Sintra is a must on most Lisbon visitors to do list. I had visited once before but really on the way to the beautiful surf beach Praia Grande. My son and I took the train to Sintra and did the fairly long walk to town center where we had breakfast at a nice restaurant on the square with views of castles and town. We then got a cab to the beach and were enchanted by the countryside and charming little town of Colares ( necklace). Our day at the beach was wonderful.
 
When I expressed my desire to revisit the town itself I had been discouraged by people who told me the distances and hills would be too much for me with my walking issues so I put it off. This year my daughter and I decided to give it a try limiting our expectations of what we might plan to see. We thought we’d stay away from actual castle tours and just try for the gardens of Penha Palace and the castle of Monserrat and its gardens. 

So we took the train from Rossio station to Sintra, a comfortable ride. We called an Uber from the Sintra station to the Penha Palace and were glad we did as it would have been an extremely long walk just to the ticket entrance. One had to have timed admittance to the palace itself which we passed up and instead paid for entrance to the gardens. The hike up to the palace was arduous for me but later we learned that there is a shuttle to the entrance which we took advantage of to return. The hike was hard for me but the views superb. When we returned to the ticket office we were approached by a young TukTuk driver and we were able to arrange a great day with him that suited us fine. He charged us 100 euro for our ambitious itinerary ending in Cascais with stops.

We first went to Monserrat castle. The gardens were wild and beautiful but treacherous to navigate with my balance issues. Worth it though. The castle was open, no lines or extra charge. It was light and beautiful. They were hosting a jazz concert that weekend which would have been charming to attend.

When we returned to the entrance our TukTuk driver was waiting for us and we returned through town and took the road heading to Colares and the beaches. It was a long but delightful ride along the coast and through small towns. On the way to Cascais we stopped at Cabo de Roca which is the westernmost point in continental Europe. It is known as “where the land ends and the sea begins” (It sounds like a line from Fernando Pessoa but it is originally from Luis de Cameos' Os Luciada's).

It was extremely windy but spectacular.

We continued on to Boca do Inferno just outside Cascais. Again spectacular. Both of these sites really exhibit the rocky terrain of Portugal that Jose Saramago emphasizes in his book A Journey Through Portugal. The man loved stone!

When we arrived at Cascais train station our TukTuk driver left us and we thanked him for a great tour and lovely visit. It was around 2:30 and we were starving so we walked toward the beach and on our way discovered a perfect place on a tree shaded patio featuring what they called Portuguese/Italian food. It was delightful and their house made pasta delicious! After an incredible meal and with very full stomachs we walked back through town and by the beaches where we called an Uber for a ride back to our place in Lisbon. By the way, we actually made another trip to that restaurant in Cascais just to repeat the culinary experience! 

Needless to say, we were both very happy we decided to arrange our own doable and delightful visit to Sintra.

​I am sitting at the Miradouro de Santa Catarina in Lisbon, in front of the statue of Adamastor. His stone face gazes toward the Tagus, as if still keeping watch over the waters where Portugal’s ships once set sail. Tourists take photos, children play, the city hums around him — yet for me, the giant feels alive.

I remember how Luís de Camões gave him form in Os Lusíadas: the storm embodied, a monster rising from the sea to warn sailors of the price of their ambition. 

Centuries later, Fernando Pessoa met Adamastor again in O Mostrengo— but the sailor does not flinch. He declares his mission, his obedience to King and country — fear transformed into patriotic pride and the strength that Pessoa himself desires for his country.*
​
Still later José Saramago, in The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis, places Pessoa’s heteronym Ricardo Reis here, on this very spot, looking at Adamastor as a faded ghost of empire, melancholy and diminished. Reis senses not glory but decline. The giant is mute, the empire shrunken, Portugal bound under the repressive Salazar regime. Adamastor becomes a mirror of paralysis — the storm has passed, and silence reigns.

In each retelling, Adamastor may change, yet his essence remains. He is the voice of consequence. He asks the question every empire avoids: What price will you pay for your greatness?

Today, that question echoes across America. Like Portugal once, America has long sailed under the flag of destiny and exceptionalism, pushing beyond frontiers of land, technology, and power. But Adamastor still waits at the horizon. He appears in climate disasters, in wars without end, in deepening inequality, in the unraveling of myths of control.

The giant warns: every empire has its storm. The path of expansion always summons its shadow. The question is not whether Adamastor will appear — he already has — but whether we will recognize him for what he is: not just a monster to be conquered, but a truth to be faced.
​
Sitting here, I sense why Ricardo Reis paused before him. Adamastor is not just Portugal’s ghost, but ours too. He whispers still — to nations and to each of us — of the need to see clearly the shadows our ambitions cast.

