We’ve forsaken southern shores for dry forests and made our great escape northwards. The Alentejo and its arid hills will be our in-flight movie as we wind our way to Évora. While our route passes by a few cities recommended to us by Carla, we’re going to save them for next time (or maybe the time after that). They all sound interesting but we don’t want to rush and there’s not much point in just driving through. You want to spend some relaxed time and savor them. Flying through would be like drinking fine wine with a stuffed nose. Well, to be clear, drinking it with your mouth, and having a stuffed nose at the same time. Except not a stuffed nose like you might find at a taxidermy shop. Your own actually, and they’re really more inflamed than properly stuffed which can also be confusing. If you need more clarification, just email me directly.
Relic of the Past
We stop to fill our tank and come across an antique relic of the old world, a full-service attendant – a real live human being who chats you up as he fills your tank. He pegs us as Americans and asks from where exactly. “Sacramento? The Kings!”, he fires back excitedly and we give him the thumbs up. We’re glad he doesn’t continue that thread – beyond knowing the name of our local basketball team, we’ve got nothing.
Giant Robot and his Pet Human
With more than an hour to go, we’re hungry but I’m willing to wait for an authentic experience. Stasia would like that too but a snack never hurt anyone and this McD’s we’ve pulled into to use the restroom might just do the trick. While we’re at it, let’s make use of that car wash next door. Our ride is pretty dirty and the bug-splattered windshield is not doing the beautiful countryside justice.
Rather than a permanent garage-like enclosure, this oversized contraption might have been hauled in by a big pickup truck trailer. It’s a giant robot capable of telescoping and retracting as it soaks, prewashes, scrubs, rinses, dries, and waxes its cargo. It comes with its own human whose sole purpose appears to stand nearby and smoke cigarettes. On occasion, the human instructs people who are confused with the concept of inserting cash and pushing a button. Otherwise, he’s like a pet who waits for his owner.
Pepino!
Dear friendly McDonalds dude who took my order. I was very clear and methodical in my instructions to have NO mayo and YES mustardo. We went over it twice and your happy head nodding and repetition of my order seemed airtight. Somehow the mustardo eluded us again, though I was happy we came eye to eye on the inclusion of pickles, which in a sort of Bud Light commercial enactment, we found ourselves repeating “Pepino!” (cucumber) back and forth with ever greater emphasis.
Stasia’s Covert Shoperation
While I am being the human watching the human watching the carwash robot, Stasia decides to infiltrate the giant box store immediately adjacent. Much to her delight, it turns out to be a Portuguese Ace Hardware type thing. A little perusing leads her to the garden department, where her purpose is revealed by seed packets leaping from the shelves and into her basket. It’s a black theme – black tomato, black watermelon, black peppers, black striped beans, and black pansy. In the checkout line, she’s holding her own, interacting with the cashier in the native tongue and (in her own movie) passing as a local. Her cover is blown when I enter and give a long Matthew McConaughey-y “Ooooola”. After that, the cashier only speaks to her in English.
A Vote for Homogeneity
Back on the road, our drive is a straight shot through the Portuguese outback (its central southern region) with sunny gentle hills to each side covered in pines and oaks. We pass by many small towns. They all look exactly the same – white walls, terracotta roofs – the exception being a castle or ancient wall. This is done for practical reasons, but the effect is a pleasing integration with nature. Here are the humans. It forms a consistent pattern that is easily woven into the whole and in aggregate feels as much the natural landscape as anything else.
The Porkiest of Pigs
These oaken forests are home to the Rolls Royce of pigs – the black Alentejo, whose culinary name is Ibérico Pork and also goes by Porco Preto (black pig). What makes this guy so special is not just that he descends from an unfettered line of historic hogs (introduced by the Romans a couple millennia ago and not cross-bred since), but that his diet consists mainly of acorns from the Holm Oak trees which cover this region. The high oleic acid of this diet contributes to the unique flavor and desirable fat disbursement. Not to sound too much of a pointy-toothed carnivore but I salivate at the thought of experiencing this gastronomic gift firsthand.
