Travel Journal, Part 5

December 29. Today's trip: Sagres, The End Of The World. The sky was cloudy as we headed to the westernmost corner of Portugal. The clouds grew very heavy, but the rain managed to hold off until we had finished our visit. This made for some very dramatic scenes: sheer cliffs with the waves crashing far below and the clouds looming overhead, the sun shining on the water a mile or so out to sea. It wasn't hard to find the Forteleza Sagres: just follow the signs and then head for the gigantic stone wall directly ahead. The wall encloses a large courtyard, mostly empty except for a few buildings, a church, a monument to Henry the Navigator (who assembled a group of cartographers here, although the school for navigators appears to be just a legend), a circle of stones on the ground forming a huge compass rose, and the disembodied stone head of an argonaut statue. On the leeward side of Sagres Point is a harbor, with hotels and a beach.

Between the courtyard and the sea is a wide stretch of open ground, full of heavily weathered, light-colored, hole-ridden rocks that look like lava. The rocky field looks like an alien boneyard, with various kinds of plants growing among the stones -- succulents, sea thrift, thistles, and some kind of tiny yellow flower. Seagulls allowed the tourists to get close, but not too close. Old cannons pointed out to sea, their iron barrels weathered and flaking to the point where they looked like they were made of wood.

After our visit to the Forteleza, we drove around the town of Sagres. We found a post office, a souvenir shop, and a tiny restaurant, where we had a mid-afternoon lunch. We headed back east, somehow missed a turn right around Lagos and wound up heading west again. After trying to right ourselves several times, we decided to give up on taking the local highway back -- it was getting dark anyway -- and we got onto the freeway and headed back to Almancil. Dinner was more of our purchases from Sunday's farmers market. We made a quick trip to the Western Union office to check our email, then called it a day.

December 30. This was the sunniest day we had seen for a while, although a few gray clouds still lingered. We got onto the A22 and headed east to Spain. Crossing the Rio Guadiana border was uneventful, no more hassle than crossing a state line in the US. The bridge was very modern-looking, with tall triangular supports that suggested the form of sails. As we crossed over into Spain, the scenery was less seacoast and more agricultural. We saw fields with acres of white plastic shelters that looked like quonset huts, protecting rows of small green plants with white flowers. Strawberries? We couldn't tell from the road.

We turned off the highway near Huelva, and followed a side road to the beach at Punta Umbria. Along the way, the trees had the stylized look of Art Nouveau prints. The beach was solidly covered with seashells, like a crunchy carpet. Some people were flying a kite that looked like a parasail from a distance. We stayed a while and watched the waves, the seagulls, a man contemplating the scenery.

We got back onto the road and drove through park-like forests and upscale resort developments. We explored a resort area called Cartaya, then found our way back to the main highway, and headed back west over the border to Portugal.

We got onto the N125 at the border towns of Castro Marim and Vila Real de Santo Antonio and drove as far as Tavira. There, we stopped and visited the Plaza do Republico in the center of town, and walked along the Gilao river for a while. The walkways and streets were covered with the same cobblestones, and what we thought was an interesting striped-stone walkway along the side of the plaza turned out to be an indication of where the cars were supposed to drive. I guess you were just supposed to know that -- or you would find out soon enough when a car honked its horn at you. The side streets were very narrow, and some of them had stone steps. The streets reminded me of the streets you see in the James Bond movies where the car is driving down a flight of steps or navigating a street with just an inch or two of clearance on either side. I was very glad to be on foot.

We explored the old walled city (8th century Phoenician) and made a brief visit to the Igreja do Misericordia (church). Inside, blue and white picture tiles reached halfway up the walls, and there was an ornate gold altarpiece.

Nearby, an old stone wall that looked like a very small castle enclosed a wonderful little garden. Plaques identified the various plants: bouganvila, hibiscus, poinsetta, blue nightshade, banana plants. Cactus plants grew between the stones of the castle walls. Narrow stone steps went to the top of the parapet, which overlooked white stucco houses with red tile roofs.

We looked around a couple of craft stores, then headed home. We got to Faro right around rush hour, almost wound up in that hospital parking lot that messed us up the first time, got out of the traffic circle one exit too soon, and took an unplanned tour of an industrial section of town. We finally righted ourselves and got back to Almancil without further incident.