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?!