535 Words
Portugal - Tripping Through Portugal -
An Education of the Senses
Like all those deluded people who like to call themselves travelers instead of tourists, my husband and I are pleased to find a roadside restaurant that isn't listed in any guidebooks. We'd been doing our best to follow the River Douro towards Porto. The road hair pinned its way toward the Atlantic, surrounded by vineyards stitched to the plunging hills in a crazy quilt of greens.
Upon entering the garlic-scented room, we find it full of men in checked short-sleeved shirts, pressed pants and big moustaches. They're either casual businessmen or pretty upscale farmers.
We recognize none of the words and go for our usual trick. With our best-bastardized version of Portugese pleases, smiles and thank yous, we point to what is on almost every table. Big earthen casserole dishes with a stew mixture that looks like a combo of white beans, some sort of meat and a thick rich sauce. And some local vinho…
Tripas. A lovely word that sort of rolls of the tongue. Like perhaps you'd be skipping somewhere, tripping through fields, except our server pronounces it with that wonderful long E sound, Treee-pas and with the ending "s" pronounced with that Portugese shhh, that makes me think of powdery babies and stuffed toys. But alas, as pretty as she made it - it was, in fact - tripe.
In English, tripe sounds like it tastes. Trying, chewy, gaggy, how else could you describe cow intestines to two Canadians raised in white bread Caucasian cultures that never considered rubbery bits of stomach as anything to be savoured?
Our Portuguese education had started.
Our vocabulary had only expanded by one word but it was a very important word. We now knew to what not to order. This was good, as it seemed to be featured on every menu. The Portuguese love offal. Should have cracked that guidebook a little sooner.
If we had, we would have figured something else out. When the server brings over olives, bread, sparkling water, perfectly sliced and scented ham, little deep fried pockets of fish, marinated octopus and a myriad of other treats, it is not because you're special.
It all will be added to your bill. Each and every little tidbit, including the little pot of butter for your rather dry rolls will be listed on what started out as a pretty good deal. We paid attention. Watch the locals. They wave it away. So did we. They say travel is educational. Some of us are slow learners.
In Porto, Portugal's second biggest-city, we find buildings jumbled together on granite bluffs above the Rio Douro. This is where all those Douro valley grapes finally end up.
On the port tasting tour our guide tells us, "The tawnies are wonderful with apple or almond pie or served with dried fruits. The rubies are good with chocolate."
Making sure we've got it right, we find a port bar that very night. We slurp our way through various tawnies along with a platter of dried apricots, almonds and walnuts.
Naturally, one has to make sure that chocolate really is the right taste with the rubies. It is.
I am such a fan of ongoing education.
Get ready to snack: www.visitportugal.com
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