Author: danleeth

Viana do Castelo

Tuesday, we caught our prearranged transfer to Porto’s main rail station. We then boarded a train to the little town of Viana do Castelo, which lies up the coast from Porto. We would spend two nights there.

The town was listed in an online article about The 26 Most Stunning Coastal Towns in Portugal. It lay a mere 75 kilometers from Porto, so it would be easy to get to. That was about all I knew about the town.

What I didn’t know was that we were going to be there during the Romaria de Nossa Senhora d’Agonia, Our Lady in Sorrow festival. Bleachers and skyline decorations lined one of the city’s main streets.

Our travel agent booked rooms for us at a pleasant little guesthouse “suite” a few blocks from the train depot.

After checking in, we went down to a small sidewalk cafe for lunch. Looking at the pictures on the menu, we decided to go American and chose to order Cacchorros, thinking we would get something that looked like this.

Well, this is what we actually received. So that you don’t miss it, the arrow points to the well concealed weenie.

Spending two nights in town gave us one full day to explore the place on foot. The view out our room’s window showed a large cathedral atop a forested hill. We decided we would head there first.

I suggested we walk up to the cathedral, but my wife, favoring her new knee, opted to ride up in the funicular.

Arriving topside, we headed around to the front of the cathedral where we discovered two things. First, the left tower was blanketed with netting, which covered ongoing reconstruction work. The other thing was that a wedding was taking place.

Judging by the crowd outside, the bride and groom had a lot of friends. Their getaway car, however, seemed a bit underwhelming.

Lacking an invitation to the reception, we celebrated the happy couple’s departure with brews and sandwiches we purchased at a sidewalk cafe.

We then took off on foot, hiking a few formal pathways…

…followed by a stroll up a cobblestone roadway.

The road led to the ruins of the old city of Santa Luzia, built during the iron age and later occupied in Roman times.

The site was closed, but it was not totally locked up…

…so we had the place totally to ourselves.

That night in town, I ordered spicy chicken wings…

…from a restaurant employing a wood-fired oven. Definitely better than Buffalo Wild Wings.

The next morning, we awoke to the sound of a few dozen drums pounding away in the main square on the opposite side of our guesthouse. We got dressed, packed up and hit the street.

Out in the plaza stood a row of oversize mascot characters, which had earlier been parading around the square.

They now stood still, providing backdrops for selfie lovers of all ages.

The festival dates back to 1744, and as is the custom, men clad in folklore costumes played accordions…

…grandmothers cooked…

…mothers checked their cell phones…

…and daughters flirted with their boyfriends.

It would have been nice to have remained here for another day and enjoyed more of the festival, but we had a train to catch and another town to visit. We rolled our bags up the street to the depot and were soon onboard a train heading south.

Aveiro

Another town I picked based on the The 26 Most Stunning Coastal Towns in Portugal posting was Aveiro, a coastal town known for its canal boats.

After a bit of an adventure trying to determine which tracks our connecting train would depart from, we made it into town. There, next to the depot in Aveiro, stood a building decorated with those beautiful Portuguese blue tile murals.

With a little help from Google, we found our hotel located down a nearby side street.

After checking in, we found a small pizza place across the street for dinner — yes, another pizza in Portugal.

The next morning, we headed for the boats.

A number of different companies operate along the canals, with all charging about the same prices. We pretty much took the last one we found, bought tickets and hopped aboard for a one-hour cruise.

Unlike the gondolas of Venice, Aveiro’s canal boats hold more than a dozen people and they’re motor powered.

We sailed down canals in the older areas of town…

…cruised under arched walkway bridges…

…and into the modern area of Aveiro…

…where the foot bridge railings…

…were draped with love ribbons.

Other bridges displayed interesting artwork.

We stopped for lunch at a canal-side restaurant…

…where we discovered that our waitress was from the Cape Verde Islands. She was shocked to learn that I not only knew where those islands were located (off the coast of central Africa) and that I had actually visited there years ago.

Carefully following directions…

…we walked around town, passing old buildings that once served as salt warehouses…

…and nearby, a conveniently unlocked construction site sani-hut.

We wandered past outdoor art…

…and more outdoor art.

In the end, we passed by a small shop…

…where we learned that we were exactly where we needed to be.

We celebrated that truth that evening with glasses of 10-year-old tawny port at our hotel that night.

Sintra

From Aveiro, we took the highspeed train back to Lisbon, then caught a commuter train to the nearby town of Sintra where we would spend two nights.

With a little help from Google, we found our hotel off a side street close to the train station.

The room was nice in a Marriott sort of way.

What we really liked about the room was that it had an electrically heated clothes drying rack in the bathroom. The curse of going carry-on is that we pretty much needed to wash clothes every day.

Home of numerous castles, palaces, parks and street-side artwork that would be banned in Texas, Sintra was arguably the most beautiful city we visited in Portugal.

Because of Dianne’s knee, we decided not to hike up to the hilltop castles.

Instead, we would stick to the lower level attractions such as the Regaleira Palace and Gardens.

Unfortunately, this was Sunday, and the line of people waiting to get in stretched down the sidewalk for several blocks.

