For those who don’t visit establishments that make and sell bottles of fermented grape juice, let me explain that many (if not most) wineries have wine clubs. Membership generally requires one to purchase a set number of bottles annually at a discount price.
Occasionally, wine club membership comes with spectacular fringe benefits. A California winery to which Dianne’s brother belonged, for example, once hosted a Moody Blues concert with wine club participants having an opportunity to dine with members of the band. Dianne was exceedingly envious.
Now that we live in Colorado wine country, my lovely wife joined the wine club at Bookcliff Vineyards, which is located 26 miles away in Palisade.
Bookcliff will probably never have the members of the Moody Blues over for dinner, but under the heading of “fringe benefits” this year the winery sponsored a cruise up the Douro River in Portugal, which was exclusively for club members like us.
Unlike Viking river cruises, which have up to 190 passengers onboard, the Bookcliff cruise would be on a smaller vessel once used as part of Queen Liz’s Diamond Jubilee celebration.
The Spirit of Chartwell carries only 30 passengers in surroundings fit enough for British royalty, and the trip cost was reasonable (less than Viking).
While it would mean postponing our sorta-planned trip to Australia, we decided the kangaroos could wait and immediately signed up to go.
We’d had long talked about taking a river cruise and this seemed to be a good opportunity finally to do it.
Now, Portugal is not my favorite European country. The last time I’d been there was in 1984 as part of our three-month, Eurail tour of Europe. Dianne and I were on a tight budget and stayed in a flophouse on the less opulent side of Lisbon.
Back then, we arrived in town on a Saturday, walked around the city on Sunday, took a day trip to the seaside beaches at Estoril on Monday and departed on Tuesday, hurrying off to Madrid.
In addition to the one-week cruise, this year’s Portugal trip would include three additional weeks of independent train travel around the country. Instead of fleabag lodgings, we would stay in three- and four-star hotels, safely located in the nicer sections of town.
With the trusted assistance of Google, I mapped out an itinerary that gave us multiple days for exploring Portugal’s two largest cities plus we’d enjoy a trio two-night stopovers in three smaller cities close to the coast.
This would be like one of those many trips I made when actively working as a travel journalist, only this time I would only be taking photos for stock sale and a slide show, not doing interviews and recording notes for a story.
One thing we’ve learned over the years is that less is more. Since we would be traveling much of the time on our own, we needed to be mobile. That meant small, carry-on luggage holding no more than three or four changes of lightweight clothing that could be sink washed and drip dried overnight.
I found some Eagle Creek roller bags at REI (Really Expensive Items) that looked ideal. They were small enough to fit in the aircraft overheads, yet large enough to tote all we’d need for our four-week adventure. Best of all, they had heavy-duty rollers that should stand up to the cobblestone sidewalks of Portugal.
In 1984, we carried no electronics – no cell phones, no iPads, no Kindles, no laptops and no camera battery chargers. On this trip, we had all that crap. That meant we had to also tote along plug and voltage converters.
One of the things Rick Steves says I should worry about in Europe are pickpockets. In 1984, we used cloth money belts, which are worn under one’s pants. They work fine until one needs to pay for something. I found it to be a bit embarrassing to have to unzip my trousers to retrieve cash or a credit card.
This time we protected our valuables by using ScotteVests, which we got for free years ago at a travel bloggers convention. They have close to a zillion pockets with zippers. While I suppose they’re not totally pickpocket-proof, a thief would have to do a lot of groping to pick the inside pocket into which we had zipped our wallets and passports.
After telling her our plans, our Bookcliff Vineyards travel agent did a fantastic job of booking nice hotels in Lisbon, Porto and near the depots in the three towns we would be visiting by train. With lodging all prepaid, all we had to do was show up and pay the local tax. It’s been years since I’ve worked with a real travel agent when arranging travel, and I highly recommend it.
We spent nearly the full day before our departure packing our roll-on suitcases, which seemed to be shrinking in size. My dresser began collecting a larger and larger pile of things that just weren’t going to fit in my suitcase.
Finally, with bags stuffed, it was time to set the alarm and head for bed. Our taxi to the airport would be here long before sunrise.
Getting from our house in Fruita to our hotel in Lisbon became something of an adventure, the first leg of which involved securing a ride to the Grand Junction airport. Our flight left around dawn and we actually had a friend volunteer to pick us up at 5:00 a.m. and drive us there.
