Its that time of year

I am writing this with 90 minutes before I leave for the plane, along with printing itineraries and trying to answer all the emails I haven't answered. I am a bad friend.

First - Happy Christmas to all of you, even randoms happening on this by chance, from Bry and I. Hope 2007 is spectacular for you and we both hope we'll see you somewhere, sometime during it. Also congratulations to my most random internet stalker who is expecting twins next year.

Christmas has snuck up on me this year - two long weekends in row courtesy of Portuguese public holidays have distracted from it as well as having a lot on my plate. I have been flat tack busy as you might have guessed from the last month or so being filled with posts about nothing, or full of photos. But all of a sudden the Christmas lights are up (Montemor this year beat Escoural by two weeks or so to put the lights up) and I'm sitting here with everything ticked off in my diary and a hangover from last night's Christmas dinner.

So I am seriously looking forward to a break, a holiday and relaxing with friends. I don't need to say that "I'm looking forward to seeing Bry" is an understatement! but interestingly as much as I'm looking forward to seeing somewhere new again I'm more looking forward to the break and spending time with those I care about. When I planned Christmas away last year I didn't feel that so much but this year everyone seems to be heading back and there has been a touch of "maybe I should've headed home". By the same token home is always there and as much as I miss everyone in Perth I know I will be back there soon enough.

Introspection has been the order of the day for the last couple of months as well with the onset of winter and days spent inside. Rain and cold brings a certain grey to anyone's mood at this time of year plus I seem to have the happy knack of getting sick. Life wasn't like this when I was working "endless summer" in WA. It's also been frustrating work-wise looking out the window and seeing grey drizzle as even though we have achieved so much in terms of compiling data, modelling resources, reviewing prospects/projects etc. etc. in the last couple of months you never feel like you're working unless you're breaking rocks or drilling holes. My fieldies feel it most, forced to pace outside the shed and left to bicker amongst themselves.

The rain brings on other emotions too - as soon as there is a sunny day, or even just a sunny afternoon, you get possessed with a mania to seize the moment, to take advantage of the sun, even though you have a million things on the computer to finish, or should really stay in bed to kick your flu. Which then leads to self-loathing if you don't do something! The rain does add a certain amount of scenery though - everything being so so green and a times a soft mist over the landscape.


OK enough talking. Beijinhos e abracos a tudos e falamos a Ano Novo. Boas Festas!

Eat like a mountain man, drink like a student

So quick flashback - when I was in the "Central North" of Portugal we headed up into the mountains (the Serra da Lousa) for a typical mountain lunch. There a series of small villages in these ranges which were settled by hermits and hunters so we lunched at one of the newer monastries handbuilt over the last 100 years with the choice of lots of meat stuffed into a loaf of bread, skewers of bull meat or goat stewed in wine.
After lunch we visited Portugal's university town - Coimbra - where half the town are tourists and the other half are in academic dress (as the undergraduate students still wear the traditional dress). Except for these guys- it wasnt until I got back home that I realised that in one photo they had kindly all posed for the camera with one even pulling a peace sign. Students. Don't worry such radical behaviour will not be seen on this blog ;)
The university was founded in 1290 but it was the capital of Portugal before then and half a dozen kings were born here. Most of them have statues littered around the university campus to impress you the visitor (or scare the students/lecturers into loyalty?). Joao the V went one better and built a library - not that impressive at most univesities but they appear to design libraries differently here. To start there's a piano at one end?! Plus I think there is more gold around the walls here than in the chapel, as well as more painted ceilings (3). My neck is still sore from looking up gawping.
This is the chemistry building - very impressive compared to UWA's steel and glass nightmare. For a number of years the university resisted changing the course structures or upgrading facilities, preferring to rely on reputation and quality of teaching. When other universities took the lead in terms of facilities and technology the university found that while these old buildings are pretty they're also pretty costly to keep, let alone upgrade. So a lot of lecturing and teaching is done in newer buildings away from the old campus/town centre.

