Fading glories of a busy port Times, 20/4/1996
When they ask for your papers at Portuguese ports of entry, don't make the mistake of handing over your passport; it's your golfer's handicap certificate they're after. A popular joke, but an understandable one; whatever else the country's golfing boom of the last twenty years may have achieved (there are now seventeen courses along the Algarve coast alone), it has done little for Portugal's unspoilt hinterland and Lisbon, its spectacularly sited capital - except to leave them ripe for discovery.
Some tour operators are now looking beyond Portugal's fairways. 'Rather like the costas in Spain, many people assume Portugal is the Algarve,' says Patrick Fleming of the Magic of Portugal, which was launched late last year by the Air Travel Group. 'Our brochure stresses rural tourism in little-known areas such as the Alentejo [literally, Beyond the Tagus].' Meanwhile, the expanding range of over 60 pousadas, accommodation in historic buildings such as the 15th Century Convent of Loios in Evora, looks set to emulate the success of Spain's paradors. The volume of traffic is low outside the cities, car hire is cheap, and the major danger is locals who treat the road network as an extension of the Formula One racing track at Estoril, near Lisbon.
With just a million inhabitants and a very convenient airport - the London equivalent would put Terminal 4 in Kensington Gardens - Lisbon is one of Europe's most manageable capitals. It is also one of the most attractive, opting for atmospheric dilapidation rather than brutish modernisation. Within minutes of landing, the airport bus was nosing between gloriously flamboyant buildings painted every shade of peeling pastel. Formal squares full of faintly pompous statues suffered the indignity of the weekly wash, which hung to dry from wrought-iron balconies and often included fastidiously recycled plastic bags.
Somehow, novelist Henry Fielding found it in himself to call Lisbon 'the nastiest city in the world'. In the idyllic surroundings of the English cemetery, where he is buried among the cypress trees and long dead ex-pats who have succumbed to colourful ends such as the 'ague', the bullets of rival duellists (and presumably the ire of incensed tourism officials), his outburst seems particularly cantankerous. The cemetery, one of the many quiet backwaters and gardens that make this city such a delight to explore, is tended by an aged crone who will finally grant entry to those visitors who can convince her they are English.
Elsewhere, faded azulejos, the fine patterned ceramic tiles that are Lisbon's hallmark, and impressive dissident graffiti featuring flocks of obedient sheep - railing against bourgeois conformity, I suspect - have turned walls throughout the city into delightful, if incongruous, canvasses. Ancient trams, yellow like Manhattan taxis, clatter down cobbled streets to the Tagus. Close to the water, at the Ribeira dawn market, the sounds are of ancient mincing machines shredding cabbages for caldo verde, the much-loved soup, and of flower arrangers stabbing carnation stems into blocks of oasis. Clubbers from dives in the Bairro Alto (upper town) district wash up here at the only bar serving hot chocolate at this time of the morning while exhausted stall holders doze precariously on their stools. Amidst the profusion of flowers, vegetables and fish are piles of dried discs of salted codfish or bacalhau, the dubious national dish. 'The Portuguese are proud of their seafaring roots,' explained Carlos, our bus driver. 'We have eaten bacalhau ever since the pioneer sailors ate it in the age of discovery.' Which struck me as all very honourable but seemed rather too akin to the British creating a national cuisine around hardtack and weevils.
For better ways of appreciating Portugal's maritime tradition, visitors head for the Lisbon suburb of Belem. Here, not far from the fairy-tale fortress called Belem Tower, Vasco da Gama is said to have left for his travels. Here, too, is the great monastery of Jeronimo, the crowning glory of Portugal's distinctive Manueline style that is best described as Gothic by way of Atlantis. Inside, the walls are a stylised riot of carved cables, swags of seaweed, anchors, shells and strange sea creatures. I found myself holding my breath not only because of the overall effect, but from fear I might otherwise drown in this great undersea cavern that resembles no other building on earth.
