Smooth Sailing?

We left Gijón, Spain without leaving the ship again. We were there for two days and were told that we could go ashore for a couple of hours on the second day. There had been issues with the tides, the angle of the gangway, and a storm nearby. To step on the dock just to make a tick mark on a list was definitely not why we were doing this, so we stayed on the ship.

Dusty's spirits had improved somewhat, and she gave an impromptu demonstration of pole dancing on the aft deck as we departed. After a few spins, we noticed that the grey paint at the base of the pole was still wet and had left a smear of the same on her right shoe and ankle. The staff was quite embarrassed and offered to clean things up as they found and applied a "Wet Paint" sign to the danger zone.

It seems that the storm that had caused extreme tides in the harbor.  As we were leaving,  it began kicking up some weather along our route to Lisbon. As we began working our way back out to sea, the waves developed white caps and the wind began to howl. By that evening, we had winds near fifty miles per hour and waves of about twelve feet.

There were a number of people on board who did not yet have their sea legs, and that resulted in much discussion about treatments for seasickness and a little anxiety about being able to do this long term. Dusty and I seemed to manage the rocking and rolling pretty well. No illness and actually, a pretty good appetite.

Bed was probably the best place to be all night long. There was one thump in the night that turned out to be one of the water bottles given to us by the staff that had slid from the desk and onto the carpeted floor. I got up to ensure there were no other breakables, messables, or dangerous items about to come crashing down. Mission accomplished, and I was glad to be back in bed where the risk of falling down was at a minimum.

When we pulled up to the dock in Lisbon, it was about 7:30 on an overcast and drizzly morning. We were eating breakfast when the customs agents for the port came on board to make sure everything was in order for us to leave the ship. They checked that there were no paperwork errors, no problems to keep us one more time. Yes, it had crossed my mind, probably others too. What if?

While we were eating our omelettes, yogurt, and other stuff, the agents from Lisbon came into the dining room and chatted with the staff from our ship as they also grabbed some coffee and something to eat and sat down. The announcement that we were cleared to leave the ship and must be back by 6:00 PM came over the ship’s PA system, and there seemed to be a sigh of relief from the entire community onboard. The skies literally cleared to show blue again. There was literally a rainbow over the city of Lisbon. Yes, literally.

Some people had planned tours. Others were going in groups to one place or another. Dusty asked what I wanted to do. Bob, our friend from England, had recommended that we see the main square and take a tuktuk ride (a three-wheeled scooter converted from a motorcycle). I had seen the Saint George Castle on a high point of the city (as castles usually are) and wanted to see if I could find a nice lookout from there. Dusty was fine with the walk but had no interest in the tuktuk.

When we left the ship, we were immediately confronted with detours and fences corralling our movement due to construction going on all over the place. It forced us up one of the many steep cobblestone streets that the city is famous for, and Dusty gave me one of those “you’re trying to kill me” looks as we did our impersonations of mountain goats. The alleyways and little roads were enchanting, and many of the buildings were decorated in the blue and white tile that is a trademark of Lisbon. Those that did not have tiles were brightly painted with tiny black cast iron balconies.

Eventually, we worked our way around some of the construction and were back down near the oceanfront at the main square of Lisbon. Bob was right. A monumental monument to King Joseph I of Portugal sits at the center of the huge square. A giant bronze man on a giant bronze steed on a giant white column. The square is surrounded by large colonial-style buildings of yellow with white trim and red tile roofs.

While Dusty moved slowly toward King Joseph, I scurried around to different vantage points around the space to get this view and that, the magnificent arch leading from the square into the city beyond, and finally we saw the statue itself. I trotted across the entire square to the waterfront so that I could get a peek at the bridge at the opening of the harbor, designed and built by the same company that built the Golden Gate Bridge. It could easily be mistaken for the bridge in San Francisco from both the structure and the paint color. After about five minutes of my photo-mania, I returned to the base of the statue and spent some time just being with Dusty surrounded by this dramatic scene. She said she was glad that I was enjoying myself, but it didn’t have the same impact on her. I thanked her for participating in my self-indulgence.

I had been keeping an eye out for something to treat Dusty. There was an old shop that had tons of yarn. She had been working on a number of projects and wanted to gather some material as we traveled. Through the massive arch and up two streets and three doors down to the right was that shop. The Retrosaria Bijou was over one hundred years old and was even a Heritage site of the city. Historical and a place to tell and get a good yard. We had a twofer.

When we arrived, the door was closed and locked. The sign said that they should be open. I checked the information online and was going to call the number when Dusty told me to forget about it. Just then, an older lady walked up the street and took a large key from her pocket. Stepping in front of us, she greeted us in Portuguese and unlocked the old door to the old shop and invited us in.