There is also a town below the university full of the usual narrow streets but also steep roads and vertigo-inducing staircases. Once you catch your breath at the bottom you find most shops sell postcards and CDs of humourous student songs to tourists, but on weekends the "Onion Square" is filled with people trying to sell all sorts of crap to anyone. Notice I say "trying". But if you're in the market for an old axe, a slightly used gas mask, some satirical comics from the 1970's, a goats skull with a horn missing, all sorts of lamps and ceramics not quite in mint condition, coins, and so on and so forth then come here. I looked for Christmas presents for you all here but strangely couldn't find anything suitable.The new Cathedral was orginally a Jesuit church founded in 1541 but became the cathedral in 1759 when the Prime Minister expelled the Jesuits. The old Romanesque cathedral still survives to this day but its facade is less impressive since soft shaley limestones were used in it's constructions and erosion has left much of the detail obliterated (faceless saints aren't very sacred it seems).

On the way back to the car we passed the district containing the "republica" or student houses - a mix of residential college and club house. In front of one of these three students sat on the steps, in their full academic dress, catching the last rays of sun and discussing the new academic year. In front was a three-door hatchback, doors open, radio blaring, the back seat filled with bags of ice and on top enough beers to last until dinner. Students, no matter how they dress.

Something to talk about

Yes dear readers there hasn't been much here recently. I've been in bed recovering from flu, on the couch avoiding getting wet and in the office trying to get something done. So now I'm here and writing I'm not sure what to write. Not for the first this week either. In the absence of spectacular photography, interesting anecdotes or philosopical musings I'll be talking about what else has been filling my life. If other people can blog about kittens, knitting and Robbie then I can blog about sport. Cricket in fact (completely unrelated to the fact that Spurs, Sporting AND the Glory all lost last weekend). So there.

Even though I'm on the other side of the world I'm really really enjoying the fact that Australia are beating England in the cricket. It's a little hard to share that joy here because cricket is not well known in Portugal. My passing on the joyous news of victory is met with polite smiles and "thats nice". The concept of a game lasting 5 days is alien here, on reflection cricket is the one game where at times you dont just win, you can crush the other team as you inflict defeat. Either by just the sheer easiness of your victory, as in Brisbane, or by plucking victory when it seemed to be impossible to achieve, as in Adelaide.

Over here I get the English point of view mostly because the BBC, The Times and The Guardian are more comprehensive online resources than the Australian media. But thank f*k for Cricinfo because otherwise I'd go insane. One article was amazed we Aussies have enjoyed these victories so much. The fact that we've had to listen to "We won the Ashes" from every English person since 05 plus we always enjoy beating England for "historical" reasons appears to have escaped these excellent researchers.

One thing that I've mused about for a while - and since I have no one to share these musings with over a beer then I will write instead - teams may change personnel but the mindset and the preparation continues the same. Premier League teams in England are full of foreign players but still play an English style of football. For those planning to play cricket in Australia here are the common mistakes:

• Prepare well. England warmed up for Australia's bounciest pitch by playing on our only spinning wicket and our best batting wicket. Smart.
• Pick batsmen who can bat. England still pick people on the basis of one good month. Cricket takes years to learn. The English media is amazed that Phil Jaques scored two centuries against England yet wasn't considered for the first test. Why? Because in Australia it takes several seasons to get into the team, and Jaques has only really been around since 2003 (90 matches to average 57 vs Langer 296 matches averaging 51).
• Swing bowling works in Perth, and on the first morning of a Test match. That's all. Yet England continue to pick two swing bowlers tour after tour as if somehow this fact will magically change. Pick tall bowlers who bowl fast. No excuses when you have Mahmood and Plunkett in the squad.
• "Reliable" players, all rounders who "bat a bit and bowl a bit", players who "add balance" are still the mainstay of the English team. If they don't win matches, why play them? You need 6 people to get 600 runs and 4 guys to get 20 wickets, not to replace one of them for a guy that averages 20 and might get 1 for 40. Thats not an all-rounder. All rounders are Botham, Khan, Flintoff, match winners and superstars. Plus if you have one you don't make his life harder by making him captain.

