another day in paradise

This morning I woke up following what felt like the best sleep I have had in weeks. Coffee with Phil, chatting about this and that, making vague plans for the day but no swift movement to actualize them. Eventually I would meet my all housemates: Steffen and Kasia next door to me, and Marie across the way.

Marie and I had lunch together before embarking on a coastal path that was meant to take us to Praia de Luz. Phil boasted a round trip time of 1.5 hours, which of course we surpassed before even making it to our intended destination. We were forced to defend ourselves over beers and futbol, which we all gathered to watch in the late afternoon. Halftime (or was it a "cooling break"?) took us to the other local bar where a band was playing covers and Cuban music as a strange but fun background to the second half of the match. I tuned just in time to watch Holland win in the midst of hamming it up with the local ex-pat community, like I am known to do. We walked together down the highway towards a rumored Indian restaurant called Spice Cottage. It was in fact where Phil said it would be, and it was in fact as delicious as everyone claimed. We rounded out the evening with a final Sagres on the patio. Another perfect night in Portugal.

All I could think of as I drifted off to sleep was how, yet again, I am in an incredible place, with incredible people and that there is no shortage of gratitude or amazement that I have found myself here. I have already extended my stay in Burgau a couple of days and my vivid imagination regarding just staying in this beautiful country forever continues to wander free. Thank you and goodnight, Portugal. See you again tomorrow.

 

burgau, an introduction

The ocean has been calling me for weeks and I finally decided to answer. I had it in my mind to return to the Algarve no matter what in the coming days, I wasn't sure where exactly, or to what extent. Long stories forever shortened will lead me to Burgau, a tiny fishing village already revealing itself to be full of kind souls and that familiar feeling like fate alone has led me here.

 

viewpoints

Wouldn't you know, I finally made it for a proper tour about the Castelo de São Jorge, after how many attempts?

In spite of having my share of archeological discovery as of late, this did not disappoint for fail to delight. The views alone from the castle walls make this well worth anyone's while. I happened to pick a perfect time to be perched above the city, the sun just beginning it's descent, Lisbon glowing below like I have never seen.

I of course rounded out my evening with another visit to my terrace, another order of olives, another Super Bock. I'm not sure how much time I'll be able to devote again to this city before leaving this country so this very well might be my last time being able to do so, so I soaked in every minute of that sunset before heading back.

I strolled home the long way, taking all the typical side streets and twists and turns. Whether it's the obvious slope of the streets that orients a person, or the general good vibes of Lisbon for me, I always manage to find my way home.

Of course I am tempted to tiptoe around the metaphor here for my life or love of Portugal, but I'll let you fill in the blanks.

For now, so long, and on to the next. The adventure continues to continue.

 

lisbon my love

And then I was back in Lisbon.

As is so often the case when one travels, suddenly being dropped in a new location is both exhilarating and disorienting. Of course, I have already been to this beautiful city a few times, and more than generally speaking, I am so happy to be back. This time I decided to say in a new area of town, the Graça, adjacent to the Alfama which I already know and love. After a truly harrowing journey from France (trust me, it takes a lot for me to say this, I am a notoriously relaxed flyer at this point) and up the steep, steep hills and steps to my apartment for the evening, to say it was good to finally arrive remains an understatement.

After sufficient minutes were passed after having dramatically - for my eyes only - collapsed on the bed in a sweaty heap, I collected myself and ventured back out to re-greet the city. It looked better than ever in the golden hour; I had a map in my pocket but didn't bother to use it. I headed vaguely west, thinking I'd go at least as far as I could backtrack easily. Soon I decide to take various streets and foot paths, stairs between buildings going up and down, getting a bit riskier. I know this place, right? Remnants of the Santo Antonio festival still festooned the buildings and streets, the sounds of the night were starting to pick up; music and sizzling grills, glasses clinking, the murmer of chatter. I had the vague thought to head to the water to catch a glimpse of the late setting sun, but as luck would have it, I turned out of a small side street and found myself at the very terrace that I had spent night after night when I first got to Portugal. It felt like I had come full circle.

Home again.

 

my river overfloweth

A follow up google this morning on Aigueze led me as though by destiny to two interconnected spectacles of the natural and architectural beauty.

Also know as the other most beautiful village in the Gard region, La Roque-sur-Cèze boasts quaintness, castles and ....waterfalls?!