*
​"Here at the helm I am more than I:
I am a People who desire the sea that is yours;
And more than the monster, which my soul fears
And revolves in the darkness of the world's end;
The will that binds me to the helm,
Of King John the Second, commands!"
​From Fernando Pessoa’s Message

Footnote:
​Pessoa was not enamored of colonialism but fiercely patriotic. His personal mission was to spread culture over the world seeing it as Portugal’s true strength.

Painting in Oil. John Everett Millais's masterpiece, "Ophelia," completed between 1851 and 1852. 

​Ophelia

When I was just a teenager, our front door was flanked by beautiful Daphne plants. Every time I walked through that door I was enthralled by the scent, the sweet scent of the flowers. At one point I even tried to pick the flowers and make perfume out of the oil, but unfortunately someone took off the lid off my pot and the fragrance was immediately absorbed into the air of the kitchen.


Much later, when I went away to college at the University of Oregon,  the campus was abundant with the plants of that beautiful shrub and the air redolent with its scent. I would wander across the grounds in the evening with that fragrance in my nostrils and dream and dream and dream… perhaps of a someday romance—although I knew not how to envision such a thing. It really consumed me. 


I loved Shakespeare. I loved my professor Dr. Moll. He was a poet laureate. A gentle older man, he delivered all of his lessons so beautifully, so well that no one could help but love Shakespeare, if there are such people who couldn’t adore Shakespeare. I was especially attached to Hamlet and in particular Ophelia. I felt like she was a part of me, someone I could really feel for. Abandoned by the men she loved and trusted, and feeling powerless to go on alone. Because of that affection for Ophelia and the scent of Daphne I have made this little poem:


Ophelia


Marble face,  
cheeks of roses
golden tresses  
stream amid reeds.


No power to divert 
currents of rage
pure love is transformed
and by disgust consumed.


Youth discarded
In clouds of treason
where evil dwells 
love stands no chance


Adieu Ophelia, 
neither father, nor brother,
nor lover
will save you.

We are having a lovely summer here in Oakland, California. I have been here all summer long but I will leave in a couple of weeks for Lisbon, Portugal for the month of September and that will be a lot of fun and that’s another chapter. The weather has been astounding here in the Bay Area in general. Other people are suffering from the heat waves and storms, and we luckily have escaped that.

My days have been full of just kind of puttering and playing with the kittens that we brought back from Mexico, Ariel‘s kittens. On days that she works, I’m in charge so today was a kitty playing day. 

I took time out for my morning walk, this time up to our local farmers market. On Sunday the West Oakland Prescott Market, a lovely new establishment that just opened in April, has a wonderful farmers market with beautiful produce and other treats. And  live music! 

Today’s band was a really fun couple, Leslie and Roger know as “Out of Town Couple. They played and sang low-key country western pieces and I enjoyed listening to them in the sunshine and then walking through the market. 

Yesterday was a musical day as well. I went over to the popular 4th Street area in west Berkeley to exchange something that I bought a couple of days before. When I finished, I noticed they were having live music from 1-4. It was sponsored by the local Mexican restaurant Tacubaya. There was a great Cuban group playing. I just sat there for hours listening to their music watching the people dancing and enjoying the sunshine. You can’t really ask for much more can you?  

So I plan to spend my days more or less like this until I board a plane for Lisbon on the 25th of August. I’ll be in touch on that one.

Some people travel for culinary delights. Others for rest, sun, or historical sites. I travel for music!

It wasn’t always that way. In my younger years, travel meant chasing art, studying architecture, or escaping the well-worn patterns of daily life. But somewhere along the line—perhaps during an impromptu jazz performance in a candlelit courtyard in Oaxaca or a flamenco night in Sevilla—music began leading the way. Now, it’s the pulse I follow across borders and through cities large and small.

Music is everywhere, but it feels different when it’s at home in its own landscape. A son jarocho tune in Veracruz carries both salt and story. A plaintiff fado drifting over the tiled streets of Lisbon strikes a chord far deeper than it ever could in a sterile concert hall. When I hear a local trio coax soul from strings in the plaza of a small Mexican town, I feel I’ve touched something ancient and essential.

This is how I travel now—by ear and heart.

The journey often starts with a whisper: a friend’s suggestion, a name I overhear in a café, or an album that makes me curious about its birthplace. From there, I follow the threads. Sometimes it leads me to festivals—like a classical series tucked into the meandering streets of San Miguel de Allende or the small jazz gathering beneath a canopy of tamarind trees in Puerto Vallarta. Other times it takes me to late-night jam sessions in smoky venues, where the rhythm is shared like bread.

What I’ve learned is that live music holds the power to break down barriers faster than language ever can. I once joined a circle of strangers in a left bank Parisian club as a jazz pianist kept time. Few of us spoke a common tongue, but we clapped and swayed in harmony, our connection wordless and complete.

