Portugal, An Adventure In Wine

I couldn’t help but laugh as we literally ran into the store two minutes before they closed. The lady told us they were closing soon, a fact we were already aware of when we realized that we only had ten minutes to get to the store that was three minutes away. 

I considered trying to sort out how many bottles of wine had been consumed since my bestie and her man arrived to meet me in Lisbon, but I am uncertain I can correctly calculate that data. There were definitely only three boxes of wine consumed totalling thirteen litres, a bottle of Ginja (a sour cherry liquor they practically give away for free here). Those of you that know me, must already know we clearly made sangria. A giant salad bowl of sangria to be exact. After all we had to do something with all that wine. Really the whole idea was because one of the “famous” bottles we opened was so gross there was nothing else we could do with it. 

Oh and there was that bottle of rosé port. Which we later learned they have only started recently making to try to get the “younger generation” ie. not us, into drinking port since it has fallen very much out of fashion. Not that you would know that here, there is literally port EVERYWHERE. Personally I’m not a huge fan, however, I did find a 30 year old tawny I quite liked. $$$. 

We decided last second in the Pingo Doce that we needed to have bubbles for our breakfast the next morning, come the next morning there I am laughing hysterically as I realize the bubbles we have bought were red! So that accounts for our one and only bottle of red brut. As for the normal brut I think we did much better here than in France as we only had two bottles. We did go to an espumante house, and learned that Portugal in fact has an entire region of sparkling wine. 

This brings us to the Douro Valley.

We me and the bestie, notorious penny pinchers now after years of travelling the world, spend an absurd amount of money to sleep in a wine barrel. It actually turned out to be literally the best money we have ever spent as the entire experience was beyond luxury. The best part was we got to try whatever we wanted from their portfolio! Landing us a fantastic bottle of rose (also the most expensive wine we bought) to have with our picnic dinner in our room. See I told you were we cheap, I mean frugal. 

The little researcher that she is, the bestie found us a second great restaurant for lunch, and for the second time the octopus did not disappoint. Washed down with a glass of rosé (our most reasonable decision of the entire trip, only ordering a glass that is). 

As it turns out it is actually rather difficult to rock up to a “quinta” and just do a tasting. This time of the year isn’t exactly tourist season, which you would think would make it easier, however most places didn’t do only tastings, you had to book a tour and they generally try to force port down your throat as well. We had very little interest in trying port, we were there for the wine! 

The views however, did not disappoint. Literal mountains of vines, all in their fall coloured glory. Some leaves still holding on to green while others ranged from orange, to rust, to deep red. You couldn’t help but stare off into the distance and just be in this magical landscape. In the Douro they still pick grapes by hand because the hillsides are so steep they can’t use machinery. There is also still a large number of wineries stomping the grapes in these massive granite baths, for lack of a better term. 

Of the unknown number of bottles we consumed there was most definitely three that we didn’t care for. Surprisingly these were not the cheapest of the wines but what seemed to be the most popular, or best value, or the most advertised. Which can only mean our palates are much different than those of the Portuguese. We did discover our new favourite grape though, Touriga Nacional.  

The last bottle we had was a Pinot Noir from the Lisboa Region. It was hands down the best red we had. There was also something so nice about drinking something we are so familiar with. Especially for me, as I love my Pinots. I am keen to get my hands on some more Pinots from the region to try, however I no longer have a drinking buddy which means it is time for the climbing to resume. 

Climb On

Feeling like a legend, full of energy, just dying to climb, I rock paper scissored with Sarah for the onsite rights of our first climb that day. I knew whoever lead first would inevitably get all the on-sites that day.  I won the first round, but she wanted to go best of three... I still won. And, with my nerves buzzing I loaded up my harness, 6 draws on each side, top rope anchor, personal anchor, bailout ‘biner, ATC, and finally I put my chalk bag around my waist. I find gearing up almost a ritual. The way I tie one end of my rope to the tarp before I flake it out, how I load up my harness, the double checking and counting. Most of it truly is unnecessary but in a sport like rock climbing the last thing you want to do is make a silly mistake. In this sport those mistakes can cost you your life. 

Ready to start climbing I say to Sarah “Pollo Fiesto?” Which literally means chicken party. I don’t really know the whole story behind it but I guess check your partner sounded a lot like chicken party in El Salvador. Believe me there are no chickens partying anywhere, but this is to make sure we both did our part properly. Again redundant yet necessary, such is the sport.

Everything was good so I had no other choice but to say “climbing”, wait for the confirmation of “climb on” before reaching up and starting my ascent. It’s a funny thing when climbing, even though I knew I could climb the route, and that my belayer knew what they were doing I still found myself with Elvis leg. For you non-climbers aka Mema this means my leg was shaking. My nerves were still running high because this was not a route I wanted to fall on, easy granite slab with lots of ledges. It was also on rock I had never climbed on, I found myself unsure if I could trust holds and checking to make sure they weren't going to pull off in my hands. On top of that I had never actually been lead belayed by this person who had my life in their hands. I consider myself a VERY good belayer. I pay attention, I never leave too much slack out and I spend the entire time the climber is on the wall assuming they are going to fall, so if it does happen I am ready. Before I knew it I was at the anchor, onsite accomplished. 

