Mototour 2007 - Day 11-15

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MOTOTOUR 2007

Day 11-15: Porto to Lisbon
Distance: 334 km (of 8,667 km total)

Monday

As soon as we were done with breakfast, we were off to Lisbon, where Marion would be meeting up with the rest of her UNICEF delegation, which was convening for a few days of conferences and seminars there.

Although by our estimations, there was less than 350 km. left to go, we found ourselves counting down the miles impatiently, waiting to get down to zero, to get to the hotel. More than just a goal, Lisbon had become our fixation -- we'd completely lost our sense of happy-go-lucky wandering and adventurousness. We already learned by now that scheduled stops are generally a bad idea for motorcycle trips where anything can happen on the road. However, we had been overcome by an unbending desire to reach our destination. It may have been due to the fact that we hadn't realized just how daunting a 4,500 km. ride to Portugal was. It was so tiring, in fact, that our single focus had become surviving the trip and making it all the way there.

On the approach to Portugal, the traffic thickened as expected; drivers were less courteous, as we expected. What was unexpected however, was the trouble we'd have trying to find our way using 'reliable' maps of Portugal and Lisbon. We had several versions on hand: 1) our hitherto solidly reliable 1:10,000 scale map of Europe, which had never let us down 2) a map from the Lonely Planet that we'd studied days before and 3) a highly detailed Portuguese printed tourist map.

What we descivered was: there ain't no such thing as a reliable map of Portugal! NIX! NADA! Trust us, they do not exist! Even the locals will tell you that! The Portuguese seem to function on fuzzy logic, getting it right is equivalent with good intentions -- which might not even be in the vicinity of being right.

Just how serious are the errors on Portuguese maps? All the elements that make a map a map -- relative and fixed distances, scale, landmarks, streets, central locations -- ALL of the details on Portuguese maps we saw were just plain wrong! In our incredulity, we checked 15 different maps of Lisbon and found 15 different versions of the same city! And no, the quick pace of urban re-development does not account for the magnitude of errors found on them!

Marion: Zak, who is a bit like Rain Man, has a knack for calculating distances, sometimes down to the meter. After a few previews of the map, he had expected me, the navigator, to spot certain major landmarks and tell him which way to go in the tightly-packed city. Tempers flared when the turns and exits never came and we wandered about the very chaotic city in the midst of aggressive traffic, seeming nowhere near our destination.

Marion: By dead reckoning and checking the sun's position in the sky, Zak figured out we had ended up in the west of the city center. To get our bearings and decipher the "encrypted" map, Zak tried to stop at what we thought was a quiet roadside with a small parking lot and promptly missed a 4-inch (10 cm.) curb. The quality of the streets was bad! There was no uniformity or predictability, all kinds of curbs of different designs and heights, cracked sidewalks and footpaths and badly-indicated bus stops and pedestrian crossings. As any two-wheel rider knows, you should never ride alongside a curb and then try to get up on it, it'll trip you over on your side -- you're supposed to cut into it perpendicularly. Result: we had our first minor accident after more than 10,000 km of road trip (including last year's). We were only going about 20 kph (fortunate!), and the fall was like leaning over on the right (fortunate it wasn't left, out onto the middle of the street!) and the 480 kg. of weight Zak was balancing tipped over onto the sidewalk. We had fallen just past a bus top (fortunate!) There was a bus right behind us, which instead of running us over, happened to have stopped there. Phew! We weren't pinned under the bike (again, fortunate!) and the only damage to it was a slightly-dented mini-fender on one of the exhaust pipes.

Zak: One hour later we found our way to the Park - a four-star hotel. An immaculately-dressed concierge greeted us and helped with our dusty luggage, suppressing whatever repulsion he must have felt. We we were stained and dirty, and smelled of fish, sweat, BBQ smoke and exhaust After checking in, we were directed to park in an underground garage with security.

Zak: Once up in the room, we had a long refreshing shower in the marble bathroom. Marion met up with her colleagues. One of them had brought some decent office clothes for her, but I had to keep wearing what we came with—my only choice was dirty jeans, flip flops, shorts, T-shirts and of course, a biker bandana.

Zak: Later that evening, we took the metro to the center in search of a good restaurant, and ended up having some Indian food.

Tuesday

DAY 2 AT THE HOTEL.
We had breakfast in the hotel. Marion went to work, attending her conferences, while Zak tended to his responsibilities on the Internet, using the free Internet service to do maintenance on the websites he manages.

