100,000,000,000 Bacteria Cohabit with You

A large man has just lent over me in an effort to reach his seat. The whiff of body odour is overpowering. We have boarded a flight out of Madrid on our way to Athens. The large man seems to be part of a connecting flight from a country not sold on the merits of deodorants. (To minimise the risk of being called a racist, I shall not mention the continent from which the interconnecting flight departed.)

If you were to study up on the latest research on our body's microbiome health (http://www.scientificamerican.com/blog/post.cfm?id=ten-predictions-on-the-future-of-your-microbial-health) you may find body odour less objectionable. I read the article and it didn't work for me... for me, BO is still unpleasant... but by all means, give it a go.... read up and expand your mind and your olfactor sensors.

Here is the theory! For you to live, you need the assistance of some one hundred trillion bacteria that live on our skin, in our gut and in all body crevasses. In fact, the number of these foreign critters outnumber the cells that are us... we carry around more foreign DNA than our own. As you would expect with large numbers, there are the goodies and the baddies all trying to etch out an existence by living on the food and waste that is processed through our bodies.

If this detail is making you feel squeamish, stop reading... it is not going to get any better. But if you want a more practical self-image... keep reading... and get used to the notion that you are not a single being... you are an ecosystem composed of hundreds of thousands of different organisms. These little critters do most of the digestive work in your stomach. They break down certain foods that we digest that would be poisonous to us without their intervention. The critters that are the goodies protect us from the baddies. Some critters that are important to us also need other types of critters for them to survive. We are not the only source of survival for such critters... we need to maintain the health of a whole ecosystem for us to feel healthy.

Lets not get too academic about this. The big guy leaning over me on this flight has a healthy ecosystem existing under his armpits. His critters are feasting on his perspiration and the by-product of bacterial activity results in an odour being emitted. Two consequences follow. This big guy will not suffer any skin ailments in the area under his arms. The ecosystem of bacteria is strong and the goodies bacteria are healthy enough to withstand and attempts from any baddies to take over. The second consequence is that I have to hold my nose when he leans over. (Of course my reaction is completely off the mark... I should be complementing him on his healthy armpits.)

Now here's the squeamish part. Have you noticed that while some of your friends have bad odour, some of your friends have body odour that isn't too bad... and a small number of friends have body odour that isn't offensive at all... I hesitate to say it smells good... but its well along that spectrum. The colony of bacteria under your arm is different from the colony under my arm and different from the colony under the arm of the friend with good body odour. The article referenced above, makes the prediction that in the near future, your friend with good body odour will be in demand. Cosmetic companies will be wanting to grow cultures of his/her underarm bacteria colonies and sell them to you to put under your arm so that your colony can produce less offensive odours. Today's underarm deodorants kill the offending bacteria... but in the process kill off a range of good bacteria that protect our skin from bad bacteria. Tomorrow, we will wipe our underarms with bacteria that produce good odour but also built up our protection against skin diseases.

Here is the take out! Next time you are near a friend who smells good, say to them... you have a great colony of underarm bacteria. I wouldn't mind getting a culture from you when you have the time.

Just a thought! Hope this flight lands soon. I need some fresh air.

We met up with an old friend from Bucaco

The hotel in Bucaco (Palace of Bussaco) featured the architecture of Luigi Manini. We were mesmerised by his decoration in marble... particularly his over mantle in the lounge room. Well, yesterday at the Palace of Sintra we saw where he practiced his over mantle design skills. The Royals of the day must have liked his work to commission him for the Bussaco job. He didn't change too many details. Yesterday, we were also impressed by his work in carving a stork (it is visible in the photo of the over mantle - in corner of room). In case you are interested, photos are attached below.

Tonight, we are back in Madrid in a hotel close to the airport. Tomorrow is an early start to travel to Athens. Hope this message finds you well and happy.