But, of course, that would have been too easy.
Just before our trip, his wife contracted Covid. While the offer to drive remained open, we decided not to risk pre-trip contact with someone who had close contact with a Covid victim. Instead, I called to reserve an early morning taxi.
Since we were going with carry-on luggage and Dianne now sported two titanium knees, I wanted plenty of time to clear TSA at the airport. I asked for a 5:00 a.m. pickup. The reservationist told me taxis have a thirty-minute window, which meant our 5:00 driver may not be there until 5:30. I changed the pickup time to 4:45 a.m. and set the alarm for 3:45.
After fewer than five hours of shuteye, we got up, brushed teeth and zipped up our suitcases. As I was taking out the trash, the taxi pulled into the driveway, a full 25 minutes early. We blindly wheeled our suitcases out and piled into the vehicle.
Two miles later, I realized that in the rush to depart, I had left my wallet on the dresser. The driver reversed direction, and with the meter running , he drove us back home. Wallet retrieved, we departed a second time for the airport. It was now 4:45, our originally scheduled pickup time.
At the airport, we blitzed through security with our shoes on, computer still in its briefcase and our Ziploc bag of liquids still tucked away in the suitcase. We ordered breakfast burritos (and coffee) from the airport cafeteria and waited for our flight to be called.
I had a bunch of United Miles I’d collected over the years, which we used to upgrade our seating to first class. That’s not much of a benefit on the 77-minute flight to Gridlock Gulch, but at least we got to board early and found plenty of overhead space for our roll-on suitcases.
We landed in Denver pretty much on time, wheeled our gear down to our next departure gate and were soon on our way to Philadelphia. Once again, we sat in the front of the plane, this time being treated to free wine and hot lunches. Mine was something claiming to be a trio of enchiladas, and while it did not resemble anything one would find at any of our local Mexican restaurants, it sure beat the bag of pretzels the folks got in steerage.
In Philly, we landed on concourse D and had to make our way to the international terminal at concourse A. I think Dianne got her 10,000 steps as we walked from one to the other. I had free day passes to the United Lounge, but a sign out front advised “no day passes” today. I thought about paying the $50 per person fee to use the American Lounge, but Dianne did not want to waste more of our kids’ inheritance (we have no kids). Instead, we sat in the terminal like real people.
Our departure gate assignment changed and then changed again. We ultimately waited at what they promised would be the actual gate. A plane sat there, but it was apparently not ours. It was eventually wheeled away, with nothing yet taking its place.
Boarding time approached with still no plane at the gate. The flight crew arrived and waited in the jetway for a plane to arrive. Eventually, an empty Boeing 787 pulled up and the flight crew boarded. A half hour later, we passengers were allowed to board.
Over the years as a travel journalist, I accumulated a plethora of American Airlines frequent flyer miles. We added to our stash by using an American Airlines credit card to pay all of our bills.
When we booked the flights, we had well over a half-million miles. We used a bunch of those to secure business-class seats for the night flight across the Atlantic.
I’ve flown business class on several different airlines, but I’d never seen a setup like this. Every seat was enclosed in its own little compartment. Each came with a bag holding a warm blanket and large pillow.
With a push of a button, our seats would go from upright to lying flat. After devouring our three-course dinners, we turned our seats into beds, unbagged our blankets and pillows and got a few hours sleep.
We landed in Lisbon around an hour late. After breezing through Immigration and Customs, we were soon out in the terminal looking for our prearranged transfer driver to take us to our hotel. The Lisbon airport has a specific location where drivers meet their passengers with large boards onto which drivers can post passenger names. We looked, but didn’t see our name posted. As I was doubling back for a second look, a woman approached and asked if I was Dan Leeth.
Twenty minutes later we were being blitzed through Lisbon, reminding ourselves once again of why we never rent cars in foreign countries. The driver dropped us off at a street corner. Pointing up a pedestrian walkway, he said, “Your hotel is up there.”
As we lugged our bags up a cobblestone alleyway, something didn’t seem right. So, I did what any good American male would do. I clicked on Google Maps. It turned out that we misunderstood the driver’s instructions and were heading in the wrong direction.
