Coastal Charm and history: Albufeira, Portugal:

Ideal time of year

When we arrive in Albufeira it is the low period, it being November, the beginning of colder months. For us it is just ideal. We don't need even a thin jacket for all the arduous walking we do keeps us warm. 

Basics: lodging

We're staying for two weeks and so we need to shop for groceries.We have a compact kitchen with a tri-ply pot and pan, ceramic crockery, stainless steel cutlery and a well kept double induction burner. Only the kettle leaks. The replacement also leaks. We are not going to bother with it. Two hotel boys come to housekeep every alternate day with fresh towels. They clean the washrooms in a jiffy. Then a damp rectangular flannel is pulled all over the floor. Tada! No dust. All the condensation on the walls (for it gets humid) from the cooking is wiped up.

And boarding?

We stroll the inclined street looking for stores but there are only convenience stores that are pricey and would not meet our needs. All around us are hotels. 

Our short stroll takes us to a huge junction. Surprise! We are at the famous The Strip. But where is the crowd? Only about three hours from Lisbon, Albufeira has been one of the Algarve’s busiest resorts for decades. Of course, it's not the season. 

We have to watch our steps not only because of the infamous calçada ( dealt with in my previous blogs) but also the shocking state of disrepair. We have the whole street to ourselves with waiters holding out glossy menus inviting us into the classy restaurants. Plenty of liqueur and loads of meat. Not our fare. Startlingly almost all of the ushers and waiters are of Indian origin. Perhaps I should not have been surprised since there are at least 7 hotel complexes in the vicinity run by the Indian MGM  Muthu Group, one of them housing 500 apt/suites just across our accommodation in Praia de Oura.

Language games: logic and intuition

We continue walking along another major street at the end of the Strip, and, behold ! It's Pingo Doce, the affordable supermarket. The varieties of fish with names unheard of astounds us.  The oranges are at throw away prices compared to Canada. The milk cartons/ bottles are baffling. With some guess work, for no one in the store speaks English, we think we've got the right kind – full cream. Leite Gordo.We learn some new words:Gordo (Whole), Meio Gordo (Semi-skimmed,) and Magro (Skimmed) just by word association as in leite sounding like latte. Meio sounds close enough to mid. Altogether it is fun reading the labels. It is also great to be able to buy pasta and cereals in small quantities unlike American sizes.

The suitcase saga continues

Over the next few days we cover the whole area and the Old Town taking different routes each time. Twice we walk over to the bus station hoping to find our list wheel scouring all the dark corners where it could have been pushed to. We also hope to visit the market beside it but we are often too late. We have to conclude that we have to get new matching wheels. We find a Chinese stand alone store which has practically everything but the right sized wheel. The new suitcases are not worth the asking price. So we settle for strong masking tape and saran wrap! Against all odds, the limping suitcase survived 3 subsequent inflights.

We adapt. Travel teaches  that not every problem needs solving—some just need sidestepping, like the calçadas!

First approach

Our first approach to the old town is through an arterial road which is built up with holiday homes and hotels as well as a huge mall. The avenue has a statue of Gandhi in the park that divides it. As we walk towards the cliff edge we come across what used to be fisherman's homes of which some are being used as holiday rentals. Those occupied by the locals look quite lived-in replete with cooking odours, clothes lines, etc. 

A set of escalators at the top of Praia Pescadores takes us a couple of levels down to the beach area as well the main square with unique eateries and souvenir shops. Under and around the trees are benches occupied by what seems like the homeless. Staircases in every direction take us to different levels of the maze of a town along ubiquitous buildings way up to the whitewashed and tiled houses perched above the cliff, balconies spilling over with geraniums and to the ruins even further up. Several small inviting shaded cobble stoned parks offer respite to our feet plodding on the tiled walkways. But the most attractive walkway/calçada viewed from above and then walked along as it takes us through a historic tunnel to the beach is a delight. It's true art! The wide strip of sand  once doubled as the town’s fishing harbor. Brightly painted boats used to line the shore. Today, we see beach umbrellas, cafés, and deck chairs.

We come across several churches that help keep the old time feel, and provide some cool relief from the heat. We managed to get into one with an interesting doorway and a uniquely tiled interior. 

An archaeological exhibit.

We visit a small museum featuring a dedicated section on the history of local fishing, showcasing traditional tools, fishing gear, and historic photographs of the coastal area. The miniature boats on display

Resemble those in Malaya. Guess what? The curator's wife's ancestor had sailed to Malacca when the Portuguese colonized it!

There is also an archaeological site.

Better safe than sorry

From the top from what we think are ruins we take a walk along the cliff edge. We find a viewpoint which is actually a park for the holiday condos adjacent to it. We are so immersed in the view of whitewashed houses perched on the sandstone cliffs and the driving skills of drivers negotiating the narrow lanes  that a sudden thwack on a wooden bench startles us. A few young unsavoury characters appear. We leave.

