Lisboa
About 24 hours after I left Dallas, I arrived in Lisbon. What a marvelous city! Although you would never confuse one for the other, it is most reminiscent of San Francisco, right down to the stunning red high suspension bridge that spans the harbor mouth.
In many neighborhoods, the architecture could never pass for San Francisco's, but the comparatively low buildings and their colors ring a bell(some soft pastels, some vibrant colors). Every time I thought I was getting carried away by the San Francisco comparison, some new vista would make me reconsider my self-assessment.
The city is crammed onto hills and surrounded by water, so coming over the crest of a steep hill and seeing the water from between the buildings affords obvious opportunities for parallels. The corker, though, had to be approaching the bridge. Quite the same feeling as approaching th Golden Gate Bridge from the presidio.
Miguel, who was giving us the Cook's tour on the way in from the airport, wanted to show us where the once-bustling warehouses had been turned into trendy restaurants and bars. I was stunned to see how it was was the embarcadero all over! The similarity was palpable.
From one point, it's like the GGB, from another, it's like the Bay Bridge's San Francisco anchor.
Lisboa, March 10, 2008
Another way that Lisbon reminds me of San Francisco: Grey, foggy mornings. I suppose that’s a natural result of being a harbor on a sea coast.
Ways in which it differs from San Francisco abound, of course. Upon close inspection, the architecture is quite different, for the most part. The similarities come from a building boom here in the late sixties and early seventies, Much of this construction is severely ‘functional’ and uninspired and uninspiring. It will be unmourned when it is someday replaced. There is more of that here than in San Francisco, which is sad.
Lisbon has trolley cars rather than cable cars (truly trolleys – they sport a trolley bar although the newer ones also sport a pantograph to connect to the overhead line.) The cars are somewhat shorter than cable cars – some of the old streets are very narrow and twisting. Nevertheless, the similarities are palpable.
There is still a lot of the medieval city around the old castle but the heart of the old city is spacious 18th century more-or-less baroque architecture. Here, the boulevards are wide and straight and the plazas are spacious. The style is one that one finds all over Europe, from St Petersburg to, well, Lisbon. The medieval town here was flattened in the great Lisbon earthquake of 1755 that made news around the world. The quake was followed by a tsunami and the devastation was of biblical severity. Caused something of a crisis of faith for many Portuguese, coming, as it did, on the heels of the country’s re-embracing the Catholic faith after a mid-eighteenth century flirtation with atheism (one doubts that the faith of the rank-and-file citizen was much affected, but the power elite were.) “Why,” people wondered, “would God do this AFTER we returned to the fold?”
In the aftermath, the Marques da Pombal was charged with the clean up. He took the opportunity to modernize the destroyed area and the results remain beautiful to this day.
We six panelists enjoyed a nice lunch of cad and potatoes (prepared very differently than last night’s cod and potatoes) accompanied by THREE BOTTLES of wine, all already uncorked! Now, no one had more than a modest glassful, and I had none (saving my points for sampling the local cuisine) but imagine expecting people to work all afternoon with half a bottle of wine in their bellies. We were expected to partake, as evidenced by the fact that we were provided three glasses each (one for the red, one for the white, and one for water). Ah, Europe! So much more civilized than we.
Tonight we head off to a seafood restaurant (cod and , , , potatoes maybe?).
If the drizzly weather breaks, I’ll try to snap a few pics to send along.
More anon.
---------------
Just came back from a wonderful dinner. Six of us went to a nearby seafood restaurante, Casa do Piexes (or something like that – I am sure that fish was spelled with an ‘x’ which makes a sound in Portuguese similar to the ‘s’ in pleasure). We ate what the waiter recommended, starting with a delightful salad of squid with chopped onions and cilantro (it was _really_ good – honest!) and some very nice fresh-baked breads. Our host also ordered a lovely vinha verde (‘white’ wine) that went well with the seafood. It was the first wine I’ve had since Christmas, so I went very easy on it, but it was marvelous with the fish.
The main course was rock cod of some sort, grilled, and was absolutely outstanding . Along with that, we had another sort of fish – couldn’t identify the specimen the waiter brought for approval before passing it along to the chef, but I swear to goodness that it tasted like salt-cod. It was amazingly salty, but tasty all the same.
We enjoyed animated discussions about science, ranging from there all over the map. The conversation was good fun and quite interesting. Among us are a plant cell biologist, a fellow who studies protein structure by nuclear magnetic resonance spectroscopy (MRI, essentially), a chemist/microbiologist, a physicist-turned-plant population-geneticist/ecologist, a cell-cycle specialist who also works in flies, and me.
Thus far, all this takes place in Lisbon itself. I am growing fonder of this town by the minute – it’s far more prosperous-looking than I had expected. I guess Europe has come along way since the summer of 1977 when Jamie and I spent ten weeks traveling around it. The combined effects of two World Wars really took a toll on Europe’s prosperity for most of the 4 decades that followed 1945. Too, they have been relieved of much of the expense of defending themselves, which has to have been a huge boon. Just imagine what France could have done with the money it poured into its military between 1910 and 1940. The Maginot line alone. . .
Not that Portugal was in either war, of course, but the larger currents of Europe’s economy couldn’t help but sweep this little country along. Today, like so much of the EU (but not so much the giants Germany and France) it is humming right along. Surely, many old buildings are in great need of repair but many more have been recently renovated or have been constantly kept in good repair.
