Less traveled?

We now interrupt your regularly scheduled Portugal programming. There are a few more days from the 'Week in Portugal' series yet to go and, believe me, they're on their way. If anyone reading needs instant Portugal trip recap gratification, here is a public link to one of my many photo albums on the Facebook. Should keep you busy for a while.

In the meantime, however, I just wanted to wax ever so slightly philosophical. This morning I went for a long run (1 hour is pretty long for me) into the large, grassy park just on the outskirts of Den Bosch called Het Bossche Broek. I've walked and run around parts of it several times, though my typical, shorter route just takes me around have of Den Bosch itself. But that's not important. Since I had decided it would be a longer run and I didn't have anything for which I needed to be back home at a certain time, I decided to follow some paths I hadn't been down before and explore a little more of the 'broek' (which actually means 'pants' in Dutch, but apparently has a different usage here).

Most of the paths crisscrossing the Broek are paved, though a few aren't - and seem like they may be less traveled by common recreationers because they more provide access to the grazing areas for cows and sheep than easy, flat, traversing. As I got to the back of the Broek (as it approached a major roadway on one side), I saw what definitely looked like just a service road of trampled grass leading straight into some trees. I kept on the paved path, even though I hadn't been on either before, and at the moment it reminded me of how basically every canned graduation speech I've ever heard has somehow referenced Robert Frost's 'The Road Not Taken'. More than almost any other time of the year, graduation time just gets me reflective.

What interests me, I guess, is what graduates are really supposed to get (and are actually applying) from that poem. Right, right, we all know the closing: 'I took the one less traveled by,/ And that has made all the difference.' What I remember from speeches is kids saying that this is a metaphor for not just taking the easy way out, that once we graduate from whatever institution we happen to be sitting in the large athletic arena of, the 'next stage' of life isn't going to be easy and so, rather than just sit on our laurels and coast through this 'next stage' like, presumably, every one else, we should go for the less common approach of digging in, grinding our noses and not slacking off ever, and ultimately we'll feel better about that course of action.

But it doesn't seem like just plain working hard to get ahead is so uncommon anymore. In fact, I can't say I know too many people in my generation I'd characterize as slack-offs or bums. Going somewhere is the norm. Don't get me wrong, I don't think people should stop going to grad school in droves or stop trying to rocket up their corporate ladders, continually striving to develop 'marketable skills'. I absolutely admire the sheer drive, motivation and execution I see in so many of my peers.

Maybe the message from Frost for grads of the moment is about taking risks. Entering a new phase of life is never without built-in risks. You can choose to venture after them or shy away and do something that seems more familiar. I certainly can't say that folks who go the law school route or the TFA route aren't taking risks. Those roads carry huge risks, not the least of which for the former are the risks of loss of sanity and financial independence, at least according to law school friends. But none of them has said law school wasn't worth it; quite the opposite.

I don't recall any outgoing seniors drawing this conclusion, but maybe Frost is saying that it's ok, actually commendable, to do something completely bat-shit crazy as you traverse, something people rarely do - really rock the boat or create something unique out of your action that's characterized by premeditated abandon ('I doubted if I should ever come back'). Because, like I said, forward progress to gainful employment and higher-higher education is much more the norm than it is 'less traveled' and certainly not 'not taken'. Not that there's anything wrong with that: I am DEFINITELY NOT taking a shot at anyone that may fit into one of the categories I've mentioned; NOR am I trying to indirectly boast that I think my decision to quit my job, move to Europe to follow my girlfriend and try my luck in a completely different career field is any better life choice to make or closer adherence to any of the interpretations of what we've so often made out to be an encouragement from Mr. Frost than anything my peers have done.

Maybe, Frost's poem just isn't cut out for a graduation speech. Maybe, there just aren't that many 'not taken' roads that lead to what most people set out to achieve when they graduate: financial, vocational, spiritual, domestic success - in a word, happiness.

I'm curious if anyone out there has any other thoughts about Frost's poem and how it relates to graduation, where folks go and what they do afterwards, and if Frost is actually trying to give advice, how should we follow it?

Obidos to Nazare

Monday, 25 April – Obidos to Alcobaca to Nazare

Best shower of the whole trip, hands down. Never have I opened the door/curtain of a shower to look directly out a (albeit small) window on to a luscious, green Portuguese countryside. It was just a magical, naked way to greet the day.

Since we hadn’t had too much daylight to go exploring in Obidos upon our evening arrival, we took this bright, quite warm already, opportunity to romp around the walled, historic city. There wasn’t a ton to see, to be honest, but the views from the ancient castle walls were pretty incredible and it was entertaining to walk amongst the obviously Spanish (‘Venga! Vaminos!’ – numerous feisty abuelitas) tourists who were also enjoying the sunshine and scenery.

