Random thoughts in Portugal

- There seems to be one offical soundtrack that is played over speakers in the city, bus station, random parks...which includes Betty Davis Eyes, Somewhere Over the Rainbow by the brilliant Hawaian Ukelele singer), anything by Tina Turner, and We Built this City on Rock and Roll
- The parking brakes on the vehicles here had better work really really well.
- if they give you soap in the hotels, they are all the same brand and nearly impossible to open once your hands are wet.
- sometimes in the early morning all the cobblestone pavers are sticky underfoot, for blocks at a time. S´plain that ?
- there are ATMs everywhere and they all work the same.
- Internet Cafes are not to be found, but we have found free computers in libraries.
Better computers and no smoke and you don´t have to drink coffee
- speaking of coffee, they always give you 2 packs of sugar with each cup, even if you have not touched the sugar every morning when you sat down for breakfast in the same place with the same waitstaff. Coffee means 2 packs of sugar.
- we have paid cash for almost everything, and often the receipts are handwritten notes on the back of scrap paper or a business card.
- the napkins are the thinnest slip of paper you can imagine. Which can make for a pretty spotty lap, as so much of the food is drenched in delicious olive oil.
- becareful about stopping to ponder when you are even near a crosswalk, because all the traffic will stop to let you cross, even if you haven´t yet decided where you are going.
-in restaurants, ordering 1\2 dose portion for one person, and only a small green salad for the other person will still be more food than you need. But ya got to eat it anyway because it is irresistable
- often, one waiter or waitress will serve multiple tables, 20-30 people, with excellent results and nothing missed
- you never get salt, pepper or toothpicks
- yesterday my salad had vinegarette on the greens and peppers, but the flesh of the sliced tomato had been infused with bacon
- you are always served bread, olives, various cheeses and other enticing tidbits as soon as you sit down, but you will be charged for them. We usually avoid them since we know the meal will be ample and superb.
- we have used French more than any language besides our very rudimentary Portuguese. No one has yet to admit to understanding Spanish.

Lamego: Festival of the Stairs

On Friday afternoon, we arrived in Lamego after bus bus train bus from Soajo. The travel went pretty smoothly. We did miss the first bus leaving the train station in Regua for Lamego (note to self, when the train arrives at the station, all the connecting buses leave in a matter of minutes so unless you know the bus schedule get out of the station and find your bus asap) and had to wait an hour for the next one, but it was a pretty afternoon by the river and some emergengy/excitement/unknown activity was happening on one of the bridge pilings that had everyone's attention, but we couldn't figure out what was going on.

Lamego is a beautiful little town in the Duoro that George and Patti and I visited in 1980. It's most notable feature - one that I remember vividly from the last trip and one reason I came back - is an amazing and beauitiful baroque stairway respendent with fountains, monuments, balustrades, and azulejoes (the murals of blue tiles)that climbs the hillside a LONG way up to - of course - a church: Our Lady of the Remedies. Many come here to get healed, and for the lame and the halt that stairway must be a bitch, but hey. CT and I climbed it early the next morning (Saturday) before the tour buses arrived, and had it all to ourselves.

We saw other sights of the town, tried unsuccessfully to figure out where the live music was happening that evening, tried unsuccressfully to find an internet cafe. There were several of these, but they were either broken or only open 9-5 weekdays. So we settled into a beautiful outdoor cafe where the Tour was on the large flat screen tv, ordered a couple of Sagres (local beer) and enjoyed the show. All of our town activity was punctuated by music wafting from the cafes and busses that was solid American pop oldies. Favorites that we have heard multiple times (both here, in other towns, on buses, etc) include "Betty Davis Eyes", various Cindy Lauper, and "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" done by the Hawaiian singer with uke whose name escapes me. Who knows why... We had a fine meal that evening in a Brazilian cafe of roast kid, salad, and the ubiquitous delicious french fries.

