantic. On driving into the town, we passed a condominium complex that looked like a giant cruise ship as well as a number of commercial buildings that were right across the road from the ocean, almost to the lighthouse that sat at the end. It seemed a bit strange that the land wasn’t completely set aside as a park, as they are in the Bay Area, but who am I to knock the local customs.
Here is one shot of an outcropping along that coast. (I didn’t take pictures of the buildings across the street.) This area did look a bit similar to the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland. While the beer may not be as good as what one is able to get in Ireland, it is, however, less expensive.
The next morning we did rise early to drive to the airport and drop off our rental car. I can’t remember how many liters of diesel it took to fill the tank, but my eyes bugged out as I watched the gas pump climb to the amount of 62 Euros!! I just can’t wait to get my credit card bill.
Even as we got close to the city, while the traffic was moving more slowly, it never turned into “stop and go” as in San Francisco and the East Bay. As we got off the freeway (which wasn’t free), and hit the traffic lights and roundabouts near the airport, the drive turned into a giant cluster-fuck. Made me feel right at home.
We hopped the TAP flight back to the Newark airport. Strange to believe, but the fish dinner we were served in Business/First (one perk from flying over 2 million miserable miles with United) was one of the best I have ever had. Go figure. It was a nice gift on coming back to the States after two weeks. Even more amazing is that we both returned at the same weight we left. Walking 4–5 miles per day on a forced march with Mare cracking the whip over my left ear and TRX straps packed to go did the trick. It’s nice to go away and nice to come home, until I remembered who was still President of these United States. On our trip, people from other countries did ask us why the country would vote in a narcissistic, sociopathic, misogynistic, highly reactive, defensive, and irrational bully to lead the country. Dunno. I gave up my mental health credentials a long time ago.
