The Secret Garden

I saw this gated entry somewhere in Portugal. I think I took the photo out the car window. The angle is far from ideal but for some reason I love this door and inner courtyard. There is a feel of mystery, decay and a desire to explore further. I wish I had stopped for a better shot.
But isn't that always the feel you have after a voyage? Of opportunities missed and desire to return to complete the unfinished? At least I feel that way.

Sunset

Summer is ending which is a sunset of a type.
But this photo is posted for Photo Sunday--Vanishing Point.

September 11, 2010

I found this postcard in a used bookstore last week. It was postmarked in 1975. Of course, this skyline changed on September 11, 2001. That was a frightening day even from relatively far off Chicago. That day I kept checking to assure myself that the Sears Tower was still standing and worried for the safety of my children and the world. Of course we all know the consequences of that day, from lives lost, to a mess in Iraq and elsewhere around the world, to more closed borders and more painful air travel.
But I feel a need to state my opposition to the recent politics regarding the "Ground Zero site" and the proposed location of a mosque near by. The rhetoric I hear troubles me deeply and I fear that the move to restrict the location of a mosque near the Ground Zero site represents a frightening move to restrict religious freedom in this country.
I have revealed before that I am Jewish. One might think that Jews and Muslims don't necessarily see eye-to-eye in this world and that certainly can be true at times. Nonetheless we share something in common. We are both minority groups in a Christian majority country. If this majority loses respect for religious pluralism, not only Muslims will suffer.
Our country was founded on principles of religious freedom and separation of church and state as well as many other noble ideals. Yet more and more we hear from a vocal Christian element that hopes to restrict our freedom-- to choose the people we date or marry, to regulate our fertility, to read whatever books we please, to maintain our textbooks and our science in a religion neutral manner and to freely place our religious institutions wherever it is reasonable and legal to do so.

An oft quoted poem (somewhat controversially because it has shifted and altered over time) attributed to Rev. Martin Niemoller, a German Holocaust survivor, speaks about standing up for people of different ideology than one's own.

First they came for the Communists,
and I didn’t speak up,
because I wasn’t a Communist.
Then they came for the Jews,
and I didn’t speak up,
because I wasn’t a Jew.
Then they came for the Catholics,
and I didn’t speak up,
because I was a Protestant.
Then they came for me,
and by that time there was no one
left to speak up for me.

Substitute in Muslims, gays, Mexican Americans, African Americans, atheists or any other group, non-Christian, non-white or somehow deemed unacceptable to the political right, and the poem still holds in a future that can scare folks like me who are proudly American but less sure of our welcome in 2009. So here I am speaking up for the Muslims, at the risk of incurring hateful comments on my blog. My great-grandparents came to this country over 100 years ago to escape oppression and find opportunity. The world has changed since then but the desire for freedom and opportunity have not.

Port Wine

"Eat, drink, be merry all he can.
Ale's my best mark, but if port wine
Or whisky's yours--let it be mine. . . ."

From Christmas by William H. Davies
Quoted on Project Gutenberg here.

How can one visit Porto without trying one of its main historical exports, namely, port wine? I admit it, we also got sucked in to one of those most touristic coupons for a free tasting. We seemingly walked forever in 90 degree heat to seek out the cellars or "caves" as they are called in Portuguese (and French too). I'm not sure if feeling half dead of thirst is the best way to enter a tasting. It probably depends on whether you are the merchant or the customer. At least the caves were cool!



We had an enjoyable tour and learned a bit of the history of Port wine. My only preconception was based on a vague image of Englishmen with bulbous red noses over-imbibing in Victorian novels.



I have to admit I didn't entirely warm up to Port. I found it too sweet for my taste. I may not have given it the most full chance as I didn't pay extra for some of the more rarefied vintages. I was impressed with the range of Ports, red, white, to be served chilled or room temperature, better aged or imbibed immediately. My vote will have to rest that I'd take a good Burgundy or Barolo over a Port most days. Sorry guys.
The company was good, however, and I managed to sober up time for dinner. But that's another story.

The Leap

Because Homer asked nicely.
For Shutterday--Games People Play.
This young man asked his friends to take some shots of his flying leap but I got the better photo. Seen in Madrid, Spain.

I'm on the road again. More about Portugal and Spain in a few days.

Hands

The hand is the cutting edge of the mind.
Diane Arbus

So you knock on a strangers door (or in real life ring their buzzer, another loss to technology) and they show you in, offer you a bed, show you their town, take you to a craft market and feed you a wonderful seafood dinner. You fall into bed late ready to really hit the big city (Porto) the next day. What could be better?
Food was in a lovely setting--a seafood place that overlooked the shore. Unfortunately the paella we had was oversalted. We all agreed on that. Then dessert and a friendly fight over who had to eat the last piece of cake. If you can squabble over cutting a little piece of pastry into increasingly small fractions, think one-fourth, then one-eighth and so on, all the while laughing, you know you're among good people.
Unfortunately for the rest of my tale, I have to go to work.
Tomorrow I see my family in Seattle. I'm barely over my first bout of jet lag and I'm off to a plane again. But it will keep my camera happy!

So how was Portugal anyway?

I think I just need to start typing because the coherent words just aren't there. I was in Portugal for less than 4 days and missed what my friends say would be the highlight which is Lisbon but I saw enough to be sure I want to come back. My opinion is biased though. How can not love a foreign country when you have hosts who take you in, spoil you and show you the town? I probably would have loved Akron, Ohio too. No offense intended to the no doubt lovely inhabitants of that city.
It's a long story. Portugal started as an impulse. Shortly before my trip to Spain I started scanning the maps to plan our trip. Madrid was our starting point, and Salamanca a necessity since that was where my husband had his meeting. Spanish sights started falling into place, Avila, Toledo, and Segovia became the big three after our start and end points. But look! Portugal is only a few hours away from Salamanca and I have never been there. My sum total of knowledge is from a few pictures I've seen on Flickr (all lovely) and my grandparents mentioning some 30 years ago that they adored Portugal when they went there. How could I resist adding another country to my life list? Plus I had an intense craving to go to the ocean and this was probably the quickest route to sun, sea and adventure.
So plan made. My husband would sit and confer for 5 days and I'd speed my way into Portugal. Any reservations about solo travel into a place I didn't know with zero words of the language? A few but that was also part of the appeal. I've had to make do in Hungarian, Russian, Finnish (a non-issue since apparently all Finns speak impeccable English) and Greek, so Portuguese should be easy. One just needs to learn to deal with feeling intensely stupid nearly all the time and being lost the rest.



Enter a fabulous blogger friend. Who would have thought that a friend I've never met in person would e-mail a friend she's never met in person, in Portugal of all places, and arrange an introduction? Who would have thought that the friend-of-friend would invite me to stay with them in their apartment a bit north of Porto? Two e-mails later I had a host in Portugal. I had the usual reservations--guilt about imposing, worry about compatibility, and, last minute after enduring the heavy smokers in Madrid, what if she smoked?
I'm making this post too long so I'll quit here but not leave it a cliffhanger. The stay turned out amazing and no one smoked. I'll share some details of my adventures in food, fun and friendship when next I sit down to post. Enjoy the photos.