Endless Summer

Greetings from Altura, a small town in the Algarve, the southernmost region of Portugal, renowned for its sandy beaches and year-round sunny weather, which is why we chose to come here in November. In summer, it’s packed with tourists from all over Europe and the UK but right now, it’s virtually empty. We’re staying about a 15-minute walk to the beach, known as the Praia de Altura, which goes for miles in either direction. To the east, you can walk to the Guadiana River that divides Portugal and Spain in the southern part of the country. To the west, the beaches stretch for miles to Faro, the biggest town in the Algarve. Our Airbnb is run by the charming Pilar, whose hospitality immediately made us feel like a part of her family. Her place is a cluster of darling whitewashed bungalows that was once a large farmstead and is situated on a hill, providing a beautiful view of the sparkling sea.  She has a few tenants who come here every year to escape the rain and cold of the northern climes and there’s a very friendly vibe between all the residents, but we pretty much have the place to ourselves.  But before we get into this place, here’s a few leftover pictures from Porto.

On the drive down from Porto, we stopped off in the seaside town of Nazare, formerly just a remote fishing village but now a worldwide surfing mecca, boasting some of the highest waves in the world. That particular day happened to be the official start of the big wave season, and with a hurricane storming in off the Atlantic and high wave warnings in effect, the tiny town was inundated with tourists hoping to get a glimpse of the surfers riding the giant swells. After a few circuits through the narrow, winding street of the old town (complete with a bullring at the top), I gave up on parking and just dropped Denise and Coco near a trail to the lighthouse while I improvised a legal spot a half-mile away.  On her return, Denise told me about the gale-force winds knocking her and Coco around, thus making it impossible to reach the lighthouse where the best viewing takes place. But it was no matter, as the huge winds made it unsafe for even the most daring riders to try to catch a wave. Still, people packed the trail down to the lighthouse just to get a feel for what it might be like to actually see a 100-foot wave barrelling down the coastline.  For a safer viewing experience check out the documentary 100 Foot Wave on HBO.com.

After a night near the charming town of Melides, we explored the nearby beach area that we fell in love with when we stayed in 2019. We had read that, shortly after we left, members of the British Royal Family had moved in to develop the area so we expected the previously sedate area to be overrun by luxury hotels and Michelin-starred restaurants but, much to our delight, the place was even shabbier in some ways than when we left it. There was a small cluster of luxury homes being built but the beachside restaurants we dined in both looked permanently shuttered. We explored the gorgeous beach and revisited the memory of when Denise almost drowned while I read my book under the sun umbrella, oblivious to the dramatic rescue by the handsome lifeguards. After a nice drive through the beautiful Alentejo district, we arrived at Monte da Lagoa, Altura, our home for the next six weeks. 

When we told Pilar that we were expecting our oldest son Reilly to join us for a week, she immediately upgraded us to a larger cottage for no extra charge. We met our neighbor Astrid, a friendly German digital nomad, and her two little dogs, who made fast friends with Coco. Our cottage is a sunny, cozy place that feels like a beach house and, for the first time in a while, has a comfortable bed — at least by my firmness standards. The best part is the sunny patio where you can see the ocean in the near distance. We visited the nearby Aldi supermarket — it’s a German company, and it’s right next door to the French-run Intermarche grocery and the Portuguese-owned Pingo Doce market, all catering to the tourists — to stock up on provisions. We found the usual inexpensive foodstuffs, along with an excellent German dark chocolate by Moser-Roth (one euro, 59 per bar) and nice Alentejo red wine by Reguengos (two euros, 59).

The next morning, we headed to the beach, discovering that the water is accessible only by an elaborate network of raised wooden boardwalks opened a couple of years ago, stretching for miles across the dunes, all designed to protect the habitat of the indigenous common chameleon. It’s a really cool thing to have and it makes getting to the beach a breeze. We haven’t seen any chameleons yet but hey, that’s their gig, right? Coco loves the beach, and it’s always great to see her come alive in the sand, prancing and zooming through the surf — although she refuses to go in the ocean above her paws, in open defiance of her breed traits.

