Sunday 4th May - Coimbria

Dinner last night – Open batting with strong G&Ts - taxi to old town – arrive in daylight at the Restaurant district in old town – looks seedy, unkempt, dirty, scary in the mid afternoon – comes alive at night – people everywhere- again a feeling of safety – police offer a fatherly presence.

North African hole in the wall – Couscous with chicken, cinnamon and sugar – multiple bottles of Matteus – rivals Valencia.

Head out of Lisbon on a quiet Sunday morning.

Fatima – an enigma for me – small groups of footsore pilgrims greet their supporter -thousands of people gather in the gigantic forecourt for mass –others wander the site – not many happy faces – contemplating? – puzzled? – not sure! - not as kitsch as expected – save one beggar not one request for money – no entry fee – no guide fee – it is actually a religious site! – I should not be surprised but I am!

On to Coimbria – a real university town – goes back to the 1500’s when Universities were fostered by the Church –

We arrive in town on the students parade day – students take over the town– thousands of students – even more spectators -– hundreds of floats full of students in various states of inebriation handing out beer and goodies to spectators also in various states of inebriation. Spectators include parents, grandparents, sisters and brothers and the local community. Concierge at the shabby,” wantabe” “old Europe” hotel warns us the parade is on but “will not be bad – parents here” – pity the town when the parents are not here!.

Strangely, as the procession raucously and erratically rounds the statue of Pope John-Paul II he seems to be looking down approvingly – I wonder.

Students beautifully dressed – girls in black blazer and skirt cut Latin style and boys in black slacks, with three quarter, fitted, black coats. Both wore white shirts and ties and top hats in their faculty colours and carried canes.

The old university area of the town is perched on the top of a hill – a wide set of a hundred or so steps provides access from the “new” town square – the university is a combination of narrow streets, old residences, faculty buildings, squares and churches. All looks a little unkempt - might just be the crowds and litter of parade day. I feel uncomfortable here – a sense that there is a missed opportunity to honour the pursuit of learning that has occurred here over 500 years.

We wander home in the very early evening - up steep roads - through littered streets - we thread our way past swaying students and locals - we take care to avert our eyes as we pass through a park where trees are in the process of being dosed with ammonia – I trust today is not the finest day in the University calendar.

Ah Portuguese food – perhaps that will save the day – There is no fool like an old fool - Michael you should know by now that in Portugal cities you eat ex-Pat food. Tonight amongst four we endured murdered baby beef and a bean and pork combination made tolerable by side servings of fried banana, orange slices, a local cabbage and rice. Without the side servings our tempers would have tested the lovely warm feelings created by the two bottles of chilled Portuguese Mateus.

Bernie was NOT impressed!

An education!.

Saturday 3rd May - The Navigators

A quite day … let’s slow down a little

Visit the Port – AV presentation on Portugal.

Calamity, nation building, prosperity, calamity, nation building, prosperity, calamity ….. the cycle of nations? – true for Portugal? – crusades, formation of the state, the fruits of the navigators, the Lisbon earthquake, reconstruction, thriving on a rebuilt city, the acceptance of an authoritarian and conservative regime, sink into world isolation, overthrow the regime, build a true democracy, join the EU …. What next … Cycle seems true for Portugal - true for others?

Rise to the top of the navigator’s monument - look down upon the 16th Century map of the known world crafted in mosaics into the forecourt below - ponder on the exploits of the Portuguese navigators – look out over the harbour - what were they thinking when they left for uncharted waters – excitement?

Coffee not great but Portuguese custard tarts more than compensate – many more miles on the bike now a necessity.

A circuit of the city on the “Grayline” – home for the compulsory siesta – dinner tonight at a special restaurant.

Bernie wanders the old city

Portugal … nothing like I imagined – no longer backward – not Spain’s little brother – great infrastructure – lessons for Australia – reaping the benefits of 18th century reconstruction - beware Australian complacency Michael!

Friday 2nd May

Conceived in Stuttgart, engineered in Hamburg, built on the Rhine – could there be a finer pedigree – reduced to roaming the avenues of Lisbon touting for work – I wasn’t meant for this - Oh! The indignity of it all!

