Port to port

Date: Apr 14, 2010

My wine lesson for the trip came full circle in the last few days. I always thought that Port came from Oporto. Turns out Oporto is merely the port from which port is transported to other ports. The wine is produced up the Douro Valley

What a great day we had. We had stayed in a little town (9k) called Lamego on the edge of the Douro Valley. It has a church at the top of a series of staircases (686 stairs in all) which pilgrims climb on their knees, of all things. We did it on foot and that was bad enough. A similar church in Braga is a real piker with only 285 step. Yes, we climbed those as well. In addition to the 25 steps to our room done several times, we figured we climbed over 1000 steps in the course of the day, and we’re not even pilgrims. Anyway….. It was a very cool little place and we enjoyed the smallness after the bustle of Oporto. We headed for the Douro and that’s when the vineyards got really big. HUGE tracts winding from river’s edge up to the top of the hills which are thousand’s of feet high. The different vineyards go on for mile after mile, hill after hill. It was mind boggling. No wonder Crofts had over up to 8 million bottles in their cellars alone.

We pulled into a quinta (farm) for a tour and, of course, free tasting. When we visited the cellars in Oporto, we had the feeling that the people doing the tours were just performing their job. But at Quinta do Tedo it was their passion that impressed us the most. Comprising only about 33 acres (14 hectares) they produce less than 70,000 bottles a year. They’ve got less now than they had before we arrived. The little gal who gave us the tour really enjoyed her work, and as Carol said, “It’s a life, not just a living.” They have guests (tourists) come in, stay at the farm, and crush the grapes in the vats which hold a little over 1k gallons. During the crushing which takes about four hours, they, naturally, drink wine, sing Portuguese wine songs, do dances in the vat, play games, and generally have a good time. I’m sure the continual serving of wine helps the general ambience, but it sounded like a real party to us. Before they get into the vat they have to wash their feet with brandy, seems like a waste of good liquor to me, but they must know what they’re doing. I’m sure right now my mother is just saying to herself that any opportunity to jump in any kind of a puddle of water or other liquid is too good for me to pass up. Hey you get to jump on the grapes with your feet and they give you free port. Sounds like too good a deal to pass up to me. My grandson’s love to jump up and down on bubble wrap. It’s the same kiind of thing except they squirt juice.

Carol loved the story she told about how they know when the grapes are ready to pick. There is a migratory bird which begins to eat the grapes when the sugar content is right. All the grapes are theirs and they bottle only their own wines, unlike the monoliths like Sandeman, Crofts, and Cockburns who buy grapes from all over and blend them without the quality control.

We stopped at a delightful village beside the Douro and then headed up and over the hills, but the vineyards just kept coming and coming. There are so many of them, liteally thousands of wine makers ranging from the mom and pops like Tedo to the gigantic black hooded Sandeman. Tedo isn’t even sold in the states yet, but they are a thriving little operation. Right now they’re working on being totally organic, which means they even have to buy organic brandy to mix with the wine.

I did find out tonight how culturally deprived the Portuguese are however. I went for an ice cream after dinner and found a Ben and Jerry’s shop, but they didn’t have Cherry Garcia on the menu. I had to settle for Chunky Monkey, a very poor second to be sure. They really need to join the 21st century.

I guess it’s just my naivete (I should travel more) but I didn’t realize just how mountainous Portugal is. It’s a continuous up and down on the roads. Then you put the cities at the top of the hills and it doubles the fun. Parking in the towns/villages/cities (take your pick) is just a nightmare. There are literally too few places for the number of cars wishing to occupy them. So the locals just park in the middle of an already too small street and leave just eough room that you can sometimes squeeze by, and sometimes you have to back up and try another direction.

We’ve gotten into sheep territory, complete with the shepherd and dog standing guard. Carol said she had read that they put one black sheep in the flock for every 100 sheep for easier counting. Sounds to me like a margain of error too great to be any real guide. But she is enjoying seeing the flocks.

We stopped at a couple of places to satisy her fiber fetish. One was a wool museum which was only so-so to my jaundiced view, but the other a tapestry museum was really cool. They had created tapestries from many modern art paintings, Dali, Picasso, even the architect Le Coubusier. Beautifully done stuff with incredible detail. I have to sound a little jaded with all this fiber stuff or we could spend our entire five weeks looking at wool products. Carol’s fiber friends are saying: “And your point is……”

Our first jaunt into Portugal is quickly coming to an end. What with the rain forecast our plans are in a state of flux. We’ve really enjoyed the small little towns, but Cordoba, Granada, and Seville await in Spain. They range from about 300,000 to 800,000 people and we’ll lose the simple life we’ve enjoyed so much here. I’m sure it will all be an adventure and wonderful things await us, but they will be different.

On a final note, I must have seemed like a whining, sniveling brat mentioning the letter which went out empty. I really wasn’t looking for people to write me and tell me how much they enjoy the letters. As my wife and kids can sadly testify, I just have this morbid need to find humor in all aspects of life. It’s just that tragedy seems to be lurking around the corner for each of us, and I think we should enjoy all aspects of our lives. That’s one reason I refer to my falling out of the tree as my Icarus episode. When people ask me why I walk so funny, I tell them I tried to fly, and was partly successful until the bitter end. I have to laugh at myself and the silly things that happen to me each day. I can even laugh that my daughter wants to buy me one of those “Help, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up,” dealybobs.

I appreciate each of you reading these with all the choices you have to make when deciding what to read. I mean I’m up against Lady GaGa announcing that she’s celibate and preaches abstinence. Pretty stiff competition by any measure.

So like the red, red, robin says, “Let’s all live, laugh, love and be happy

Carol and the whiner