I find it funny how “walking” up a route isn’t nearly as satisfying as projecting a route. Maybe that’s just me. I want to climb something so hard I barely make it. I would rather spend my day working through one route, and finally getting my redpoint, than easily climbing a dozen. There is no gratification in easy climbing. This humbles me, and again I find myself filled with respect for the first guy that took me climbing outside for the first time. Because before I became a good belayer, well … squirrel.

My Little Lost Bear

I find myself completely over come with gratitude. After having spent the last day and half diligently trying not to think too much about Tompers being lost, and hoping for the best. I managed to locate him on the lost property page of the Dublin Airport. I nearly cried. Yet again the people of Ireland amaze me with their thoughtfulness and honesty. I was rather concerned that someone may have found him and thought he was too cute and took him home, but it turns out he was just being a silly little bear and was still at the gate I had departed. 

I think it needs to be shared that this is not the first time I have lost the little rascal. I like to pretend I’m a good mom but the little guy has escaped me more than a few times. 

I lost him once before in Ireland as a matter of fact, in Letterkenny, the little rascal slept in and hid in the bedsheets, I didn’t realize he was missing until I went to take a photo at a landmark. I immediately called the hotel and told them I left my little guy in the room and that I would be back to collect him the next day if they wouldn’t mind babysitting him. Kyle told me I should probably tell them it is a teddy bear not a small child. We had a good laugh when I picked him up the next day from the front desk.

He also jumped behind a bed in San Ignacio, Belize last year. I didn’t realize he was missing until we arrived at our next place. I was sick with worry until the guy working at the hostel got back to me and told me he was there, which was a very stressful 32 hours. When I arrived at the hotel he told me he had some bad news, and I nearly lost it! He then realized I did not find this funny and quickly told me Tompers was fine… Someone else had taken the bed and I had previously slept in would have to sleep in a different one. I had visions of him being eaten by one of the hostel dogs.

I have left him at home more times than I can count, and I’ve nearly forgotten him leaving places only to run back in to get him. 

The irony of the whole story is the bear himself is called a “Lost Little Bear” and he sits in a box with his hands over his eyes sad because his owner left him at a train station….  Well it turns out this lost little bear seems to always find his way home with a little bit of help from some humans. 

Here we go again!

As I run my fingertip over my hands, I find a small sense of pride in the rough callused parts, the little tiny blood spots hiding just under my finger tips, my black thumb nail, the entire patches of skin missing from flappers, and today the raw skin on my pinky thanks to that undercling hand wedge that even though I tried a million times I still couldn’t do the move required to get me through the 10c crux. Let’s not get into the cuts, scrapes and bruises on the rest of my body. In the last 14 months climbing has completely changed my life. My priorities have changed. I found myself packing for this trip in a crag bag, packing two pairs of climbing shoes, with Bryan (my 60m Rope), Goldilocks & Barney (the cams), all my draws, personal anchor, top rope anchor, extra carabiners, chalk bag, harness, ATCs, and liquid chalk. My crag bag is 40L and designed to be a carry on, as you can probably imagine this didn’t leave much space. Not that I care. All I want to do is climb every day for the next seven months. Poor mema she thinks I’m a geologist.

I’m Europe bound yet again and this time the goodbyes were harder than ever. Saying goodbye to my little ball of fur and knowing there is a very good chance he won’t be there when I get home brings tears to my eyes even while I write this. Just thinking about him makes me well up instantly. How can such a little ball of fur own so much of my heart. It’s unfair to expect him to still be there when I return. I found myself so many nights over this last week telling him it was okay if he wanted to go to sleep and not wake up. But every morning he was there to greet me with his front paws on the side of my bed and oh so very excited I was getting up. Always full of love and excited to see me every time he forgot I was in the room and found me again. Love like that is hard to find. I’m not sure I will even be able to proof read this section. I’m crying like a baby drinking chardonnay on an airplane. Poor Margaret (the MacBook) doesn’t need tears on her.

I think it’s safe to say these endless travels will be coming to an end. As soon as I find a place that feels right. Okay so maybe not that soon, there is still so much of the world to see & climb. So don't get too excited mom! I really need to get better at taking photographs. 

Long Over Due

This probably isn’t as exciting for you as it is for me, however I am typing this entry out on my brand new MacBook. Yes, it is rose gold. What other colour would it be? 

It’s that time of the year where I realize I need to book my next flights and I also realized I was terrible about keeping you up to date on my adventures. I just sort of dropped off and never finished what I started. But I should mention this new keyboard feels pretty nice under my finger tips and there will be more to come for sure. 

Life is short and the world is large... 

Believe it or not I am flying back to Ireland!