The next day we took a 5 hour loop hike out of town into the mountains that we learned about at the Turismo. The signage was erratic but we didn't get lost. About halfway along we met a Portuguese couple who have an online publication dedicated to hiking and were having the same signage vexation as we were. We all hiked together for the next hour, and with our permission they took some photos of us "on the trail" to use on their site. Will add a link later. The trail took us up to near some on the big wind farm towers that top many of the ridges, where we had a picnic lunch. We have discovered that the box table wine in the market is quite nice and only 0.75 Euro per liter - that's right, cheaper than bottled water. We split a box into two 50 cl water bottles, and that is our beverage for two picnics - along with a lot of water too. There are still beautiful fountains dispensing drinking water everywhere - another thing I remember fondly from the bike trip. It's getting warmer now, sunny with highs in the low 80s. Back to town in time to catch the last hour of the tour and see Tyler take second by a wheel. I think he was gaining on Cavendish. Dinner was delicious grilled chicken at the Restaurant of the Chicken Grill, rice, salad and of course french fries.

Yesterday we took the bus down to Regua and the train up the river to Pinhao in the heart of the Port producing region. Terraced vineyards climb the steep hills everywhere. We had a hearty lunck of fried cod with an amazing cabbage with beans and rice dish, visited three Quintas - Port producing wineries - where we tasted some nice wines tho none we like as well as the Koepke in Porto, and caught the train back to Regua. This time we hopped the bus immediately and were back in Lamego in 30 minutes. We spent the rest of the late afternoon on our balcony overlooking the plaza and facing across to the front of the Sè (cathedral) amused by the menage-a-flock activity of the randy pidgeons loudly frolicing on a large ledge over the main doorway.

Today was relaxed. I did put in a couple of laps on the stairs to help burn off the morning pastries. We went to the laundromat, had a picnic, visited Reposeira - a winery just out of town where they make very respectable sparking wine, and got back in time to watch Garmin triumph again. Tomorrow we will take a 5 hour bus ride to Lisbon where Vasco and Vasco and Holly and Jane are arriving, and we start the next phase of the trip.

SC

Soajo; where the past continues

We took a bus from Ponte De Lima to Arcos De Valdevez. Everyone we ask agrees that we can catch a bus there for Soajo, though no two answers are alike about where, when, the usual. At the bus station in Arcos we see signs for the bus ( circa 1996) but we meld all our information and decide that a bus will leave about 2pm. That leaves us several hours to wander by the beautiful river, buy sausage, bread and beer, and catch a snooze on a bench in the bus station. We are waiting in the wrong place for the single bus to Soajo ( goes there Mon,Wed and Fri, except for some Wednesdays ? )but at the last minute SC sees it about to leave and we hop on.

High into the mountains we go, into the Geres National Park,steep sides terraced with corn and vines. We get off in Soajo and are amazed. CT had chosen this place months ago, based on something she read, but it surpasses even her desire for isolation and beauty. We have booked a room at Casa Do Adro, and Maria Joquima welcomes us warmly. The casa is just a few steps from the church, and the harmonies of the choir drift over the courtyard, shaded by grapevines. The room is wonderful, inexpensive, and Maria tells us she returned from living 30 years in Rhode Island ( I think) to return to her home village. We walk up a trail from her casa, through the narrow, twisty stone streets, always heading up. Soajo has a population of 500, so it is impossible to stray too far.
The trail leaves the village and soon we are following an ancient stone irrigation flume,seeing abandoned corn grinding mills, granite stones turned by the water as it coursed down the mountain. Further up there are occasional cows with giant horns and sounding a cocaphany of bells as they wander around the abandoned stone huts.
And the views out over the valley are breathtaking.
For dinner we walked to Restaurantes Espigueiros, which is a charming little place, run by David and Rose ( they were raised in Boston, but have family ties here, and decided to come back to raise their young daughter and try to make it work in Soaja).
The dinner is beef braised for hours in red wine, deeply colored with rich flavors well combined. We discuss recipes for Kale, which I think must be the national vegetable, and David brings us a slice of his grandmother´s honey cake for dessert. He assists us in figuring out our hike for the next day.
The hike is marked by the National Park and there is a map, but many details are missing, so it is encouraging to talk to a person in English and establish that the trail does exist.
Next morning, we fill every bottle we have with water and head out. First we go down a steep gulley, with brambles ripping at our legs,and find the lovely medieval bridge at the bottom. Very tranquil and untouched by time. Then we scramble up the other side and cross to a trail that heads up the mountain. This time the trail markers have their fun with us. The mountain is criss crossed with hundreds of stone fences, that have been used for centuries to keep track of the cattle. There are animal trails everywhere, and brambles inbetween. Sometimes we hike in separate directions until one of us finds the next trail marker. At the top we find an ancient guard house, overgrown and tumbling but still providing shade while we rest, picnic and enjoy the view as far away as Spain. Across the valley are other tiny villages of stone houses with red tile roofs, clinging to the mountainside.
We eventually descend, not by the straightest line, and get to the highway leading back to Soajo. We are seriously overheated by now and have long ago used up our water. We plop down by the side of the road to share our last orange when someone comes along and points out to us that there is a cafe serving beer if we would only walk a little further around the next curve in the road. Oh yeah. Best beer ever.
Perfect timing. After hiking for 6 hours this was the first person we saw, but they sure had welcome information. Timing is everything.

