Hugging St. James

After road tripping in Portugal and exploring some more great sea food in Vigo (Spain), I arrived to Santiago de Compostela. I have wanted to visit the beautiful capital of Galicia since I first read about the pilgrimage route of Santiago so I had high expectations about the city but, on the other hand, I already anticipated a partial disappointment.

I was again feeling like an outsider (just like when watching marathon runners) as I arrived to the city by train and not by foot as most of the people attending the pilgrims' mass at the cathedral. I had wanted to attend the mass in order to see the world's largest "botafumeiro" (smoke expeller in Galician), or a thurible, suspended from the roof and in which incense is burnt during the mass. During the holy year (and 2010 happens to be one as Saint James' birthday in July falls on Sunday), they swing the botafumeiro during the pilgrims' mass (every day at noon) and it should be a wonderful sight. I didn't see it after all, but Youtube of course makes travelling in general useless as you can see these extraordinary things from your office chair. It's actually pretty hilarious, the young priests are getting wild...



Instead of seeing botafumeiro swinging around (quite dangerously in my opinion, but I guess that they have a higher power involved in the business), I focussed on pilgrim-watching (I also had an audio guide to make a more sophisticated tour but the bloody mass was too loud to concentrate on the explanations). Some of them were bare-feet and you could see the band-aid wrapped around toes, some were leaning to their walking sticks, and some had already decorated themselves with a scallop shell shaped necklaces (the emblem of St. James). Those who didn't wear hiking boots had already changed to more comfortable flip-flops; I was the only one decently dressed (with the exception of the local worshippers and some Spanish tourists). Some came with their biking gear (you're also allowed to do the route by bike, but they are considered as lower class pilgrims), the most unfit outfit for a church environment.


In the afternoon, I got to the cathedral again as the queue to the "Holy Door" had almost disappeared and I grasped the opportunity of seeing the crypt. On the way to the crypt (where somewhere in the back, behind a glass vitrine you could see a silver coffin presumably containing the last remains of St. James), the line of people walked through the main altar where the tired pilgrims have an opportunity to hug the golden statue of St. James. During the service, I had seen arms caressing the statue and now it was my turn to show some affection to St. James. But I wasn't in the spiritual state provoked by the lack of Facebook and the adrenaline-overdose after 600 km of walking alone. Luckily the girl before me didn't give a very effusive or cordial embrace either, so my panic attenuated and I was ready to step next to St. James. I peeked around and forced myself to tap Jamie in the shoulder (at this stage, I think I can call him just Jamie, as we pilgrims sometimes do).

Later in the evening, in a tapas bar, I had a conversation with a German and Australian pilgrims enjoying big glasses of white wine. I asked them about the spiritual side of the pilgrimage, the hugging of St. James, and about the practicalities of the camino. They were quite cynic about the whole spiritual searching during the route, for them, it was more about spending time alone (and they emphasized the necessity of doing the route alone!). Probably the idea of following the route of one of Jesus's 12 apostotles has less to do with religion than taking inspiration from Paolo Coelho's The Alchemist and other similar semi-philosophical best-sellers. But I guess it needn't to be that tacky either. However, I think I changed my mind about wanting to do this pilgrim route (even though the facilities on the route are good); in case I need a self-searching trip, I would choose a less-known path that would have a more meaningful end for a non-Catholic, non-religious person. Who says you can't find the meaning of your life by tasting port wines in Douro valley...

Road tripping in Portugal

This time, I will pretend to be an adventurous travel reporter; make sure you write down the secret travel tips (this is a cheap version of my dream of being a travel book author).

I arrived at Oporto in the evening. Though I didn't see the city in the day light and I just walked from the metro station to our great hostel up on a little hill, I felt it was one of those cities for which you immediately have a passion. It had an almost South American feeling with the people hanging around in the shadowy little alleys playing loudly some Portuguese versions of American pop songs. The next morning I could see the delightful tile decorated houses but also the run-down buildings exposing the relative poverty of the country. The port of the city was beautiful and on the other side of the river you could see the signs of big port wine companies. The city would deserve a couple of days to visit but we were in a hurry to see where all that port wine was grown. So we headed, following the orders of our TomTom, to the Douro valley area, East of Oporto.