At coffee time, the national sweet tooth is bared at Belem's renowned Antiga Confeitaria pastry shop, a place of cool blue-tiled walls and truly exquisite custard pies. In the evening, the action switches to the Bairro Alto which is best reached by the Elevador da Gloria, a tram-cum-funicular that is an experience in itself. At the top, the views of the city lights are excellent, and the splendid Port Wine Institute just happens to be directly opposite. Here, in an atmosphere that starts as library hush but gradually frays as the evening proceeds, the country's entire range of ports - dry whites, medium tawnies, sweet young rubys - can be sampled. From just 50p a glass, this is an excellent way of steeling oneself for the inevitable run-in with bacalhau.
We left Lisbon by the great suspension bridge across the Tagus (which draws comparisons with San Francisco), drove past the great Rio-like statue of Christ and headed south east into the empty Alentejo, a vast plain with its own, awesome character that invited no such comparisons. Cork trees had been stripped to the waist; beneath the harvested cork bark, they showed the colour of mocha. Elsewhere, piles 4./
of boulders punctuated the wheat fields like islands; on each one, a single olive tree had sprouted.
We explored the region from our base at the Hotel Convento de Sao Paulo, a lovely cloistered monastery in soft countryside where the monks' cells have been converted into charming rooms. In the town of Evora, local farmers in hard-rimmed stetsons and pelicos, the local furry hide jackets, had gathered in great numbers around the main square, the Praca do Giraldo, to do business.
I slipped away from this al fresco bourse, where men thumbed their notebooks before negotiating on livestock and produce, to the nearby Sao Francisco church. Inside, I found the Chapel of Bones, a macabre vault neatly patterned with the mortal remains of some 5,000 monks. Skulls stared from the pillars; tibias stacked in mortar formed walls from which, to cap it all, a couple of desiccated skeletons hung. 'We these bones await your bones,' read the inscription. It was not exactly welcoming, but it was certainly compelling evidence that there is plenty of Portugal beyond the fairways.
ENDS
FACT BOX/PORTUGAL; FOR BRIAN MACARTHUR, TIMES TRAVEL
Jeremy Seal was a guest of The Magic of Portugal (reservations: 0181 741 1181. Brochure; 01233 211619), whose Portugal programme includes villa and hotel holidays, city breaks, stays in historic pousadas and self-drive holidays.
He flew with TAP Air Portugal (reservations; 0171 828 0262), who fly three times daily to Lisbon from London Heathrow. For much of May, subject to availability, super saver midweek returns start at £97, rising to around £200 for most of June.
He stayed at the Hotel Da Lapa, a five-star deluxe hotel built around an old palace in Lisbon's diplomatic quarter (tel; 00 351 395 0005). He also stayed at Orient Express' Hotel Quinta do Lago on one of the Algarve's leading golfing and sporting estates, also five-star deluxe and bookable on 0171 568 8366.
Also recommended is the Hotel Convento de Sao Paulo, Redondo in the Alentejo (Tel; 00 351 66 999100 or fax 999104).
A week's 2-centre holiday with the Magic of Portugal based on Hotels Da Lapa and Quinta Do Lago starts at £908 per person in July, including TAP Air Portugal flights, transfers and four days car hire. A week's holiday spending three nights at a 3 star hotel in Lisbon and four nights at the Hotel Convento de Sao Paulo, with flights and three days car hire starts at £539 per person in June.
Lisbon's major sights are open every day except Monday.
The Port Wine Institute (Instituto do Vinho do Porto) is at Rua de Sao Pedro de Alcantara 45, and is open from 10am - 10pm every day except Sunday.
Also recommended for a memorable evening drink is Pavilhao Chines Bar, or the Chinese Pavilion, at Rue Dom Pedro V 89, Lisbon.
Portugal is generally warm from April to October although the Alentejo can become uncomfortably hot in July and August.
