“One is the Loneliest Number”

Three Dog Night

Truer words were never sung in regard to a Solo Traveler’s quandary of eating dinner alone.

Supper time is the social meal. It’s the end of the day to hang and Happy Hour with friends and family. It’s the time to say to a significant other, “Honey! How’s your day been?” It’s the worse meal to eat alone in any country.

In Portugal, it sucks even more. 

For the most part, eating here seems to be a matter of function over form. Cafes, restaurants and bars are white light lit like a Walmart Store. Tables are squeezed together awaiting paying customers who don’t arrive in this off-season. The few locals who just occupy space without spending money get a full-on look at the Lonesome Loser amongst them. 

Dinner is not a Happy Meal for me in Portugal. 

Portuguese Proprietors and chefs must also be stressed because the meals are subpar as well.

At the same price I was paying in Spain for a three course meal with a bottle of Vino Tinto, I’m receiving an anorexic fish and fries on my plate. Not very filling or satisfying.

 The other day, I decided to go Native. I ordered a supposedly traditional Portuguese meal of white bean stew with shrimp and mussels. By the consistency and taste of those creatures, I’d say they hadn’t seen seawater since the Truman Administration. The next morning my stomach was gurgling. Nothing debilitating, but annoying. 

That evening, I decided to forego surf for turf. I ordered a pork chop. (Might not be the wisest choice for a Jew). The other white meat had the texture of a baseball’s cowhide. A chainsaw would have been the tool of choice to dissect it. A nibbled on a few ends. 

The following morning, my gut was in full rebellion. I was losing weight and not in a good way. I paid a visit to the local pharmacy. I’m now downing Maalox tablets like M&M’s. I think I’m turning the corner to a quiet stomach. I hope so. That way I can return to those brilliantly lit Portuguese cafes, restaurants and bars. 

I’ll say this. I’m missing simple American bars. There, I’m an IPA sipping, burrito eating, chillin’ out Dude totally engrossed in watching a sporting event. I’m a Man with a reason for being alone. I’m not a Lonely Loser. 

Cheers from way down South and West in Portugal,

Jeff

A Different Sort...

of Camino. 

The Roto Vincentina consists of over 400 plus kilometers of marked routes in the Southwest of Portugal. 

It’s the brainchild of local merchants, hoteliers, restaurant owners and municipalities who woke up one Autumn Day to exclaim, “Hey! Where the heck did all those Euro spending tourists go now that summer’s over! Eureka! (Or the Portuguese equivalent of that). Let’s establish a trail system to get us through the lean low season.” 

Thus, the Roto Vicentina was born a few years ago. The locals traded the Bikini/Speedo crowd for the bearers of backpacks. So far, there’s not an awful lot of hikers. A smidgeon here, a dollop there and a few guided groups. From my observations the walkers are mostly European. 

It’s no Camino de Santiago. 

That’s a good thing. I haven’t seen a shell flopping on the outside of a backpack. I haven’t overheard any New Agey conversations where the concepts are as foreign to me as Quantum Mechanics. I haven’t had to say, “Pardon!” or “Excuse me!” as I hustle past. There are no Yellow Arrows to chase. It’s mostly scenic, sandy and quiet. It’s  a pleasant break for me. 

The villages and towns are virtually empty. Many restaurants and hotels are shuttered. The owners apparently are sitting it out until summer and the bathing beauties return. It’s off-season and I’m happy to be here. 

The Roto V is divided among three choices of hiking. There’s the “Fishermen’s Way” which consists of mostly seaside slogs through or over sand dunes. There’s lots cliffhanger walking too. It’s not easy or fast getting from point A to B. 

There’s the “Historical Route” which is more inland. It connects the small Portuguese population centers. The trails are Terra Firma. It’s easier walking. A Wanderer gets to breeze past cattle, cork trees, eucalyptus forests and hay fields. It’s quiet too (except for the occasional roadside walking). 

There’s also “Circular Routes” for the day hikers. 

All the routes are well marked complete with signs, painted arrows and 4X6 posts to follow. The Roto Vicentina Folks did a great job of putting this together. 

Before you book a ticket to Portugal, let me say this. It’s not Wilderness hiking. One is always close to a dirt track, a tarmac road or a cultivated field. Hey! It’s Europe! It’s been settled for a long time and there’s plenty of people here. It’s the European idea of two National Parks. 

I’ll take it.

Cheers from Almograve, Portugal 

Jeff

The last photo is the most ecstatically pleasing WC in Europe.

There’s City People...

And then there’s me. I’m not a City person. Unless the City has a baseball team and accompanying stadium. Then I’m cool with the temporary inconvenience before, during and after the game. 

Lisbon, Portugal doesn’t have a baseball team. What it does have is a hard up, shambling appearance. On my way into the city proper, I noticed abandoned buildings where bricks had replaced the glass windows. (A possible deterrent for squatters?). Graffiti was more prevalent than trees. 

In the short time I was there, I began to recognize the beggars. Many were physically deformed. Later on I noticed them sleeping on the sidewalk near my cruddy overpriced guesthouse. 

Restaurant owners added Euros to the bill with no explanation given. When I began to go “New Yorker” on them, they rescinded. 

To me, Lisbon had a seedy vibe.

For European standards the city has that fresh paint smell. It’s somewhat new. The reason? The Great Earthquake of 1755 leveled 85% of the structures. An estimated 10,000 to 100,000 locals lost their lives in building collapses, fires and tsunamis. 

Lisbon rebuilt but the end product seemed to be lacking something.

Now I’m in Porto Covo. It’s a seaside resort/fishing village of 1,000 residents where the buildings are whitewashed. The windows and doors are trimmed in neat indigo. The roofs sport red tiles. It’s a place that’s easy on the eye. From my palatial apartment rental, I can hear seagulls mewling and a soothing surf. 

I love it. (Even though there’s no baseball team here.)

Now in a totally different direction: Have any of you readers been to Ecuador? If so please contact me through the Comments portion of my blog. I’d be interested to hear if a W W J can drive, hike and not get lost there! OR to recommend a tour company who might prove helpful to a solo traveler like myself.

Obrigado!

Jeff 

PS. I like this village so much, I’m not moving for three nights. For me, that’s equivalent to taking up residency here.