After all that cricket is still funny. Gideon Haigh's writing is more enjoyable and adds way more atmosphere than the BBC's "The Barmy Army was quiet" bloggers. Shane Warne's "You don't like being called the Sherminator do you?" to Ian Bell had me giggling for days. For those who don't like sledging I have a quote for you "We didn't need to sledge because we had the batsmen scared enough" - Jeff Dujon, 1980's West Indian keeper proving that talent rises above all .

And its still human. I felt a pang of empathy at Matthew Hoggards video diary where he seems to be stuck in an endless cycle of changerooms and hotel rooms. After 24 hours travelling from Yorkshire he still hadn't left England. And the ECB wonder why their cricketers are having issues with touring. Another example from Chris Gayle's blog "After the game we came back to the team hotel and did the usual – gathered in the hallway and stayed up until 6am just talking." Or their media manager's photos of India. Sex drugs and rock'n'roll it ain't all the time.

Last week I introduced the Portuguese to AFL using a DVD of last years grand final. The general consensus was "we admire the amount of running they do but we prefer rugby". It makes sense - rugby is a game that is a lot more structured and so easier to understand. Football is easier still. But it also says something about what AFL has become, a sport of athletes. I remember when guys who described themselves as "overweight", "asthmatic", "a thug" and "useless" were champions of our game. "I could mark and I could kick and, in my book, that’s about as far as I went," he said*

*"He" is Tony Lockett - all time AFL leading kicker, winner of the Brownlow medal (for best player) at the age of 21, 6 times All Australian and 4 times leading league goalkicker.

Don't despair people. Theres one more post of photos to share, and some farewells to say next week. Plus a project review, an orebody model and at least one dinner to have. So no more sport rants!

Diners club

I never realised that I'm a member of a secret gastronomic society. But this afternoon my fieldy sneaked into my office and invited me to dinner tonight. The reason for the secrecy? Well they hadn't shot enough of *animal* to feed all. And I got a golden ticket. Just knock on the door of our mate's cafe at 7 and you'll be let in. By my count we were feeding 7.5 this time versus 13.5 last time (the kid is under 16 and doesn't eat like he wants to grow up big and heading for a heart attack. So he's only a half). For those who wonder what my role involves well tonight I had to give another fieldy the okay to smoke at the table. Responsibility.
*animal not named to protect identity. And so you don't get too horrified what I'm eating. Animals were harmed in the making of this blog post. But I didn't know until they were served to me on a plate. Sorry.

How to be a Portuguese hip-hop star

Practise the following and repeat often with plenty of "yeeeeeeeaaaaaaah"s:

• "Como que e *insert name of town here* ?!"
• "Todas as gentes, y'all"
• "Mesmo sim, mesmo sim"

Not the usual Monday night on a school week but we headed out to see one of Portugal's hippest and hottest bands. But even a gig can involve a gastronomic experience and since the gig was at the Borba Wine Fair food and wine was definitely involved. One of the dual marquees set up for the fair was filled with temporary restaurants, with the local restaurateurs keen to show off their wares despite the make-shifts facilities and stall after stall of cakes, pastries, sausages, jams and cheeses. And this is before we got to the wine stands.

Whenever I go to fairs/festas here I end up comparing them to the country shows back home. One reason is they have the same role in the community, and in a lot of ways the towns here are just as isolated as some towns in Australia. One difference - instead of being able to taste every wine at each stand you have to ask to taste or show some interest, plus its generally accepted that if you taste one you'll buy it. Not necessarily a problem when the wine is as good as it is (Borba being one of the wine capitals of Portugal) but it is a lot better for the tight-arses at an Aussie wine show.

And to the band, finally and drunkenly (can I just mention cherry liquer in a chocolate cup before we get to the band? Thank you!). Expensive Soul are one of Portugal's hottest hip-hop/funk/soul bands and have already had a song on MTV plus one of the local soaps. They were good actually - live instruments, lyrics and rappers about respect and having fun not gang-banging - and settled into a groove despite the crowd probably having eaten too much to really jump around. Even the parents and the old men moved out from the bar to see what all the kids were listening to. This made it easier for the kids to sneak some drinks in but they know their booze in Borba - the 16 year old I saw had a bottle of local port hidden in his hoodie.

