Coimbra, um centro Europeu da cultura

Coimbra (say queengbra) is approximately half-way in between Lisboa and Porto – roughly an hour either way. It was the capital of Portugal for two hundred years and has a fascinating history – immediately apparent when you look about the old town. The world’s oldest continuously running university (est. 1290 & a UNESCO world heritage site), towers nearby and we see the black-robed students walking around the neighborhood.

Other than the notable change in climate (warmer with less rain), we don’t know enough about the people here to make a comparison with the other parts of Portugal we’ve seen. There is definitely a different vibe – one you might expect between big and smaller cities, or rainy and dry towns. Our immediate impression is very favorable – this feels a bit more like what we’re used to – a friendly, funky college town. We’ve had nothing but welcoming acceptance from everyone we’ve spoken with so far and it would be fair to say we’ve got quite the crush on Coimbra. As if to buttress that opinion, I read this morning that Coimbra is competing to be recognized as one of the ‘Culture Capital of Europe, 2027’.

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The new digs with Eduardo and Mia

Passing under an arch of an adjacent 600-year-old aqueduct, we arrive at our VRBO and are greeted at the door by Eduardo and his happy grandpa of a retriever, Mia. Both are very gracious and after many licks (from Mia – we don’t know Eduardo that well yet), we’re shown in and given an introduction to the flat, a map of the old town and an informative primer on what’s worth checking out. We couldn’t have chosen a better location! The flat is roomy and clean – brightly lit with southern windows and has a fridge stocked with food for us, including the deliciously tart orange marmalade Eduardo makes from the orange tree out back. As if we needed more reasons to be excited, we learn that he is going to bring us a bag full of freshly baked bread every morning.

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Papa does dinner

Next door (literally) is the upscale restaurant, Papa. Feeling peckish after a full day’s travel, what could be easier than rolling out the front door and into a cozy candlelit dinner? It’s Friday night and we don’t have reservations. Stasia kindly asks our hostess if we might dine in the intimately lit main hall below, rather than the upstair table near the bar. Luck is on our side – Stasia is a charmer and they have one unreserved table left.

An interesting thing about restaurants in Portugal – they bring you a lovely little plate of bread, cheese, olives, and smoked meats (called couvert) when you sit down and, being from a land of compulsory chips and salsa, you might think this is a likewise appetizing freebie. It isn’t, and you’re free to decline the offer when they bring it by. This time, however, the couvert also includes a sort-of ceviche with raw pieces of cod marinated in olive oil, sea salt, lime juice and zest. We love ceviche, but this is uncommonly tasty. We’re sure there must be a dash of balsamic in there, but our server assures us it’s just those simple ingredients.

Over a bottle of Baga Vinhas Velhas, a local varietal, we share impressions and reminisce about the past few days while enjoying a plate of Ovos Rotos – eggs and fries (julienned shoestrings) with chouriço, mushrooms, and caramelized onions. This is a local favorite and it is as comfort as comfort food gets. In a university town, you can see why simple hearty fare like this flourishes. The peppery wine is somewhere between a merlot and a zin and compliments our meal wonderfully. Back upstairs to our flat, we collapse in bed, full and feeling so fortunate.

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Getting greened

The next day is a glorious one but we’re not yet ready to brave the roads, so we’ll stroll the surrounds. Similar to the university town we live in, there are lots of fun, cheap eateries, theaters and gardens about the area. We happen upon an inviting but empty entrance to Parque de Santa Cruz, and are serenaded into the landscaped grounds by a chorus of birdsong. That is something I would have missed if not for Stasia – whose ears lead us to the source – a gaggle of hoppy little LBJs (little black jobs), LBJ an acronym we heard once and now use all the time to describe birds we can’t identify. These chirpy yellow beaked guys are just bursting with spring melody.

The sculptural works which share these gardens with large modern art installations are built with what looks like coral – and there is something at once beautiful and ominous about the smooth tile imagery against the roughly textured edifice. The pointed finials along the stairs, we later learn, reference the Moorish occupation of the 8th century. It’s a very peaceful spot to stop, breathe and just exist.

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Lightening the load

In town, we nosh some student-friendly sandwiches and make our way to the Jardín Botánico de la Universidad de Coímbra which lay about 50 meters from our flat. Passing under the aqueduct into the gate entrance, you can’t help but be taken in by the grandeur. It’s not a large plot but is very clean and well-laid out. We’re especially fascinated with the sprawling oaks, covered in moss that has some kind of ivy growing out of it.