Guide books; The Rough Guide £9.99. Cadogan Guide £14.99
The Portuguese Tourist Office; 0171 494 1441
When they ask for your papers at Portuguese ports of entry, don't make the mistake of handing over your passport; it's your golfer's handicap certificate they're after. A popular joke, but an understandable one; whatever else the country's golfing boom of the last twenty years may have achieved (there are now seventeen courses along the Algarve coast alone), it has done little for Portugal's unspoilt hinterland and Lisbon, its spectacularly sited capital - except to leave them ripe for discovery.
Some tour operators are now looking beyond Portugal's fairways. 'Rather like the costas in Spain, many people assume Portugal is the Algarve,' says Patrick Fleming of the Magic of Portugal, which was launched late last year by the Air Travel Group. 'Our brochure stresses rural tourism in little-known areas such as the Alentejo [literally, Beyond the Tagus].' Meanwhile, the expanding range of over 60 pousadas, accommodation in historic buildings such as the 15th Century Convent of Loios in Evora, looks set to emulate the success of Spain's paradors. The volume of traffic is low outside the cities, car hire is cheap, and the major danger is locals who treat the road network as an extension of the Formula One racing track at Estoril, near Lisbon.
With just a million inhabitants and a very convenient airport - the London equivalent would put Terminal 4 in Kensington Gardens - Lisbon is one of Europe's most manageable capitals. It is also one of the most attractive, opting for atmospheric dilapidation rather than brutish modernisation. Within minutes of landing, the airport bus was nosing between gloriously flamboyant buildings painted every shade of peeling pastel. Formal squares full of faintly pompous statues suffered the indignity of the weekly wash, which hung to dry from wrought-iron balconies and often included fastidiously recycled plastic bags.
Somehow, novelist Henry Fielding found it in himself to call Lisbon 'the nastiest city in the world'. In the idyllic surroundings of the English cemetery, where he is buried among the cypress trees and long dead ex-pats who have succumbed to colourful ends such as the 'ague', the bullets of rival duellists (and presumably the ire of incensed tourism officials), his outburst seems particularly cantankerous. The cemetery, one of the many quiet backwaters and gardens that make this city such a delight to explore, is tended by an aged crone who will finally grant entry to those visitors who can convince her they are English.
Elsewhere, faded azulejos, the fine patterned ceramic tiles that are Lisbon's hallmark, and impressive dissident graffiti featuring flocks of obedient sheep - railing against bourgeois conformity, I suspect - have turned walls throughout the city into delightful, if incongruous, canvasses. Ancient trams, yellow like Manhattan taxis, clatter down cobbled streets to the Tagus. Close to the water, at the Ribeira dawn market, the sounds are of ancient mincing machines shredding cabbages for caldo verde, the much-loved soup, and of flower arrangers stabbing carnation stems into blocks of oasis. Clubbers from dives in the Bairro Alto (upper town) district wash up here at the only bar serving hot chocolate at this time of the morning while exhausted stall holders doze precariously on their stools. Amidst the profusion of flowers, vegetables and fish are piles of dried discs of salted codfish or bacalhau, the dubious national dish. 'The Portuguese are proud of their seafaring roots,' explained Carlos, our bus driver. 'We have eaten bacalhau ever since the pioneer sailors ate it in the age of discovery.' Which struck me as all very honourable but seemed rather too akin to the British creating a national cuisine around hardtack and weevils.
For better ways of appreciating Portugal's maritime tradition, visitors head for the Lisbon suburb of Belem. Here, not far from the fairy-tale fortress called Belem Tower, Vasco da Gama is said to have left for his travels. Here, too, is the great monastery of Jeronimo, the crowning glory of Portugal's distinctive Manueline style that is best described as Gothic by way of Atlantis. Inside, the walls are a stylised riot of carved cables, swags of seaweed, anchors, shells and strange sea creatures. I found myself holding my breath not only because of the overall effect, but from fear I might otherwise drown in this great undersea cavern that resembles no other building on earth.