After an hour or so, we packed up and hit the road, northish towards the beach city of Nazare, named for Joseph’s Nazareth. (Note: I’ve omitted copious amounts of accent marks, one of which should come on the final ‘e’ of Nazare – I’m sorry, but it just takes too long to do the symbol=>insert.) On the way, we made a brief stop in the city of Alcobaca (‘all-co-bassa’) to check out their massive monastery. Rick Steves suggested giving the city a day, but, again, that was for a two-week itinerary. We managed it in under two hours. We were going to the beach, after all.

Alcobaca, like so many appropriately named cities, was named, appropriately, after the bodies of water running through it: the Alco and the Baca rivers, which meet right around the city limits. We came upon each as we strolled back to the car from the monetary. Churches, cathedrals and monasteries we visited all contained pretty historic bodies: this one bears the tombs of King Peter I and Ines de Castro, Portugal’s ‘Romeo and Juliet’.

Around lunch time, we roll into the one-time fishing village of Nazare. Our hotel was less than a block from the ocean, as can be seen from pictures I took looking out from our room (some are towards the sea, some are looking up at the cliff-top city of Sitio.

At Mr. Steves’ encouragement, we had our first (of many!) picnic of the trip out on the beach: chorizo, fresh white bread, light white cheese and, of course, cold vinho verde. It was hard, actually, to conceive of the reality of the situation. We were hardly two days removed from our ‘real lives’ in Den Bosch, with daily commutes and apartment cleaning and work. It felt like we’d never been on vacation before, like this was a whole new world of relaxing experience. Maybe that’s just the green wine talking.

After the picnic, we strolled the boardwalk, admiring the young, impossibly ebony-haired women and the outfits of the short local grandmas: we saw pairs and trios of them walking together, each with layers of really loud, plaid skirts over basic black frocks – all doing a little bit of strutting. We changed into swimsuits and went back to the beach, enjoying some late afternoon sunshine and a little more of the VV.

For dinner, we took the ‘funincular’ (hill-climbing trolley) up to Sitio to check out a few of Mr. Steves’ restaurant recommendations. At the top of the hill, we went out to some observation points and bought a few appetizers from some street vendors, including corn nuts (corn nuts, it’s been so long!) and ‘percebes’, sea barnacles that’ve been cooked just right for consumption – the edible parts are basically little strips of muscle you must crack out of a thin shell; Katie and I agreed they just take like the sea, like an oyster: delicious and fresh.

We walked past a bullfighting ring (unfortunately we really couldn’t see into the ring and there wasn’t a fight going on [apparently it’s slightly less violent and embarrassing for the bull than Spanish-style]) and a rather short and stout palm tree before settling in for dinner at a seafood restaurant. Suffice to say, being next to the ocean, we had copious amounts of delicious fresh fish.

A week in Portgual: Day 2

Checking in tonight from the (walled) city of Obidos, Portugal. This morning we work up fairly early (checked out before 10:30) and walked from our hotel down into down-town Lisbon (the old center or Baixa). It was great to walk up and down hills again. Katie and I each remarked several times that the whole area is reminiscent of California: green, hilly, by water, has Golden Gate bridge (complete with Rio-esque giant Jesus statue at one end - apparently the architect of the actual GG is also responsible for this replica)… We could live here, in other words.

Along one of the main plazas looking out on to the Tejo river, Katie bought some hand-painted porcelain for a friend from a street vendor while I looked on and was continually asked if I wanted to purchase cheap imitation sunglasses or hash marijuana from sketchy fiftysomethings clad all in black. I thought this might be a one-time occurrence but it turned out to be the norm. Sorry, no hash for us. Strangely, I couldn't find these guys on the one sunny morning I forgot my own Fake-Bans.

We worked our way up picturesque hilly streets until finally arriving at St. Jorge Castle. Jorge is an incredible old fortification in the Alfama neighborhood overlooking much of the city. For lunch, we stopped at a restaurant recommended by our trusty guide, Mr. Steves, where we enjoyed a fish lunch (Katie had grilled sardines and I had a swordfish fillet) and a bottle of ‘vinho verde’.

Up until then, I’d only read about the ‘young’ wine, which is white but with a fruity effervescence ('green' just means the wine-making-to-drinking process transpired pretty rapidly. It’s definitely one of the most refreshing things I’ve ever had to drink, despite the fact that we’d already been up and walking for several hours and were probably a little dehydrated. The food was decent but the restaurant also featured periodic ‘fado’ guitar + vocal performances. Actually, one of the more memorable aspects of this lunch was that from our seating to asking for our ‘conta’ (bill), there was one female proprietor (she never actually waited on us, though she did help set our table, manage seating traffic and sing a few fado songs herself) who just made great, discreet, cool eye contact with us to move things along efficiently. Katie remarked a number of times that they seemed to run a tight ship, despite the super French couple next to us apparently not getting their entrees fast enough and shoving off after just an appetizer. Aww, muffins. Hat tip, Mr. Steves.