These experiences are more than entertainment; they’re transformations. In the presence of live sound, I feel myself soften, open, and belong—to the place, to the people, to the moment. I never come home quite the same.

So yes, I travel for music. I travel for encounters that can’t be streamed or stored. For the magic that lives only in the now, in the very breath of a performance. And in doing so, I come alive again and again.
​​
​

Yesterday, I found a film called The Mysteries of Lisbon. Directed by the esteemed Chilean filmmaker Raúl Ruiz, it came out in 2010 but is based on a novel by 19th-century Portuguese writer Camilo Castelo Branco. The film truly took me away. It’s strange—one of those stories where you’re never quite sure where you’re being led, but you want to follow.

The idea behind it is unique, though not entirely unfamiliar. Much of the Portuguese literature I’ve read, especially the works of Eça de Queiróz, is filled with twists and turns—mystery, romance, and a blend of France and Portugal in the 19th century. This film carries a similar spirit, but its storytelling is especially impressive. I watched it a second time last night and decided I need to buy it. I had only rented it, thinking, “Let’s see what this is.”

The story follows an abandoned child, whose journey into adulthood is guided by an unassuming priest—a man whose own origins are mysterious. The plot unfolds like a picture puzzle, almost like a 19th-century storyboard, set during a time of complex rules about family, inheritance, and social standing. By the end, you’re left wondering: was it real? Or a dream?

The cinematography is simple and beautiful, evocative of the era. But it’s not just the photography—it’s the vision. The way the story is structured and visually composed speaks to the director’s imagination. At one point, the boy is gifted a puzzle by his mother, and it becomes a kind of symbolic storyboard, hinting at what may come.

Many scenes show private coaches drawn by horses, gliding through a sparse and lovely countryside—especially along the unadorned road from Lisbon to Santarém. That road, clean and open, felt almost symbolic of the character’s mission. Other scenes take place at lavish parties, filled with gossip, intrigue, and treachery.

The acting is beautiful. The story is a brain twister. The entire experience felt magical to me. I loved it.

If you’re patient—and if you enjoy being swept into a slow, mysterious tale—this might be a film you’ll treasure too.

Lately, my literary and cinematic interests have leaned more and more toward Portugal. I’ve long been fascinated by the Napoleonic period through to the World Wars in Europe, which we still call “modern” history, though it now feels quite far away. And of course, my admiration for the celebrated Portuguese poet of many voices Fernando Pessoa continues to shape what I notice and what draws me in.
​

That was my question to AI this morning. From the balcony of my hotel room, I’d been watching a tall palm tree—its crown full of large, mature coconuts, and clusters of much smaller ones. I wondered: were those little ones baby coconuts? So I asked.

“Coconuts typically take 12 months to fully mature on the tree from the time the flower is pollinated,” AI responded, along with more detail than I needed—but enough to satisfy my curiosity for the morning.

I went to take a shower, and when I came out, I was startled to see a man climbing one of the nearby palms.
It was an astonishing sight. He wore only chanclas (flip-flops), and with a simple rope looped around his back, he used nothing but his hands, feet, and sheer muscle to propel himself up the towering tree.

At the top, he reached three giant bunches of coconuts. He didn’t cut them—he twisted each one off by hand, tied a rope around it, and gently lowered it to the ground, one by one. At one point, he paused to quench his thirst with the milk of a younger nut.

After collecting the coconuts, he began tearing away the older palm fronds—again, just with his hands. It was impressive: raw, efficient, and quietly brave.

I had just gone through palm trimming back home in Oakland before coming to Mexico. There, my crew needed scaffolding higher than my Victorian house—almost three stories tall. Armed with knives and saws, they carefully cut each frond and lowered it down. They did a fine job.

But so did this gentleman—his ingenuity, courage, and connection to the task left me awestruck. Below, I’ve included a series of photos capturing his ascent and descent.

In defense of my Oakland crew: they did want to demonstrate their skills “Latino-style,” but I refused—fearing for their lives!
​
Here in Mexico, it seems you do what you must, with whatever nature and necessity provide.

It’s early Sunday morning here in Puerto Vallarta and I’m sitting on the nice little Terrace of my hotel room looking out over the ocean as the waves gently lap and an occasional swimmer goes out to his boat to set up for the day. The fellows at the restaurants on the beach are sweeping and getting ready for customers but very slowly because it’s still early. 

I have coffee and a little coffee maker here my little kitchenette on the terrace and so I made myself a little pot of coffee and I heated up some wonderful pancakes that I had yesterday at Cuates y Cuetes for breakfast and they came out very well. Just ate one and feel satisfied. 