We attempt to find the elusive Poco Negro swimming hole, following our handwritten map. No luck, but we find another spot down by the river to snooze and cool off. Then we hike the last few Km back to town. When we are almost there we see a sign with Poco Negro printed on it, and real steps leading down to the real swimming hole.
Oh well, we were refreshed anyway.

Back near Soajo we hike thru a collection of espigueiros. These are ancient corn cribs, built of stone and wood, with small vertical ventilation slots to air the corn but keep out the rats. Many pictures taken.

The small main plaza in Soajo has a pillar with a smiley face on top, and a triangle that represents hot corn bread that is cooling off. Kid you not. This is many hundreds of years old and at dinner that night David tells us the story behind it. Too complex to get into here, but ask us sometimes.

All the older women in the area wear nothing but black. Black full skirts over long black hose, black babushkahs and blouses. They are 6" shorter that CT, and totter up and down the steep streets, sometimes carrying bundles on their heads. They did not want to be photographed so just imagine them. They start wearing black when some relative dies ( like 4 years for a sister, 6 for a child, 10 for a husband, something like that...) so by a certain age they are just in black for the rest of their lives. And it is hot out there, folks. Soajo feels like dialing back everything.

People gave us oranges, cucumbers, herbs and of course, KALE ! We met 4 other hikers at Casa D Ardo, and lead them to Restaurantes Espigueiros to enjoy a fine meal and meet David. We also gave them encouragement to take the trail, even if it means meandering on occasion.

The next morning, we caught the bus out of Soajo and headed back to Arcos and eventually Lamego. ( Bus to Porto and train to Regua and another bus to Lamego).
More on all of that next time.

Soajo was dreamlike, and wedded us to northern Portugal. Seems like people (older) from small towns everywhere are fighting to maintain the beauty of the old ways and looking to other people ( younger) to make it happen. We can relate.

Festival of the Sorrows

This post is about Viana, a lovely costal town we visited before Ponte de Lima. It is being created on the phone, so be forgiving. . We arrived almost by accident. We were leaving Barcelos, Village of the Gigantic Cocks (I am not making this up: seems a pilgrim enroute to Compostello was falsely accused and covicted of stealing something from the church, but when the judge tucked into his dinner after the sentencing, the cooked rooster on his plate stood up and crowed. So he knew the guy was innocent (???) and set him free. The pilgrim in gratitude built the Chapel of the Crowing Cock. Local artists started putting them everywhere, and some little old lady ceramic maker (think Grandma Moses) made one that went viral and is now the folk emblem of Portugal. So Barcelos has these iconic cocks everywhere, WAY bigger than life size. We have a photo of CT standing beside one 20' tall, and if we can ever make the " add an image" function work, we'll post it.).

Anyway, we were leaving Barcelos, headed to Braga when the folks at the bus stop told us that the morning bus to Braga wasn't running that day, but the afternoon bus would-be right along in 6 hours. So we hustled over to the train station and caught the train to Viana instead with seconds to spare.

