Friday the 13th - The Road Trip Begins

 We both agreed that we could have used one more day in Lisbon, with a few things we had to miss, but it was time to get on the road. 

At the car rental my husband was very pleased to see that we were to be given a hybrid Toyota hatchback. Not only would it save us a bit on fuel, we have been exploring hybrids for our next vehicle and this would give us a chance to really test one out. 

I had been nervous about this part of the trip, what with the infamous toll roads and relying on GPS in a strange country but with Google Maps on my phone and a paper backup I figured we were well-covered. As it turned out, I needed to be.

Getting out of downtown Lisbon was the first challenge. By the time the GPS was powered up and working properly (unplug, reboot, repeat) we were already lost, having been hurried out of the rental agency before we were really ready. Cue the Bickersons. 

Eventually "recalculated" our route took us across the amazing Ponte de Abril 25 suspension bridge over the Tejo Estuary in the sunshine. Lisboans love to copy famous structures. The bridge is reminiscent of the Golden Gate bridge in San Francisco and her red steel superstructure gleamed bright against the blue sky. To our left was the towering statue of Christ the Redeemer, inspired by the one in Rio de Janeiro, blessing the city and commemorating lives saved through Portugal's neutrality in World War II. I hoped the statue was also blessing our journey after the shaky start.

As you may know a majority of Portugal's main and lesser highways are toll roads. Our rental car was prefitted with the optional Via Verde ("green way") transponder, but having been rushed on our way at the rental agency, we had not been given instructions on what to look for when entering a toll highway. The first toll came up very quickly after leaving town and of course rather than whizzing through the transponder lane we chose a gated one where we had to stop and pull a ticket to proceed. So now we are in possession of a toll ticket we somehow have to pay before we go home or face a fine of god knows what. The Bickersons, act one, scene two.

Our guidebook that had been customized for us by our tour company now gave us two choices for our route south - the A2 motorway, fastest but less scenic, or a route through the Arrabida National park, a natural area that curves around a big bay south of Lisbon and was much more appealing. What the guidebook did not tell us was that the two-lane road climbs steeply up and over a range of hills, clinging tightly to sheer cliffs offering a white-knuckle drive and spectacular views over the bay. It was a harrowing route of hair-pin turns and S-bends which gave my spouse few opportunities to admire the views over sparkling blue water and golden sandy beaches as we climbed the mountain, and more stress than we needed. The road and scenery reminded us of other coastal routes we have driven in California and Italy.

At the top, we were abruptly stopped by a police roadblock - a movie scene was being filmed - and the policeman gave us two options: turn around and go back the way we came (NOT happening!) or wait it out for 20 minutes. It was a short wait as promised and soon we were descending the cliffs and heading for less hair-raising terrain and the more staid motorway to the Algarve.

By now we had figured out the correct toll lanes for our transponder and could relax about that feature of our drive.

Our kids had travelled together in Portugal in 2017 and recommended a stop for lunch at a small town off the motorway. Why not? Except we somehow missed the correct exit (there are two) and found ourselves in back lanes nowhere near anything they described as spot for a spectacular lunch on a river. The Bickersons act one, scene three. Learning to accept help from artificial intelligence comes with time and trust. We aren't there yet!

 But sometimes serendipity provides a more interesting choice, because after parking the car and wandering up the road seeking advice we came upon a charming little square in front of a tiny cafe offering sandwiches, coffee and cold drinks. We were able to sample the traditional bifana, a pork sandwich, and it was cheap and cheerful and just perfect sitting in the sun. 

Back on the road my determined driver wanted nothing more than the fastest and clearest way to our destination, which was the village of Sagres at the very tip of the Portuguese coast. As we whizzed along we noticed storks' nests by the hundreds lodged in a line of hydro transmission towers, stacked on the steel frames like messy squatters. The large and graceful birds winged overhead in small flocks, on baby delivery perhaps?  

We felt a little let down as we drove into the small town of Sagres. The Atlantic beaches with their massive waves and miles of sand are a surfer's paradise, and Sagres seemed mostly set up to cater to that demographic. There were plenty of small places advertising room rentals and a rather Wild West-looking main drag offering meals and drinks, all interspersed with surf shops and board rentals. The numerous scruffy camper vans were everywhere, with wetsuits slung out to dry and boards being cleaned and waxed by their free-spirited owners who follow the waves all over Europe. We thanked the Fates that our daughter had not fallen in love and married a surfer dude.

But we had come for the wild Atlantic scenery not the town. Our hotel turned out to be fairly luxurious, right on the sea and facing a charming harbour. Not the way we usually roll but a relief after the choices we saw in town. The hotel restaurant also offered a more appealing atmosphere for dinner so we stayed put, able to relax over our meal with a bottle of wine and the excellent local catch.

We are in the Algarve, it is hot and sunny and life is good. 

"And now to sleep, perchance to dream....". More adventures tomorrow.