Dusty and the shopkeeper chatted about the different kinds and colors of yarn that lined the walls of the Retrosaria Bijou while I just admired the art, history, and feel of the place. In the end, either the material was wrong, or the thickness, or the color. Dusty left with no more yarn than when she arrived, and I left with a couple of pictures and memories.

Within the old city were avenues of people and shops, and frequent temptations of Pasteis de Nata, or bite-sized custard tarts. I had lost the lens cover for my camera in Bilbao, so I intentionally tried to find a camera store to replace the lost item. I found a camera store on the map. Went there. Looked like it had been closed for a few months. Next door told me to go down the street to a mini mall. I did. The store there had cameras. And lenses. No lens covers. Not meant to be. And we continued to walk uphill towards the hill with the castle on top of it.

On the way, there was the enormous old tower that was little more than an elevator to a viewing platform. It was built in 1899 and had a feel of the Eiffel Tower to it. It also had a huge line waiting to go up an elevator. I honestly believe that the view of the structure was preferable to the view from the structure. I guess I won’t know because we didn’t spend the money or time to go up. By the way, when I looked up the Santa Justa Lift, the only photos that I saw were looking at the cool old tower.

We almost bought some shoes, and towels on the way to the castle. The circuitous route took us to the plaza covered with black and white bricks laid in a pattern of waves leading to the National Theater. Definitely worth a stop and look, but the day was getting warm and we had yet to start up the steep climb to the top of the hill.

There were lots of little streets and alleyways going in the general direction that we wanted to go. The phone gave us one or two false starts before we felt like we were on a pilgrimage with the hundreds of others who were either struggling up or stomping down the stairs and roads leading to the Castle of Saint George. At one point, we saw Kit and Randy getting out of a tuktuk and wondered if maybe they had the right idea. Not far from there was a shop with a sign in the window boasting “Best Pasteis de Nata 2019”. This was certainly a serious thing in Portugal.

As we approached the top of the mountain (I know. It used to be a hill), there was a divide in the road. To the left was a line of about 200-300 people waiting to buy tickets to get into the castle. To the right was a little street with the first shop on the way displaying “Gelataria Portuguesa” on the sign outside. Any guesses? Here is a hint: Nata Gelato and Lemon Sorbet. We got our money’s worth and a break from walking and the hot sun.

The end of the road had a lookout that you could go to for just five euros each. We turned around and started back down the hill. On the way, a little window to the street had a spirited young man selling Iberian ham and sheep’s cheese sandwiches on fresh rolls the size of a football. We shared one of those on the way down, with me taking most of the ham and Dusty most of the cheese. It was good, fresh, and just what we needed.

We found a long, winding stairway through one of the neighborhoods that would have been too much on the way up, but going down made sense. Turning a corner, we began to hear the sound of soothing classical acoustic string music echoing up the hill and through the streets. At first, you couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Then, as I looked down, I could see the young man in blue jeans and a white t-shirt sitting on a green bench with his cello case open in front of him. The mellow floating sounds were creating an ambiance that felt like some kind of romantic foreign film. I took it in and was grateful. Then I recorded a short clip to take my mind back to that place when I need to feel that way again.

We took our time strolling down the winding cobblestone streets past the Cathedral of Lisbon and a dozen other beautiful and historic buildings and homes draped in bougainvillea. I am sure that they have histories that have already filled books. That level of immersion and research I will leave for the scholars and monks that dedicate their lives to one place. I choose to sample the surface of so many that it will only make my head spin a little bit.

With our walking and sightseeing satiated, there was only the body that needed to be fed. That evening, it would be a sit-down dinner. We sat with friends and were in the middle of our meal when we finally got underway. I knew we were headed out to sea. I also knew that we would be passing under the same bridge that I had seen at a distance as the sun was setting. As we approached, I had to excuse myself from the table to go out to the promenade deck and take a look. I trotted from the Thistle Restaurant in the back of the ship to the bow in order to get a view of the whole scene as we moved slowly towards the bridge and the open ocean beyond.

With the sun setting nearly directly behind the bridge and the huge statue of Christ to the left, I knew that my absence from the dinner table was justified. They had just turned on the lights to illuminate the statue, making it glow against the dimming sky. I was surprised to find I was almost alone on the bow at this time. Surprised, but not disappointed.

The next day was a stop in Portimao, Portugal. It was not a famous port, but it was a good day. A walk to the city, a bottle of port at a shop in town, watching the kids practice sailing. And on the way out to sea, Andy and I took a break to sample some of said port and were surprised to see the comet we had heard about hanging low in the western sky. This was our announcement that a new port in a new country was coming the next day: Cadiz, Spain.