The Answer is Blowing in the Wind

Tomorrow, we catch a flight back to Madrid for an overnight stay and then travel to Greece (Athens). We have had a great time in Portugal. It's one of the poorest countries in the EU and will probably remain so for a while. There isn't much sign of poverty... the fact they are borrowed up to the hilt doesn't show on the faces of people. They look happy and positive. The proportion of youth is noticeably low... probably a proportion are seeking employment in other EU countries. The prices off the main tourist drags are low and there are always lots of people to provide service. This probably means wages are very low.

Portugal has invested much of its recent borrowings into a 'first class' road system. The whole coastal strip has deep gorges running right down to the sea. Without hundreds of million dollar bridges, the country would certainly remain stuck in poverty. Nearly all express-ways have tolls that are too expensive for the typical Portuguese citizen to use. We would drive for miles without having to share these magnificent structures. Arguably, they over spent on some junctions with minor roads... no doubt local politics played a role there. Also its worth mentioning the high priority Portuguese have given to tertiary education. For a country with little agriculture or mining, their future path seems to lie along having a highly skilled workforce. (Many other countries are being forced to follow similar strategies, so they will need a lot of luck.)

Portuguese melancholia comes from missed opportunities during the 'Victorian' period. In its days of empire, Portugal was awash with money. Brazil was digging up gold faster than any other nation... and all this gold went straight to Portugal. And how did Portugal spend its wealth? Basically, they went long on investments in churches and palaces. With the benefit of hindsight, you could question if this was the best choice. This is where Bob Dylan adds some relevant philosophy. How many churches do you need to make your people pious? How much gold leaf do you need on an altar to keep God on your side. How many crucifixes are needed to provide miracle cures and protection against hunger? How many palaces do you need to show that you are rich? (I think you've got the drift.) If Portugal had invested as much into education as they did in theology, they could have remained a world power. Alternatively, they could have continued to invest in shipping. (Their first big bonanza resulted from inventing sails that allowed their ships to tack into the breeze better than any other nation. Simultaneously, they invested in espionage that gave them the best maps in the world.)

So, we say farewell to Portugal having enjoyed its hospitality, but learning only enough to realise how little we understand about the place. They are lovely warm people... seeing men kiss each other on the lips as a form of greeting sort of clarified the warmth aspect. We hope we can return in the not too distant future.

Nearing the end of Portugal

<p dir="ltr">We are now at Sintra... our final destination in Portugal. We have the full day tomorrow to complete our coverage of this area... there is a lot to see. This afternoon, we did the high-profile destinations... the Palace National of Sintra in the old city area, the Palace of Pena on the hill and the Moorish Castle (of course, also on top of a hill). You are probably thinking... 'same old same old' . Well, you are wrong... dead wrong. The proper form of address should be 'same but different'. Lets deal with the sites in chronological order. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The Moorish Castle is the first of its kind that we have seen largely in tack. As mentioned last week, the Christians made a point of eradicating the Moorish record as much as they could. In particular, upon conquering a Moorish castle or town, the first job was to dismantle the mosque and rebuild a church with the building material. Perhaps, the reason they left the Sintra castle was its extreme position. The Christians would not have wanted to build a Town on the castle site. I can't imagine how the Christians captured this site. Its geography makes it impenetrable. Perhaps, by the time the battles reach Sintra, the Moors had already given up and were on their way home. However, when building the Castle, who provided the engineering advice? There are some pretty big blocks of stone sitting high on the castle wall. To get the stone up there and set it in a manner that it could survive the 1755 earthquake leads you to believe these simple Berber folk from Morocco knew a thing or two about engineering. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Next, the folly... the spoilt simple minded rulers who could think of nothing better to do with a country's wealth than to build a summer retreat that pampered to every excess of the royal family. The problem being solved was that Lisbon gets hot in summer. So the court needed to move up to a hill that offered some humidity (keep the temperature down) and caught the onshore winds. Don Fernando II was King Consul... not even a proper King. He fancied himself as the Artist-King but left mountains of evidence that he was really the Silly-King. His reign was from 1836-1853. By this stage of history, he should have known better. </p>

The third of our visits was to the Palace National of Sintra. The Silly-King had left his mark and departed this mortal coil. Sintra was still an important centre of political power. A sensible Palace was built to conduct the affairs of state... in the city square... of a grandeur appropriate for a rural retreat of government. The tourists don't like visiting it as much... but it certainly gave the tax payers of the day much better value for money.