Once one leaves the old (post 1755) down town, one comes across many building is a style that I can only call socialist. They look like anything from Soviet Russia, Mao’s China, Mussolini’s Italy, or Hitler’s Germany. This last is probably the source of the inspiration as starting in the 1930’s and until 1974, Portugal endured a fascist dictatorship. This regime fell in consequence to the costly, un-winnable wars against the independence movements in Angola and Mozambique. At the colonies’ independence, Portugal, a country of perhaps 8 or 9 million souls at the time, absorbed more than a million colonial Portuguese, many of whose families hadn’t lived in Portugal for generations. Somehow, they not only survived the influx but thrived.
Old bitterness may be passing – one sees a number of Africans on the streets of Lisbon, most of whom appear to be visiting rather than residing here.
Many of the wide Boulevards of Mqe. Pambal’s restoration are lined with what look like mesquite trees and must be acacias – presumably from Africa. Palm trees also abound, mostly (to judge from their relatively stout, squat trunks) Canary Island Date Palms (_Phoenix canariensis_. The cultivated date is _Phoenix dactylifera_) Too, they would do better in this climate than would the desert date palm, I imagine.
Many of the buildings are covered with vibrant tiles sporting intricate patterns. In this climate, it seems, tile is a relatively low-maintenance, highly durable surface for a building. Much paving is similarly tiled. Most of the sidewalks and the like are paved with small, semi-regular squares of rough stone. The somewhat irregular surface provides surprisingly sure traction on a wet day, where larger stones might not. Even some of the 1970’s-era construction at the University of Lisbon (which reminds one much of the Cal State and UC campuses of that era) uses the same paving style. I suppose people like to tread familiar surfaces. They also look nicer than plain concrete.
Lisbon, like a certain well-known city in California, is a city of churches. Interestingly, some of them look very like the ones in the other place. I remain amused.
More anon.
Whew! We are still hard at it. We had a nice lunch (poultry and rice rather than cod this time.) Again, there was ample wine there but we all passed, being afraid of passing out in the afternoon session.
We wrapped up in Lisbon at 13:00 and piled into the little Mercedes minivan for the trip to Coimbra. The drive up from Lisbon was pretty. Something I hadn’t expected was how well-forested Portugal is. Most of the way up we passed through tall, spindly trees. In Lisbon itself, one sees loads of umbrella pines (Pinus pinea – long cultivated as the source of pine nuts). These are distinctive since they do not grow very tall, and when you see a stand of them, it looks as if their tops have all been mowed flat together. The tall spindly trees lining the road to Coimbra were quite different – about half were some species of Eucalyptus. These are similar to, but much more pointed at the top than, the lemon gum. Perhaps they are bluegum eucalyptus (E. globulus – this I had to look up on the net). From a distance, they look much like the other widespread tree, a pine.
I looked at these pines and thought that for all the world, they looked like loblolly pine Pinus taeda): tall, very spindly, many needle-less older branches, with a full, pointed crown. Turns out that may be what they were. One of the researchers were heard from was doing forest studies and metntioned the loblolly. Also growing in Portugal is the ‘Bravo’ pine (Pinus pinaster – mentioned by another researcher) which is a native rather than being an import from the Southern U.S. When I looked this up, I found that it looks quite similar to the loblolly, though rather stouter, so maybe that’s what they were.
The University of Coimbra is the oldest in Portugal, going back to the 1200s. Although much of the campus’ buildings date from the 30’s and 40’s, quite a bit is at least 350 years old. That’s where our session was. Quite fine.
Gotta run, our minivan is waiting.
More anon.
Coimbra-Porto
March 12th, 2008
We had our lunch at the University of Lisbon, a lovely presentation of roast duck on rice. Again, wine was abundant and again we most of us passed. We’re just a mite weary to chance ethanol in the afternoon.
As I wrote, Coimbra is the oldest University in Portugal and enjoys some striking 16th-17th century architecture. The Old school was centered on quadrangle that would be familiar in Italy, Spain, or Latin America. Anchored by a clock tower near what is now the school of law, the quadrangle is surrounded by the Library, class rooms, and offices.
The presentation for us was held in an auditorium roofed by groined barrel vaults of plastered limestone. The seating is much more modern, probably dating to the early 20th century – the late 19th at the latest. Despite its antiquity, it is well equipped with an array old Sony speakers and a huge (but low-power, low resolution and thus ‘old’) digital projector. On the stage, a stunning arrangement of fresh flowers awaited us.
Many, but not all, of the female students at Coimbra affect the traditional uniform of the University. Clearly, it has adapted to more modern fashion, but a cape/gown with a scarlet sash is still included.
Running right by the old campus is a Roman aqueduct. It has been maintained over the centuries and shows evidence of ‘recent’ restoration (say late 19th century). As we were leaving, I got a snap of it. Then back to the minivan and off to Porto.
We reached Porto and the fine Hotel that was booked for us about 9:00 PM (just in time for dinner).
I had a tasty serving of baked cod on a bed of a rice-spinach-black-eyed-peas and a bit of pastry/bread. Then it was up to bed. A quick check of my e mail (is there ever such a thing?) and so to bed.