#1. Oporto port and tile decorations.
#2. Hostel: Oporto Poets Hostel.

Exiting the highway we got the first glimpse of the beautiful Douro river and the hills growing sometimes to mountains following it all the way to Spain. The Alto Douro, where wine has been produced for 2000 years, is a Unesco world heritage site: "This long tradition of viticulture has produced a cultural landscape of outstanding beauty that reflects its technological, social and economic evolution." And when, kilometres after kilometres, you see the amazing terraces built on the steep hills to cultivate wine, you don't question this status. You are most likely to wonder why so many tourists have found the Tuscan wine region but not this wonderful landscape in the Northern Portugal.


#3. Alto Douro region.

We had our first stop in Peso da Régua and ate just by the rail tracks in a modern Portuguese restaurant with beuatiful portions and great sea food. Of course, I had bacalhau, the dried and salted cod fish, the most famous Portuguese food (though it is nowadays imported from Denmark and Norway). This was the food that kept Fernão de Magalhães and the other explorers of the New World alive during the long sailing trips.


#4. Castas e Pratas restaurant in Peso da Régua.

The whole area is full of quintas, or wine estates, where you can taste the locally produced wines and, more importantly, port wines. We had a stop at Quinta do Tedo owned by a French-Californian couple. They had just harvested their first organic grapes. The transformation to organic production had taken them four years but unfortunately we have to wait until next year to buy some organic port, still a rarity in the region. During a little tour we learnt about port wines (of course my travel companion had studied the whole topic beforehand so I got to pose all the stupid questions): port wine is produced from the grapes in the Douro region, it is a fortified wine meaning that fermentation is stopped by adding some grape spirit, like brandy, in it making it a sweet red wine. When starting the wine tasting, I nodded towards the spitting cup and whispered that we wouldn't probably need it but at the end we couldn't finish our glasses anymore. The tasting was free as my travel companion bought 6 bottles for 130 euros for his cave.




#5. Port wine tastings in small quintas.

The road (N222) from Régua to Pinhão is a beautiful route following the river but continuing to our agriturismo, or tourismo rural, on a very small serpentine road, we got to see the best views of the Douro. The sun was setting, colouring the hills into golden yellow, orange and red, and we understood the meaning of the name Douro, deriving from the Portuguese word for gold. Our accommodation for the next two nights was in the beautiful Quinta do Passadouro, where a Dutch couple had kept a B&B for nine years. We ate the dinner, again with some bacalhau, together with the other guests, all from the Netherlands. At the end, when enough wine had been tasted, the atmosphere started to be very cosy and even hilarious. The owner told us that in order to get the status of "tourismo rural" in Portugal, the owners had to eat with their guests every evening. She and her husband made turns and tonight it was her time. (We were wondering how their livers handled the dinners even every second day because there was no lack of wine.) I played offended: "Oh, so it's not because we are so charming that you're eating with us?" "No, I'm obliged", she replied a bit too fast and while she was partly joking as well, I later thought that she might have been honest, she wasn't very cordial towards us and she was the only thing that wasn't great about the place. But still, I recommend the place just for the great views, good food and excellent port wines.


#6. Quinta do Passodouro for staying for a couple of nights.

The next day we took the most wonderful route from our quinta to Sabrosa, home village of Magalhães (N323). It was a tiny road and I was sure that it would end abruptly at some point and we wouldn't be able to turn around. At moments, I was squeezing the door handle and refused to look around for the great views being afraid that I would see how close to the cliff we were. The vertigo struck me badly and I was relieved when we finally got to the safe road once again. But it was worth it.



#7. Little roads on the hills, like this N323 from Pinhão to Sambrosa.