No rush – no frenetic pushing and shoving – only traces of crowd surges at peak hour through the magnificent metro - helpful Portuguese ever ready to aid the tourists puzzling over metro maps – need to change from metro to suburban train lines? – puzzle a while – call the shop assistant – takes our hand - points across the street – mimes the shape of the rail station and we are on our way to Sintra

Partake of coffee and custard tarts –

Join a former Portuguese national rally champion and more lately a stand-up comic in his crowded bus for an entertaining journey to the mountain top – marvel as he displays the full extent of both his comic and driving skills - join the passenger list in the chorus of applause atop the hill.

Admire the 16th Century monastery complex that later became the palace of the Portuguese royalty – Prue would love the gardens – Gaudi must have come here – small palace literally perched on a rock on the top of a mountain overlooking Lisbon - fantastic architecture – displays the Moorish/Christian architectural unison.

Home for a siesta

Thursday 1st May - Lisbon

A pleasant small hotel overlooking a small square with traditional Portuguese buildings - A walk through the town on footways paved with small, irregular shaped local stone blocks, Argentinean steak done Portuguese style –local red wine - the reason that you travel!

Back on the excellent motorways towards Lisbon - Perhaps Chaos you really have deserted me.

Sparse broad acre country with Patterson’s curse, broom and other wild plants, superb roadside stops – BP Australia you need to see how to treat a traveller – more sparse broad acre country, the occasional flock of sheep represent some of the first livestock we have seen as we traverse the coastal and southern regions of Spain and Portugal.

The gate to Lisbon – a pretty suspension bridge – past the massive statue of Christ – through the tunnel along wide road – negotiate the traffic at the monument – turn left and enter the hotel parking sanctuary. Chaos you have truly deserted me!

An Ok hotel – May day – no one at work – we watch the March that takes an eternity to get started – too many organisers and not enough workers for an efficient operation – does that say something about management and unions? the girls intrigued by the traditional dress of the locals as they parade along the Avenue past modern business mini -edifices

The Portuguese not known for their food – how will tonight go? – a walk along foot paths paved with the same irregular yet flat stones – the streets are quieter than Spain – much less dynamic – feel very safe – the teller machines are mostly out of money – restaurants are fairly sparse – an Italian restaurant with one table left – magnificent bruschetta and pasta – nice wine – not sure about Portuguese food but you eat well – a long walk home through beautifully lit streets.

Ah Lisbon … you may not be exciting but you are very modern and comfortable!

Wednesday 30th April - Portugal

Now Lady Sevilla that was very petulant of you. My comment about your make up was intended to be an act of kindness .. it did not justify you being such an unkind hostess as your friends departed you for Portugal. I think it was really very unfair of you not to provide us with an escort out of the lanes and alleys ways of your city centre to the magnificent motorways of the Spanish countryside.

30 kilometres out of Sevilla and two hours later we met John and Merie for a cup of excellent coffee. The poor old GPS system has not coped with Lady Sevilla’s tricks.





We head on through rolling hills and lush country side and enter Portugal.






















The country side remains green but becomes stonier.

The housing clusters become less frequent and the housing style changes immediately to display pretty white walled and orange tiled stately homes.












We pull off the motor way into a small Portuguese beachside town …….

Oh chaos why have you deserted me? There are car parking spaces marked on the road pavement and cars are actually neatly parked within them. The streets are mostly more than two cars wide and many of them are two way. The town is neat and clean … the people we speak to can respond in English with some fluency and the population that inhabit the town seem much more casual and relaxed. Amazingly no one seems to see the need to fold in the side mirrors of their car when they park. This cannot be true ……

Another 30 kilometres see us arrive in the small town of Loule. Oh chaos perhaps you really have deserted me! This is a beautiful clean modern little town … the receptionist at the nice hotel speaks fluent English, the streets are wide and clean by the standards of Spanish cities and there is an air calmness and quietness that invades the town. This is a town that is clearly interested in acquiring some British and US money … the stand outside the local real estate office display property brochures in English.