Retreating back down the alleyway, Dianne did what any good American female would do. She ducked into a restaurant and asked where our hotel was located. We quickly found our lodgings a few dozen meters from where the driver let us off.
We checked in, took our bags to our room and immediately proceeded to do what any good American traveler does in new surroundings. We bought beer.
In my experience, there are two types of travelers:
The good ones study their guidebook like it’s the Bible, outline all of the sites and museums they want to see and plot a route to cover them all in the time available.
When folks back home ask if they saw such-and-such, they can truthfully say yes, they did.
That, of course, is not my style. I’m a person who may glance at the guidebook to get a general idea of what’s available, then pretty much ignore it on site.
Instead of rushing off to hit all the tourist targets, I prefer to just wander around and get an intuitive feel for a place. That’s what we did in Lisbon.
We landed on Friday and did little more than walk around the hotel area. After dining at a sidewalk café (happy hour mojitos for 5€ each), we fought jet lag with a long night’s sleep.
I had prebooked four-day tickets for one of Lisbon’s hop-on, hop-off bus tours. The busses follow a fixed route with a number of predetermined stops where passengers can hop off, explore an area and then hop back on a follow-up bus.
There were several companies offering this service, and after careful consideration, I chose the Yellow Bus company, which offers two routes with a collective total of 25 stops.
Saturday was bus riding day. We would ride both routes, looking for neighborhoods we would explore over the following days. Riders are given earbuds, which we can plug in and get a narration about sights along the way delivered in a language of our choice. Not being fascinated by the names of the architects who designed various buildings, I found the audio somewhat boring.
Sunday would be a walk-around day. Our bus tickets also covered a ride up the Santa Justa lift, an outdoor elevator that opened in 1901. Located near our hotel, we decided to ride it up and explore the Carmo Square neighborhood above.
Up there, we went past the Carmo Convent…
…and wandered around a terraced park with sculptured busts missing from posts and walls sprayed with graffiti.
Graffiti, or tagging, is rampant in Lisbon. Abandoned buildings and walls sport ample amounts of paint, effectively ruining photo ops for those of us who want to capture clean views of historic structures. Even passenger trains have become the canvases for the graffiti “artists.”
Since Dianne’s new knee doesn’t like downhill walking, we left our lofty location on the Gloria Funicular (also included in our bus package)…
…back down to hotel level off Rossio Square. This open area features the usual European standbys such as statues and fountains…
…construction cranes…
…and locals out walking their dogs.
The cobblestones in Praça do Rossio are laid in a wave pattern that made it seem like we were walking on a rolling surface.
The day was young, so we decided to take a walk up Avenida da Liberdade, a broad, shady, park-like median between two streets we had traveled on our bus route. The route was packed with vendors peddling everything from footwear…
…to beer.
The avenue led to Edward VII Park, a long stretch of grass and hedges that led up a hillside flanked by cobblestone walkways. We headed up.
Near the top, we stopped at the Carlos Lopes pavilion, a building decorated in Portuguese tiles that was originally built for the International Exhibition of Rio de Janeiro in 1922. It was dismantled and brought to Lisbon ten years later.
The park ends at a spectacular overlook flanked by a pair of towering obelisks. This was stop number 5 on one of our bus routes. We waited for the next bus, got onboard and headed back down to a public square near our hotel.
That evening, we walked down to the waterfront where we caught a boat tour, which was also included in our package.
The boat ride give us a different view of some of the things we had seen from land, such as the Tower of Belem, a 16th century fortification…
…and the Monument of the Discoveries, a sculpture honoring the Portuguese sailors who forged new routes to Asia, the Americas and around the world.
We passed under the April 25 suspension bridge, its name commemorating the Carnation Revolution which overthrew the authoritarian government on that day in 1974.
Atop a hill on the far side of the bridge stands the Cristo Rei, Christ the King. The statue, looks quite similar to the Christ the Redeemer statue in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.
Back on land, our evening walk back to the hotel was interrupted by guitar music coming from an al fresco restaurant on a side street. We found an empty table, ordered dinner and wine, and enjoyed a pleasant night dining with pleasant background music.
Sidewalk dining was one of the treats of Lisbon. It seemed like every street in the more touristy areas of Lisbon was lined with restaurants offering al fresco dining. We had three such eateries located in front of our hotel. Almost everywhere, the wait staff spoke English and offered menus with English translations.