March 13th, 2008
Today we left Porto at 8:15 to head to the Viaro campus of the University of Porto. This facility was as modern as Coimbra was ancient. Still, they too had striking flowers on the stage. There, we enjoyed the best lunch yet. The appetizers included some marvelous local cheeses and mussels in a ceviche-like citrus/onion/cilantro marinade.
Next, we visited the Universidade do Minho, near Braga. Again, it is a campus that could have been set down any where in the Western World between 1960 and 1980 or so. In addition to some of the traditional Portuguese stone paving (granite here in the North, rather than limestone), there is a lot of exposed aggregate. Very Californian.
LAter, we headed to our hotel in Braga to confer. Braga is a nice old northern town. The feeling in the North is different than the South. The colors are darker, from the stone work to the tiles, but it’s still a beautiful old burg with lots of pre-twentieth century buildings in the heart of town. I took a brief walk near to hotel to locate a Farmacia to get some more naproxen. The foot’s not been too bad but at one point during the afternoon, something shifted and for a half hour or so, it was excruciating.
Another lovely meal for dinner – grilled octopus and cod-potato casserole, preceded by a delicious array of appetizers and accompanied by a fine local vintage.
Then to much-anticipated bed. . .
March 14th, 2008
Today we are back at the U of Minho. At each stop, we have taken the time to speak with the students and postdocs. Unsurprisingly, the concerns they express are just as you’d hear in the US or, my colleagues assure me, in England. France, or Spain.
Madeira
March 15th-16th, 2008
I can now say that I’ve been to Madeira. So far, all I’ve seen is the highway between the airport and Funchal, where our Hotel is located.
We finished our evaluation in Braga about noon, Friday. Then we had a sumptuous luncheon courtesy of the unit we were visiting. We had the spacious and fancy campus ‘cafeteria’ to ourselves owing to a general public employees strike that had been scheduled. Somehow, our hosts (with perhaps some stress should we be offended by their hospitality or lack thereof) convinced the facility to prepare and serve us a fine meal, starting with a variety of tasty appetizers of local origin.
I especially liked one pastry-type-thing filled with savory bits of something. This was followed by grilled octopus , red peppers, onions, and ‘pushed’ potatoes. These latter being just as they sound – take some small red potatoes, bake them with olive oil and herbs and (before or after, I’m not sure which) squash them about half flat. After the fish course, they served us some sort of meat with yellow rice and salad. Of course, there was wonderful local bread and moderate amounts of vinha verde to go with it.
It was quite like being at a very fancy restaurante, especially the service, seeing as we were the only people in the dining room. Very pleasant and relaxed. Afterwards, we repaired to the hotel for more discussion. The hotel had set aside a fancy boardroom for us, but being scientists, we didn’t use it, preferring the anteroom instead. We had our preliminary discussion and then took a stroll around the old downtown of Braga. Really quite nice.
We went to see the ancient cathedral. It is a combination of old Romanesque and 17th century baroque, with a few pointed arches thrown in for good measure. In preparation for Holy Week, everything was draped in purple. In a tradition one associates more with Spain than Portugal, the workmen were preparing to close the church for the upcoming week. Nevertheless, all the streets were decked with banners and posters proclaiming “Semana Santa.”
Braga is full of churches. It seems that around every corner is another plaza with its own church. Many are clearly ancient but have been treated to various facelifts in contemporary styles over the centuries. Their interiors are rather less ornate than elsewhere in Iberia, though still quite decorated.
Many of the churches and chapels sport massive, gilt and polychrome, ancient organs with arrays of trumpets to accompany the pipes. In the chapel in Coimbra, the instrument was looking a bit dusty and dingy. The one in Braga, with similar ranks on both sides of the entrance to the nave, looked better tended. I snapped a couple of pics.
We wandered up and down a few streets nearby our hotel, and through the vast main plaza of town where all manner of local handicrafts were on offer. Some of these were attractive. Then, back to the hotel where we resumed our discussion– this time in the bar. At 6:30 PM, we piled into the minivan and drove from Braga to Porto, a trip of perhaps 30 minutes.
The airport in Porto is stunning – it struck me somewhat the way Dulles did when I was a kid and Sarinnen’s terminal was the whole story. As airports go these days, Porto’s is small and accommodates travelers about as well as any modern airport. We caught the 7:45 to Lisbon where we switched planes for Madeira. The Lisbon airport is more typical of that generation of airports that grew the ad hoc way a hospital does and looks almost as logically connected. For some reason, among closely-held information is which gate your flight departs from. This matters since to get around the airport one travels in busses reminiscent of mobile lounges.
As we disembarked from the Fokker 100 we’d taken from Porto, one of these bus-things pulled up. One of my companions asked, “Isn’t that the gate over there?” pointing to a doorway not 30 yards away.
“They must be taking us to another one,” I speculated.
Well, no.
After everyone had filled the vehicle, we drove the thirty yards and unloaded. The gatekeeper at the Emerald City comes to mind. More shuffling, schlepping, and waiting and then onboard an Airbus A319 for the flight to Madeira.
Friday, of course, is the start of Easter Week and thus numerous Madeiros studying on the continent were returning home. Apparently, TAP had put on three extra flights to handle the crush so it was not bad at all for us. Food service was a meager sandwich that would please the CFO of any American Airline, but the beverage service includes beer and wine as a matter of course. Few Portuguese, it seems, can tolerate a meal without wine. A civilized people, yes?