It was raining when we got there, and we both had a bit of "tourista". This seemed appropos for a town where the main church is dedicated to "Our Lady of the Sorrows" and the BIG annual celebration is the oxymoronic "Festival of the Sorrows". Anyway we took a hotel room and settled in for the afternoon. Fortunately, the Tour de France was on our tv. After the stage was over, we walked over to the ancient sqat fort guarding the harbor, and then had dinner of wood-fired pizza that was pretty good.


The next day we toured an archaeologic museum, had a nice picnic, climbed the 700 steps to the church on the hill and enjoyed the view and the Celtic pre Roman ruins and got back to our room in tme to catch the finish of the Tour stage. That night we went to the riverside park to see the book fair and to listen to Celtic music (start time 10:30pm). The band was good, the large crowd was enthusiastic. But despite the large area, nobody wanted to dance. CT and I could hardly stand it.

The next am we took in the traditional costume exhibit, learned how to make linen, and caught the bus to Ponta de Lima.

SC

Ponte De Lima

The bus from Valancia dropped us off on an Avenue shaded by Eucalyptus. We went down the hill to the main part of Ponte de Lima, and quickly found a simple place for 25Euro a night, bathroom across the hall. The lady never did get our passport, and did not speak French, but it all worked out . This is a lovely little city, with the usual twisty narrow streets, fronting on the banks of the River Lima. We enjoyed the multiple whimsical statues depicting local folk stories instead of religious and political figures. A long 31 arched Roman bridge spans the river so you can stroll to the other side. The day we arrived there was an antique market along the river bank. Everything from silver spoons to used GI Joe dolls. We bought some sausage and bread and had a picnic watching the crowds negoiate. Later we walked into a **** Hotel and ordered a couple beers at the bar so we could sit and watch the finish of Tour de France. We are learning to nurse our drinks for a long time, just like the natives.
That night we had dinner at Convento do Gula, the little resturant below our pensao. Humble place, but in line for the best dinner yet in Portugal, and that says a lot. We had duck cooked in a puff pastry, and carrots dosed with sorrel ( I think) and cabbage that was spiced and steamed to that perfect place between cooked and crunch. For the first time, we gave in and ordered dessert. Creme Brulee ( ? Leite Caramel ) which was crusted and dusted with a touch of lemon. We were floored, especially when we met the chef who was a very young woman. She didn´t speak any English so we couldn´t find out more about her, but we vowed to return the following night.
The next day we finally found out what those odd yellow arrows were on the pavement in Porto. They are the path markers for people walking the Portuguese pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostella in Spain. So we started walking also. Equipped with lunch, water, hiking poles and sunhats, we hiked for 5 hours covering about 17Km. The path goes thru villages, backyards, stream side paths, vineyards, fields of corn, beer gardens, church parking lots. We only saw one other person. CT commented that she was surprised we didn´t see people coming the opposite way on the path. SC pointed out that CT was missing the point. Opps. But we felt a little bit spiritual anyway.I think it is forbidden for dogs to harass the pilgrims, so we felt very protected.

That night, felt like we had really earned our meal of the local speciality, Arroz de Sorrabulho, which is various pork sausages and parts, served with rice in a rich blood gravy. It was incredible ( except for the tripe, which was a bit too gamey).

CT developed a weird rash on her legs. Let us think, have we eaten anything odd or slept in cheap beds or rummaged around in unusal riverside plants ? Hah ! We just bought a small tube of cortisone cream in the pharmacy which we know will cure all.

Next we want to go to Soaja in the mountains, but the bus only runs two days a week, so we stayed in Ponte De Lima for another day. It looked like rain, but we rented bikes anyway, and rode for several hours on a beautiful path by the River Lima.Also we walked thru a competitive garden exhibit. A dozen gardeners each design and plant a plot and everyone who walks through it gets to vote on their favorite. The losers get ploughed up in October, while the winner gets to stay in the ground for the next summer. Kind of like `Survivor` meets `PBS` meets` Top Chef`. Unique and enjoyable.

With help from the lady in the Turismo office we think we know how to get to Soaja tomorrow. It is actually located inside the Geres National Park and sounds pretty quaint. CT has been reading about it for a couple months and is convinced it will be worth the effort. SC knows he will miss some Tour d France stages, but he is willing so you probably won´t see more posts for a couple days.

