Wherever I am…

 When my wife and I are lost in the Colorado High Country, she’ll inevitably ask me “Where the @#%$ are we?” Being the sensitive type, and picking up right away the loving tone of her question my rejoinder is always the same: “Wherever I am, that’s where I’m at.” She doesn’t appreciate my witty response as much as I do, but then, there’s no accounting for taste.

Storm clouds over the Atlantic
Made for a bumpy flight

So here I am. Waiting on my better half to get doodled up so we can head out on the town after our 24 hours of travel. Our flight over the Atlantic was bumpier than anticipated but we made it safe and sound. Tell you what - when they say people are traveling they aren’t kidding. From DIA in Denver, to Philadelphia International, to where we landed this morning, the airports and planes are packed with people. Planes are full, carry-on bags are needing to be checked, everything is rush, rush, rush at least until you wait twenty minutes on the tarmac waiting in line to take off or an extra half hour waiting for a gate to become available after your 6 1/4 hour flight. But hey, you’re jetting across 7 time zones so what difference does a little time spent cooling your jets (literally) matter?

Jet lag is a wonderful thing. We staggered off the final plane absolutely clueless as to what the local time was, though by propping our beady little eyes open we could make out that the sun was still up, the air was warm, and folks were speaking in a language totally indecipherable to us even though we had dutifully printed off the Travelers Top 20 Phrase to Know and made at least some effort at wondering how to actually pronounce things like “Onde esta a casa de Banho?” (“Where is the little boys room?) We did learn one thing for certain, and that is “Onde esta a casa de Banho?” might impress your friends with your mastery of a foreign language but it is of no help, and rather is a detriment, when going through customs.

Despite our language tomfoolery the folks of this beautiful place still allowed us to enter. And as they say in these here parts: “Bem vindo a Portugal!” Or more specifically “Bem vindo a Lisboa, Portugal!” Which was all the welcome we needed. Then it was off to the Hotel Portugal in the heart of Lisbon’s old city where we dropped our bags and promptly headed out to practice the fine art of getting lost in a foreign city. But no matter, I had an actual paper map. Only problem was the city planners in Lisboa seem slightly remiss in putting up street names on the, you know, streets. And lest we needed to be reminded, “Onde esta a casa de Banho?” was about as helpful when seeking meaningful directional advice as it had been at the airport. Man, I gotta stop learning foreign languages.

No doubt, Lisboa is a beautiful city of some 500,000 folks who all speak the same language (Portuguese) which I had so miserably failed to learn given the several hours of brain damage I had devoted to the effort. Fortunately, most of these nice people are more adept at being bilingual than I am, and what the heck, many of them actually speak better English than I do, what with using proper grammar and all. So apart from my stumbling and bumbling in not just one language but two, we eventually were able to communicate and identify exactly where “de Banho” was. And it only costs 1/2 a Euro once you find it!

One of the many beautiful squares
In Lisbon

Once the Banho search had been remedied we were able to do some real sightseeing. Lots of monuments, museums, churches, monasteries, statues, obelisks, castles, etc.Too many to name, too much history to absorb though much of the ‘old city’ really dates back to 1755 having been rebuilt at that point after suffering a major earthquake and tsunami that destroyed almost everything near the edge of the Tagus  river. Still, 1755 is far enough back to be pretty darn old to us newbie Americans (my home of Colorado didn’t even become a State until 1876). Suffice it to say, Lisbon offers a healthy sampling of everything Europe has to offer, and as I mentioned, the people really are very nice and friendly and welcoming.

The Royal Clipper all decked out

The real reason for our trip, however, has not much to do with Portugal’s capital. We’re hear to hop aboard a ship and go sailing with royalty. No, really. The ship we’re setting out on is named the Royal Clipper which is a steel-hulled, 5 masted, fully rigged tall ship. Refurbished in 2017, the Royal Clipper is 439 feet in length, has a beam of 54 feet, and weighs in at 5,000 tons. And the cabins have hair dryers which sealed the deal for the love of my life. This magnificent ship will be taking us back across the Atlantic at a far more sedate pace than the 600mph the Boeing 787 was doing way up at 41,000 feet. We’ll be making stops  in Portugal and Morocco before heading for the island of Barbados where, sadly, we’ll have to hop another plane to get back home to Denver. 

The Belem Castle guards the entrance
To the Tagus River

I don’t know about you, but as a boy I thrilled to stories like ‘Moby Dick’ and ‘Two Years Before the Mast’. And lets not forget classics like ‘Robinson Crusoe’, ‘Treasure Island’ and ‘The Long Way’. How many hours did I while away reading such yarns smelling the salt air and feeling the sea wind in my hair. Alas, much of my childhood was spent in landlocked Colorado and though I did learn the difference between a tack and a jibe, port from starboard, true blue-water sailing was just a tad out of reach. So when the chance to sail across the Atlantic on a ship such as the Royal Clipper became available I didn’t just jump, I leaped. I might be out of pocket for the next week or so after we leave port ion Lisbon. Not sure how good mid-Atlantic Wi-Fi might be, but I’ll blog as often as I’m able. So, come on aboard and let’s set sail! And no more foreign languages for now! I’ll be busy practicing my best pirate voice (“Aarghhh!”) and relearning how to tie a bowline hitch…

The Monument of the Discoveries
Celebrates Portugal’s rich
Heritage of maritime exploration