Yesterday I took a little walk to Cuates y Cuetes on the beach and had those pancakes along with a couple of cups of chamomile tea and then walked on to the market, which has just one more Saturday event, next Saturday,  and then they close for the season. Eduardo Leon , Roberto Falcon and Arron Hernandez were playing some really lovely Gipsy Kings pieces and I sat and listen to them for a while, and then I got myself an agua of orange juice and mango. That was very nice because by this time the sun was out and quite strong. 

I walked on home and realized that it was more walking than I should be doing so for the rest of the day I rested. I really spent it reclining with my foot elevated, icing from time to time, and taking ibuprofen. I read, watched a bit of The Count of Monte Cristo, listened to a book on microbes—over my head but very interesting. 
By evening I felt like Italian food and luckily I have a very good Italian restaurant just a block away from my hotel called La Piazetta so I went there and had a spaghetti alle vongole and a lovely glass of Pinot Grigio from Italy and topped it off with Pistachio gelato and a tiny espresso. They then brought me a special drink such as they serve after an Italian meal, usually it’s Limoncello, but they have their own recipe. It’s quite tasty. I walked the short distance home. 

It was a very, very pleasant day and I think my ankle is feeling better. I was unable to get the massage appointment that I wanted, but I checked AI and got some good advice on some quite simple massage that I can do myself just to get the circulation back. There is too much swelling keeping the fluids down and hence the swelling and pain. 

I have no plans for today. I think it’ll be very similar to yesterday but we’ll just see. Right now I’m sharing my space (or rather they are sharing with me) with a lot of birds, pigeons, some kind of blackbird, little birds, huge pelicans, and those other very beautiful black birds with sharp black wings that I always forget the name of, and the waves. 
​
It’s really nice. Very nice. Thank you Puerto Vallarta.
​

Yesterday I dismantled the last 10 years of my life. Due to unavoidable circumstances I had to close down my apartment in Puerto Vallarta unraveling a dream. It was bittersweet as I gave up the symbols of a life of adventure, music and friendships built around it.

The sorrow wasn’t about things. I know things are not important, but the memories attached to the things, the way I felt about them when I acquired them. Each brought me closer to the Mexican culture. I enjoyed living close to them and the little bits and pieces of history. The paper maché dolls, close friends that sat on top of my closet reminding me of a past I had always much admired. The perfect clay pottery, many pieces older than I, graced my shelves and evoked images of women transporting water from the community fountains or wells. I relished looking at them sometimes filled with replicas of exotic flowers or displaying, beautiful handmade necklaces the colors of Oaxaca. It was a good time, a rich time filled with life and music. But it was time to shut it down and move on. Significantly, it was the 10th anniversary of my residence at Casa Milagro..
​
This was my month of the Lion.

“The Lion spirit is associated with invincibility, self-confidence and bravery. It is the fiercest spirit animal to face all life's adversities and challenges. It has a strong and unique symbolism. Whatever the challenge, the Lion can help you overcome it with nobility and serenity.”

Thank you Mr lion or Ms lioness. It took a lot of your energy to accomplish this transition.

I spent the last two years mostly in fear and dread. This year is different! Even though it started with a debilitating injury, I have come through it with hope and a renewed determination to continue to grow and enjoy the years I have before me.

April is here and my spirit animal is the Otter!
​
Overall, the otter personality type is known for their warmth and sociability. Strengths: Outgoing, optimistic, personable, communicator, dreamer, responsive, warm, friendly, talkative, enthusiastic, compassionate.
I think those are the traits I had shoved into the background in 2024 due to developments beyond my control both personal and societal. Let’s move on says my April Otter self!

I have really grown tired of being dreary. I am only four months into the year and I am already feeling perky and optimistic. 

In 10 days I will join my family in San Pancho for a small vacation. I really look forward to being lazy in the sun watching them frolic in the sea on a lovely expanse of white sandy beach. Evenings will be filled with remarkable food and conversation at my daughter’s beautiful garden airbnb or relaxing with my other daughter on our terrace overlooking the tranquil beach in neighboring Lo de Marcos.

We will begin our trip with an Easter Brunch at the San Pancho Polo Club as we did last year. It is an incredible event with umbrellas and couches along the long Polo field and so much good local food being served in the grassy area above the action. There will be music and families and if like last year, not a mob scene. Very chill. My granddaughter, a great horse lover, will be taking polo lessons during our stay.
​
San Pancho’s beach is a perfect place to hang out in the evening as the sun sets over the blue expanse of water. I can hardly wait.

Then a cruise through town with its throngs of visitors, restaurants and bars is a must and most of all a return to the tranquility of our airbnb accommodations for a rest accompanied by the soft sounds of the surf.

​Heaven!