From Porto to Barcelos

Arrived in Porto by train, and found our pensao easily. We never stay anywhere that doesn`t require climbing 4 floors. Found the market and picnic supplies. The olives, the sausage, the things we eat that we can´t identify. Ate lunch near a fountain on the main plaza near the place that SC stayed with Patti and George 30+ years ago. He was still able to walk unerringly to the previously visited street of hardware stores just a street away, where with admirable restraint he only bought one semi-heavy item.

Did take an English speaking of the Casa de Musica. This is a prize winning design, a giant tilted, irregular cube of glass, aluminum,concrete, and architectual chutzpah. The core is a 1,200 seat concert hall, accoustically perfect we are told. Some of the other features were less than perfect and required expensive revision (like the bar suspended 30 feet over the main lobby, with a clear glass floor). Ladies beware.

Much of our time was spent walking around looking at the huge murals of blue and white ceramic tiles (alejulos) depicting grand historic and religious scenes. We walked across the bridge to Nova de Gia where the Port Houses have their tasting rooms. Kopke summoned us, based on our educational evenings with Bryan and Madeleine, and we entered the world of Port tasting. How sweet it is. Too bad we are traveling with just backpacks but we managed to get around that. More later on the subject...

We had wonderful meals of grilled sardines, a Portuguese specialty, and a mixed grill of beef, pork and chicken along with a very forgettable bottle of Vihno Verde Tinto. Our best meal was at very small outdoor cafe on the river, situated under a line of huge old Plane trees near the Port Wine Museum. For 4 Euros each we had hake battered and fried in the lighest manner, and a coussolet(?) type treatment of pork. The wine was homemade vino verde and arrived in a bottle recylced with half the label scratched off - just like home! This was made by the Grandfather of the waiter, who described his village in the Minho. We are clearly headed that direction.

Random thought: don´t drink too much Vino Verde before trying to remove all the little bones from your grilled sardines.

We took the train to Barcelos because we had read that the biggest market in Portugal occurs there every Thursday. Our hotel room was on the main plaza with a balcony that overlooked the giant city parking lot. Hmmm. But at 3am we awoke to sounds of stakes being driven into the ground between the cobblestones, and steel booth structures being assembled. By 6am we were out taking pictures as the market unfolded around us. The flowers and fruits and live animals and birds went up for sale first, then later the clothes, furniture, hardware, pottery. This involved hundreds of vans and trucks in a precise and choreographed manner driving in, unloading and setting up stands. It was fascinating. By 9am we were exhausted from watching and after a coffe and pastry retreated to our room for a nap. We spent the day wandering and making small purchases. Bottom line: next trip here, arrive naked and just buy all your clothes in the market.