Restaurante o Alforge
We’ve reached Évora and after a quick bit of shopping in which no matter how much I protest, I’m walking out of that place with a new pair of sandals, my patience is rewarded with a smackering of lunch… and we find the ideal spot. A tiny restaurant in the working-persons quarter with almost no signage and a great review on Trip Advisor.
It’s actually the only game in town at the moment since most eating places close between 2-5. We walk upstairs and take a seat in the dining room. There are only 2 other tables here and one of them has a big family meal going on, like the owner’s family. You can tell this is the spot. The one locals frequent. The one where English is never spoken. The one for us.
The menu is just six things. Bonus. The other table is a guy who comes in to eat olives and bread, with a bottle of wine and a small cordial of something amber. Bonus. The menu item we order translates to ‘Black Pork Lizards’. Super Bonus. There is a TV showing a Motorcycle speedway race. Well, you can’t have everything.
The charbroiled Iberico Pork really is succulent and very much the realization of the dream my taste buds had years ago when Amanda Freitag on Chopped extolled its virtues. I also love the simplicity – no sauce, nothing fancy. Just strips of fire-licked porco preto and a side of asparagus migas, a marriage of day-old bread and the spear-shaped veggie worked into a stuffing-like consistency.
For dessert, it’s something we never learn the name of but looks like the guy’s wife maybe made a big bowl of it that morning. It’s a sort of bread-rice-pudding, tapioca thing which goes great with the espresso and wraps up our memorable meal.
Convento do Espinheiro
We’re driving out into the hills and there’s nothing but ramshackle farmland until a mighty edifice – our destination – is revealed through the clearing. Convento do Espinheiro, a 15th century convent turned luxury hotel and spa is the splurge of the trip. It was already the most expensive booking when, due to a change in our plans, I removed a night and upgraded the room so the cost was the same. I remember thinking it will be a fun surprise and leaving it at that.
This thing is big enough that we see it a couple miles away, though we don’t know at the time that’s our destination, we’re too busy trying not to hit the grazing cattle crossing the road.
It’s a magnificent structure. Just huge and bright and well-preserved. The humble farm-laden landscape that encircles it makes this colossus seem all the grander and the thickness of the walls (betrayed by the deep-set windows) tells the story of an ancient building that had to survive war and time.
We get checked in and are delivered to our room, which is in a far wing at the end of 3 hallways. As we get farther away from the riffraff, we begin to time travel, the decor moving from the Roman arched influence circa 1458 to the rectangular, clean utilitarianism of late modernism. Our concierge stops at the last door which has a hanging egg chair just outside and lets us in.
When too much is too much
The room is posh. Posher than we’ve ever stayed in and it’s weird initially. However, we are splurging for a reason and a good one at that. We’re celebrating our 26th wedding anniversary!
We try to offset the feeling of opulence by deciding to skip going out in favor of a spartan dinner from the sack-o-food we brought. A half-hour later we’re dressed to the nines and on our way to an elegant restaurant with a nascent 8:30 reservation. How’d that happen? The only clue is the empty bottle of wine.
Planet hour
We weave our way through the old stone halls and rooms and notice that the entire hotel has shut the lights out right as we’re approaching and the glow of a thousand tea candles illuminates our view. It’s Planet Hour we’re told, which occurs once a year on March 25 between 8:30 and 9:30. How’s that for timing! It’s very intimate and close though even now, we have no idea of its significance.
We’re shown to our table which unfortunately is next to a large party of drunk Americans. Unfortunate not because they’re drunk, but because they’re sloppy and loud and American. King João does not approve, but mostly because he can’t hear very well in the echoey chamber and their shenanigans are crowding out his intimate conversations. Plus he’s taken some pains and flown 4000 miles to be decidedly around non-Americans (his wife excepted).
Despite that, the Espinheiro pizza is good but nothing memorable, and the pasta carbonara is true and honest with its egg and parm base and salty cuts of Iberico bacon. We dust off another bottle of the excellent convent vintage, but the day has grown long and the conversation has turned to serious matters and it’s clear we need to move on to tomorrow.