After a couple of days of exploring the area, including a nice nature hike from the town of Azinhal, we headed to Faro airport to pick up Reilly. He’d been traveling for many hours, including an eight-hour layover at Amsterdam’s Schiphol Airport, and he was hungry for some authentic Portuguese food. Unfortunately, all the well-reviewed places we wanted to go to were either closed — it was a Monday night — or couldn’t accommodate the dog, and so we ended up enjoying a nice Italian meal on an osteria patio instead.

The next day, we took a long walk on the beach and then headed to the town of Castro Marim to visit the old castle and fort. The lady at the ticket counter strongly encouraged us not to miss the torture museum and I’m still having nightmares about it — I’ve never seen such a visceral depiction of the cruelties that the Spanish Inquisition inflicted upon the Jews, whom the crown feared were corrupting their precious Catholic Church. In case the exhibits weren’t enough to turn your stomach, the accompanying descriptions would certainly put any reasonable person off their feed. And I thought the nuns at St. John’s Elementary School were bad!

The next day, Reilly and I let Denise stay in bed and recover from a head cold while we left to explore Faro, the capital of the Algarve. It’s not much to see, I have to admit, and, outside of the old town, I wouldn’t recommend it — it’s pretty trafficky and run-down. The highlight for me was when we were walking back to the car and came across an obviously inebriated guy on the waterfront, playing the bombastic Celtic death metal anthem ”Valhalla Calling” at ear-splitting volume on his boombox. The next day, with Denise feeling a little better, we all traveled to nearby Tavira — unlike Faro, it has retained much of its charm and we found it much prettier and more hospitable. On Thursday, with Denise fully recovered, we did an incredible Reilly-led hike on the Seven Hanging Valleys trail. I don’t think we made it to all seven valleys — they’re more like rock formations but from the sea — but we enjoyed what we saw. Highly recommended if you’re in the area.

All of this local tourism was just a lead-up to our big adventure in Seville, Spain, about 90 minutes east of our town in Portugal. Reilly had come to Europe determined to attend a major professional soccer game and we spent a couple of days trying to find the proper match to attend. We looked into some local matches on the Algarve and then at the big Sporting v. Benfica match up in Lisboa but decided that the six-hour round-trip drive was too much. Instead, we decided to attend the Seville FC match against their crosstown rivals Real Betis, not really knowing what we were getting in the bargain. First things first, however, as we had to get a tapas lunch. No one can find great restaurants like Reilly and we had a delicious lunch at La Bartola, sitting on stools on the sidewalk while the waiter brought us one delicious plate after another. It’s a great way to eat — each plate giving you a taste before you move on — and, at only two or three euros per serving, a great value.

Our next stop was the Cathedral of Seville, certainly one of the largest and most ornate churches I’ve ever seen. I have to admit, however, I still had a sour taste in my mouth from the wretched crimes of the Church depicted in that torture museum, and I had a hard time enjoying the ostentatious wealth on display in the gilded altars and statuary. On the plus side, they did have the tomb of Christopher Columbus, my old nemesis from Genoa, and it was good to see that he was still dead. I got to make my “Genoa-cide” joke to myself and that made me happy. We made the ill-advised decision to climb the 35 ramps to the top of the bell tower, or Giralda, a total of 343 feet above the Cathedral. The view is impressive but, by the time we made it back down to earth, my knees were barking. Reilly wanted to get to the stadium early to see the festivities before the match, so we left Denise to wander the charming old streets of the Barrio Santa Cruz on her own and started following the crowds over to the game.