CT and SC

Tomar -oh

July 2 2011
Train from Lisbon to Tomar. Coppertone had found this city months ago on the internet, intrigued by the Festa Tabuleroise, that is held every 4 years, when virgin maidens carry trays of bread and flowers around the town. Over the last century it has morphed into a week long festival, with the maidens carrying towers of bread and flowers in baskets on their heads, each tray weighing 15 Kg, about 3 ft high, and all individually decorated. They go about 5Km thru and around the town, about 700 maidens, with multiple marching bands to help. They ran out of maidens so now it is any woman who thinks she can do it.And it is obviously a physical feat. As we walked from the train station to our pensao we saw a young woman in jeans and a tank top, carrying one of these trays, training for the event which was actually a week away. Though each woman is accompanied by a man to help her if it starts to tip, it is considered bad form to let it fall or give up.
Tomar is a lovely small town, northeast of Lisbon, easy negotiate on foot. We climbed the very steep stairs to our room ( without anything on our head), dropped off our packs then found a little cafe for lunch. We ordered codfish cakes and sausage, and oddly, when they arrived we weren´t clear which was which. They were great,with some kind of potato mixed in, not like anything we had before. Tomar had set up speakers through the city and a DJ somewhere was playing constant music. We were walking around to `Built this city on Rock and Roll` which was in sharp contrast to the ancient Knights of Templar Convent that dominates the hill over the plaza. Or maybe not. We climbed up to it for a guitar concert but got lost in the multiple cloisters and didn´t find our way out until the concert doors were closed. Think it was held in the dungeon. That was OK, we sat on the highest parapet and read about the Knights of Templar and the magnificant stone work we were viewing in the sunset. The main chapel was built in a circular form so the knights could celebrate mass while on horseback.Later we walked back down to the city park for a folk dancing presentation, oddly lit only from behind, but with a sound system that you could hear everywhere in the town. While enjoying a sausage cooked in bread over wood fire brick oven at the park, we met a woman who was going to be in the procession next Saturday. She was 65 years old and had been wanting to do this all her life. Note: the town gave up on the virgin requirement a couple decades ago. Now they have 700 women dressed in white carrying the trays, and 500,000 people from Portugal there to watch. We would miss this, but on the morning of July 3rd, we were lined up with thousands to watch the kiddie version. Out of sight cute. Hundreds of little girls wearing long white dresses with red sashes, their hair and faces scrubbed to perfection, along side equally clean and determined young boys, helping them if the tray started to tip. These kids were from 6 to 10 yr old. The really little ones ( about 3 yr old and up ) just did the walk carrying baskets of flowers ( one still had her pacifier in her mouth). This went on for over an hour. Later you could see these kids all over the town, especially in the park where numerous games had been set up for them. They frolicked, oblivious to any damage to their white attire. After all, when this Festa happens again in 2015, they will have long outgrown the ceremonial dress.
We also toured the `´Fosforus`` Museum, where some guy had collected 40,000 match book covers from all over the world. Don´t know if he was a smoker. And went thru a tiny synagogue, I think the oldest in Portugal.After having a wonderful lunch of rissoto cod and sausages, we opted for a simple dinner which turned out to be churrousco (sic), which is like Indian fry bread, stuffed with Nutella.And snacked on what we thought were salted fava beans,or maybe hominey or ?? but really good.
In between all this we searched out places to watch snippets of the Tour D France, routing for Garmin and Tyler Farrar.

Another night in Tomar, then walked to the train station to head north to Porto.

Random thoughts;
Anything can be a street, so you have to watch for cars, even if there is clearly no room or access for them.
That said, there is relatively scant traffic in the cities, including Lisbon, and rare motorcycles and bikes. Very peaceful .
There also seems to be few dogs and fewer smokers. Am I really in Europe ?
Window shopping I can see that clothes\shoes are high quality and dirt cheap. Since I am travelling with a small backpack, if I buy something, another item must be tossed.
They have these amazing gel filled plastic packs that are taken from the freezer and wrapped around the vino verde at the table. Very effective. Will bring some home.
Figs and pastries and cashews and great coffee and caldo verde.
We alternate between bad spanish and french, and worse portuguese, and whatever english they understand. And it all works.
If you ignore the Euro\dollar exchange rate, this is a very reasonable place to vacation.
Don´t go to Portugal unless you crave walking up and down steep hills. We earn our right to the pastries.
signed, Coppertone ( not as approved for publication by Solarcaine)

Lisbon

This is a chronicle of some of the events of our travels in Portugal.

We had our first dinner in Lisbon at an outdoor cafe just off Rossio, the main plaza. CT was haviñg the grilled cuttlefish, Kevin (an enterprising 32 yo travel writer and former molecular biologist with degrees from Cal Tech and MIT who became disillusioned with both academia and industry - see thirtypostcards)is having grilled sea bass, and SC is having a nostalgic meal of shrimp "completo" - the same meal he had on his only other night in Lisbon in 1980 when he arrived with a bicycle and a full bladder. If there is anyone in the Western Hemisphere who hasnt heard that story, consider yourself lucky.

Earlier in the day we had taken a guided walking tour of the city center, and had learned that the iconic castle illuminated on the hill behind us was a complete fake. There was a moorish castle there once, but it was abandoned and then disassembled for the stones centuries ago. This one was built by Salazar in the 19 thirties. On the other hand, the monestary of Jeronimo was sublime, and the coach museum was amazing. About 100 royal coaches, each more ornate than the last. The perfect spot for anyone with a Cinderella fantasy.

