Date: Apr 10, 2010
Whenever we travel, if possible we rent cars in order to give us the greatest flexibility. If Carol sees something she wants to photograph, she wants the ability to stop and get that photo op. If I want something to drink or have to pee, I don’t want to have to wait for the bus to make the obligatory pit stop every two hours. While we have the flexibility, there are pitfalls involved in driving in a foreign country. I’ve crunched a few rental cars in my travels, hence we usually get the rental insurance. In this case they wanted $600 for the insurance. I declined, although the agent “Strongly” recommended it. Don’t start reading into this paragraph……..at least not yet. All is well, it’s just that sometimes it’s like we’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Driving here in Portugal is a bit of a challenge. Drivers tend to pull out suddenly without looking, they tail-gate with a vengeance, and pass when they shouldn’t. So we’re on high alert. I told Carol that I of….., sometimes objected to her telling me how to drive, but in this case I’d gladly take the extra eyes and ears. She laughed and said. “You almost said you “Often” object didn’t you?” Busted, I had to admit it was true.
The roads here range from the luxurious four lane autopistas, where the speed is officially 75 mph, 120 km, but people travel faster, to the curvy narrow two lane version associated with European roads of the past. We prefer the smaller roads. They charge for the high speed highways here in Portugal. Not a lot, but as the government official said, “A billion here, a billion there, pretty soon it all begins to add up.” We’ve paid as little as 80 cents, and as much as $9 for the roads. The smaller roads are far more scenic, go through the small villages and towns which are the essence of Europe in our opinion and have a lot more things to see. My mother used to say I looked for every black (smallest) road in Ireland when she went there with us.
But driving in the cities of Portugal just a different ball game. There the streets go in random fashion. They weren’t designed by city planners. People just built houses on what ever place was available. Since the bottom land was the arable part of the landscape, they began to build up into the hills, and the streets go in directions which seem do defy logic. They twist, turn, double back on themselves, and with the advent of city planning, now we have one way streets, where the saying: “You can’t get there from here,” takes on new meaning. Coimbra is a case in point. It’s a lovely city, and more about that later, but it’s a nightmare in which to drive.
We stopped at the tourist bureau to get directions to our pension and the agent gave Carol a map, and basically said: “We’re here, it’s there, go this way.” Except that doesn’t account for the fact that this all has to happen at light speed, because if you slow down to look for street signs, you get blasted by horns from cars and buses who all know the rules. Cars whizzed all around us. Attention has to be paid in all directions because they will make left or right turns without regard to the lane in which lane they are driving. In some cases we got in bus lanes, and they have VERY loud horns, especially when honking them from your back seat. It is also a very quick lesson in all the various hand gestures which drivers make. You learn then very fast when they are directed at you. We wound up going down one of those streets that is little more than a pedestrian walkway. When we took students to Europe we’d often see the bus driver turn into streets and asked ourselves how he was going to manage to get that bus down that street. We had the miniaturized version of that. We went down the street very slowly trying not to scrape the car, only to find after a blind turn, we were cut off. Workers had torn up the street for some reconstruction and there was no way out. We had to gingerly turn around and make our way back out the one way street, the wrong way. We tried in vain to find another way back to the pension and finally wound back at the tourist bureau with the question, “Okay, how do we get to this other pension?” It makes for a very nerve wracking experience, and one in which I find myself saying after we finally arrive at our destination. “I’m not moving that car. We can walk, take buses, taxis, but the car stays put.” But in the end, that’s the downside of driving, and obviously not sufficient for us to travel in a different manner. In the end I felt like the version of Guy Clarke’s LA Freeway, “ If I can just get out of Coimbra without getting killed or caught.” Ah….but the city itself, now that was worth it.
After the touristy meccas of Sintra and Obidos, what a wonderful change. No more groups of tourists running from shop to shop with the rustle of bags banging against their legs. No tour buses sitting in the parking area with their engines idling all afternoon so that when the tourists get back on board, the bus will be well chilled. No sense that when the shops close at 7 p.m. the town dies.
Coimbra, with a university which was founded in 1290 has a quiet, serene quality to it, at least if you’re not driving. Literally thousands of students hang out in the ubiquitous cafes, coffee shops, bars, and juice bars. Some read for pleasure, some seemed to be reading textbooks, while groups all around us engaged in conversation which ranged from lively debate to idle chatter.
We WALKED down to the river which seemed to move so slowly it might have been a lake and sat under those huge sycamores and just watched people. Three old men walked by with their hands clasped behind their backs, heads bowed, all seemingly in quiet thought. A couple of young lovers necked on a park bench, while others walked by hand in hand, just enjoying being together. Two old ladies very smartly dressed strolled by arm in arm, each supporting the other in body and spirit. It was just such a quiet, tranquil scene that the whole jangling of the nerves was easily put behind us.
Porto is next, the town that put the port in Portugal and gave the world one of its great treasures. Naturally, in the spirit of experiencing where I’m at, I’ll have to have a glass or two or three myself. But more about that later
Love to all,
Carol and Jim
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