As we got closer to the stadium, we passed bar after bar filled with Seville FC fans pre-gaming — alcohol is not served in the stadium — and decided we’d better join them. As we enjoyed our drinks outside the bar, we started to hear a commotion approaching. Suddenly, there were helicopters overhead and mounted police everywhere on the street, pushing the sidewalk drinkers back with batons. All of this was because a few hundred fans of the rival Betis team were doing the traditional pre-game parade from their stadium a mile away to the Seville FC stadium. As they passed, the green-and-white-clad Betis fans in the street traded jeers and projectiles with the red-adorned Seville FC fans on the sidewalks. (The scene was very chaotic and violent, reminding me of the time I got caught up in a riot while waiting to get into a concert by the Clash in Times Square — here I ducked into a nearby subway entrance to get away from the cops and their horses and watched through the glass until the worst of the craziness passed.) Reilly, of course, was thrilled to be in the middle of it all, and he made a nice video of the excitement. What really struck me was the sheer hatred that the fans from opposite sides of the aisle had for each other. The Seville and Real Betis rivalry used to be more along class lines, but now it was apparently just passed down through families. It occurred to me that these people were neighbors, co-workers, maybe even married couples but, twice a year — the parade was repeated with the teams and stadiums switched later in each season — they summoned up more vitriol than I’ve seen even between Red Sox and Yankees fans. 

Sometime after all this, chaos, there was a game, and the abuse between the rival fans continued, this time with the visitors protected by plexiglass and hordes of police in their open-air prison. Our seats were on the upper level, with almost no legroom and yet cost more than I think I’ve ever paid for a sporting event. Still, it was fun, and I was glad that Reilly got his chance to see a La Liga game. By chance, we were seated next to an English soccer fan who had traveled from London for the match — his 197th of the year by his count, mostly in the UK, where he follows West Bromwich. He was actually rooting for Real Betis in this game but was smart enough not to show that in a sea of red-clad fans. The game ended in a 1-1 draw — of course — with both goals coming late in the game. Afterwards, Reilly and I met up with Denise for another round of tapas and some beverages before heading back to the hotel. I should mention at this point that Coco was back in Altura, staying with Astrid, who had kindly offered to dog-sit, and her puppies. As much as we missed Coco, we were able to fully enjoy Seville since I’m pretty sure they don’t allow dogs in the cathedral or any restaurants.

The next day, we were up early for our tour of the Real Alcázar de Seville, originally a Moorish palace but eventually taken over by the Christians in the 1300s. It’s a fascinating building, with a mix of Islamic and Western decor called Mudéjar.  The Royal Family still stays there on occasion, and even though Seville is one of the hottest places on the Iberian Peninsula, they’d be wise to come in the summer, due to the clever design which keeps the palace cool even on the hottest days. As striking as the interior is, the surrounding gardens are just as impressive. You have to pay a fee to enter the complex — and wait in a long line despite your timed ticket — but the gardens are free for residents of the city. After a walk around Maria Luisa Park, Denise headed back to the Airbnb for a Zoom meeting and Reilly and I spent the afternoon walking around Seville, eventually ending up with a self-guided tour of the Maestranza Bullring. For ten euros, you get to wander around the museum, the ring itself, and the brick stands. I enjoyed seeing the chapel that the matadors pray in before they meet their bull. I think that scenario would make me religious too. It was the bullfighting offseason so there was nothing happening but it would have been interesting to see if the bulls were treated any better than the Real Betis fans.

On our last day there, we spent some time walking around the beguiling neighborhoods of Seville. James Michener, who spent a lot of time here and wrote a novel based in the city, said that “Seville doesn’t have ambiance, Seville is ambiance,” and I’d have to agree: even though there are many, many tourists here, the city’s personality is never dimmed by the crowds, which I sometimes felt happened in Porto. It’s truly a grand city of Europe, with wide boulevards, sprawling parks, and incredible architecture. It was our first visit to the city and we can’t wait to go back. I’m sure we only scratched the surface in our two days there.

Back in Altura, we laid low until it was time to take Reilly to the airport. He had a grueling 24-hour trip back to Portland ahead of him, including an overnight at Schiphol, and we didn’t want to say goodbye. It seemed like he had just arrived. I think he was ready to go back to his real life and get away from his crazy parents but we would have loved for him to stay another week.  Still, we were glad that he’d be back with his brother, who can use the moral support. Speaking of Finn, he’s doing great and even has a new T-shirt for sale that he designed. It makes a great holiday gift for the hipster in your life.

We said our tearful goodbye at the Faro airport, with Reilly saving his last hug for Coco.