Not worth it, we concluded. Instead, we continued onward toward the Seteais Palace, which is now an upscale hotel.

Through the arch, an outdoor stairway led to a stone deck from which we enjoyed lofty views of the surrounding countryside.

Retreating back to town…

…we passed restaurants…

…gift shops…

…and a Superman-worthy phone booth.

After lunch, featuring a bowl of the best gazpacho I’ve had this side of Spain…

…we bought tickets to the Palacio Nacional de Sintra, which sits off the main square.

Inside, we found that Portugal’s residing royalty enjoyed beautiful garden landscaping…

…spacious rooms…

…roomy bedrooms…

…freestanding bathtubs…

…and ceilings with swans.

There was even a fully equipped kitchen where the queen could cook up delicious halftime snacks for the king and his buddies.

As we toured the national palace, I remembered those pertinent words from America’s great philosopher and poet, Tom Petty:

It’s good to be king, if just for a while
To be there in velvet, yeah, to give ’em a smile
It’s good to get high and never come down
It’s good to be king of your own little town

We had dinner downtown, returning to the hotel at dusk. We grabbed our bottle of 10-year-old port, got a pair of wine glasses from the desk clerk and retreated to the hotel patio for a Portuguese nightcap under the stars.

Yes, it’s good to be king, if just for a while.

Back Home Again

Monday morning, we packed up our bags, walked to the rail station and caught the next train back to Lisbon. From there, we took the subway to the airport and walked over to our final Portuguese hotel of the trip.

The hotel had a small restaurant and bar…

…where we could enjoy a final glass of Portuguese beer…

…and our last pizza in Portugal. (It was awful.)

The next morning, we wheeled our bags back to the airport and boarded our morning flight from Lisbon to Philadelphia…

…where once again we were pampered in business class.

Yes, it’s good to be king, if just for a while!

Unfortunately, since we cashed in nearly all of our frequent flyer miles on this trip, the next time we fly we’ll probably be dining on pretzels in far less comfortable surroundings.

Goodbye, Gridlock Gulch

After a lazy morning in the KOA, we headed toward Aurora, Denver’s biggest bedroom community.  Our plan was to drive past our old home before stopping for lunch at our favorite nearby Mexican restaurant.

We lived in this home for 37 years, and over that time, we invested a lot of blood, sweat and beers trying to make it an attractive place to live.  It looked pretty nice when our realtor took this shot in 2021.

It doesn’t look so nice anymore.  Now, I don’t care what the new owners do to the place.  I don’t live there anymore. My other half, however, was very disappointed to see weeds in the rock and plants apparently dying of thirst.

I hoped to console Dianne’s grief with some liquid refreshments at our old favorite restaurant.

Unfortunately, we found it closed and boarded up.  It turns out that after we left town, they couldn’t handle the major drop in business.  We visited their new location near a shopping mall on the south end of Aurora. 

It was great to have something new for lunch instead of Dianne’s old standby.

Next stop was Boulder.  Dianne wanted to get some new clothes for our trip to Portugal, so we stopped by the REI (Really Expensive Items) and Patagonia stores in Boulder. 

Then it was off to the Bookcliff Vineyards winery…

…where we would meet many of our fellow Portugal river cruise passengers in the back of the winery. Should be a fun group.

Saturday morning, we got up late, devoured two of KOA’s pancake and sausage breakfasts, hitched up and began the 300-mile drive home.  The first few miles into Denver went smoothly with the interstate crowded but moving. 

Then we hit the traffic that gave Denver its Gridlock Gulch moniker.

It was bumper-to-bumper, creep-and-nogo for mile after mile after mile.  It took 2½ hours to cover the first 70 miles.

Fortunately, we lost some of the traffic at Idaho Springs and by the time we cleared Vail, the interstate was back to being crowded but moving.

The scenery improved as we hit DeBeque Canyon. A few miles later, we were at home, sitting in our recliners with a bowl of popcorn and a chilled bottle of Bookcliff’s best.

Next stop, Portugal in 11 days.

Next Stop Gridlock Gulch

Late Thursday morning, we left Eleven Mile State Park, bound for the greater Denver area.  Instead of heading out on the main, crater-pocked road to Lake George, we exited the park by heading in the wrong direction, but on slightly better pavement.  The final four miles consisted of negotiating a straight stretch of washboard gravel.  Most of our tooth fillings seems to have remained intact and we found only one screw that fell out inside the trailer.

Back on U.S. 24, we climbed over Wilkerson Pass and descended into Colorado Springs.  Rather than take I-25 north from there, we wound through the Springs and exited to the northeast on what were essentially county farm roads.

A few hours later, we reached Strasburg and checked into the KOA Denver East campground (which is a mere 40 miles from downtown Denver).  We have a beautiful site sardined between two other RVs.  At least we have a tree.

After connecting hoses and cords, we took much needed showers (at Eleven Mile, we made 20 gallons of water last four days, so no bathing). We then headed back down to Franktown to visit some old friends who have done a masterful job of fixing up their home in the woods for sale.  After a dinner of grilled salmon, we drove back to the trailer.