The flight from Lisbon to Madeira takes about 90 minutes (about 1000 Km or 600 miles). The runway at Funchal is famously challenging and only experienced pilots are allowed to fly in and out of there. The approach reminds me a bit of coming in to Washington National. Touch down and throw the engines into FULL reverse. We got quite a view of the island, its steep hillsides picked out of the dark by myriad sodium vapor lamps signaling the location of houses and streets.
The airport at Funchal is somewhat smaller than Porto’s but quite efficient, it seems. We waited two or three minutes for our bags. We had a large van to take us to our hotel in downtown Funchal – a trip of about 20 minutes or so.
The Madeiras are volcanic and show the steep hillsides, cleft by deep ravines, that are the common form of such islands. Every ravine seemed to have an even deeper, man made, channel within it. These were usually lined with old cut volcanic stone, but some have been updated with ferroconcrete. I presume that when they get a good rain, they need every centimeter of these deep channels to keep the water away from their homes and businesses.
The route from the airport is a modern 4 lane highway that passes through many, large, long tunnels. As I don’t see how the 272,000 residents of the archipelago could afford such lavish construction, I assume it was built with EU or Portuguese money. Once built, on the other hand, it pays for itself in its clear support of the islands’ booming tourism industry. It may well be an example of the rewards of pooling and sharing resources (one thinks of Acts 2:45: “they would sell their property and possessions and divide them among all according to each one's need”). Then too, given the quasi-autocratic state of the regional government, it may just be a boondoggle. In any event, the highway works and Funchal, at least, looks quite prosperous. The drive reminded me of a cross between Southern California and the Corniche.
We reached the hotel about half-past 1:00. Thankfully, they had a light ham and cheese sandwich and an apple awaiting us in our rooms. That hit the spot and so to bed.
Funchal
March 16th, 2008
Up at 9:00 for a shower in a stall that would be fine on a sailboat. Had the curtain reached the shower pan, I might not have needed three towels to sop up the water from the bathroom floor!
This is a fine season in which to visit Madeira. Many of the trees are in full flower – coral trees, jacaranda, Canary Island Palms, and several I couldn’t identify. Many other flowers as well – morning glories, Nasturtiums, bird-of-paradise, roses, daisies, etc. Also, a silvery-grey, spiked-leaf bush with deep lavender flowers on tall spikes – looks like something Mom had in the garden when we were kids. According to one of the plant systematists here, it is native to the island.
We had a couple of hours before our meeting, so we strolled around the town, along the esplanade, which has its own McDonald’s and Pizza Hut. One chain that doesn’t seem to have made much headway in Portugal is Starbucks, I saw them in Cambridge in 2002, but the English hadn’t had a coffee house tradition for nigh on three centuries by then. The market may have been wider open in consequence, The Portuguese like coffee that comes in thimbles and makes espresso look like a sissy’s drink. There are old-style cafes on every block – the styles reflecting the date of their founding, I assume. Thus, the plane here may have been already filled with wedges. We stopped at the Funchal marina where a kayak race was in progress and had a look.
We then strolled through the market. A cornucopia of fresh fruit was on display, produce of the island. A local favorite is the custard apple (Annona cherimola). Other offerings included avocados, apples, pears, strawberries, mustard green, broccoli, cabbage, and citrus of all sorts.
Next we passed through the fish market where all the workbenches are of polished marble. Many species of fish I’d never seen, but rock cod as well, were on offer. A local specialty is ‘sword fish’ (peixe espada) {The Portuguese language Wikipaedia suggests the name Trichiurus lepturus for peixe espada. One has to love the web – even here on an island in the Atlantic one can look things up. Using the Portuguese name to get the latin binomial, I then find the entry in the English-language version of Wikipedia: ‘The largehead hairtail, Trichiurus lepturus, is a member of the cutlassfish family, Trichiuridae.’ Following the link to ‘cutlassfish yielded the following: ‘The black scabbardfish, Aphanopus carbo, is a bathypelagic cutlassfish of the family Trichiuridae found in the Atlantic Ocean between latitudes 69° N and 27° N at depths of between 180 and 1,700 m.[1] Its length is up to 110 cm, but reaches maturity around 80 to 85 cm. The snout is large with strong fang-like teeth. The black scabbardfish is of economic important to fisheries associated with countries of the Iberian Peninsula, and especially with the Madeira Islands where they are prized for food.’) So there you have it: Aphanopus carbo. That’s what was on offer in the market.}
Don’t think of the classic thuniform game fish Xiphias gladius – this one is a fish that looks (more or less) like a sword, not a fish that is armed with one. The sword fish come in white or black, about a metre long, and both look scary as hell. Their shape is reminiscent of a moray or conger eel, but with longer, sharper teeth and huge eyes. One confides that these live at depth. Even really hideous fish may be tasty when eaten.
It was then over to the base station for the funicular lift. This cable-way carries one up from the sub-tropical shore to the temperate mountains, perhaps 500 meters up. Here the laurel is all in bloom, just as it was as on the way from San Jose to Monterey in 2006. Just like then too, the scent was unmistakable. Not exactly disagreeable, it is nevertheless best experienced in small doses.