The previous day had seen SC on the payphone locked in mortal combat with ATT for hours (he lost) and and interesting (and successful) time spent purchasing an international SIM card for CTs phone. We had and incredible light lunch out in Belem near the Discovery Monument. As we walked to the cafe, we passed a group of amplified Peruvian pipe players gathering a crowd and selling their CDs. As we walked back from lunch toward the monestary, a thunderstorm was moving in and all the women had their hair standing up on end! Bad sign. Even though it was beginning to rain, we decided to put down the umbrella and run for the nearest cover. As we passed the pipe players, they had put down their instruments and were covering their equipment with tarps. But the pipe music was still playing !!??

We are getting by with our meagre Portuguese. English often works much better; in fact we were repremanded by a lady tram driver for trying to speak to her in Portuguese. "You think Im too stupid to know English? Or French? Or German?" Now we always start with "Do you speak English".

Our last night in Lisbon, we ate late deep in the Barrio Alto near our Penseao.The meal was good, but the show moving past our outdoor table was amazing. This was Bourbon Street on a steep tilt with cobblestones. The place was packed with intoxicated tourist youth all toting go-cups of beer or caparinias. Most were in pairs or small groups, but sometimes organized Pub Crawls came by with a leader holding a pole/flag - one topped with a teddy bear. Sometimes these would clash head to head on the narrow street with tour bus groups of elders clinging tightly to each other for safty. Through the crowd moved the vendors hawking brightly lit whirly toy and Giant Sunglasses (they still exist), and drug dealers always in pairs whispering offers to young guys.

We adjourned to the nearby miradore where the local youth were doing a much more mature job of eating, drinking and listening to music.

The next day SC visited several ATM to get cash for the room, and discovered they all wanted a 6 digit PIN, and he only had four. the secret turned out to be adding a pair of trailing zeros. Once checked out, we took the tram plastered with signs warning about pickpockets, to the train station. While sitting in the waiting room, a young man walked calmly by holding a small back pack and then jumped out the open window. SC peered out to see him sprinting away....

We have been pretty circumspect with our valuables and our belongings, and are looking forward to not having to be as vigilent in the smaller towns.

Solarcaine

Hot Water Bitch

So, both Mike and Lyn and Tom and Linda, as well as numerous Kiwis said we should see/experience Hot Water Beach. Its on the East side of the Coromandel Peninsula - a somewhat out of the way location. The thing is that there is a thermal (hot spring) beneath the beach, so that under "the right conditions" (this is the fine print) you can dig a pit in the sand, be in your own hot pool on the edge of the beach, and have the cool Pacific wash over you at the same time. Sounds great - we love hot water and spas in general. So we planned a trip.

Now it turns out that it's really hard to get there on public transportation. (Like getting to our house on public transportation. You can theoretically get a bus once a day to T-town if your timing is just right, but then you are still 12 miles away and 2500' lower than where you want to be. Hitchhike or walk are the options....) And so, for Hot Water Beach we decided to rent a car.

We have avoided doing this for almost a month for a couple of reasons, the largest of which is the Kiwis drive on the left hand side of the road. OK, I'm going to say it, they drive on the wrong side of the woad. I mean really. Let's take a planetary vote here. Right side 90%, left side 10%. It's a done deal in my mind. Right is right.

And I've been driving on the right side for about 50 years. No kidding. In Arkansas, back in the last millenium, I took Driver's Ed at 13 and had a license when I was 14. So I've got a lot of very old habits to break to drive on the wrong side of the road. But to get to Hot Water Beach in the time we had left there was no other option. So rent a car we did...

Started out from Rotaroa at about 9am. Had to be at HWB by 11am (low tide) the next day. Not too hard right? It's really just 3 hours or so away. Well... Off we went. CT and I do many things well together. Most things in fact. Actually everything except driving/navigating. But for this trip we declared a truce on our old patterns and set a few ground rules, and off we went. And we did just fine for the first few hours. I was tense, I will admit. This is HARD!