It is here we make two important discoveries: 1. We hate the mostly useless binoculars we’ve carted around for a decade and 2. We’d like some ice cream. The binocs work, but aren’t very practical so, this being a place where people would probably appreciate zooming in, we leave them for their next owners. Wow, that felt good! Try it sometime – that thing you feel you have to keep because it was expensive or a gift but you really don’t like. Just give it away, it’s like a weight being lifted.

The ice cream dream will be realized, but it’s a long winding walk through very old streets and a bit of construction to get there.

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A note about construction when traveling

There is a fair amount of construction we’ve come across in Porto, Lisboa, and now Coimbra. When you’re in your holiday hat, it’s easy to see this as an inconvenience and interruption, but Stasia has a different take which I have now adopted and live by. These aren’t teardown condos or McMansions being thrown up by faceless developers – they are modernizations of ancient interiors or brave new designs that make a statement. The construction is a sign of health and vitality – it’s the tender love and care that must go into maintaining centuries-old cities, preservation of history. Yes, it is loud, smelly, and unsightly – but so am I when I am convalescing.

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Magic over the Mondego Riviera

The ice cream place turns out to be part of the Mondego riverfront with a park, greenbelt, and restaurants with outdoor seating. Super cozy and the little kid dancing around with his mickey mouse umbrella is so entertaining. Oh yeah, we’re just going to camp here with our gelato, sip beer, and nosh cheeseburgers while the sun sets over this epic city. The walking bridge, which was glimmering in the sun with its angular colored resins is now glowing over the river as dusk settles. We must cross it, which is as magical as it looks from the shore, stopping in the middle to take in this overwhelming view, lights reflecting off the river like an impressionist painting from the old world.

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Four wheeling westward

The next day starts the way every day should while on vacation – have a detailed itinerary, then toss it out the window as soon as inspiration strikes. I happily forgo the mountain 18k race I signed up for in favor of driving 40 minutes west to the beach town, Figueira de Foz. This adventure involves all kinds of untested driving skills and Stasia is the pilot. You gotta hand it to her – rallying through city traffic is frightening and just getting out of town is a white-knuckled adventure.

As navigator, I try to help but she finds my gesticulatory technique very distracting. Nonetheless, she still needs a verbal assist and so I find myself trying to describe simple directions without the aid of my hands, invariably saying things like ‘go that way’ but without any kind of visual reference, my head involuntarily jerking in the general direction. That is ineffective so we finally just give into the modern age and allow the phone to dictate, which turns out to be the easiest way – me adding bits in here and there, us both laughing at our digital guide’s butchering of local street names.

After filling up the tank in the center of town, we decide to get a little more remote. Twenty minutes later, we pull into the most charming villa nestled up against some rolling hills on one side and eternity on the other. Not much here except what we were hoping for: open beach, pounding surf, and a single cafe sitting right on the sand dunes. Some sustenance in the shape of steaks and sides follows – Stasia’s yummy beef steak and my overcooked tuna are accompanied by sweet potato in the form of a mash and pile of eighth-inch, deep-fried rounds. The arugula salad helps bring a healthy and textural balance.

Overall, the perfect fuel for our sandy stroll down this glorious coast, where it seems we have the entire ocean to ourselves.

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Papa tucks us in

Wanting to try a new dinner joint but too tuckered to make the trek, we drop back into Papas, this time for some Mexi-talian: Simple tacos followed by penne arrabbiata, caesar salad and a caramel brownie. Another bottle of regional wine, this time more Merlot-ish envelopes the meal and sends us back upstairs, happy and once again, just bursting with gratitude.

(I won’t tell you how much this country needs me to give a state-sponsored public service announcement on proper caesar preparation because that would make me look too much of the snob I’m trying to hide from you.)

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Rose-tinted sunglasses?

This blog is coming across as showing off and painting everything as being so wonderful that not a single objectionable event has ever happened and we’re farting rainbows and unicorns 24/7. While I have omitted certain details like my persistently achy sciatica and other nuisances, overall we’ve been very fortunate. This blog is about creating a narrative – a stream of memories through the lens of my psyche, which happens to be fairly buoyant at present. Sorry, I also enjoy tales of misadventure and mayhem, tragedy and redemption – but the gods are smiling upon us and I’m not complaining.