The Squinty-Eyed Morning After
We sleep right through the 8am breakfast we reserved with headaches and a resolve to put things right by having a clean day. We do order room service though which proves to be a better choice anyways.
We’re going to drink lots of water, eat well, and tour the medieval walled city of Évora. We also bring our laundry but they’re closed on Sunday, so we head for ye olde towne.
Entering the walls, we find ourselves stuck in a cobblestone maze of one-ways. The map is absolutely useless – everything it wants to take us to is closed (Sunday) and there’s no parking anywhere. For some reason we never figure out, all exits of the protected city are closed with police on the scene. I thought these walls were meant to keep people out.
Stasia does a heroic job of getting us around, navigating the most cramped streets we’ve encountered. At one point, she is moving between 4 corners of adjacent buildings – none of them line up and everything is so narrow, we’re at risk of wedging the car. I am holding my breath and feeling quite claustrophobic while she employs a deft serpentine maneuver that squeaks us through.
Finally, despite all odds, we end up near an open exit with a restaurant next to it. It looks like a student hangout (there is a historic big university here in the walled portion). This has been stressful and just a little fun – nothing has panned out yet, but we can still make something happen – a meal.
Taska do Su Aquedeto
Student fare as predicted. We love the experience but the food is average and worse. We opt for burgers and bifanas – simple is better in this type of place. But for some inexplicable reason, I also order a “Frutos do Mar” salad (even though we’re really far from the ocean) and expect a cornucopia of oceanic life atop a bed of arugula and radicchio. What is delivered falls drastically short of my expectation, with anemic tomatoes and some strips of smelly imitation crab as the only seafood.
Did I eat it? Of course I did. I always eat it. Stasia’s burger looks the part but that’s as far as it goes and my bifana is as dry as the Alentejo.
Why did we love it? The atmosphere. The family next to us was having a wonderful time hanging out with wine, stories, occasional food items, and laughter. Students were inside singing national anthems to some kind of futbol match on the tele. A few other tables around us were smoking which we enjoyed. (Begin soapbox) I understand and appreciate the health epidemic that has made smoking in America a shameful hideaway thing. And I support a healthy lifestyle and don’t want kids to smoke etc. But being outdoors with people smoking around us is comforting and makes the whole scene feel relaxed. It’s not choking and somehow it doesn’t interfere with our meal. Why is it different? Not sure but suddenly America’s anti-public smoking stance feels uptight. (End soapbox)
Also, sodas like 7up are DELICIOUS here as they use actual cane sugar instead of the tortured corn byproduct.
Decathlon
The day’s been an odd one of start/stops and we need a feel-good shopping moment to set it right. Off to Decathlon!
Decathlon is a chain outlet of highly functional/fashionable sporting equipment and clothing. It’s like an REI except it has stuff you can actually use for reasonable prices. The sportswear, in particular, is very sharp – they have a great eye for fashion. That we enjoy this place is demonstrated by this being the 4th time we’ve been to one since coming to Portugal.
Throwing some money at shiny things proves to be an effective salve and we drift back to the convent.
Dinner, Despite
We’re determined to have dinner in the room tonight and using all kinds of McGyver moves, we’re able to make the beautiful sandwich to accompany the chicken soup we just ordered from room service. We also have a bit of olive and stuffed pepper and a couple beers.
The chicken soup is interesting and different and it takes a moment for the tastebuds to figure it out. Mint! Mint leaves in chicken soup. I guess it’s a thing. I’m not a big fan but Stasia likes it. Happy and full we recline and a hilarious 8 out of 10 cats tucks us in.
The Itinerant Three TnTs 
Happy Anniversary! What a memorable way to spend it. But I know what you mean about feeling weird in a place created for the ultra wealthy. I mean, really, who needs it? I’d rather have a cozy and well-loved, well-worn abode (like where we now live).
LikeLike
On another topic, what are your plans for Zephyr’s birthday?
LikeLike