From the vantage of our gondola, the steep, narrow, winding nature of the streets was unmistakable. Of course, to keep things fascinating, they mostly have steep walls on either side, or a precipitous drop on one side. Basically, there is no flat land on the island and the houses cling to the steep hillsides in ways that would make a California real estate developer envious. While the Eucalyptus and even the laurels would make him feel right at home, the ubiquitous bananas would clearly say, ‘exotic.’ Not that bananas don’t grow in California, as they indeed do. Rather, it’s the plantation of them on terraces large and small in between every house and lot that does it. In many instances, a householder’s small plot of bananas is accompanied by a chicken coop.
The houses are mostly white and sport red tile roofs. Some are a sort of serrated tile I associate with more northerly climes (and much of the most ancient architecture looks a bit Germanic too – perhaps that reflects the fact it was built in the middle ages?). Most however, would look right at home on the coast of Southern California. It may be hard to envision, but the hillsides here are steeper and the ravines deeper than anything there. And it is all much greener. My hosts inform me that this is the drier side of the island.
Once at the top, we found ourselves in a cloudy, cool climate – quite the change from scant minutes before at sea level. Here, the laurels dominate, but ‘maritime’ pine (Pinus pinaster, pinho bravo) and eucalyptus may be seen. Here too are ancient olive trees with trunks perhaps 8 feet in diameter. Owing to centuries of pollarding, however, they are flush with fresh young, fruitful growth that is within easy reach of harvesters. They look quite odd.
Further on, towards the botanic gardens, we come upon a uniquely Madeiran activity: toboggans. These are great wicker baskets with padded seats that are mounted on wooden skids/runners. Owing to the steepness of the ancient, winding streets, one can skid down the nowadays-asphalt road surface at rather high speed. To keep this unorthodox craft under control requires two men – one on either side – to act as breaks using one foot each. They get the thing going by hauling on two ropes as they run down the incline. Then they hop on behind, standing on the rear of the runners. To slow your descent and to steer, they place one foot on the road. Appropriately, there shoes are soled in old tire tread. Elsewise, their attire is traditional: white cotton blouses and trousers, navy blue jackets (as they please) and straw hats shaped like boaters but of lighter weight.
We opted to try the experience. Quite the thrill. The lanes are very steep and also busy. This is done on working roadways, not a ‘closed course with professional drivers.’ In many spots, the road surface is worn shiny-smooth by the passage of these basket toboggans. In all, it is a rather rapid ride down the mountain side. We were nearly back to where we began in much less time than it had taken to ascend in the funicular. While this was certainly fun and now I have done something one can only do on Madeira, were I to find myself back here, I’m not sure I’d feel the need to do it again – perhaps it is like climbing Mount Fuji. . .
Our hosts started with an elegant lunch featuring a local favorite, sword fish (see above). Despite their unlovely appearance at the fish market, I dug right in and found it quite good. Potatoes and salad rounded out the main course and a fine flan finished the meal.
Our hosts presented us each with a bottle of Madeira. I was unsure about accepting – no other unit had been so kind and it might be taken for a bribe, I suggested that it might look bad and that we should ask every other unit for a bottle of wine so that we would be sure to judge them on their merits. A fellow panelist allowed as the simpler solution was for me to give him mine and he, me his. No one could accuse us of trying to bribe one another, after all. In the event, we kept the wine and sped off for the airport. We left the island less than 20 hours after we had arrived.
More anon,
Some additional thoughts on the trip so far:
Funny, the only meal at which they served us meat this week was on Friday in Braga. I wasn’t even aware that it WAS Friday, alas.
In many places, especially up in the North where there is much dark granite and down on Madeira, which is all on volcanic rock, the standard paving is enhanced with patterns like a mosaic. In Madeira they use a combination of white limestone and black basalt to make designs; up North it’s more like two different shades of granite.
As a paving surface it is imminently practical – low slip, easy to take up and replace, and easy to transport the little blocks from place to place. Beyond that, it looks nice. I’d like to see more public spaces made attractive in the USA, but until our poor country becomes as lavishly rich as Portugal, I guess we’ll be stuck with more strictly utilitarian spaces.
While there is a clear and dedicated effort at preservation of the look and feel of Old Portugal, many ultra modern structures abound. Much of the old persists in governance, but that too is continuing to make great strides.
A visit to Europe is a good counterbalance to Texas. While I think that we carry the ‘dispensable employees’ thing a bit too far and too harshly, here most every worker seems to have found a sinecure. In consequence many things just don’t happen as efficiently as one might wish. Table service at the hotel bars, for example. Things are changing, especially in the private sector, but the cultural norm may linger for perhaps another generation.
Great strides have been made, however, and overall, this visit has been most satisfactory.
Portugal is much greener than I had imagined, though to be fair, this is the winter time. Lisbon lies about 6 degrees, 5 minutes north of Dallas or San Diego (roughly 400 miles, a bit south of San Francisco), but its climate is, of course, much milder than Dallas’ and more like San Diego’s. The maritime situation moderates things, just as in California. Then too, the Gulf Stream passes not too far away. Thus, the vegetation is familiar but more luxuriant.
After turning in last night, I had a decent night’s sleep. Our flight to the Azores wasn’t until noon.