Second approach

From the Promenade to the foot of the look out point 

On our next trip we walk from the Strip to the old town along a posh residential area that leads  us to the promenade. From there we take the escalator down to the beach and walk along, passing the Tunnel,  until we reach the Elevador do Peneco, a free, 28-meter high municipal elevator connecting the top of the cliffs to the beach below.  Unfortunately for us it is not in operation.

The wonders of the sea

It is fascinating  to watch a pier being washed over by the fiery waves when an engineered blow hole helps mitigate the force to protect the structure. When the tide is out or when the ocean is calm people walk casually up to the end.

Alternative mode of transport

A small road train loops between the old town, the Strip, and the beach areas. It looks slow and there do not seem to be many takers.it certainly is a no hassle way to get around 

A natural amphitheatre 

From our balcony we get to see the sunrise and sunset everyday. 

The cliffs glow golden at sunrise and turn deep orange by sunset. We take great delight in discovering hidden coves. Every now and then there is a stand alone sandstone structure sculpted by the weather. Some of the cliffs are restrained by wire netting to keep beach goers safe.

Rhythms and colours.

We see the character of the sea change by the hour and by the day. Some days we see the shoals like whales lurking around. Depending on the weather the sea turns blue, turquoise, aquamarine, gray. On other days the waves crash into each other causing a great turbulence and vent their fury on the cliffs sending sprays  sky high. Most times the ocean maintains its rhythm. It can be a soft whisper, a lullaby or a roar. We could spend hours just staring at the ocean. 

Wheelless travails in Albufeira, Portugal

Lost a wheel

We arrive at dusk in a not so crowded terminal. The bus driver has got the bags out. Again I have to drag them along the ubiquitous Portuguese calçada. One suitcase is leaning on its side. We are booking an uber and communication is iffy. But when it's done we have only five minutes to get to the pick up area also across calcadas. A BYD is already waiting for us. Only after the driver helps us hoist the suitcase into the trunk,does he utter  “ You’ve lost a wheel!”. The corner is also cracked.Must be all the movement in the bus's luggage compartment. Or scraping against the jagged calçada.  Too late to check. The bus has already left. No wheel in sight.

Left in the lurch 

The enormity of the situation crashes over us the moment the driver pulls away. Our apartment building looms across the street, perched on an incline like it’s daring us to try. We’re dropped at a perpendicular road, nowhere near an entrance. Every path is a mosaic of ankle-twisting stone.

Where is the entrance? He shrugs. He doesn’t know. And then he’s gone.

For a second, we just stand there with the wobbling, tottering, mangled object that now feels twice as heavy. We scan the street. No signs. No shortcuts. Realty sinks in.

It’s uphill.Not a gentle slope. Not a forgiving climb. A relentless, cobbled ascent that threatens to send both us and our belongings crashing down at any moment. Each step is a gamble. Each tug feels like it might be the one that snaps our grip, our patience, or worse, the object itself.

Forward march

By the time we reach the building, our arms ache, and our feet shaky. Relief? The receptionist greets us with a polite smile and a sentence,

“The apartment is across the courtyard.” More dragging. More scraping. More jolts. The calcada is unforgiving as ever. 

Then comes the final blow:“Third floor.” No lift.The staircase zigzags upward in narrow, brick-lined turns. We stare up at it, 

For a moment, neither of us moves.Then, unexpectedly, the receptionist steps forward. “Let me help.” 

At last, the blue door. We push inside.The apartment opens into cool stillness, red tiles beneath our feet. We are drawn by the light from the glass doors at the other end.And then we see it. The door leads to a balcony and beyond it the calm azure sea that stretches to the horizon. 

Against all odds we made it!

A test of faith: Montreal to Albufeira

Time Warp

Our journey from Montreal to the Azores is supposed to be routine—just a quick transit before continuing on to Lisbon. We believe we have a comfortable two-hour window between flights. Plenty of time… or so we think.

We are fully aware that we are flying to a different time zone. As soon as we disembark we look for the restrooms leisurely. Then we look at the clock. What a shock! We only have 40 mins left since our previous plane was late. Very late, indeed. Suddenly, the generous two-hour cushion shrinks to a breathless forty minutes. Forty minutes to find the gate, and board again.

We are close to the gates. The numbers are clearly marked—until they aren’t. The sequence marches along the corridor… but ours is nowhere to be seen.

Orderly lines snake away from other gates, passengers waiting patiently, while we peel our eyes desperately for our own. Finally, we ask someone already standing in line. With a casual gesture, he points toward a number hidden completely from our view—concealed behind a thick pillar.