Tomorrow will be an exciting day for us in Gridlock Gulch, rediscovering once again why we fled from here two years ago. 

Life Below the Dam

Our friends asked if we had ever explored Eleven Mile Canyon.

“Where’s that?” we asked.  It turns out that Eleven Mile is the canyon through which the South Platte flows below the dam that forms Eleven Mile Reservoir and Eleven Mile State Park.

Intrigued by their description of the terrain, we decided to spend the day exploring this canyon below the dam.  We left the state park on its main entrance road, a county road pocked with more craters than the lunar surface.

In Lake George, we turned down another county road, this one is somewhat better condition, and got to the start of the Eleven Mile Canyon Recreation Area.  A Pike National Forest representative sold us an entry permit for $10.

Through a forest of pine and spruce, we followed the stream as it thundered over boulders and through chutes that would make a pro kayaker wince.

Dianne wanted to do a hike, so we stopped at the nearly empty Riverside Campground…

…which we found comes complete with horseshoe pits. 

From there, we would hike the 1½-mile long Hard Rock Trail to an overlook.  It was relatively easy…

…and Dianne did fine with her new artificial knee.

Continuing up the river, we passed a picnic area where folks were having fun beside the stream. Some of the cars parked here were not from Texas.

We passed through three old railroad tunnels left from the days when the Colorado Midland chugged up this canyon…

…and a trio of additional campgrounds, most of which seemed better suited to tents than trailers or motorhomes.

We passed dozens of anglers, flinging their flies into the water.  It’s catch and release in the upper waters.

The road ended at the dam.

We turned around and headed back…

…eventually passing a group of Boy Scouts on bikes.

Eleven Mile Canyon felt like the epitome of classic Colorado postcard country.

It was a day well spent.

Donating Blood

We spent the morning in the trailer attending to some needed repairs.  Then came the rain.

After lunch…

…the clouds semi-cleared and we decided to go for a walk in the wild.

Our route was the Coyote Ridge Nature Trail, a 1½-mile pathway a short drive from the campground.  A sign warned us of possible bear danger, but we encountered nary a single furry bruin. 

Instead, we found ourselves battling far more deadly animals – mosquitos.  They were out and they were hungry.

A detour off our trail took us around the end of Corral Cove…

,,,where there’s a “backcountry,” hike- or boat-in campground.

Back on the nature walk route, we wandered past marshy wetlands and knobby hillsides…

…offering stunning views of the reservoir.

Best of all, Dianne got to give her new knee a good workout on some rougher terrain. She did quite well, especially considering her slice-‘n’-dice total knee replacement surgery was only ten weeks ago today.

Back at camp, I checked my limbs.  Judging by the numerous bloody splotches on my legs and arms, I figure I must have donated about a liter of type O to the local wildlife population.

The scenery, however, was worth it.

On the Road Again

On Sunday, our final full day in Alamosa, we did something I’ve been wanting to do for years.  We drove the road over Old La Veta Pass.

The “New” La Veta Pass (technically North La Veta Pass) is where U.S. Highway 160 crosses the Sangre de Cristo Mountains between Alamosa on the west and Walsenburg on the east.  We’ve done that countless times.

The old pass, which lies to the south, is the route the Denver & Rio Grande trains took to get to Alamosa and on to Antonito, Chama, Durango and beyond.

U.S. 160 must have also taken the same route at one time.  While the road over Old La Veta Pass is now gravel, we could see patches of bygone pavement peeking through in places, occasionally with a painted centerline showing.

There was a major forest fire up here a few years ago, and we could see whole hillsides of denuded tree trunks poking skyward.

Climbing through the forest, we passed a few roadside homes and ranches.  Behind one sat the reasonably intact remains of a ’58 Buick two-door.

A family cemetery stood beside another.

A small community sat Up Top the actual pass.

Some of the homes there were currently being occupied…

…while others needed a little work.

One building in good repair was the 1877 train depot, now something of a museum. 

It was closed, so we could only look through the windows.

Nearby sat the Chapel by the Wayside.

On the way back to Alamosa, we detoured to the Costilla County Veterans Park in Fort Garland.  A moment of silence here served as a fitting end to our Independence Day weekend.

Back in camp, Dianne fixed lunch…

Parnelli then decided she wanted to test her new knee by racing around the campground in one of the KOA’s pedal carts. 

For 30 minutes, she shot through the nearly empty campground, screaming up one row and down another with speeds slower than those of the little four-year-old on her training-wheel bike.

Later that evening, we were treated to a beautiful bank of sunset-lit clouds over Blanca Peak and its neighbors.  Sights like this are why we camp.

On Monday morning, we packed up the trailer, hitched it to the truck and headed north toward our next camp-spot at Eleven Mile State Park west of Colorado Springs.  We’re camping here with some friends from the Grand Valley.

Eleven Mile is not my favorite campground.  Water spigots are few, there’s no water at the dump station and as far as I can tell, none of the sites are even close to flat.  It took over seven inches of blocks on one side to level the trailer.

It is, however, an attractive place with wide open views of the reservoir and they say the fishing is great. 

Too bad we don’t fish.