That night there was a carnival. We joined some UNICEF staff (a Norwegian, 2 Danes, 2 Swedes) and walked through the old town. There was that all-pervading stench of BBQ'd fish in the air again. Crowds were thronging the hilly section of Castelo S. Jorge and we followed them to see the carnival. Overall it wasn't that impressive or festive, somewhat lame-tame and on the formal side. Perhaps we had expected something like the wild carnivals of Rio. Nevertheless, we did our share of touristing and bought some BBQ's sardines. A man was handling the hot fish with his bare hands, turning them over in the fire. When our fish were done, he tossed them on a small piece of stale, dry white bread and served it to us on a paper plate. To put it diplomatically, Zak really wasn't too impressed with Portuguese cuisine by this point—there was actually no salt, pepper, or seasoning of any kind used - no spices whatsoever. And one of the fish which poor Helen (of the UNICEF crew) was served was even bloody and raw

We had left instructions about where we would be for a UNICEF colleague Per, who would be arriving later. But the hotel manager we'd left it with (let's just call him Alfredo the manager from hell), told him there was no message of any kind. Per then asked if he could take a metro or taxi to town, but Alfredo told him there would be no transportation due to the carnival. It wasn't true, as the metro, busses and taxis were all running all night long. We would later learn this was all part of a really devious game of Alfredo's!

We walked back to the hotel, along one of the main streets, and parted ways with the rest of the UNICEF crew, settling down in a Basque restaurant, where we had some good wine and hot midnight snacks before retiring. It was a trendy place, where local yuppies seemed to hang out.

Wednesday

DAY 3 AT THE HOTEL.
Same breakfast and morning routine: Marion off at the UNICEF conferences, Zak tending to his Internet sites.

In the afternoon, while Marion was still busy with conferences, Zak decided to try to locate a Yamaha dealer and garage, to bring the bike in for a routine service (every 6000 km.). At the reception, he asked the helpful-looking bell boy who had greeted our fish-smelling selves as we checked in, and he began searching in the yellow pages. He tried calling a number of a nearby dealer, but it seemed to be closed for rest of the week. Alfredo - the manager with the devious game - suddenly took over the conversation and said something to the bell boy in Portuguese with a discreet expression that had “why do you have to care so much!” written all over it. There was a hint of a game, a bet perhaps. But not wanting to rush to judgement as facial expressions are not all cross-cultural and can be misunderstood, Zak gave him the benefit of the doubt - there was after all no reason to suspect a manager at a four-star hotel, and Zak didn't want to be paranoid.

Alfredo asked authoritatively, “What kind of motorcycle?” and then on hearing “Yamaha, ”pulled out a map and circled a spot on it, saying there was a Yamaha specialist garage right there.

Well, Zak wasn't born yesterday, but he sometimes prefers to believe in the goodness of people until proven otherwise. When suspicious however, he has a strange instinct - an almost unconscious natural knack - for flushing out assholes, getting them exposed. He went upstairs, and (consciously?) forgot the map, came down, and asked Alfredo again, “Sorry to bother you, but I left my map upstairs. Could you circle that spot where the Yamaha dealer is again?”

Alfredo grabbed a new map, and circled on it again.

Zak found his way to the spot, but it was clearly a residential area with nothing resembling a garage. He dug through his pockets, and lo and behold, found the first map Alfredo had scribbled on. But the spot Alfredo had scribbled on was different!

Knowing that Portuguese maps are all fuzzy logic, Zak still wanted to do his darnedest to give Alfredo the benefit of the doubt. He drove to the other spot... and found nothing!

He started asking around with some English-speaking locals, and they all insisted as long-time residents in the area, there never was a garage in either area.

It was almost 5 pm. now, and Zak decided to abandon the search and head home. But just as he mounted his bike, he noticed a biker drive by, on a Dragstar 650 - the younger sister model of his bike! He stopped him and asked where to find a Yamaha garage, and the biker offered to show him the way. They drove across town, past the zoo and embassy district, to a small shop. There, Zak booked a time for Friday morning.

Alfredo's game was up. Back at the hotel, we talked it over and decided we had to do something about it, but we would consult Marion's colleagues first.

That night we went out with some more UNICEF colleagues and ate at a fancy fish restaurant. Everybody ordered different local fish dishes which we unavoidably began comparing. The food was a little more refined, but still extremely bland in Zak's opinion.

We compared notes with Per, who confirmed that Alfredo had non-chalantly given him inaccurate information on several occasions. We agreed to lodge a complaint the next day.

Thursday

DAY 4 AT THE HOTEL.
After breakfast, Marion headed for another day of conferences, while Zak headed out for a day trip of his own, to explore Sintra, Cascais and Estoril - along the coast, some 30 km away from Lisbon - as well as hunt for a camping spot we would land at on leaving the hotel.

First things first, Zak headed for the reception and asked how to go about making a complaint to the general manager. He wasn't around, and neither was Alfredo for that matter, and Zak decided to pusue the matter later that evening.

On leaving Lisbon and heading west, Zak found a camping ground on the far end of Monsanto Park and checked it out. It seemed to be formerly government-run, a really well-organized spacious park with lots of facilities. He had read about Monsanto being littered with hypodermic needles, a haven for drug-users and prostitutes running in and out of the bushes to do their business, but there was nothing of that left - it seemed the government had made some efforts to clean up the city's image not too long ago. Assured there were vacancies, Zak headed out west.