At encore the band wandered back on stage and announced that "this is now our party", bottle in hand in true rock star fashion. But being Borba the bottle was red wine. Another part of the party was inviting everyone up on stage - meaning every 10 year old tired of jumping around in the dark could now jump around and pull faces at their friends in the spotlights. Again I thought back to Australia - no country show I went to ever had an original band, let alone one which had had airplay or a national profile. And certainly there was no chance of kids getting to live out a dream by jumping on stage and pretending to be a star.

Photos by JB

Fishermen and fossils

While tourism is now the most lucrative industry in Figueira da Foz fishing and the port remain an important part of the town's heritage and soul. While their story can be found in museums more physical reminders remain - the dams that used to be used to dry the salt cod (some now recycled into that most modern of industries aquaculture), the steady progression of freighters up to the docks and the rusting trawlers in the harbour.
These days the fishing boats are restricted to the port in Sao Pedro, on the southern bank of the river. I can imagine that these tiny streets and the close-spaced houses became more and more of an enclave for the traditional fisherman as Figueira itself developed. As the hotels and apartments changed the look of the town fishing became less important on the northern bank, jostling for room with the restaraunts and the yacht clubs. In Sao Pedro the most important thing is not fashion and style but seasons and tides, the challenge every time they go to work is not traffic but Nature itself. This is reflected in the sunburnt and weatherbeaten faces of the people there but also in the tightness you can see as they meet and talk, they know who is "one of them" and who doesn't know the way of the sea.But the same wind that brings the boats home also brings the waves onto the beaches. Like the town these waves have grown with the construction of groynes and now surfing has flooded one part of the fishing port bringing surfers crashing in on the fishermans world. You might have detected a tone when I compared the beach at Figueira to Perth, well watching surfing always makes me feel like I'm at home (and that I want to jump in and catch a wave!). I love this photo - the old industry working away behind in the trawler in contrast to the new pastimes in front, but their common bond with the sea and respect for it's power seems to unite them in the water.
Two sisters dressed in the regional costume, photographed hanging out the car window hence the disdainful looks on their faces
Cape Mondego is to the north of Figueira and forms the norther barrier to the town along with the Serra da Boa Viagem (literally the Goodbye Ranges). The ranges are the garden of the town, pine woods and picnic tables providing cool green relief from the sun and sand. The Cape itself not only has an important lighthouse shown above but has a history of quarrying and coal mining. PLUS!!! the type section some bit of the Aeolian era of the Upper Middle Lower In-Between Jurassic outcrops there. I'll spare you that photo (and the embarrasing gaps in my geological knowledge!) and instead point out the way to Porto:

Old?

When you come from the New World to Europe you get used to the fact that everything around you is older: 12th century villages, 18th Century cannons and taunts like "your house is older than your country" (even though Australia was first settled 40000 years ago and the last settlement of Neanderthal Man was in Portugal 30000 years ago). Instead the surprise comes when something "modern" or everyday has more history than settlement in Australia. Today the survey mark we were looking for was established in 1803. That's 24 years before Perth were settled. Hmmmm.

