Portugal

Portugal is green... Eucalyptus with paper like peeling bark, rough barked Cedar and tall Oak trees interspersed with twisted Olive trees.

Portugal is hilly. Slopes of 10, 12 percent in tiny towns hugging the hills. Curved streets so severe you couldn't see past the biker behind you. We biked for five days, experiencing more cobblestone streets than I ever thought I would see in my lifetime. 

Those towns created with tall decorative tile glazed, patterned in pink, yellow, green blue houses jammed together with wrought iron balconies. It became an act of will to not take another photo. 

Porto, a seaside town with a river slicing through, then unfurling into the open sea has small restaurants along the river front. We picked a fish off the ice in the front window, then waited at our tiny table with uneven floors until we could eat it, grilled and surrounded by buttery potatoes. 

We stayed hungry biking many miles, some of the more memorable near Porto. A system of trails built on old railroad tracks, much like Minnesota. Riding a bike on a smooth tarred surface through stretches of shady forest, smelling fragrant Eucalyptus trees and gentle farmland is one way to experience peace. 

We toured wineries and stayed in monasteries where the walls seemed anchored in calm. Walking the white stone halls meant easily imagining monks or nuns, walking meditatively in a comfortable rhythm with their swinging robes. Hearing bells in the courtyard seemed somehow natural. 

Yes, we were clearly tourists but asking directions was anticipated rather than dreaded. People were friendly and informative. On a tour of the town of Amante, our guide pointed out stone tablets on the churches. We were told if the church started to burn, the tablets named other churches nearby where people would come and help.  The system was in use until the late 1800s. 

We hired a guide to see the seaside town of Cassis; a small town with a castle, gardens and a lot of tourists. The sea was cold braved mostly be surfers in wetsuits. The sea was restless, hurling against lava looking rocks. 

 There was a softness about Portugal from the quality of the air suffused with Eucalyptus and Olive to the  language often with the "th" sounds. From the smoothness of the red wines to the friendly gaze of people. I breathed in a type of thinking I really liked. As if, when in thought on a problem, the past is considered but does not rule the present. Portugal has a way of living taking time into account lightly.