When DW and I set out for our trip to Portugal, a vacation wasn't all that was on our minds. I can see retirement on the horizon, and we were exploring options as to where we could see ourselves living in the next phase of our lives.
Cascais was a potential option.
We finally had a late start to the morning, sleeping in almost until 8:00. For us, that's a very late start when we're on vacation. We like to get out and do things before the bulk of tourists are on the move. But today, on the tenth day in Portugal, we were going to get a move on at a later hour.
I wanted to capture golden hour, if not sunset, on the west coast.
We walked down Rua do Alecrim to the train station in Cais do Sodré and were lucky to hop a train that was just about to pull out. It followed the Tagus River, past Belém and many other stops before ending at the eastern edge of Cascais but still within the town. Exiting the station, we saw a traffic circle and the starting point to our main destination, a bicycle rental kiosk (it wasn't the destination: it was the starting point).
But because it was the noon hour and we were hungry, we sought out a restaurant. We walked past an Indian restaurant and thought we might check it out, as we love Indian food and had only eaten Portuguese food so far on this vacation. When we turned the corner and passed another Indian restaurant, we knew it was a sign. And this one had a patio, so this was where we had lunch.
Masala Indian Restaurant is located where there's lots of buzz, as shoppers and sightseers alike wander the pedestrian corridors. The food was delicious and reasonably priced, and the service was attentive. DW and I both gave it our thumbs up.
Adequately fed, we returned to the bike rental kiosk. Much like Bixi bikes or Citi Bike, these basic, three-speed touring bikes have a basket on the front and are easy to ride. We were able to rent them for about six euros and we had to return them by 7 pm. That gave us more than five hours.
We consulted a map and plotted out a route. Our destination was Cabo da Roca, about 20 kilometres away. DW thought it would be a challenge, given that the bikes weighed about twice as much as our road bikes, but I assured her that we could do it.
Folks, we couldn't do it.
As we left Cascais and followed the shoreline, the wind became stronger and stronger, blowing from the west and straight at us. Passing beaches, we could see large waves crashing on rocks, sending spray into the air. Sand was beginning to blow across the roadway and our bike path. And as we approached Praia do Guincho, a beach that is popular with surfers, and as we saw the considerable climb ahead of us, we came up with a Plan B.
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| Praia do Guincho, looking toward Cabo da Roca |
Across the street from Fortaleza do Guincho, a hotel next to Praia do Guincho that looks more like a fortress than a five-star resort, we saw a bus stop where many bikes were parked. It looked like we weren't the only ones with the same idea. We were grateful that we had rented a bike lock for an additional euro.
But instead of waiting for the bus, which was due in about a half an hour, we ordered an Uber. For nine euros, we got up to Cabo da Roca in comfort and a lot quicker than a bus could have taken us.
Cabo da Roca is the westernmost point of continental Europe and rises about 150 metres above the Atlantic. The steep cliff drops down to jagged rocks below. And as you look westward, all you see is endless ocean.
It's no wonder that in the days before ocean exploration, this was the end of the world.
As we exited our Uber vehicle, we could hear sirens and deep, raspy horns in the distance. Looking down the road that leads to this spot, we could see a fire engine and an ambulance approaching. By the time that we walked out of the parking area, these vehicles were negotiating the foot paths toward the cliff. I captured some of the moment with my video camera.
Someone, it seemed, had slipped off the cliff beyond the safety zone. Fences and signs warn visitors not to stray beyond but we could see that many failed to heed those warnings. And with the wind blowing even more fiercely up here than where we had abandoned our bikes, there was no way that DW or I would get close to the edge.
A rescue team sprang to action and headed down toward the victim. As soon as they were out of sight, DW and I wished them luck, crossed our fingers for the person who fell, but then continued with our exploration of the site.
There were a lot of tourists, like us, who were vying to have our pictures taken with the marker that indicates where we were. Ahead of us, a Korean family were posing while the rest of us patiently waited in line. As they finished, the mother looked to DW and me as if to say, we're done, your turn.
"Kamsa-habnida," I said, immediately getting a look of surprise. I mean, what were the chances of a westerner recognizing your nationality and being able to say thank you in your language?
We explored the cliffside from within the fenced area and took pictures of the lighthouse before making our way to a trail that headed north. A short way from Cabo da Roca is a beach with striking jagged rocks that I had hoped to capture at sunset, but we knew this wouldn't be the case now. Because the bikes had to be returned by 7, which was before sunset, we would have to leave Cabo da Roca with enough time to get to the bikes and cycle the 10 kms back to the rental kiosk.
"I'd at least like to get as close to the beach as I can to take some photos," I told DW. We agreed that we would see how far we could get, being mindful of the time and accounting for a half-hour wait from the time that we ordered our Uber.
Praia da Ursa is a much further walk than I had anticipated, and we were only able to get about two-thirds of the way to it from the lighthouse before we knew we had to make our way to a spot where the Uber could reach us. And sadly, the path didn't allow me to even see the beach before we had to turn back. This is the last photo I shot before we turned around. The beach was further beyond, out of sight.
The wind hadn't changed direction since we had last cycled, so we had a strong tailwind that almost made pedalling moot. We stopped at a few spots to capture the waves as they slammed along the rocky shore before continuing back to Cascais. We returned the bikes with about 20 minutes to spare.
We were hungry, having worked up an appetite on the bikes, and found a Casa Portuguesa do Pastel de Bacalhau, a food chain that specializes in a popular Portuguese treat, cod cakes. We ordered the cheese-stuffed cakes: they are served in a paper cup with a glass of white port, which you conveniently hold in what looks like a painter's palette so that you have a free hand. Have a look.
We wandered the narrow streets of Cascais, looking for a seaside view of the sunset but were unsuccessful. The town faces southeast. While we were able to sit along the harbourfront, we'd have to look over the buildings in the town, inland, to see the orange glow of sunset.
We also had to fight off aggressive gulls, eventually moving somewhere safer.
DW found that the cheese was too strong and salty, so only got through half of her cod cake. I finished it for her but we had actually purchased two each, figuring that we were hungry enough to eat them. After finishing DW's cake, I was too full to have my second cake. We'd have to carry the box with them back to Lisbon and I would eat them another time.
We returned to the Casa Portuguesa, figuring that they'd want us to return the palette and port glass, but we learned that we could keep the glasses, as they were included in the price of the meal. The person who had served us offered to give us clean glasses and made the swap. We told him that we didn't want to keep the palettes so he took them back. They were in good shape and could be used again.
As blue hour fell on Cascais, we made our way to the train station and back to Lisbon. We wandered the streets between Cais do Sodré and Praça do Comércio, where we were surprised to find many young people approaching us, looking to sell us cocaine and other drugs.
We politely declined.
As we prepared for bed, back at our apartment, I couldn't help but wonder about the fate of the person who had fallen at Cabo da Roca. Was he or she okay? I fell asleep while sending positive vibes out to a total stranger.
And as for Cascais: could we see ourselves retiring there? Maybe, but DW is still convinced that Canada will remain our home and she can't see us leaving family and friends behind, in Ottawa.
Time will tell.
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