Monsaraz

If anyones actually tried to follow the timeline of this blog they would've been lost in the last couple of months due to the backlog from Mum and Dad's visit, Andrew's visit and all the things I keep posting week-in, week-out. This post has a certain syncronisity to it - I visited Monsaraz with Andrew but was driving out this way today hence the motivation to post.Monsaraz is THE hilltop castle town, the jewel of the Alentejo. It has been kept in pristine condition since it was fortified in the 14th Century despite being on the edge overlooking the Spanish border. I'm guessing one of the reasons it's remained untouched that the village was given to the Knights Templar in the 12th Century and most people didn't mess with those guys, walls or no walls.Another reason for Monsaraz's preservation was the presence of Mourao on the other side of the Rio Guardiana (the historic border) with a much larger castle. This river was dammed in the last 20 years meaning a lake now seperates Monsaraz and Mourao (and Spain) allowing for much prettier photos.The village inside the walls is a window back to medieval Portugal, cobbled streets and stone walls, tiny whitewashed houses where even the modern Portuguese hit their heads (let alone us 6ft Aussies). The town also shuts down at 7pm so the advice in Lonely Planet is to eat early. Somehow its not surprising to see a horse ridden down the streets in front of you.
The parade ground in the castle at Monsaraz has been converted into an amphitheatre for concerts and bullfights. But everytime I've heard about a bullfight here the news has said it was illegal - I'm not sure how you have an illegal bullfight if you've announced it on the news the week before?! Like Mourao the amount of access around the castle is unbelievable if you come from the more restrictive societies where you can't climb up and down ramparts and battlements. At Monsaraz you can also get into the ring so I showed off my best bull imitation to a confused crowd of Spanish and Portuguese daytrippers.Since the village is relatively small and the hill doesn't leave much room for expansion it was never developed in the 17th-18th century or more modern times unlike other hilltop towns in the Alentejo. Instead the moderns towns were built on the plains below as seen in this photo (where Andrew is looking down on all the little people below).

Traffic jams

Every night for a fortnight I've had to stop when I got to Montemor and inch past a line of cars, utes, vans, trucks, tractors with trailers and weird carts powered by two-stroke engines. Usually I fling the ute round the corner without a thought but now the street is blocked by vehicles and a dozen or two guys who have got out to stretch their legs, smoke, catch up with the others also waiting. It's the olive harvest so bagfuls and bagfuls of olives are being delivered to the olive oil press in identical polyweave bags,most with faded blue or red logos & stripes, probably resused year after year . The factory itself is an anonymous unmarked shed that seems almost abandoned 11 months of the year, until ths month where it becomes the centre of attention.

Even though its across the road from the police station it took a week for the traffic issue to be recognised and a lone uniformed policeman now stands on the corner to make sure no accidents occur. Well he isn't preventing any since the traffic is still as chaotic/congested as before - perhaps he's just there to ensure any incidents are resolved and reported. The weeks delay we suspect is because some in Montemor had to tell someone in Evora who had to get permission from someone in Lisbon to tell someone in Montemor to order a policeman to stand across the road in the morning.

Monday at work one guy was late to work as as he was taking his dad breakfast while he waited in line. All the stories started up - who had been there until 4am Saturday morning, who had given up waiting at 5am, who had waited from midnight til 6am just to be turned away because there was something wrong with their olives. I get the feeling these stories are the same year after year, probably back to the times when they delivered olives with horse and cart.

At times there is a sense of life never-changing here. And then change comes. There's also traffic jams in Escoural this week because the traffic lights which didn't work for the first year I was here, which have flashed orange for the last month or two, have suddenly began to work. They're the uncertain sort of traffic lights you get in a village, staying red for what seems like an age with no traffic coming the other, making you wonder whether they actually do change or if this is just some sort of village joke. Anxiety rises if theres a truck behind or another car, you begin wondering whether they're talking to themselves "Who's that idiot up ahead? Musn't be from around here, doesn't he know those lights never change!" As you're ready to throw caution to the wind and run the light it changes, and with the calm green anxiety fades.

Change needs time to become part of the routine. When I passed this morning the traffic lights were flashing orange again.

Guarding the ricefields

I live in Montemor-the-New. Despite being settled since prehistoric times apparently its not old compared to Montemor-the-Old (where the modern town was established in the 11th century). But since their 14th century castle is still imposing and ours is in ruins I'll keep my mouth shut. Plus the local convent pastries are sensational.

fair dinkum

While I post photos and photos of Perth when I talk about home places like Meekatharra (via Tinear via a long route) are as much a part of "my Australia". There's even some geos!! Faces like these fill my memory from being too long in the bush- these are the people outside or in the stores, servos and pubs I've walked into, tin or fibro houses like these I've stayed in from time to time with gardens in name only of rocks and dust. Stretching behind the town an endless plain of nothing under a wide blue cloudless sky, crossed by hot dusty roads empty or filled by bloody big things. An environment which looks so familiar but now seems alien from a green and muddy Portugal. One I find hard to explain to those in Europe, and at times those in Perth, which is the reason for posting this (its not homesickness, don't worry!!).