Michael my son ….. Perhaps, like Spain, Portugal is going to scald you for your Australian arrogance and your preconception of it as being somewhat backward compared to our great environment!.

I wonder if they have visa restrictions on hammer head cranes … they seem to be absent from this part of Portugal … I have not seen more than three of four since we departed the environs of Sevilla.

Portugal you are looking inviting … first a test … we dine tonight at what our receptionist describes as a good Portuguese restaurant.

Tuesday 29th April - Sevilla

There were some slightly sore heads this morning as we queued for entry to the Palace of King Charles … the Alcazar. … a short practice at the queue negotiation saw the Lady Sevilla granting us access to this interesting example of Muslin-Christian architecture that seems to be unique to this part of Span. This Palace was once occupied by Queen Isabella and today is the Seville residence of the King of Spain.

Awe at the sheer magnitude of the Basilica of Seville was tempered by the poor and undeveloped river frontage of the Canal Alfonso.

Lady Sevilla .. thank you for your kindnesses but I need to tell you that you don’t look quite as prosperous as the cities to your north. You have magnificent structure and great inherent beauty but you have become a little careless with your makeup ...

Monday 28th April - A return home

Storks nesting on top of powerlines in the Australian country side – true! … well nearly! – it certainly looks like southern Australian hill country side in spring – gently undulating hills and thousands of eucalypts. The need to substitute storks for kookaburras did stretch the imagination a little as did the infernal need to keep driving on the right hand side of the road. In the end we settled back to reality and accepted that we were on a gentle drive from Gibraltar to Seville through the mountain town of Ronda.

It is patently obvious that in order to enter the public underground car par in any town let alone Ronda it is necessary to drive down a street 3 inches wider than a Peugeot 207 and then to manoeuvre your way between crowded café tables peached precarious on the summit of the entry ramp so why did I baulk at threading the car past diners and in the process hold up the procession of cars behind me? I could have kissed the little old Spanish man who came up to my window and assured me … “is alright!”.

If you wish to provide for your great, great, great grandchildren then you should find some lovely mountain country with some rolling hills (it probably helps if they are a little on the steep side) and a least one gorge or cliff face that is virtually impossible to build on … leave the rolling hills un-occupied and build a small city on the uninhabitable cliff face. …make sure that everything you build is in the most difficult place to build that you could image … let it sit there for few hundred years and wait for the tourists to roll in …….

This is quite unfair to Ronda. It is a lovely town perched on the top of a very steep … certainly the surrounding country side is untouched while the buildings are all on the inhospitable cliff faces but clearly this was for defensive purposes in the days of the moors. This is still six weeks away from the start of high season yet the town is already swamped with tourist buses … poor little Ronda!

I suspect pole dancing originated in underground car parks of Spain. It is a fascinating if not slightly stressful activity but is one that we experienced many times in Spain. Pole dancing is the art manoeuvring your seemingly enormous motor vehicle through the pole lined twists of car park entries and egresses while spectators in their own vehicles display their admiration for your extraordinary driving skills by playing their stanzas from the car park symphony.

Of course pole dancing can have unforseen consequences one of which we experiences in Ronda. Normally getting out of any underground car park is a straight forward process – you pay your money … you get your ticket authorised … you get in the car …. You drive to the exit …. You insert your ticket … the barrier rises and you exit the car park. In Ronda this is true in theory only – in practice it works like this.. you pay your money, you get your ticket authorised …… you go to your car ….. you get to be a spectator at an extraordinarily long pole dancing exhibition by an attractive but hardly competent young lady in an slightly oversized car … the show eventually finishes … you finally arrive at the exit station with your nerves a little on edge….. you insert your ticket ….. the meter decides that it does not like its taste …spits it out and displays a sad face … your fellow travels behind you become frustrated and the automobile symphony again echoes through the parking chamber.. your passenger runs over to the attendant thereby holding up everyone else behind (they have also been pole dancing spectators) … the attendant abuses your passenger (more like "Fawlty" than "Manuel from Barcelona")…. Don’t you know you only have 10 minutes to get out of the car park after your ticket is authorised? .. Eventually the "Fawlty" retreats to his office, presses a button and we escape … there should end the story but of course almost everyone else behind us is now in the same predicament… We leave town immediately for fear that our fellow travellers recognise our “Open Europe” number plates and want to transfer their frustrations to us.