We didn’t spend the entire day in Lisbon, however. At the suggestion of Mr. Steves, we rented a car from the Lisbon airport and drove one hour north to the walled, becastled city of Obidos. We may think of Den Bosch as ‘walled’, but this place has (or at least had) an honest to goodness Roman aqueduct running on to its premises. Sorry, Dutch canals, but this was something else.

It’s amazing – it looked like we were driving up to Camelot. The streets are cobbled and curve around one another in a hilly maze, making it one of the most interesting driving experiences I’ve ever had. They were definitely not built with cars in mind. Or knees, for that matter.

Our GPS didn’t actually know where our hotel’s address was, but based on a few educated guesses and a lap or two through the city to get our bearings, we eventually stumbled upon our quaint little hotel and parked, next to a castle wall, just a dozen or so meters away.

The city is really kind of a time capsule: it almost seems wrong that there’s running water and electricity in our room. Why aren’t the street lamps candlelit? We had a great dinner in a side of the road restaurant – Katie had grilled black pork and I had grilled squid and shrimp – and then we retired to a Ginja bar that we’d passed earlier. This hole in the wall had all the best old, musty, generations-old glass and stone smells, in addition to large quantities of the Portuguese-special cherry liquor ('jean-ja'). It’s close to port, I suppose, but with a very fresh, natural cherry sweetness. It had me longing for New Glarus' Belgian Red.

Back in the hotel now, as mentioned previously. Tomorrow the plan is to wake up, again fairly early, do a little more walking around and picture-taking in Obidos (which, by the way, is missing an accent on the 'O' and is pronounced ‘oh-bee-dosh’) before hitting the road and going a little further north to the city of Nazare (missing an accent on the 'e'). Naraze is known for having amazing views and pretty nice beaches, even for a coastal country, and since it’s been pretty warm (70s, probably 80s), looks like we might even get to do some beach-bumming (Katie’s dying to try out her brand-new swimsuit). That’s the plan, anyway; then spend the night in Nazare and move on to Coimbra (a little further inland, then farm for the next day/night.

Amazing day, this, though. Feels like we were in at least three different cities. Portugal has already won us over with its charming mix of big/small cities, friendly people, hills, close proximity to a large body of water, greenery, amplitude of fish and delicious wine and less expensive standard of living/touring than basically any city/country we’ve ever been in. And we’ve only been here 24 hours; bring on Monday thru Sunday! Of course, it didn’t hurt that today was seriously God’s gift, weather-wise. We've already been spoiled in the Netherlands with long, sunny days, but this was something else. The lazy sun, life-affirming breeze, big sky clarity, coastal freshness – it was just awesome. You can’t, just can’t, ask for anything nicer. This vacation could end now and I would be 100% content with what we’ve done, what we’ve seen. So everything that happens from now through the next 6 days? Bonus.

How to spend a week in Portugal: Day 1

We didn't have many of the intertubes available at our various lodgings, so I'm just going to post one of my journal entries per day for the next week in something of a recreation of the adventure. So here's what we have for Day (night) 1:

Saturday, 23 April, 2011: Amsterdam to Lisbon

I’m currently writing from the Hotel Fenix in Lisbon, Portugal. We just checked in for the night about an hour ago after taking a short cab ride from the Lisbon airport. We’re taking a week-long holiday around this little country, stopping in several cities between Lisbon and Porto.

Since our fight didn’t get into Lisbon until after 9pm local time, by the time we got to the hotel and settled in, it was basically too late to go out and do any exploring – that’ll happen tomorrow. We’re spending most of the day either in down town Lisbon or the nearby area Belem, before picking up a rental car in the evening and driving north to Obidos.

We’re basically following a truncated version of Rick Steves’ recommendations for a two-week Portugal trip. We’ve each read (or mostly read) his guide book for the country already, but I think the plan is to reread sections in the car on the way to each new destination and pick out landmarks, restaurants and ‘walks’ to do and see on the fly.

Definitely haven’t seen much of the city of Lisbon so far, but here’s what I’ve learned about Portuguese: ‘thank you’ is ‘obrigado’ (literally, I’m obliged, I believe); and the language sounds almost Slavic because pretty much any time there’s an ‘s’ in a word, it’s pronounced as ‘sh’, making the language very, well, mushy-sounding.

The hotel is nice enough. We didn’t pay a ton for our first-floor room, which we only booked about a week ago, so it is what it is. The stay we’re really looking forward to is further north; we’ve booked a night in a ‘traditional’ Portuguese farmhouse B&B, where we’re doing dinner as well. Should be really cool. I don’t know any more details, but my plan is to do a little light journaling each night. And hopefully it will be a little more interesting, informed and insightful than this entry.