 

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Wet Day in Evora

If you are going to have a wet day in your travels, its best done in an interesting town. We had booked a tour with a local archaeologist to look at some cave drawings done by Cro-Magnon citizens (some 60,000 years ago)... and some 'Druid' type rock circles... all within a few kilometres of town. However, the rain has not let up... the roads to the sites are not sealed and the soil is sticky... so the archaeologist's 4-wheel drive Jeep can't get through. We have not struck 'gold' weatherwise, but our location is perfect! Evora is just south of the marble region... still close to the Spanish border.

This town has developed into a centre of historical and cultural interest largely through the work of one man... a local Friar (subsequently made good and became the local Bishop). In 1834 he was promoted to head librarian (I'm sure his mother was so proud). He mustn't have had many books or borrowers because he spent his time collection all the Roman artefacts he could lay his hands on. His weird hobby soon became notorious and landholders would bring him all the strange stuff their ploughs had unearthed. Soon he had quite a collection... on display at the library. The church hierarchy got to hear of his success and gave him a budget to travel to nearby towns and buy-up any important collectables. He must have been an incorrigible sort of fellow... because he started buying art. The quality of his purchases lead to schools of art being started in Evora. The museum somehow survived wars, earthquakes, expulsion of certain religious orders... every conceivable obstacle and threat. It lost some of its most valuable pieces... but enough remains to be very valuable. We noticed how well preserved many of the Roman items remain. The edging on marble carving is razor sharp and the marble is unstained... as if it just left the factory.

In between showers, we skipped from church to church... from palace to palace. The day passed so quickly, we still had our to-do list incomplete before we ran out of time and energy.

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Marble adds Class to a Town Square - Additional Photos

Marble adds Class to a Town Square

Each morning, Joye and I leave the hotel wondering how the day will provide novelty and interest. This concern has been heightened since leaving the Douro Valley... the weather has taken a turn for the worse... mornings have been wet, misty and cold... afternoons have provided scattered showers... but enough fine weather to allow us to complete our activities. Our room at Marveu had a great view... (including the street we drove up the wrong way).. but this morning you couldn't see 10 metres out the window... the fog and rain were so heavy.

The first 30 minutes of driving were uncomfortable... along narrow winding roads with limited visibility. The locals were used to the conditions and provided another scare factor as they sped through the corners missing us by inches. Once we had descended from our hilltop, the novelty and the interest began. We were following the border with Spain through high altitude country. We were surprised to see the rugged hills smooth out into undulating hills. The towns became less frequent and the trees thinned out to present rich farming country. We saw flocks/herds of animals (we have seen precious few animals before today). We saw fields of knee-high clover in full bloom. (It was daisies!) We saw cork plantations and groves of oak trees. But the best was yet to come.

We drove into the area of Portugal that has marble quarries that produce stone of remarkable quality... and there are tons of it! The quarries have been worked since Roman times. In the medieval sectors of the towns, the old houses have great big blocks of marble used as the door lintel. The houses of the courtiers used the stone to excess. Some had doors made of marble... others thought railings on stairs should be made of it too... as well as the stairs themselves of course. The palaces and cathedrals used the rock for everything. Often the building blocks did not have the marble faced... it was treated as any run of the mill building material. Outside, the pavement was made from marble chips... lightening the streets to provide the luminescent for which Portugal is famous.

And they are not about to run out of the stuff! In the region the quarries are everywhere. Each quarry has a huge pile of stones... we were not sure if they were rejects or next year's inventory.

