Obrigado, Portugal...Gracias, Madrid

 

I gazed out my window as our Boeing 767 made its way westward over the Atlantic toward home. TLOTH and I had just spent two glorious weeks discovering Lisbon, the Douro River, and Madrid. Now it was time to return to Destin.

Still, one thought kept plaguing me.

Why didn't I eat that last Pasteis de Nata offered to me by one of the waiters on the  Andorinha, our beautiful Tauck riverboat? For almost two weeks I had been consuming these delightful little custard tarts by the bushel. They're kind of a national treasure. You'll find them everywhere in Portugal. For two weeks I never missed an opportunity to eat one..or seven. Their simplicity is their secret sauce: some flaky pastry filled with a beautiful custard. That's it. No frosting. No decoration. No cake flavors. Pastry and custard all over Portugal. What a country!

Why did I decline this one last Pasteis? I suppose we'll never know, but take it from this custard-loving chubby wanderer: If you ever have the good fortune to travel in Portugal, try the Pasteis. Or seven. You're welcome!

If you go way, way back with these entries, you may recall that several years ago Nan and I toured the Rhone River on a Tauck riverboat. We were blown away by the experience and had been waiting for an opportunity to book another Tauck excursion. The opportunity presented itself when a couple of good friends and fellow golfers recommended this particular tour. 

Nan was all in. I signed on after I researched the pastries.

So, leaving the pastry aside for the moment (something no Getman has ever done by the way), let me give you a few of the highlights, both true and untrue, from this delightful trip. 

Our tour began in Lisbon. We arrived there from Destin via Atlanta and Paris minus our luggage which arrived the next day. Luckily, I always wear two pair of underwear when traveling overseas. We had a day on our own in Lisbon so we, accompanied by friends Bob and Marcia, did a rollicking three hour Tuk-Tuk tour of the city. This Tuk-Tuk is a glorified golf cart that one sees all over Lisbon. What they lack in comfort they make up for with severe ricketyness.

The photo above reflects the fun we were having on our Tuk-Tuk tour as well as the relief Nan was feeling after our luggage with its fresh supply of underwear had been delivered. 

Like many old European cities, Lisbon is a blend of ancient and modern, crowded and spacious, whimsical and serious, rich and poor. Our guide Ronaldo filled us in on Lisbon's history, including the earthquake of 1755 that destroyed virtually the whole place. As you can see below, it has since been rebuilt.

One of the more interesting stops we made during our time in Lisbon was to the Coach Museum. I'll let this one golden coach represent the remarkable collection of conveyances we saw. 

Obviously this was not transportation for the masses. To quote the great Mel Brooks: It's good to be the king!

As a veteran European river cruiser (twice), I can tell you that one of the best days on any cruise is the day you get on the boat. This is always a big, welcome event for two reasons. First, you get to put away your stuff and stop living out of your suitcase; second, the drinks are now "free". We left Lisbon by motor coach (it's a fancy bus) and headed to Porto and the Douro River. Porto, the epicenter of the Portuguese wine industry, is a busy beautiful city. Using the ship as our hotel, we toured Porto and Gaia, its sister city across the river. Port wine has been stored in great barrels in Gaia for centuries. Famous Port companies like Sandemans and Taylors have been operating there forever. Below you can see Porto, the Douro, and a little sliver of Gaia on the left.

The Douro, a windy, narrow river, makes its way from the Atlantic to the Spanish border surrounded by vineyards, villages, and velociraptors. (Sorry, I couldn't think of another V word.) It is a mellow, picturesque voyage with some interesting stops along the way, most of them having something to do with Port wine. Our ship, The Andorinha, was beautifully appointed with comfortable rooms, a wonderful lounge, and even a top deck swimming pool.

