'Stranded' in Alentejo
'Small World' The Carlow Nationalist May 2010
At a motorway service station on the outskirts of Cherbourg the picture on the cover of the newspaper Bild summed up the past week for a multitude of travelers stranded throughout Europe. In the grainy picture the face of a hideous beast could be seen peering from the plume of black debris being ejected from the Icelandic volcano Eyjafjallajokull. The headline above the image read in grotesque black letters, 'DAS ASCHE MONSTER!'
After four days on the road, journeying towards home from Portugal's Alentejo region, the term 'Ash Monster' seemed a little too polite – almost like calling Atilla the Hun "a chap with an aversion to agression". I had my suspicions that throughout the airports, train-stations, bus-depots and ferry-ports of Europe this nebulous beast, captured for eternity in a black and white image, had been called an awful lot worse.
But I had been lucky and I knew it. One week previously, on the morning of the volcano's eruption, my flight to Lisbon had been one of only a few cleared for departure. As I collected my boarding pass and sauntered through security, news of the eruption and the chaos likely to follow was simmering and bubbling through the brimming departures hall. Suddenly, the word cancelled spread in a cascade down the departures board like an unstoppable plague as the watching crowd groaned in unison.
As I have mentioned, I had been lucky. As a guest of the Tourist Board of Alentejo, the Portuguese region stretching from the River Tagus all the way south to the point where it kisses the sun-drenched borders of the Algarve, I had been spared the cloud of desperation hanging over the lands of northern Europe. The good people of Alentejo had devised a distracting itinerary of non-stop tours to Pousadas – those lovingly restored gems of Portuguese history which are now dedicated as high-star hotels – musuems, wineries, boat-trips, seaside resorts and Eco' villages; a mere volcano was a only a distraction which I felt sure was a storm in a teacup generated by the TV tabloid news.
Each morning I would awake in a deliciously decorated
room to a sumptuous breakfast, unaware that families – many with small children
– were encamped in corners of overcrowded airports, either out of money or
running precariously short and not knowing where the next meal would come from
or for how long this 'act of God' would continue.
After breakfast I would join my group aboard the mini-bus and set forth into the tranquil countryside of The Alentejo, blissful and ignorant of the plight of so many thousands. I never gave a second thought to those surrounded by the drab, grey walls of countless bus terminals as I marvelled at the museums enclosed within the fortified and ancient walls of the UNESCO heritage town of Évora. My mind was empty of thoughts of expectant mothers anxious to get home and waiting for some grain of salvation as I pondered the statue of the Virgin Mother, heavy with child, above the city's gates.
As I wandered through the small, breeze-cooled orange grove beneath a window where that greatest of travelers, Vasco de Gama once called home, the worlds' of tormented transport managers and logistical experts were the furthest thing from my mind. Stopping to photograph the columns of the magnificently preserved Roman Temple in the town centre I imagined the ancient heart of the Alentejo bustling with the voices of activity, never once sparing a thought for the voices of those pleading at the ticket desks of modern day Rome.
If I had only known, I am certain that I would have felt pangs of guilt as I dined in the newly restored refectory of the five-star Hotel Convento do Espinheiro on the outskirts of Évora. The Convento do Espinheiro is, in my mind, a shrine to Portuguese hospitality; with fine dining, tongue-thrilling local wines, the greatest service I've had the pleasure to experience and the boundless enthusiasm of its manager Dinis Pires. It is a place where ancient and modern Portugal have joined forces in a seamless manner, offering its guests the luxury of a contemporary hotel set within ancient walls which still echo with the voices of history. And still I felt no guilt.
Crossing the mountains of eastern Alentejo towards the Spanish border, the hilltop village of Monsaraz, preserved today as it has been for centuries with tiny, blue and white-painted, toy-like houses winding along the cobbled lanes, I gave no thought to the thousands crammed aboard busses crossing the Alps, the Pyrenees or the mountains of the Balkans in a desperate dash for home. They had no opportunity to stop and stare, wide-eyed at the breath-taking views of the rural Alentejo. From the battlements of Monsaraz's castle I watched a boat carve its path across the reservoir created by the construction of the Alqueva Dam – the largest man-made lake in Europe and now a playground for anglers, boatmen and lovers of life on and by the water – those hardy souls who waited at ferry ports and river crossings were invisible to my thoughts.
From the sites of ancient monuments where prehistoric Menhirs, Cromeleques and Antas – neolithic standing stones, circles and dolmens – abound, I watched as the Alentejan black pigs snuffled beneath the branches of the cork oaks which populate the landscape like great green marching armies. In the tablecloth of blue sky, buzzards, eagles and vultures floated on the cooling breeze that crept in from the distant Atlantic, a breeze which would thrill the souls of those packed like beasts on Europe's crowded networks. And after a long day as I rested by the pool of the Herdade do Touril, a touristic farmhouse in Zambujeira do Mar, with the sea as a backdrop, I was ignorant of the discomfort of so very many.
And when my wanderings in Alentejo were done my four-day
journey home was a delight afforded by my very special hosts. Unlike so many
others I had no discomfort and in this undeserved state I slept easy and dreamt
of Alentejo.
(With special thanks to Antonio Lacerda and Fernando Pires of Turismo do Alentejo who acted as gracious hosts and drivers)
GETTING THERE:
AER LINGUS fly daily to Lisbon from Dublin and twice weekly to Faro. www.aerlingus.ie
STAYING THERE
EVORA:
Evora Hotel 4* - Av. Túlio Espanca, 7002-502, Évora, Portugal. Tel: (+351) 266 748 800
Hotel M'Ar de Ar Aqueduto 5* - Rua Candido dos Reis, 72, 7000-582, Évora, Portugal. Tel: (+351) 266 740 700 www.mardearhotels.com
Hotel Convento do Espinheiro 5* - Canaviais, 7005-839, Évora, Portugal. Tel: (+351) 266 788 200 www.luxurycollection.com/evora
BEJA:
Pousada Sao Francisco -
Borba:
Casa do Terreiro do Poço - geral@casadoterreirodopoco.com
ZAMBUJEIRA DO MAR:
Herdade do Touril - Tel: (+351) 283 950 080 www.herdadedotouril.pt
BOATING:
Gescruzeiros - Amieria Marina, 7220-999, Amieira, Portugal. Tel: (+351) 266 612 023 or (+351) 266 611 175 www.gescruzeiros.com www.amieiramarina.com
OTHER INFO:
Tourismo do Alantejo - Tel: (+351) 269 498 680 www.visitalentejo.com
Portuguese Tourist Board - www.visitportugal.com