Guys like Billy the flight instructor are also part of my Australia. Top blokes. Just ask them.

Salt Town

I've blogged about Alcacer do Sal briefly once before since I reguarily drive through the town and across the old iron bridge on my way to the coast, only occasionally stopping for a coffee/lunch at one of the cafes near the river. It took my parents visit for me to stop the car and climb through the town to admire the view over the Sado.
If one photograph can sum up a country this is it. Portugal in a picture: washing outside the windows, wrought iron balconies, tiled exterior, in the background the belltowers of a church and (harder to see) centre right in the shade the shield of the town on the corner of the building, below it a Delta coffee sign outside a ground floor cafe.
Another slice of normal life: When you visit Alcacer you will inevitably stop for a coffee on the street/esplanade next to the river, if not a few beers as the sun sinks into a cool evening, and more than likely you'll take a walk along the riverside. As you walk watch out for these old ladies hawking little shrimps from the estuary (fresh? who knows) to passers-by, in-between catching up on town gossip. This is the town from the other side of the river crossed by the pedestrian bridge on the left reminiscent of London's Millenium Bridge. The town hall and town square is typical Manueline while the castle on the hill is 5000 years old. The main part of the castle has been restored using new style crappy cement and converted into a hotel/pousada so is more photogenic from a distance, the belltower remains authentic but is surrounded by power lines and full of graffiti from the locals who seem to have tagged it as a hangout. The church you can see between them would've been behind the old town walls and is a 12th Century church with a Romanesque arch (unusual in Portugal). The interior contains the graves of the local noblility, and records of visits by the royal family since the Dukes of Alcacer were cousins to the royal line and fairly important during this time. It also contains a lot of gold!

Moto GP

Andrew is a massive motorbikes fan - I remember the night he rolled up to one of our pub crawls with a new bike. Not just the bike but the fact it was the first time one of our group wasn't drinking because something (ie getting the bike home safely) was more important than getting drunk. Unfortunately he's also suffered the curse of bike riders - a crash and a few months on crutches. So its no surprise that it has been one of his life's dreams to get to a 500cc MotoGP, and its no accident his visit to Portugal was timed to coincide with the race at Estoril. However the race had sold out well before his dates were confirmed, and the urge to chill almost overrode the desire. But not for long. We decided it was better to try to experience as much as possible, get as close as we could rather than regretting "so near yet so far". So we joined of the motorcade of bikes heading west to Lisbon and on to Estoril.
We stood in line until tickets sold out then spent a couple of hours standing at the gate watching keenly for scalpers or people with extras. One of the advantages of people visiting is that I learn to apply Portuguese in different situations so I can now beg, haggle and scalp tickets :) After a complicated deal involving buying two grandstand tickets then onselling a standing room ticket (all at face price so no actual scalping - bizarre!) we were in!
Not that a grandstand ticket gets you a seat - I don't think anyone has heard of overcrowding so the only room was on the grandstand stairs packed in amongst all the Spanish that had ridden across the Iberian peninsula for the day.I've always thought motorbike riders/enthusiasts were a close-knit, passionate breed but the intensity of feeling here surprised me. One guy next to me practically sulked when his favourite rider crashed out. I tried to mimic the same emotion when the lone Aussie crashed out but just couldn't match his passion. Or that of the young Valentino Rossi fans below anxiously hoping he can regain front position towards the end of the race.

I've never been a big motorsport fan, nor a major bike fan. Yet you couldn't help but be caught up in the excitement of the race - the noise, the speed, 4 lead changes in the last lap and a photo finish at the end. A Spanish rider won meaning all the Spanish fans rode back east happy, Valentino came second and went to the top of the riders championship so everyone in "46" was happy, and Andrew had seen a race so he was happy. Me? Of course I was happy ;)

You'll notice from recent photos that my hair has grown stupidly long. I have some options - 1) wait til my next trip to Lisbon and get a "fashion" haircut where at least I might be able to speak English to keep it almost normal 2) go to the hairdresser in town that my fashion-conscious gym trainer gets hair cut at (and his legs waxed) 3) go to one of the millions of small barbers shops around Montemor. Hmmm what to do?!