Airports are airports an Lisbon’s shows common growing pains. Nevertheless, security is as efficient as anywhere I’ve been, and the procedures no less thorough. Getting to the jet itself was a bit complex however. I guess the bus-to-plane thing complicates the security issues and that is certainly why we needed to board the bus to travel 30 yards the other night.
Many of the current procedures are clearly beneficial. Others have been implemented with no data on costs or benefits and it’s regarded as heretical to suggest that the data be gathered to inform our choices. In reality, do the current limitations on liquids, for example, actually achieve their stated objectives? I don’t know. They certainly add a bit of a burden to travelers.
Now, with the eminently reasonable relaxation of rules that says that you may carry on liquids that have been purchased within the secure area of the airport, we have created a new vested interest. Will we ever reassess the costs/benefits of rules if someone’s income depends on the rules as they now are. I won’t even mention the travesty of a private outfit called ‘Clear’ that will get you through the security process much faster, for a small fee. It’s probably coincidental that the security lines for hoi poloi have grown ever more odious at the same time as Clear has been operating at least at SFO.
Air travel remains an amazing benefit. If I were going, in the age of sail, or even steamships, to travel from Dallas to Portugal and then to Madeira and the Azores, with a stop by England coming and going, the journey would be measured in days and months, not hours. And so, we put up with many irritations for the privilege of spending our lives AT places rather than GETTING places. The flip side is so much less leisure, as on this trip
I learned a new term this go round: Macaronesia. Madeira, the Azores, the Canaries, and the Cape Verdes are collectively referred to by this epithet. I finally asked one of the folks on Madeira to explain the term. He was positively delighted by my interest and explained that it comes from the Greek, Makaros (fortunate). While classical references to ‘The Fortunate Isles’ has long been taken to mean the Canaries, it apparently referred to any island beyond the gates of Hercules. Thus the collective ‘macaronesia.’ It’s a useful term – the islands have many similarities of geology and biology.
In Plutarch’s story about the Roman Rebel Quintus Sertorius, we are told of sailors who had just come from a pair of islands 1000 furlongs off Africa, separated by just a narrow channel. Some believe this to be the first recorded reference to the Madeiras (Porto Santo is right across from Madeira.) {From Plutarch: “a little above the mouth of the river Baetis, where it falls into the Atlantic Sea, and gives the name to that part of Spain (Quintus Sertorius) met with seamen recently arrived from the Atlantic islands, two in number, divided from one another only by a narrow channel, and distant from the coast of Africa ten thousand furlongs. These are called the Islands of the Blest; rain falls there seldom, and in moderate showers, but for the most part they have gentle breezes, bringing along with them soft dews, which render the soil not only rich for ploughing and planting, but so abundantly fruitful that it produces spontaneously an abundance of delicate fruits, sufficient to feed the inhabitants, who may here enjoy all things without trouble or labour. The seasons of the year are temperate, and the transitions from one to another so moderate that the air is almost always serene and pleasant. The rough northerly and easterly winds which blow from the coasts of Europe and Africa, dissipated in the vast open space, utterly lose their force before they reach the islands. The soft western and southerly winds which breathe upon them sometimes produce gentle sprinkling showers, which they convey along with them from the sea, but more usually bring days of moist, bright weather, cooling and gently fertilizing the soil, so that the firm belief prevails, even among the barbarians, that this is the seat of the blessed and that these are the Elysian Fields celebrated by Homer.
When Sertorius heard this account, he was seized with a wonderful passion for these islands, and had an extreme desire to go and live there in peace and quietness, and safe from oppression and unending wars;”}In fact, I meant to mention the island(s) across the way. Ititially, I mistook this for Porto Santo, not recalling the map well. In fact, the islands visible from Funchal are the Islas Desertas (Deserta Grande Island, Bugio Island, Chão Islet). The three look like a single island at that distance.
We had no chance to visit the other large Island of the Madeira group, of course, but the Desertas sit there being strongly reminiscent of Santa Catalina. The group is comprised of a big end and a small end, separated by a channel (looked like an isthmus from Funchal). Of course, there is a large low islet on the big end, so one would not mistake these for Santa Catalina, but, looking at the white-walled, red-roofed houses marching down steep slopes to the cliffs above the sea and having Porto Santo for a backdrop, one cannot help a sense of déjà vu. Would that we had more time on Madeira.
We will have some time to explore Sao Miguel, home to Ponta Delgada and the University of the Azores. I am eagerly anticipating the look around.
Ponta Delgada
March 17, 2008
We arrived at the airport here and went straight to the University. By the time we wrapped up our work, it was back to our hotel for a late dinner and then to bed.
A funny thing happened as I was leaving Madeira. Getting out of the van at the airport, I stumbled and came down very, very hard on my left foot. For the entire trip, my foot had been really bothering me. I was surviving on Naprosyn and then it only made things tolerable. Well, as you may well expect, the impact was quite painful. After I had taken a dozen steps, I turned to Miguel and said, “My foot doesn’t hurt.” To be sure, it was tender and sore, but the intensely painful signals radiating from my left ankle were pretty much gone. It has remained so since. I suspect one of the fragments of bone or metal in the joint shifted out of wherever it had wedged that was so painful. It may come back, and the foot is sore and tender, but I’ll take what I can get. For now, I can walk again and that is fine with me.