We stopped for lunch in a little town of Katikati which successfully reinvented itself in the 80's when California figured out how to grow Kiwifruit and the local industry collapsed. So they painted all their buildings with murals, built a beautiful walk alongside the local river with haikus engraved on every boulder, and began to thrive as a roadside attraction. Anyway we had a nice riverside picnic in the sun amongst the poetry, stretched our legs, relaxed, went to a local rugby match. Then we got back in the car for the next leg of the jouney to the sleepy beach town whose name sounded something like WTF (well supposedly sleepy now, post season), the nearest town of any size close to HWB. But now its late afternoon, the road gets very twisty and steep, up and down. I mean really twisty. I'm driving and I'M starting to feel car sick. And in minutes we're leading a parade of annoyed drivers because we're going so slow. And the sun is intermittantly in our eyes, and the windshield is smeary, and the road is narrow,and the shoulder is nonexistant, except occasionally, but the first time I pull off to let the parade go by there is a drop off onto the pullout and the car scrapes bottom and now I'm REALLY tense.

But eventually, and in one piece, after pulling off the road multiple times to let the strings of impatient drivers go by, we get to WTF and find the hostel we have picked out. Thank god that piece of highway is behind us. Then we learn that we have arrived for the weekend of the Festival of Speed, an annual event when they put on races for almost every type of internal combustion conveience from lawn mowers to the sea going versions of unlimited hydroplanes, and so the town is packed with those who have come to participate in and/or to enjoy this festival. Which explains the hoards of fast drivers that were piling up behind us like sheep in chute on the way in... And also explains why the hostel is full (first time we have encountered full in almost a month), as is every other hostel, motel, hotel, B and B, and campground within about a 30 km radius. But the lady at the hostel is sympathetic, makes a bunch of calls, and finally locates a room for us. And it is located, of course, back down at the other end of the highway of terror that we have just traversed.

So with tears in our eyes, we set out to get back on the highway. CT is doing a great job of navagating, but what she doesn't know is that the entire center of WTF town has been shut down and closed off the the street dance. It takes about half an hour just to get turned around and out of the crowd, and start back down the highway, now in the dusk turning to dark. With a continuous stream of late and impatient speed freaks coming at us.

AT LAST, we get to where we are going, back near the turn off to HotWaterBeach, back near the place where about 2 hours ago CT suggested that we might want to look for a place to stay but SC snapped "Oh, no, we're going to stay at WTF" and drove on. CT tactfully does not point this out. And there is a place, but it is an entire cottage big enough for 5, costs more than any room we have had in NZ so far, and its cold. No heat. Not no heat on, no heat period. No fireplace, no stove, no nothing. It's a summer beach cottage.

We sleep warm enough because we pile up the covers from all 3 beds, but the next morning we can see our breath as we are trying to make coffee and breakfast. We know the sun will warm the place up in a few hours, but we dont have a few hours because we have to be at HotWaterBeach at low tide. So we pack up and quickly get in the car to warm up, armed with the shovel the lady gave us last night ($10 deposit) to dig our hot pool in the surf. And its starting to rain. But we've come this far, and by god we're going to experience it.

We get there, walk out on to the beach, and find ourselves in the middle of a crowd of a couple hundred tourists all looking bewildered and digging holes in the sand but not finding any hot water. After a lot of confusing discussions, we finally meet a little old man who is local, there with his grandkids, who explains that today (more fine print) the low tide is not low enough to expose the part of the beach where the thermals come up, but if we wade out to about knee deep we will find hot sand under our feet. But not to swim in the surf or even wade out to waist deep because there is a nasty undertow that regularly sucks away unsuspecting touri in exactly this situation.

So we do go out to knee deep, and indeed if you work your feet in there, you cant really stand still for long because the sand is too hot. Hot Water Beach

Fortunately, CT realizes that in about 10 minutes the theoretical window of opportunity for experiencing the wonders of HWB will be over, several hundred curious folks will be leaving, and it would be good to head now to the one cold shower/foot washing station at the parking lot. And sure enough, by the time we are drying our feet, the line to rinse off is very long. But we are outta there.