At coffee time, the national sweet tooth is bared at Belem's renowned Antiga Confeitaria pastry shop, a place of cool blue-tiled walls and truly exquisite custard pies. In the evening, the action switches to the Bairro Alto which is best reached by the Elevador da Gloria, a tram-cum-funicular that is an experience in itself. At the top, the views of the city lights are excellent, and the splendid Port Wine Institute just happens to be directly opposite. Here, in an atmosphere that starts as library hush but gradually frays as the evening proceeds, the country's entire range of ports - dry whites, medium tawnies, sweet young rubys - can be sampled. From just 50p a glass, this is an excellent way of steeling oneself for the inevitable run-in with bacalhau.
We left Lisbon by the great suspension bridge across the Tagus (which draws comparisons with San Francisco), drove past the great Rio-like statue of Christ and headed south east into the empty Alentejo, a vast plain with its own, awesome character that invited no such comparisons. Cork trees had been stripped to the waist; beneath the harvested cork bark, they showed the colour of mocha. Elsewhere, piles 4./
of boulders punctuated the wheat fields like islands; on each one, a single olive tree had sprouted.
We explored the region from our base at the Hotel Convento de Sao Paulo, a lovely cloistered monastery in soft countryside where the monks' cells have been converted into charming rooms. In the town of Evora, local farmers in hard-rimmed stetsons and pelicos, the local furry hide jackets, had gathered in great numbers around the main square, the Praca do Giraldo, to do business.
I slipped away from this al fresco bourse, where men thumbed their notebooks before negotiating on livestock and produce, to the nearby Sao Francisco church. Inside, I found the Chapel of Bones, a macabre vault neatly patterned with the mortal remains of some 5,000 monks. Skulls stared from the pillars; tibias stacked in mortar formed walls from which, to cap it all, a couple of desiccated skeletons hung. 'We these bones await your bones,' read the inscription. It was not exactly welcoming, but it was certainly compelling evidence that there is plenty of Portugal beyond the fairways.
ENDS
FACT BOX/PORTUGAL; FOR BRIAN MACARTHUR, TIMES TRAVEL
Jeremy Seal was a guest of The Magic of Portugal (reservations: 0181 741 1181. Brochure; 01233 211619), whose Portugal programme includes villa and hotel holidays, city breaks, stays in historic pousadas and self-drive holidays.
He flew with TAP Air Portugal (reservations; 0171 828 0262), who fly three times daily to Lisbon from London Heathrow. For much of May, subject to availability, super saver midweek returns start at £97, rising to around £200 for most of June.
He stayed at the Hotel Da Lapa, a five-star deluxe hotel built around an old palace in Lisbon's diplomatic quarter (tel; 00 351 395 0005). He also stayed at Orient Express' Hotel Quinta do Lago on one of the Algarve's leading golfing and sporting estates, also five-star deluxe and bookable on 0171 568 8366.
Also recommended is the Hotel Convento de Sao Paulo, Redondo in the Alentejo (Tel; 00 351 66 999100 or fax 999104).
A week's 2-centre holiday with the Magic of Portugal based on Hotels Da Lapa and Quinta Do Lago starts at £908 per person in July, including TAP Air Portugal flights, transfers and four days car hire. A week's holiday spending three nights at a 3 star hotel in Lisbon and four nights at the Hotel Convento de Sao Paulo, with flights and three days car hire starts at £539 per person in June.
Lisbon's major sights are open every day except Monday.
The Port Wine Institute (Instituto do Vinho do Porto) is at Rua de Sao Pedro de Alcantara 45, and is open from 10am - 10pm every day except Sunday.
Also recommended for a memorable evening drink is Pavilhao Chines Bar, or the Chinese Pavilion, at Rue Dom Pedro V 89, Lisbon.
Portugal is generally warm from April to October although the Alentejo can become uncomfortably hot in July and August.
Guide books; The Rough Guide £9.99. Cadogan Guide £14.99
The Portuguese Tourist Office; 0171 494 1441