It's pretty safe to say that Australia will not have towns offering marble-mint beauty. No more villages in Portugal will be given such infrastructure. The world is now willing to pay high prices for Portuguese marble. Its quality is supposed to match the best of what Italy has to offer.

We're sitting on top of the world

We're in our hotel room within the castle walls at Marvao. The castle is perched high on a rocky outcrop high in the mountains that borders Spain. The altitude would be less than 2000 metres... trifling by South American standards... but it is one of the highest towns in Portugal. It's a fact of history that 12th century military technology was based on having a stronghold in the area most difficult to reach. Another tactic was to have town streets inside the castle as narrow and crooked as possible.

Now, let's look at modern economics. To attract the tourists, you want to keep the castle as authentic as possible. Don't straighten or widen any streets... keep street signage to a minimum. And as for choosing the best site for a hotel, of course that would be in the middle of the castle as close as possible to the castle keep.

The point of your bearing the load of such knowledge is for me to gain your sympathy for the driving stress Joye and I endure each day. Testing circumstances have resulted in a 'love-hate' relationship developing with our GPS navigation system. We have called this system 'Peggy'... she speaks very nicely to us and we reply just as courteously. That's the love part. On the express way and major roads we interact in a manner that borders on the 'unhealthy '. It isn't natural to share such tenderness and kindness with a machine. It is unnatural for a machine to anticipate so knowingly, the needs of a human. But there you have it.

Now we come to the' hate 'part. I put the following unfortunate circumstance entirely at the feet of Peggy. Near the end of each day, she has maliciously and wontedly attempted to cause car accidents. She takes delight in giving misleading directions to send us down the wrong road... so that she can say "recalculating' in her superior manner... gee I hate that! Circumstances are made no better by our tour organiser selecting hotels in smaller castle villages located in the middle of mountaintop towns.

Take this afternoon as an example. We had just completed a lovely stroll through an important castle... a centre that had withstood the might of the Moors... and had been instrumental in building an army that eventually forced the Moors southward. Our next stop was Marveu where we would stay for the night. There was a perfectly acceptable path using major roads and little confusion to get us to Marvao. Did Peggy choose this path? Oh no! She found another path that saved us one kilometre in distance but added 15 minutes of time... taking us through every barn yard of every subsistence farmer in the district. In one little village, Joye had to get out of the car and push the rear view mirrors closed so that we could fit between the farm buildings.

When we finally reach Marvao, Peggy says she knows how to drive to the location of the hotel high up in the castle close to the castle keep. We don't trust her. We park at the castle walls and walk up through the ancient site. There is the Jewish housing near the castle wall... another medieval military tactic... place your most disposable citizens in direct line of fire to slow down the advancing army. We scrambled up mountain goat type tracks to reach the castle keep... but no sign of our hotel was to be seen.

We went back to the car and for want of any better alternative, chose to trust Peggy. She drove us up streets that were near vertical... where only a cigarette paper separated each side of car from the buildings. Then when she had us in a position where we had no alternatives, she started giving silly instructions." Turn Right... Turn Right" she yelled out... when to follow her instruction would have meant certain death through a 500 metre fall into the valley below.

Clearly, we survived... no thanks to Peggy. We had to break every road rule in the book and execute precision driving. The place is fantastic. It is only Peggy that is putting a dampener on proceedings. My Immediate reaction is to keep her switched off for the day whole day tomorrow. She needs to be reminded who is boss. It's Joye... and Peggy shouldn't forget it!

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When Jesus turned water into wine... my guess is that he had contacts from the Douro Valley

We have had another full day at the winery (Quinta de La Rosa). We arose to quite heavy rain... so decided to plan our day around a train trip to the end of the line at the top of the Douro Valley. This valley is well worth its World Heritage listing... the steep valley slopes creating an amphitheatre to celebrate the growing of grapes. The 1-hour train trip took us through a long rugged gorge. The gorge is topped and tailed with dams... so the water did not provide any excitement. Hydroelectricity is generated at the dams so power lines spoiled what would otherwise be perfect photo opportunities.