Probably the best feature of the Andorinha was the crew. From sailors to chefs to waiters to housekeepers, these folks made our voyage a delight. Tauck has perfected the art of friendly but not obsequious service and everyone on board made us feel comfortable and cared for. As a result it was very easy to relax, as you see below:

The excursions offered by Tauck were interesting and featured expert local guides. We learned more about Port wine than we had ever hoped to know, including the three varieties: white, tawny, and ruby. The wines are aged in special barrels for up to 30 or 40 years We also learned that the grapes are stomped the old-fashioned way: by FOOT! After a thorough foot washing, the stompers spend hours in a concrete bunker smashing the grapes. According to our guides, this ancient activity starts out being fun with a lot of joyful celebration and singing but soon turns tedious and difficult. It takes 30 minutes for a stomper to get from one end of the bunker to the other and then back again over and over. One such bunker, recently cleaned, is below:

Of course there are many other varieties of Portuguese wine besides Port and we sampled them all. Every dinner onboard the Andorinha was a delightful lesson in the pairing of wines with food. Turns out I enjoy both of those things and managed to eat and drink my way along the entire length of the Douro. Easy to do when you were looking at scenes like these:

 

The navigable part of the Douro ends at the Spanish border and we sadly left the ship and boarded our motor coaches for a visit to Salamanca and a final two days in Madrid. For over a year, from the time we had first discussed the possibility of taking this wonderful trip, I had been storing something in the back of my mind. Something I was hoping to accomplish. A dream I had kept from everyone including Nan until I was certain. As we drew closer to the magnificent city of Madrid, this dream came closer to becoming a reality.

Did I have the courage to fulfill this dream? There was only one way to find out. But first a tour of Madrid's magnificent Royal Palace.

Based on the artwork, furnishings, and decorative touches I witnessed during the tour, Spain did pretty well for herself back in the day. You know, the Armada, the conquistadores and all that. Secretly I immersed myself into the Spanish culture. The deeper we ventured into the palace, the more Spanish I became. It wasn't long before I was no longer Joel Getman, of the Dorchester Getmans. I was Don Jose Hermano, Spanish nobleman and part-time empanada salesman...

...and would-be toreador.

That's right, people. Ever since reading Hemingway's Death in the Afternoon 50 years ago, I have secretly yearned to become a bullfighter. I never told anyone because, well, what were the odds? But those shimmering pantaloons have haunted my thoughts. 

And don't even get me started on the hat!

I knew I would never be this close to fulfilling my dream again. I had to at least try. When our tour took us to Madrid's famous Plaza de Toros, a 67,000 seat bullfighting arena, I took my chance. I stealthily slipped away from the tour and headed for the arena.

The bullfighting season had ended in June, but amazingly the arena was open because there was an apprentice toreador program in progress. Basically for 50 Euros anyone could dress up like a toreador and, after a quick lesson, have a crack at a ferocious animal.

Of course bulls would not be used during this exercise; rather the apprentices would have their choice from a list of approved animals.

"Do we still get to wear the pants?" I asked before handing over my 50 Euros.

"Si. I will summon the tailor to let yours out," said Miguel, my helpful valet.

I looked over the list of approved animals and was delighted to see this fella:

It was me against the monstrous mole...let the best mammal win.

I was handed my miniature red muleta, (actually a handkerchief) and a teensy sword (actually a toothpick) and the mole and I began our dance of death. I paid an extra 10 Euros to have Miguel shout "Ole" every few seconds. One challenge was in getting the mole to charge. He was more inclined to scamper. And he may have been deaf as well as blind.

The other challenge was fitting into the pants. With some careful tailoring and the holding of breath, I eventually was stuffed into this:

As for the mole, well, we performed the classic maneuvers and breathtaking passes to the amazement of the crowd (Miguel). The mole showed such bravery, Miguel and I decided to spare his life. I scooped him up and deposited him on a straw bed in the stable area. Sleep well, little fella.

I returned the pants, thanked Miguel, and headed back to our hotel.

"Where have you been?" asked Nan.

"Just trying on some new clothes," I chirped.

And with that we headed home. The nine hour flight to Atlanta afforded me plenty of time to consider how lucky I am to be traveling in the company of good friends, a beautiful, loving partner, and properly fitted pants.

Ain't life grand.