The drive was a really pleasant one along the coastal road, which was interrupted with roundabouts every kilometer or so. This was probably intended to slow the traffic down, but it kept the tempers of impatient Portugese drivers running high. There was no give or take at these two-lane roundabouts as drivers rushed through them to get on to the other side. They were really strict about sticking to the same lane and speed, which is really difficult on motorcycles, especially cruisers to make such sharp turns, and they hurled accusations and curses at Zak whenever he simply lanes trying to exit.

Along the roadside, Zak saw a dog, a German shepherd trailing a broken leash, looking very thin, hungry and lost, meandering onto the highway - in moments it would be run over for sure. He slowed his bike to get off, ignoring the impatient drivers behind him. They didn't yell curses or threaten to run him over, for they saw what he was trying to do. Despite his intentions to help, he must have looked pretty menacing with his helmet on, for the dog looked scared and backed away. Knowing there would be no getting close to the terrified animal, there was nothing to do but take advantage of the situation and scare it off. So Zak waved his arms about and shooed it as far as possible from the highway, before driving on. Sad, but there was no way to help the poor dog. Guessing by the way things worked here so far, it was doubtful there was any animal rescue center to call 😞

At Cascais, Zak hunted down a street his ex had asked him to look up for her - she had lived there as a teenager years ago. Following the detailed descriptions she gave, he found what to seemed to be the remnants of her posh neighborhood, took some pictures and left for Sintra - a beautiful, mountainous nature reserve area about 20 km inland.

At Sintra the weather was fickle, and it began to get cloudy and sprinkle a little. This day trip was somewhat meant to be a scouting trip if anything, so Zak didn't take the time to look around too much, sat at a café, and then headed back to Lisbon.

Back at Lisbon, Marion was finished with work. There was no general manager available so we could complain about Alfredo.

We took the metro to the center and headed out for a walk to hunt for a dinner restaurant we'd heard about, while it threatened to pour down with rain at any moment. Not being able to find our way there, we settled for a place at the top of a steep stairway which led to a hilly part of the city. There were locals spread around the indoor and outdoor tables. We figured we'd try some local untouristy spot for a change. It was smoky indoors. We figured we'd be safe enough under some parasols and stretched tarps if it did rain, and sat outdoors. Sure enough, it rained cats and dogs, and the tarps began to get heavy and shed their pools overhead. Stubborn diners - us included - simply huddled together closer. Curiously, the table next to us was patronized by two Swedes. Sometimes you just can't seem to get away from them no matter how far you travel! 😊

The food was lousy, again, and the waiter was reluctant to serve, or even get a drop of rain on him. Then when it was time to pay the bill, we discovered that he had added quite a few Euro to the bill. We weren't in the mood for confronting the waiter (don't let them spoil your day!), so we warned the Swedes at the next table in Swedish, about the “rain tax,” advising them to check their bill carefully before paying.

We went off in search of live music but found none. Feeling a bit restless despite his day trip, Zak put Marion on a taxi back to the hotel, and took a 2 hour intensive walk through town, in the pouring rain, discovering some really seedy areas. Whatever he thought he was looking for, he never found it. He made it home by 1.30 am

Friday - DAY 5 AT THE HOTEL

After an early breakfast, Marion was off to her final day of conferences. Zak headed down to the hotel parking, dismantled the side bags, then drove across town to the Yamaha garage, leaving the Red Baroness there for a maintenance run. He took a subway back to the hotel, where he was told that the general manager was now available.

A few minutes later, he met up with the general manager and explained about Alfredo's game of answering queries with false information, and of his failure to deliver important messages. Naturally, the manager explained that it was shocking and unlike anything they could expect. Despite the fact that Zak was dressed in shorts and sporting a biker's headband, the GM took the complaint seriously - he thought Zak was UNICEF personnel, and said he hoped this would not earn them a bad reputation, and to let him know if there were any other complaints. Zak explained that apart from Alfredo, everyone was really nice and helpful.

Back at the toom Zak packed everything and readied the room for our check out. When Marion was done with work, we brought our luggage down to the reception for storage, hoping Alfredo would not be around to mess with our belongings in retaliation for our complaint. He wasn't. We headed across town to the garage, brought the Red Baroness back to the hotel, and packed for the road.

It was goodbye to luxury, back to camping life

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Photos

Fish, fish, fish everywhere!
And bland tasteless fish at that! This batch is at least salted.

Tasteless, bloody, half-raw fish on dried bread
4 € for the opportunity to taste this delight!

Lame-tame, formal parades at Castelo S. Jorge
Not much carnival for being a big carnival

some government building?
At least it was charming lit up

Carnival or parade?
It was more parade than carnival in our opinion

What's the fuss about?
Why were the crowds thronging just to see this?