Upon reaching the end of the line, the rain had stopped and we were ready for a walk. We walked over the dam wall along a disused railway track but ran out of time before reaching our preferred viewing spot. The buttercups and dandelions were in full bloom. The sky was blue and the wind was bracing... perfect conditions for a countryside stroll. Our photos for today will not be entered for competition prizes... pretty ordinary really... but hopefully captures just a little of the fresh countryside through which we strolled.

Upon arriving back at Pochino, we called into the only Cafe in town... for a hot cup of chocolate. We were then entertained by the local men having their mid-day meal... a big plate of sausages with a couple of plates of vegetables and each had their 500ml of red wine to wash everything down. If this was their usual midday meal, they are living pretty well. One poor guy lingered back after his mates had left... he couldn't pay for his meal and was roused on by the lady proprietor. Joye felt sorry for him and wanted to help... he looked so dejected. I managed to shoo Joye out of the premises before she created "Joye's Lunchtime Charity for Hard-up Grape Pickers".

Now, we have a tour of Quinta de La Rosa to see the stockpile of wine and port barrels yet to hit the market.

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First Sign of GFC - Shops with Lights Turned Off

We have left Porto and are now exploring a delightful narrow valley that is the wine centre of Portugal. In fact, the Duoro Valley was the first wine centre of the world... and the Douro winemaking region was declared a World Heritage Site in 2001. The steep hillsides show evidence of century upon century of terrace building... reminiscent of Peru. Douro citizens started their efforts in the 1st and 2nd centuries when Romans ruled. The British monopolised the wine trade through their "Port Lodges" for the 19th and 20th centuries... port wine was the only product that the British would take to market. It was only when Portugal joined the EU that the local winegrowers were able to table a wide range of wines that had been consumed locally for millennia and suddenly the world said, "Why didn't you tell us you could make this great wine". "Well", said the Douro winegrowers, "we have been telling you for the last 500 years... but I guess you haven't been listening."

We are staying in a winery that can be seen as the white group of buildings on the left hand side of the river (see photo below). It still presses its own grapes... but is spreading its risks by developing a tourist business as well. I think they are doing Ok, but we are the only guests for tonight.

In contrast, the town looks to be in bad shape. We were trying to stock up on some groceries and walked the main street (only shopping street) in search of items. We were somewhat surprised to notice that the shops had half empty shelves... but more alarming, the shops were in darkness... maybe to save on the cost of electricity. Being a country town, it was easier to find a chainsaw than it was to buy a couple of bread rolls.

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Joane - the patron saint of Needlework

Yesterday afternoon, we walked past 3 churches. We could not resist the temptation to push open the big heavy doors and have a look. However, we did resist the temptation to take a photo. Over the next 12-months, we will walk past approx p1,500 churches (5 per day for 300 days). Clearly, the novelty of photographing the gold leaf wood carvings around the altar will wear off at some stage. I thought I had detected the first signs yesterday afternoon. You see, our visit to a monastery dedicated to St. Joane put  us off Inquisition memorabilia. From what we can gather, Joane was made a saint because she was good at needle work (and she was a favourite sister of the Portuguese king at the time). (Next time I see Joanne Griffiths, I must remind her to keep up her needle work.) One of the displays in the monastery showed a collection of crucifix miniatures. (I included a photo in yesterday's blog.) Which one was your favourite? So much effort and skill put into dramatising pain and suffering! The one that really put me off was very small and showed poor old Jesus spread out on glass like a lab rat about to be examined under a microscope. After St. Joane's monastery, I couldn't photograph another church... or so I thought.

Today, the assault on the senses from miniature crucifixes must have worn off a little. We climbed the river bank into the main section of the old Moorish region. There are lots of churches there. Immediately upon winning a city from the Moors, the Christians would carefully demolish the mosques and use the materials to construct a church. I was told that the blue tiles found in old Portuguese churches arose because the Moors had made widespread use of tiles in their mosques. Anyway, we came upon some of the bigger and older churches in Porto in this old part of town. We opened the door expecting to make a quick 'photo free' exit. However, we weren't sufficiently strong to resist the lure of Gothic drama.