On Monday, we took a tram car tour through the narrow, winding streets of the Alfama neighborhood of Lisbon. Although the tram was flaming red, it also was included in our Yellow Bus package.
After that, we got on the double-deck Yellow Bus and headed out to the Park of Nations neighborhood, which our audio guide referred to as the modern area of Lisbon.
It was here that Lisbon hosted Expo ’98.
We walked a cobblestone walkway along the waterfront…
…beautiful sculptures…
…and fountains…
…that sometime got overexcited…
We spotted a happy snorkeler in a pool outside the aquarium…
…and tried not to stare as we strode past the local nude beach.
Honoring Portugal’s seafaring past, a pair of tall buildings sported sails…
…and there was the Vasco da Gama tower, Lisbon’s tallest building.
We bought tickets, rode the elevator up and admired the view through some rather dirty windows.
Inside viewing deck, Torre Vasco da Gama, Lisbon, Portugal.
For dinner that night, we headed for the Cervejaria Antartida, Portuguese for Antarctic Brewery. I couldn’t pass up a place with a name like that. They advertised tapas, steaks and seafood, and I was ready for a chunk of dead cow.
Instead of a Texas-style T-bone, I ended up with sirloin topped with mushrooms and smothered in a delicious sauce with fries on the side.
On the way back, we passed some local wildlife in the square…
…and lights illuminating some of the local monuments.
On Tuesday, we set out to explore another area of Lisbon we found inviting on our bus trip. This was the Belem area, home of the Tower of Belem and the Monument of the Discoveries.
Belem is known for its Pastel de Nata pastries, which originated at a shop here. We would have sampled the delicacies, but the line out front stretched for more than a block.
The line at the Museum of Archeology was longer, providing another good reason not to do museums.
Instead of standing in lines, we booked a hop-on, stay-on ride in a one-horse carriage.
Ride completed, we set out on foot, following a cobblestone walkway along the waterfront. We passed fountains that attracted birds in need of a shower.
We listened to a street musician playing an electric violin.
We checked out food trucks along the walkway, many offering a taste of international cuisine, including (to my wife’s delight) Mexican…
We stopped for some not too tasty margaritas.
As our friends all know, Dianne and I crave fine Canadian cuisine…
…so imagine how excited we were to find poutine available on this side of the Atlantic!
We continued past Portugal’s Monument to the Overseas Combatants…
…where a sailor posted guard.
[And yes, I did ask permission to take his photo. My rule is to never shoot anyone carrying a firearm without asking first.]
Catching a Yellow Bus, we returned to our hotel, showered up and headed down for dinner at Café Nicola, located just outside our hotel.
The restaurant began in 1787, and has long been a hangout for writers, artists and politicians. USA Today claims it’s one of the best restaurants in Lisbon, and the seafood we ordered was great.
Wednesday morning, we packed our bags, ate another delicious Portuguese breakfast…
…and arranged to meet the driver transporting us to the railroad depot. We would be taking the high-speed train to Porto, a 209 mile journey that will take less than three hours and cost about $27 in U.S. dollars for first-class seats.
The train offered comfortable seating…
…but traveling at 135 miles per hour, the views out the window could sometimes appear a bit blurry.
On Wednesday afternoon, we arrived in Porto a bit late (these are Portuguese trains, not Swiss Rail). With a bit of effort, we finally located our transfer driver outside the train station. After another realization of why we don’t drive in Europe, we arrived at our hotel, checked in and went up to our room…
…where we found a note along with a couple of candies waiting on the bed for us.
Now, that’s something we’ve never gotten at a Motel 6!
Our room overlooked an Italian-themed restaurant. We went down and ordered a lasagne. The waiter suggested a bottle of the Pacheca red wine. He’d apparently visited the winery and said that they have rooms for overnight guests built into some of the huge wine barrels used to make ruby port. We’ll book a night there on our next trip to Portugal, I assured him.
After dinner, we walked along the riverfront walkway. As we passed some folks dining on a narrow walkway above the river, Dianne heard them mention our travel agent’s name. Yes, they were also on our cruise.
We continued onward, watching as lights lit up the Monastery of Serra do Pilar across the river…