Sao Miguel is a handsome island. It is at about the same latitude as the Monterrey peninsula and is somewhat reminiscent of it, albeit much more mountainous. The highest peak on the island rises to about 2700 meters. The island is formed from three extinct (maybe two, with one dormant) volcanoes. Each of the old calderas holds a large, fairly deep, lake. Obviously, fresh water was never a problem for these islanders.
We rented a car (a Volkswagen ‘Polo’) and spent the day driving around the island. This was well worth while. Once one leaves Ponta Delgada, the newly-improved, limited access highway peters out and becomes a winding two-lane (ha!) track. Through the farmland, high walls of black lava rock line the narrow way. Elsewhere, where the road cuts through hillside, the walls are of hewn through the underlying stone. If there isn’t a wall, it’s usually because the hillside drops steeply away from the road.
We first visited the calderal lake(s) at the North end of the island. The area is spectacularly beautiful and reminds me of Crater Lake, only smaller. It actually is two connected lakes – Lago Asul and the smaller Lago Verde. The rationale behind the names is clear once the sun comes out – the bigger lake is blue, while the smaller is quite green. The walls of the caldera are extremely steep, but in many places they are covered in the indigenous conifer, which may be Juniperus brevifolia. If so, these are unlike other members of the genus, such as J. virginica and J. asheii that abound in the cross timbers and the Texas Hill Country. J. brevifolia is a large, straight tree that looks a lot like the bald cypress (Taxodium distychum) until you get a good look at the leaves.
{ I did some looking upon my return. I wasn't completely happy with my tentative identification of the tall Azorean conifers as Juniperus, though the needles and cone looked likely enough. Further digging reveals that the Azores have stands of imported Japonese Cryptomeria (Japanese 'cedar', _Cryptomeria japonica_, or "sugi"). Looking at the close-up shot I got of the cones and leaves, the trees we saw don't look just like the Cryptomeria, but the overall size and habit fit much better than with juniperus.
Seems the genus _Cryptomeria_ is variously placed in the Cuppressaceae or the Taxodiaceae (which are quite similar families anyhow.) Predictably, the photos I have just don't quite resolve the issue. Alas. But I lean strongly towards the Cryptomeria. They may not be native but they are lovely.}
The mid-elevations of the island are densely forested with them and they are harvested for timber. We shared the narrow, winding road for a nervous moment with a truckload of logs coming down the other way. Not a huge semi or anything, but large all the same. May other trees are members of the Lauraceae or the Oleaceae and hence the name of this sort of forest is Laurasilva. The remnant of the Pleistocene forests that covered a wetter Mediterranean basin 10,000 years ago, the Laurasilva is today found on the Azores, Madeira, and the Canaries, with a bit on the mainland in the mountains of Spain, Portugal, and Morocco. Needless to say, it is a threatened biome. We also saw several impressively large tree ferns at the lower elevations.
Azaleas abound, growing wild all over the islands, as do other Rhododendrons. Hydrangeas are everywhere that is not field or pasture, as are what looks like some sort of Canna. Calla lilies are also naturalized here. Other flowers include something that looks a lot like our Texas ‘wine cups’ and are probably members of the Malvaceae as well. There are a sort of lilly-of-the-valley and many familiar-looking small daisies everywhere. Bracken fern are ubiquitous as well, as is the Azorean Heather (Erica azorensis). This looks like the familiar heather of the English moors, but with much smaller leaves – it was not flowering season so I can’t comment on that.
And cows! The Azores are intensely agricultural and the main business is dairy farming. Cows are to be found just about everywhere you look (except the caldera lakes!) They look a lot like Holsteins and Jerseys but are apparently a local breed dating back to the middle ages. They have, we heard from one of our hosts yesterday, very high rates of bladder cancer due to a genetic predisposition. Fortunately, the same cannot be said of the Azorean people. They do have twice the rate of atherosclerosis of the general Portuguese population – perhaps owing to all the dairy products in their diet.
The countryside, even steep hillsides, is divided into fields separated by high stone walls. Here, as on Madeira, the stone is black volcanic rock. The walls are mostly drystone and many date back centuries. It reminded me of pictures I’ve seen of Ireland.
Several times we shared the road with tractors and other farm vehicles, and once with cattle. I saw something on the Azores that I’ve not seen in Europe proper – picking-up trucks. Mostly Mitsubishi or Nissan, they nevertheless would have fit right in I Dallas. Makes sense, this is farm country, after all, but usually, I see those little snub-nosed cab, high flat bed, trucks doing the same duty in Europe. These were here as well, but I saw more pickups.
We stopped at a lookout point and decided to walk a bit. We followed a steep dirt road up along a ridge for a mile or two. The land fell away sharply to either side of the road, although the Southeastern slope was less steep the nearly cliff-like other slope. It was delightful to get a close look at the flora and some of the fauna, and to breathe air as fresh as I have in quite some time – well, until we came to the cows. We saw a few small song birds, several large hawks (Buteo buteo rothchildii, according to one of the signs at the overlook) and, of course, herring gulls and common terns.
It is an interesting perspective to look down on the lake from the rim of the caldera and realize that one can see the ocean beyond.
Well. It’s nearly half-past 2:00 in the morning.