The first church predated flying buttresses and had its towering columns very close together. The effect is to emphasise the height of the ceiling. Click! Before we knew it, our old habits had returned. Like a lapsed smoker, the second and third indiscretions evoked less feelings of guilt.

So, we are not as advanced in our church resistance as we may have thought.

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Nathan's favourite spot - With a Cup of Port in hand - Salute to Porto

One of Nathan's favourite spots - Porto in northern Portugal has proved to be a very colourful city (population 200,000 approx). At this moment, Joye and I have a glass of port in hand... acknowledging Porto as the home of port wine. The English are to blame for port! They added brandy to Porto's wine to stop it going sour. Perhaps they should have thought ahead a bit more and also added something to stop it going so sweet. Anyway, Porto is fantastic. I asked Patricia, our guide in Lisbon for a phrase that summarised Portugal. I was looking for a phrase in the category of "creepy" or "mysterious". She said she could go one better and provided a one word summary of Portugal. She said, "Portugal is 'luminosity'". She said the light in Portugal makes Greece look like a shadow. It was not until we came to Porto that I understood how accurate her summary was. Today we had scattered cloud... yet looking up on the old city from the river, the senses are overwhelmed with the colour of deep red roof tiles and sand rendered walls. The place glows! Porto is not on the Mediterranean... but it should be. The light, sounds and flavours capture what I think is the essence of 'Mediterranean '.

Bad news for you my friend... we have a new 'best' friend. Her name is 'Peggy' and she is very good at navigation... in fact she is the Garvan GPS system. She has made what would otherwise be an impossible task, into a relatively relaxed drive through the countryside. Our Porto hotel is right in the middle of the old city. The streets are narrow and not a straight line in site. That is how the Moors designed their cities so that they were easier to defend. Without Peggy we had no chance of finding our hotel. So many times Peggy has saved the day... if we make a mistake, she just says 'Recalculating'.... . so dear old friend... you will just have to accommodate a step down the ladder. (Please note - this does not apply to relatives.)

Miffy - this had better be worth it!

These were the thoughts in our minds as we drove up a long steep road to the Palace of Bucaco. We had booked a night's accommodation on Miffy's recommendation of the surrounding Bucaco forest. Nathan and Miffy had visited during their European trip (circa 1997 or there abouts). Our little Renault car was labouring around the tight bends through the heavy forest. We noticed a large number of big old trees had recently been blown over in a storm and still had to be cleared. With over 2 kms to go and not a view of the Palace we came to a gate and asked to identify ourselves. Finally, our car topped the hill and there it presented itself in all its glory.

Yes, Miffy, the climb was worth the effort. What a very special place this is! Reminds you of home in a way. Just look at the photo of the over mantle shown below. This would be just the thing for your place. And the verandah leading off the dining room overlooking the garden... perfect. And the garden... a little bit of simple baroque Japanese box hedging on a pebble base... nice, real nice.

The site was initially developed as a Carmelite monastery in 1627, and the barefoot monks planted trees collected by Portugal from its empire outposts. The king of Portugal dissolved the Carmelite order of monks in the early 19th century and after a time he degreed that the place could be used as an hotel... its primary guests being Portuguese royalty to satisfy any whims for a bit of hunting that may arise from time to time. So, the best architects and builders of the day were funded to showcase Portuguese arts and crafts. (No doubt the gold flowing in from Brazil helped pay for some of it.)

Miffy, I want to know how you found this place. It isn't exactly on the tourist superhighway. Where did you stay? What season was it when you were here? I suspect the forest was in better shape than the part we saw this afternoon. The big storm was in January... and destroyed some of the oldest and biggest trees in the forest. The gardening staff are distraught!