My uncle Jan was feeling adventuresome as well and so we all made a plan to head in that direction after lunch. Not five minutes beyond Bidon (or so it seemed) we were suddenly in the midst of a lushly forested, truly scenic drive. Signs soon pointed the way towards the Cascades du Sautadet, and.... wow. Waterfalls pouring into bubbling pools flowing through carved limestone pockets and cliffs carved by the river Cèze. Truly beautiful, at parts forceful and also serene. My greatest regret until the day I die, or am taken back to these falls, will be that I didn't have the foresight to bring my bathing suit.

Just down the road, the well deserving of its "Les Plus Beaux Villages" title, La Roque-sur-Cèze exists, like so many of these towns, on a steep hillside. Once again I will be denied entrance to the castle upon reaching the top (who are these bazillionaires that privately own these landmarks, I ask you?) but was I did see of "La Roque" was sufficient enough to completely dazzle.

It's clear I could spend the rest of my days uncovering more and more examples of the south of France's points of splendor and never tire.

.....but it really is time for me to pack my bags and go. Out with a bang.

 

 

 

 

 

last but not

I woke up this morning to the incredible smell of fresh strawberry jam being made by my aunt from the remainder of our solstice bounty. What pairs best? Fresh baguette and croissants. This is easy to accomplish. My mother and I drove the short distance to the nearby town of Saint-Remèze where both the local baker and butcher occupy a space seemingly no larger than my New York City bathroom (not large). Two cereal baguettes, two plain. Three croissants, two pain chocolat. Back home, around the breakfast table. Hot coffee, warm jam, bread baked hours before. I am in France and I am going to eat like I am for as long as I can.

We are employing "second to last" in front of everything. I am leaving soon. This is my second to last full day, my second to last lunch with my family, my second to last (or is it my last?) slice of bread. I am not anxious to leave here, all this, the good life. But I am anxious about "my future" so I am heading back to Portugal in a couple of days to tackle some needed administrative tasks and simultaneous, inevitable, soul searching that will go along with it as I plan my next steps. It's been lovely here, a break from reality, but the time has all-too-quickly come.

In the meantime we headed to my (probably) second to last medieval town, Aigueze.

Vaulted passageways, fortified walls and towers. A beautiful 11th century church plus a so-called curiosity shop (!) that stole my touristic heart. Beautiful pottery, delightful bric a brac, local honey, pâté, and lavender oil. Aigueze seems designed to charm and mission: fully accomplished.

The only letdown? Being denied access to the tiniest of castles atop the hill, what I would imagine to otherwise be the main draw of such a village yet blocked off at every entrance. But the watchpath surrounding at least provided some of the best views of the Ardèche yet.

Back home and we all gave in to one of the most pleasant second to last afternoons of the week. The weather was perfect, the winds not too strong. A lunch on the terrace turned into leisurely sitting around talking eating drinking for hours. The best. Eventually another dinner by Jan, another walk. For now all the second to last simple pleasures I can soak in.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

night moves

It didn't take long for me to settle into routines here. Wake up, make a coffee from the Melitta, check my email, have that perfect plain yogurt that seemingly only Europeans know how to create. Maybe someone will have gone to the local bakery for a fresh baguette.

Some sort of activity after that, or leisurely layabout until lunch on the terrace, followed by another Melitta, followed by another activity followed by dinner, then a sunset that's almost always pink and then....a walk.

The air this time of night, the way all the animals and noises are changing, the light is shifting, the calmness overtaking. On the heels of the solstice I can still venture out well after 9 and have enough time to make the full loop and back before the sun fully sets. It's one of the best, recurring, parts of my days here.

Lost in my thoughts, but seeing and hearing all the things I never hear during the day. The temperature shifting when you go from high to low. The landmarks. The menagerie of dogs (golden retriever, shar pei, French bulldog) barking as you pass by. Check in on the goats. Take a right at the vineyard entrance, see the grapes growing, slow progress of new vacation homes on the hill, someone is building what appears to be a stable on the other side. Up the hill, to your right again, the old blue wagon next to the house where they eat outside most of the time, next to the house building a bocce (excuse me, boules) court which will inspire our own. Turn through the town or bypass it. See the church and the old lady who feeds the cats. Keep going, past the olive trees, and if you're lucky, stumble upon a full family of wild boars - mother father six babies (at least) - the likes of which you'll always be too stunned to photograph. Past "the commune" where someone will invariably be cooking or staring out the window. Eventually up up up the hill I'm still not brave enough to bicycle.

Finally, home.

Already ready to do it all again tomorrow.