Relative Something

Wednesday, September 29, continued…

We meet up with Carlos in Celorico and he drives us on a tour of picturesque back-road sights leading to a nature preserve, (Parque Natural da Serra do Alvão), where we see the monumentally dramatic water fall, Fisgas de Ermelo, that appears to spring forth from the middle of a wall of granite. The sights are world-class for both their beauty and history. We pass through quaint little villages, some with houses made entirely of precisely stacked rocks, with no mortar, and covered by slate roofs. The buildings are situated right at the edge of the narrow cobblestone roads and local men and women are seen going about their tasks, appearing as though they have little use for technological trappings that have appeared in the last century. They barely offer us a glance as we roll by in Carlos’ Volvo wagon, horn beeping to warn of our approach.

The weather for this adventure is perfectly sunny and not too hot. We enjoy cool breezes of the high country. After we play among the rocks and cliffs of the waterfall viewing area, and I balance a couple of rocks, we hop back in the car and drive to the ascent of Mt Graça, (Monte Farinha – Alto da Senhora da Graça). Carlos drives much of the time without his seat belt and lets the ding, ding, ding of the car’s alert, chime on and on. After 10 minutes or so, he might put the belt on, or he might not. He politely asks us if he can smoke, after he has opened his window. He tells us to stop him at any time for photos, and he does so on his own, several times. I hold up my camera for one shot, and he stops the car for me. He is an exceptionally kind and generous friend. He is very proud to show us around. Ian says Carlos cleaned up his car for us, and this Volvo is not the car he would normally take out, because of rough roads. At one point, he pulled off for a shortcut to see the waterfall, but then turns around when he senses the unpaved road would be unwise for a car with such little clearance.

We share wonderful banter, with Ian translating much of it, but occasionally Cyndie’s Spanish allows her to understand more than I can, and they chuckle at something Carlos has said. I am left to wonder about the subtleties my mono-lingual limitation causes me to miss. On the ascent of Mt Graça, Ian discovers that they have added guard rails, which unfortunately block some of the view during the climb. Driving away from the waterfall, we had spotted thick smoke of a forest fire, and now as we climb the mountain, there are some clouds filling the sky and the air underneath them has grown very hazy, somewhat limiting our view. The road is painted with messages to cycling heroes. The Tour of Portugal cycle race (Volta a Portugal), a professional stage race held annually in August, includes a deciding stage with a climb up this mountain. At the top, the breeze blows just a bit cooler. It takes a moment to orient ourselves, and Ian and Carlos work to find the view of Carlos’s house. Eventually, it is located, but the haze makes it just barely identifiable.

Carlos invites us into the cafe at the top to have coffee (or coca cola in my case). He tells us his sister got married at the church here on the peak. When we step in to the restaurant, there are no other customers. The little tiny cups of coffee are served in a blink and my tall glass and can of coke seem massive in comparison. Then Carlos steps out for a cigarette and visits with the man working the restaurant.

The drive down has a distinctively different feel, after the accomplishment of having been to the top. Missing, is the anticipation of waiting and wondering on the way up. The trip down also includes seeing quite a few cyclists lumbering in extreme effort against the incline. I don’t know why we didn’t pass any on the way up, but now, we see plenty on our way down.

On the return drive to Celorico, we come upon road construction of repaving which has traffic down to a single lane. We are stopped, waiting long enough for our turn to pass, that Carlos shuts off the engine. Occasionally, Carlos will make a turn off the road and Ian will say there is something Carlos wants to show us. Once, his plan is foiled by grape picking activity that is blocking the route. He turns the car around. Another time, it is to show us a beautiful little club that has skeet shooting. It offers another great vista of Mt. Graça and almost a view of Carlos’ house.

When we get back to Carlos’ petrol station in Celorico, he invites us in to see his car collection and motorcycles. Behind a locked sliding door, there is a treasure trove of old, old motorcycles: Triumph, Norton, Ariel, a mini cooper, an old Jaguar covered in dust. Amazing stuff packed in so tight it is difficult to walk around. He seems to appreciate our wonder over it all.

With little fanfare, he shrugs off our gratitude for his extreme generosity. It is something he is happy to do, and he seems to indicate that it is just normal and expected that he would do so. Ian, Cyndie and I,  head back to the farm feeling spent by the adventures. We arrive to chores of preparing the stables and bringing up the horses, and then Cyndie also wants to finish transferring the last of the camellias she had moved out of the greenhouse. Suddenly, there is an explosion of fireworks that seem incredibly close and help convince us that the singing we have been hearing must be some sort of celebration. We had passed a religious procession earlier that Carlos suggested might be a funeral. Now Ian is wondering if it might be a Saint’s day or something related. Whatever it is, it adds a sense of mystique to our already incredible day.

Ian and I stand by and assist Cyndie’s transplanting as the evening grows dark; so dark that Ian needs to turn on the back light before she gets to the last one. With that last task accomplished, we top off the day with our own little celebration of popcorn that Cyndie prepares, and a slide show of the pictures we captured during the day. The slide show finishes too soon and Cyndie asks to see pictures from the first day of our arrival, so we watch scenes we’ve seen before, but from what seems like a long time ago. When the slide show is interrupted by a phone call to Ian, from Victoria, we decide it’s a good place to break, which allows us to call it a night at a relatively decent hour.

It was a huge day in terms of being tourists, and it feels good to be back on the farm. However, we are beginning to sense that our days here are numbered.