What a relief. We slip into the line just in time. Moments later we are airborne again, and the flight to Lisbon is a welcome contrast to the frantic dash that preceded it.

A stroll becomes a trial

We arrive in Lisbon, retrieve our luggage, and step outside the airport, heading toward the underground metro that will take us to the intercity bus terminal. 

The pedestrian path is mosaic paved in beautiful but treacherous Portuguese fashion—artfully crafted with uneven, broken tiles. Charming to look at but brutal to my suitcase and my feet. The luggage wheels catch and jam every few feet, forcing me to hoist and heave the stubborn thing forward. My footing isn’t much better. The polished tiles seem determined to send me sliding and tripping.

After what feels like a strenuous expedition, we finally reach the station entrance. Our train ride will only take about fifteen minutes—but catching the bus afterward is critical. Intercity buses, we’ve learned, leave exactly on time, and we still have no idea which berth ours will use.

Obstacle courses

The metro is underground but one level above  our underground exit from the airport. Fifty steps to climb up  into a cavernous ticketing area. I take a look at my suitcase and carry on. It's a definite killer. Luckily a gentleman comes to my rescue.he deftly lifts my suitcase and in no time at all deposits it at the top. I huff and puff after him.

We reach the ticketing machines at last, breathing hard but hopeful. But that is premature because the machines stubbornly refuse to accept our credit cards.  My companion still has a railway card from a previous trip with money left on it, but the machine stubbornly spits it out. I try to buy a one-way ticket. The interface seems determined to confuse rather than help. Precious minutes tick by. At last we manage to extract the ticket we need. The train ride is comfortable.

But Lisbon isn’t done with us

At the bus terminal we discover we are underground while the bus bays sit at ground level. The thought of hauling our luggage up another punishing staircase is almost unbearable. Then we notice a row of circular elevators—our salvation. So we hope.

A new head scratcher emerges: which elevator leads to the correct bay? The bays stretch in a long line above us, and the last thing we want is to drag our bags up and down them searching. We try the first elevator. Out of order. The second? Also out of order. The third? Got the gist?

Now there are only two left at the far end. Do we risk the long walk, only to discover it’s broken too? Ha! The first elevator that actually works! We jump in without hesitation. At least from there only one bay stands between us and where we need to be.

We step out  and immediately see buses lined up along the opposite perimeter of the terminal.For a moment it feels like another dead end. 

But after squinting at the destination boards, scanning name after name, we finally spot our bus. With barely a minute to spare, we shove our luggage into the compartment below, climb aboard, and are ready to collapse into our seats. But wait. They're occupied! No one speaks English but waving our tickets in front of them does the trick. At last.

It's getting dark. As we cross the famous Lisbon bridge we get a goose skyline view of the city we have visited twice  before. The ride is a mere 3 hours but enough to take in the countryside – the farms, orchards and vineyards. Its an over

We arrive in Albufeira 

Enchanting: Lake District, UK

Terraced by the snow: too early for daffodils

The first time I visited the Lake District was in the early 1980s, the district  was just waking up from its winter slumber. The hills were still wrapped in snow, their pale slopes terracing gently into the cold sky. I had arrived with a certain expectation shaped by the poem I read when I was 10. In my mind I carried images of vast fields of daffodils, the golden host celebrated in Wordsworth’s famous lines. Yet the season had not turned that far. The flowers had not appeared, and the hills remained silent beneath their winter covering. Still, it was easy enough to visualize waves of yellow trembling in the wind

Too late for daffodils

My next journey there came more than thirty years later. This time the land has just entered autumn. Now I visualised John Kear's (though not a Lake Poet)  Ode to Autumn.The colours are different—soft browns, fading greens, and the burnished gold of late leaves. Again there are no daffodils, and once more I find myself imagining that sea of yellow. But simply standing there, lulled by the breeze, knowing I was in the same landscapes that stirred the Lake and Romantic Poets, is highly gratifying. The hills and lakes that inspired their verses seem to whisper into my ears through the rustle of the leaves,  the snapping of twigs, and a not too distant baa and a moo.

Walls may trace boundaries but much is shared 

As we veer off the expressway toward Windermere, the scenery opens slowly around us. Fells and dales stretch across the horizon, their rugged  contours softened by distance and light. Farms and small fields form a patchwork across the land, each parcel bordered by the familiar lines of dry stone walls. These walls made of interlocking stones, built carefully without mortar, have stood here for centuries. The walls trace boundaries, guide livestock, and quietly shape the rhythm of the countryside. They are as symbolic of the region as the hills themselves, appearing again and again in poetry and paintings. 

Much of the land remains open and shared, woven into a long tradition of hill farming that continues to shape the landscape today. 