This town is kind of Spooky in a Kooky Melancholic kind of way

Portugal is a recent entrant into the modern world. It first tried its hand at democracy as recently as 1964. Not everyone is yet convinced that the last&#160; benign dictator (Salazar) doesn't beat the bossy kill-joys currently ruling in the national government and the EU bureaucrats.&#160; The people of Portugal (or Lisbon at least) are not yet comfortable with where they find themselves in the modern world. Lisbon has a decadence and melancholy that comes from lost grandeur. It's a mysterious place, but there's an innocence to the city.

I have to tell you about this nightclub/restaurant we came across last night that encapsulates unusual aspects of Lisbon&#8217;s character. The nightclub is housed in what was once a chapel... a gift from King Don Joao V to his mistress in the early 18th century. Nestled in the streets of Lisbon's historic Alfama district, we had to search thoroughly to find the front door... no lighting... no signage... no windows. After eliminating all alternatives, we approached this old wooden door that looked like it hadn't been opened since King Don Joao's the days. We knocked.. and couldn't hear any noise... we knocked again and again. Eventually, someone pulled the door open a few inches. "Yes?" "Is this Mesa de Frades? "" Yes." "We have a booking. May we come in?"; "Yes." The door was inched open to reveal 20 pairs of eyes shining out of the gloom. We felt we were gate-crashing a secret meeting of the Knights Templar. We sat down at the only vacant table... and were served a nice 5-course meal of wholesome rustic food. We hadn't come for the food... we wanted to hear Fado music... Portuguese version of 'blues' music..... but the food was fantastic.

After completion of the meal, a couple of chairs were propped up against the door... the only available space. However, the message was clear... you may leave this club only when we allow you. Candles were lit... electric lights were switched off. A mandolin player and a guitarist appeared from another room and carefully tuned their instruments. A middle aged Fado female singer stepped forward and rendered her laments with overwhelming emotions. During her 10 minute performance, she kept her eyes closed and her hands clasped with prayerful intent. Her voice quality and control were remarkable. Tremulous quavering was delivered with operatic precision. Her powerful voice in the small space was inspiring. Her accompanists were equally skilled. The mandolin player produced the sounds of the Mediterranean... in many ways, he was the star of the show. We did not understand one line of lyrics during the evening... someone named 'Maria' seemed to get more than a fair share of criticism... but the despair and sorrow of the songs was quite clear. At 1am there was a break in the performance (we had flown in from Madrid, and lost an hour in time shift, so it was really 2am for us). We bolted for the door and grabbed a cab to escape to our hotel. We were happy prisoners... but the whole experience was a little bit 'spooky'.

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Gregorian Chants Anybody?

We climbed out of the Metro in the old city sector of Lisbon not sure what we would find. We certainly did not anticipate having to push past a group of Gregorian Chanters limbering up their guitars and vocal chords. The place they selected to perform was in front of a large group of diners sitting under umbrellas praying that the rain would stay away. As you can see from the photo below, the chanters were properly attired in their black medieval smocks. The guy practising the falsetto tenor voice was also hurriedly puffing his way through his final cigarette before the performance. (I would like some medical advice on how cigarettes helps preserve falsetto vocal chords.) We hung around for 10 minutes or so... they seemed to be taking their time psyching themselves up for the performance... so we moved on.

They have these cute little trams in Lisbon... and we caught one to take us along the dock area towards some tourist sites. We jumped out when we saw a huge complex of church buildings. It turned out to be a monastery (Jeronimos) that is now used in part as a museum and also remains in part as a functioning church. It was too late in the day to cover the museum. However, we heard a church service in progress and popped inside the church to stand at the back and observe. I don't know if this was a special service. I don't know the liturgy and singing in a standard Portuguese catholic service. What I do know is that the singing in the immense church was rich and full from the echoes from the high ceilings... and the beautiful clear voices sent shivers down my spine. A good falsetto tenor voice can get you like that. I would like to think the choir was delivering Gregorian Chants.