Where the river meets the sea

Last weekend I went to visit a friend in Figueira da Foz on the central coast or Silver Coast north of Lisbon. I've been meaning to get there for a while but weather and commitments have conspired to keep us both busy or indoors. But since last weekend was full of sun I decided to swap the computer screen I was staring at the previous weekend for this view from a hotel balcony. Figueira is an old port and fishing village (Foz means "where river meets sea") which is now a summer retreat full of holiday homes and apartments empty for 11 months of the year. On autumn weekends like this its a little empty making it easier to find a place to have a beer overlooking the sea and watching the sunset or find a spot on the beach (theres 900m of sand between sea and the road so I wouldn't have thought it was too much of a problem!).
Perthites might consider wandering down to Scarborough on the weekend and doing a "Compare and contrast" with that photo. The sun sets into the ocean just the same. Theres the same single high-rise, the same row of apartments, the same expanse of beach, a walking path alongside it for a jog or a bike ride and the same road along the beach for people run into each other when they look at the view (sunset or joggers ;) instead of the road. Theres even the same stupid clock-tower, except the Figueira one actually chimes the hours, along with the first few bars of the regional anthem. By midnight you're ready to break the speakers. In fact it was broken for a year and I suspect the guy that fixed it has had to leave town.
Anyway lots more photos to show you from the port, from the forests, from the mountains and from Coimbra in the next couple of days. For now I'll leave you kicking back anticipating a dinner of fresh seafood and fish, then out for a few beers with the local crew in the outdoor bars and a bit of people-watching as they promenade the streets. I've worked out one problem with this daylight saving thing - there were two 1am's on Saturday night and alcohol was not solely to blame. Its very confusing, especially if you're trying to work out whether to keep drinking or go to bed. Alcohol does help somethings including lowering the language barrier, although the seagull noise associated with stealing bar snacks differs between Portugal and Australia. Some things are still lost in translation - a very drunk cousin of somebody introduced himself with "Hi I'm *****, I have a very big chicken." I could've been nice and told him that the correct slang is 'cock' but to be honest I'm looking forward to watching him try and charm some female tourists by talking about his 'chicken'......

Cromeleque dos Almendres

I've been to visit this cromeleque twice yet the only time I took a camera a storm rolled in, making for a more atmospheric but less detailed picture. Better detail is in the photo below taken by my predecessor who didn't bring the rain like I seem to. The long axis of the cromelque is aligned in the direction of the town in the background (Evora). Significantly the shadows cast at sunset point directly towards Evora at the equinox.

As explained by the info board at the site:

The Megalithic enclosure of Almendres, one of the first public monuments to be erected in human history, comprises the largest group of menhirs to be erected on the Iberian peninsula and one of the most important in Europe. It was a monument which had religious functions and was probably also a primitive astronomical observatory.

This monument originally consisted of over a hundred monoliths. Recent excavations have detected various phases of construction throughout the Neolithic period (5000 to 4000 BC).

There are 92 menhirs with differenst shapes and dimensions, some small rudely shaped blocks, others of greater size. They form two enclosures erected in different, distinct eras, twinned and aligned in accordance with the equinoxes. Ten of the monoliths are decorated , exhibiting reliefs or engravings, with four of them just displaying dimple marks."

Primitive religious functions = fertility rites, so no-one tell Bry I touched a menhir :)

Mourao

The castle where I was busy riding cannons was at Mourao, 8km from the Spanish border. Given the size of the castle there I suspect it was the Spanish border at some stage in its existence. The castle is very open to the public so not only can you jump on cannons you can can climb the walls and and pace the ramparts pretending you're a soldier watching over the town or over the lake to Monsarraz. All good clean honest fun if you like narrow staircases and vertigo-inducing views. Personally I don't so I resisted the temptation until the end when a group of Spanish guys and girls headed up to the top and my new-found Latino machismo got the better of me: "if they can do it, I can!". Mourao is now separated from the rest of Portugal by a dam built in the last 10 years, which if nothing else makes for nice backgrounds to photos.