The drive towards Sevilla continues to exhibit glimpses of the Australian country side with grassed rolling hills covered with crops of wheat, barley and sun flowers and the less frequent but significant olive groves.

Sevilla greets us kindly enough as we enter its outskirts … she initially parades as a modern low rise city that is not unlike some of her Australian counterparts with nice open streets. … as we continue in towards its core the streets become more constrained and she becomes more inclined to send her Spanish drivers to educate us in the way of her driving traditions by pointing out the error of our ways using their car horns like cattle prods to guide you on your way.

She becomes quite a testy and feisty lady as you enter the centre of town during siesta time … she needs her mid-day nap and she is not inclined to smile upon antipodeans who are trying to negotiate one way streets to find central city hotels who have passed their finest days and who now survive by offering internet savvy travel accommodation bargain.

We arrive at poor old hotel Marian a little stressed and not at all in love with this Lady Sevilla.

We take our own version of the siesta and sleep off our tiredness until we emerge from Marian looking for a restaurant to cheer us up. Senorita Marian has proven to be a pretty little retreat and her environs were suddenly much more appealing when our siesta was over and the bustle had returned to the city. Suddenly the inner city streets (more like blind alley ways) that had seemed dirty, littered with dog residues, occupied by an excess of irritated people and unsavoury looking characters was transformed into a clean footways full of smiling people. Was it the Lady of Seville that had changed?

Without any shadow of any doubt what so ever – can I be any more definite than that! – we had the finest evening meal Bernadette and I have ever experienced. It was a Tapas selection supported with local wine. Plates of eggplant, Iberian pork and potatoes, lamb burgers and spicy sauce and Spanish omelette were all ordered, consumed and reordered.

A short wander through one of the endless inner city alley ways led to a flamingo bar were we had earlier consumed repeat tumblers of Spanish summer wine – Tinto verdo – it was delicious – just like the Kia Maison of Paris days. Bernadette and Merie were enthralled with the flamingo dancer, singer and guitarist.

Meandering a kilometre home through narrow but well lit alleyways at 12.00 o’clock at night feeling entirely safe made one feel that the Lady Sevilla was not entirely displeased with having us in her midst.

Sunday 27th April - Gibraltar

The drive down from Granada towards Gibraltar was another opportunity to experience the superb road system in Spain and to marvel at the extraordinary development that is occurring in its southern provinces. It is almost impossible to travel more than five or ten kilometres without encountering a cluster of hammer head cranes all assisting in the creation of new or the expansion of existing residential and commercial property.

This particular area is the destination for large volume of European tourists and could be described as being like the low rise sections of Australia’s Gold Coast but on a massive scale. The coastal developments are literally hundreds of kilometres in length and under active expansion.

Again the master travel agent Merie had managed to find us accommodation for less than A$100 a night in what seems like a five star traditional hotel. A quick check-in into the Hotel Reina Cristina preceded our visit to the fabled rock.


Now this is confused and slightly miserable looking regal monument. There is no getting away from the majesty of the rock itself or from its command of the entry straits to the Mediterranean – I found that brought some chills to my spine.







On the other hand the place looks dilapidated and unkempt. It is crying out “you could not do without me in the war …. But now you don’t care!” . The poor old place knows it is British but believes itself to be Spanish and is inclined to think it would like to be North African – there has been trivial efforts to maintain the place for its historical and strategic importance – rather it seems to be the subject to the erratic spread of ramshackle holiday accommodation. Alas my boyhood visions of Gibraltar have been dashed for ever.

Lest the reader might think I did not enjoy the day … nothing could be further from the truth … another great experience … I must really learn more history.