The spectacular ribbon lake

The entire region is compact—barely thirty miles across in either direction—yet within that small space lies a remarkable variety of lakes, valleys, and ridges.Windermere, the largest natural lake in England, is perhaps the most well known of them all.10.5 miles long, that's just over 18 miles It stretches from north to south, its long surface reflecting shifting clouds and distant hills. From certain viewpoints the lake appears to gather the entire landscape into a single sweeping panorama.

Spellbound

One such view unfolds from the summit of Orrest Head. The narrow trail along a breezy ridge through the woods and petrified roots leads us  to the summit. At one point, to my delight I find a wooden stile across a stone wall. Standing there, the lake spreads out below like a long ribbon of silver, bordered by wooded slopes and distant ridges fading into blue, just as Wordsworth described in The Prelude. 

Avoiding the bustle for the pastoral

We drive to the village of Windermere which does not lie on the shores of England's largest lake. It is Bowness that rests directly on the lakeshore. It's a picturesque Victorian town. Bowness is more touristy with various water activities.  We are unable to find parking space and so we go a little further to a piece of land where we see a few families picnicking. Across the walls are calm sheep and cows. It's the simple old fashioned charm that makes my  trip serene, poetic and timeless. A long-held aspiration is finally and peacefully fulfilled.

Picturesque villages

As we leave the Lake District we drive by Hawkshead and Ambleside, a lively town near the northern shore of the lake. Stone cottages line its small streets, and walkers fill the cafés and outdoor shops that cluster around the centre. It has long served as a gateway to the surrounding hills, a place where many Lakeland journeys begin. Paths lead outward in every direction, climbing toward ridges or winding quietly through valleys.

The power of faith?:Sagrada Familia, Barcelona, Spain

My 3 previous posts are related to the cultures, beliefs and lifestyles of ancient India. They refer to caves that predate Christ up to the 12th century,  humongous monolithic edifices hewn with astounding precision and fine detail, the merging of culture, religion and philosophy, the technology and incredible skills and devotion - these are living proof of the astounding ancient history of India.

A living history: not hewn into a cliff but built up

This week more history is being made in the West. The Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, Spain, has been topped with the final outer piece, a cross, which makes it the tallest cathedral in the world. How many years did it take to reach this stage? 140 years?!

Gaudi/y: which came first? The name or the adjective?

We are first introduced to the word through buildings in Barcelona. These are high rise residential buildings like Casa Mila with a stone like appearance and Casa Batllo whose balconies look like spectacles and the embellishments like natural corals.They are unlike any other I've seen.

So many seemingly impossible free form  facades.  Where does one apartment end and another begin? Each is unique even in its furnishings. Do the tenants discover something new everyday, because there is so much detail you can't take it all in at one go? To Picasso it was all gaudy.

Curiosity and amazement triggered

Are these facades structurally safe since some embellishments and protrusions seem lopsided? How did he work out the intricate balance? Does anyone really have the patience to look at the delicate tracery in replication of nature. How have these lasted for so long? Are they easy to clean ? What are the structural innovations of the visionary? Where are the buttresses? How ornamental the lampposts are!

Fantasy to reality 

How did the highly decorative become functional as well? The architect's  love of nature and devotion to religion is visualised in parabolic arches, mosaics and wrought iron and brick. No straight lines or right angles. Instead the structures take on natural forms like tree trunks, bones, shells, waves, fruits and flowers. Where does all the Gaudy colour come from? Broken ceramic tiles, glass and other waste materials cover the surfaces. One would think that with all the heavy artistic embellishments the interior would be dark, but the genius of Gaudi has made sure the spaces are airy. We don't have to go into the buildings to marvel at the innovations. Park Guell gives us a taste of it, including one of Gaudi's residences.

The lofty sand castle.

From afar that is what Sagrada Familia looks like. Could it be washed away anytime? Even so, Gaudi's masterpiece will remain legendary. 

Gaudi, a deeply devout Catholic,the architect and designer who envisioned these buildings died in a tram accident when he was 73. Had he been alive he would be100 this year. His centenary is marked by the planned inauguration of the ephemeral place of worship. Is it any surprise that the vibrantly colored mosaics were considered gaudy by religious moralists like Picasso? 

Construction began in 1882. Work on it continued through wars, political upheavals, revolutions in architecture, and the transformation of an entire century. The building kept growing taller. 18 towers in all One hundred and forty years later it has reached its highest.

How detailed was Gaudi's blueprint? How did the younger engineers who got on to the project long after Gaudi interpret it? How did they incorporate new techniques and technology? Its mind boggling how the spires kept growing part by part laid one top of the other, and how the three facades depict passion, nativity, glory respectively, in great detail all infused with the essence of life and nature. The lighting within through the stained glass windows and strategically placed openings  create an otherworldliness as seen from pictures of the interior.