Ahhhh, the sea…wow, the sea!

So yesterday was a quite magnificent day. Who knew? A little drive while the housecleaner cleaned and then back home, maybe an Imperial (small lager) at a roadside place with tables. Nothing special in our new life – except leaving the house to anywhere in these times is special. We took the coast road because the waves were supposed to be 10-12 ft today and I’d yet to see that here. Now, we have been told that winter in Cascais is all about a roiling sea so this won’t be my last. What on earth can I say? Breathtaking, absolutely. And it brought the scent of the ocean, something rarely smelled here. It crashed and belted the beaches, white foam for miles as more waves and more waves broke, a literal war gathering of white horses. Just extraordinary. We parked and walked a bit.

We drive along the coast and the road begins to rise, village after red roofed village, old walls leading to pines and spruce and eucalyptus that take over, shaded and silvery. The road is two way and winding, Mark is enjoying his car. He is taking me the back way to his new golf course and it is beautiful. I’ve come to expect that but this really is quite something. The houses are traditional, older, decorative stucco and tiles, plenty of mold and chipped painted iron gates. I didn’t do well with pictures on this trip. It was too lovely. Maybe next time. Houses are more isolated or in clusters. We are in canyons. Up and down. The views are astonishing when the trees break. The Atlantic seethes in the far distance, red roofs and modern high rises sparkling along it’s edges. We don’t see cafes but we do see very aged walls with mysterious crumbling designs in their stone.

Eventually we come to Sintra and again, my camera stays in my hand. I can’t begin to explain this historic town, houses from imagination, colours and stonework everywhere. It is a place to walk but it’s steep and cramped, not a place for today, tourists are here too, not huge amounts but enough. We stay in our car and gawp. We will come back here and explore when the time is right. Everywhere you turn here is a photo waiting to be shot. I want to know so much more about this place when I come back, I need to do it justice. We have no idea where we are going and Mark follows the road, turning here and there. He has in mind a place of many chimneys our friend, Deborah, mentioned a few weeks ago. There is a sign to Monserrate, an extravagant palace and gardens, and he wonders if it is the chimney house. I’m pretty sure not but who cares…a palace of any description will do. Off we go, up. The signs become a bit more inexplicable, something about accesso and weird lines. And up we go. The road thins to a ribbon, pitted and well traveled, the forest and walls closing us in. The road is so thin now we hope it is one way, there is quite literally no where to pull aside. Very large houses start to appear, fences and signs saying we are not welcome to visit. The old wall to our left is more mysterious than ever, brilliant tiling in old fountains, one with a woman talking on a cell phone as we make a curve. We pass gigantic built in urns pushing out from the wall. We are in a fairytale world, bowers of green hide us from the world, sanctuary or prison, we are not certain. In the back of our minds we wonder how we come back? Is there another road? At one point we try to turn around but give up. Cars are behind seemingly confident of the path. We see Tivoli palace, just, a grand estate we guess behind the gates. The green hides everything and there are tourists. There must be fees. The road widens for one moment and then ribbons again. Up, up, Monserrate appears, massively walled, we can see nothing. Another day, this road, this place is enough for today. And finally we crest the mountain and the world opens up again, the road widens a bit, down, down and we are in Colares, a village I recognize. We are back to roundabouts and cobblestones and the sky.

Neither of us feel like a beer but we pull over so Mark can see exactly where the hell we are. He finds a little road (winding of course) we’ve not been on, so off we go again. This one is tiny too, more really disturbing signs of rockfalls (we lived in the mountains of New Mexico, rockfalls, schmockfalls!) and…what is that…it’s a person running down a mountain with…a tree chasing…falling…huh? whatever, doesn’t look good. We keep going. The road is two way, supposedly, but the huge four wheel drive that doesn’t seem inclined to move over makes that a suspicious notion. Mark squeezes past without blinking an eye, I close mine. We come to a lookout that Mark can’t resist. He’s been spying an enticing view through the trees. I’ve been gazing at the eucalyptus which fascinate me. I let him go. He comes back to get me. There’s a path and an unmissable view. I’m not sure I can take in any more magnificence. But guess what, I can!! Trees, canyons, villages, beaches, waves forever, this is a view of a lifetime and I’m very glad I ventured out and over the rocks.

The car is still on the tiny road, we meet a nice Mercedes that backs up to for us to get by. Manners, I like those. And then we are at the coast again. Now I’m hungry. A little chilly. We want to watch the sea so we stop at Fortaleza do Guincho hotel and restaurant because it has a terrace overlooking the beach. It is our second choice but our beach bar is gone, lock, stock and barrel, gone. We don’t know for how long or why so…the upscale terrace instead. We order ham and cheese tosta with salad and I order a vegetable soup. Mark has beer. I order a cappuccino, confusing our waiter mightily because one should drink it only with breakfast. The waiter who speaks better English checks with me, confirming I am a heathen. I don’t care, I am chilly and want to sip a cappuccino gazing at the sea. Ahh, and the ocean…no more need be said.

Love to all.