Our next adventure wasn't. I had printed out a New York Times article that I recommend reading but not necessarily following blindly as we did. The journalist writes about the most breathtaking route in the area: "In no guidebooks did I see instructions on this particular route, and on no maps can I find what I’d need to give exact, unerring guidance about it. But if you head from Alijó in the direction of Favaios, then follow the first signs to Castedo, then turn left at the fountain in the centre of that village onto a narrow, bumpy road sloping sharply down toward Tua, you should have luck. Or you can always double back, try again and have luck the second or third time. It’s a small area. You can’t go too wrong for too long." We found the road quite easily, but what the journalist forgot to tell is that if you have a Seat Ibiza or whatever that is not a 4x4 you won't be able to make the road down to the river. We had troubles from the beginning but we insisted on trying; we hardly made it to the road because already the first turn was so small that we had to go backwards and forward and backwards again to wedge in. A Portuguese man was following our manoeuvre, probably knowing that nothing good will follow. Or maybe he had already seen some other NYT followers on the road. The route, or more precisely a path, was more than "bumpy", it was impossible. Though the views might have been nice, we were too concentrated on surviving and not scratching the car that the enjoyment of the landscapes was remote. Finally we made a demi-tour and returned to the village of Castedo. The car had a few scratches on the side but it wasn't until another dead-end road that we mashed the rear light altogether... (No photos were taken during this stressful detour!)

#8. Stay on the normal road and don't take everything NYT writes as god's word.

After many mistaken deviations we finally arrived to Tua by the river and had an excellent lunch in a local place where the communication was restrained to "pesca or carne". No menus were needed however, the women in the kitchen made us a great lunch from the local produces. By the way, I have to say that Italian tomatoes almost feel tasteless compared to the Portuguese ones. We had actually looked for another place recommended in our guide book, but I guess getting lost and finding your own places is always the funniest part of travelling (but maybe also the most challenging for keeping up the good spirit in the travel group).

Enoteca

I have to post something in honor of my enoteca.

I love my neighbourhood in Florence. I have my café, my pasta shop, my casalinga shop (where you buy all the possible house ware stuff from mosquito nets to parquet wax) and my enoteca. Signore Amadei is my wine seller and I appreciate him fondly. Already after my first wine purchase in the shop, he started greeting me in the street and welcomed me into his shop with such a cordiality that an unfamiliar Finn would feel suspicious.

Yesterday I went to buy red wine to go with French cheese. He remembered to ask how I had liked the last wine I had bought. A chianti classico, the famous Tuscan wine from the Chianti region. I had to admit that even if I'd love to like chianti classico, I just don't. He listened emphatically as if I was telling him that I'm anxious about wars and corrupted politics. "È molto tannico", he comforted me. Instead, he recommended a pinot nero from Alto Adige, Northern Italy, to go with the cheese aperitivo. "Anché Mozart è daccordo", he concluded referring to the classical music we were listening. As an unusual small talk he mentioned his love to classical music and thanked me for shopping in his enoteca. Where else would I go?

I'm more and more sceptical about the viability of the option of living in Finland. Am I strong enough to return to the land of state monopolised wine and clinic, brightly lit alcohol shops where shop assistants wear bordeaux red uniforms and try assure me that even the best wine companies don't use a real cork any more (they do in Italy and anywhere where wine is quasi-sacred!)? What will I do with my spare time if all the daily shopping can be done in one huge super market in the suburb of the city? When I can do my weekly sport activity by pushing the shopping cart filled with harmonised and standardized food hundreds and hundreds of metres in the cold corridors of the market? Why haven't the Finnish people already started a revolt against the cartel of two super market chains that makes grocery shopping faceless, expensive, annoying and inhuman? In Italy, most of the shopping is still done in individual little shops, or negozio, that value entrepreneurship and social and human contact in everyday life.

P.S. I forgot the bottle of pinot nero at home and had to buy a regular chianti from a night shop on the way to the cheese aperitivo. So that's it for my sophisticated wine shopping...