More anon,
Sao Miguel, Azores
We stopped for lunch in the village of Rabo de Peixes (Fish Butt) at a café called Restaurante De Imigrants. We each ordered the Bife da Vaca (steak of cow). Our waiter (the proprietor, I imagine) suggested we start with some cheese. The cheese is the local ‘Cheese of Sao Jorge’, the island from which it comes and is quite good – something of a cross between a Monterrey Jack and Edam. It was served with a slice of pickled Bell Pepper and went very well with the local bread.
We then proceeded to the middle of the island to take a look at Lago do Fogo (lake of Fire – I’m not sure exactly why it is so called). It was every bit as breathtaking as the Lago de Sete Cidades (the two lakes mentioned earlier – why the little village on the lake shore is called ‘Seven Cities’ I do not know – maybe a connection to Cibola?)
As we progressed around the island, we came across a procession of perhaps 100 barefoot men and boys. Most carried a fancy hiking staff, all wore shawl-like capes and strikingly colorful neckerchiefs. Most also sported large crosses around their necks. They ranged from the very old to the newly-adolescent. It was quite a sight and I was sorry that my camera battery had died by then.
It turns out (we learned from the in-flight magazine) that these pilgrimages are a Sao Miguel tradition dating back to 1522 when an earthquake destroyed the old capital of the islands, Villa Franco do Campo, just down the way from Ponta Delgada. In commemoration, the men of the island made a pilgrimage to plead for the intercession of the virgin. Somehow, the event transmigrated to holy week (the quake was in June). The pilgrimage lasts 8 days and the pilgrims visit every church on the island where there is an image of the Virgin Mary (I guess there must be about 100 of them). They travel around the island clockwise, with the ocean always on their left, and never cross one another’s paths. For the duration of the 250 kilometer trek, they eat and sleep together and, presumably, pray together. By strict tradition, it is a men-only affair. They ask the virgin to intercede in the coming year to ask the Lord to protect the people of the island from the trials of the land (earthquakes, eruptions), the sea, and from the evil in the hearts of men.
The utility of the staffs is self evident, as too the capes and hats. The significance of the neckerchiefs I could not find out – maybe I should Google it. I found the sight quite moving and readily concluded it was a Holy Week procession, but am glad to have learned more details. Another experience unique to the island I was on.
We did take a slight detour to indulge a request of mine. We headed to the rocky shore so that I could dip my foot in the Atlantic. The shore is reminiscent of that around Southern California (but the hills are greener). The tidepools, however, seemed devoid of animals. Instead, various sorts of seaweeds covered all the rocks. Apparently, overfishing of some mollusks lead to an algal population explosion. With the algae hogging every square inch of rock, the animal larvae never get a chance to settle down.
In addition to the terns and gulls, there was one bird that looked for all the world like a juvenile cattle egret but it was wading right into the waves of the sheltered cove. It was white with a yellow bill and feet. Its fairly long legs, however were black. Made the bird look as though it were wearing yellow shoes!
We returned to Ponta Delgada at dusk and had a light sandwich at a café on the main plaza. Then it was off to the Aeroporto Jaoa Palo II and a flight to Lisbon. Today, I shall take in the old castle that guarded the harbor in ages past and then meet with Miguel to see some science. I may get one more missive out before I head home at an ungodly early hour tomorrow.
March 19th, 2008
Lisbon
On Tuesday, I finally got a chance to really take a look at Lisbon. Our flight from the Azores landed near 1:00 AM so I didn’t really get to sleep until half-past two. Thus, I slept until about 9:30. I ahd a roll and a cup of coffee and then spent the next couple of hours catching up on work e mails and writing. About 11:30 I caught a taxi to the old castle. This is an imposing edifice dating back to the Moorish conquest of Iberia. Located on a high, steep hill, it dominates the old city’s skyline. At night, all lit up, it’s quite a sight. By day, I found myself most fascinated by the architectural details of a medieval defense. I suppose if you don’t need to stop artillery fire, a stone wall doesn’t need to be massive to protect its defenders. In many places the wall is so pierced by loop holes and the like that it seems quite delicate.
With its commanding situation, the castle has a magnificent view of all of Lisbon and environs. Much restoration has been undertaken over the years and centuries and some of it is rather recent – the handicap ramps, for example. They are constructed of stones as old as the castle itself, but are almost certainly of recent origin.
The old enclosures are unexpectedly empty. This is a result of the interior structures having been wooden rather than stone. There is a reconstructed stable to lend some idea of what the working fortress might have looked like. In any event, the open space is full of old trees (dating to the 19th century, perhaps) pines and olives, mostly.
The masonry is mostly an odd assortment of brick and stones of all sizes. In many structures, only the corners and windows are dressed stone. One can see from the loopholes how the castle was to be defended: each inner precinct has fields of fire on the next one out. Any attempt to storm the structure would have proven most costly to the attackers. Where the stone is dressed, the limestone has weathered to a handsome golden color that contrasts nicely with the green of the pines and olives and the terracotta red of the bricks.
One thing is clear – the original designers of the structure did not have today’s safety guidelines beside them as they worked. The stone parapets are reached by narrow, steep stairways with irregular treads and low railings of rather recent origin. The parapets themselves are likewise without rail or decent wall. A slight stumble on one of those narrow walks could easily send one plunging the 30-40 feet to the ground. That’s another thing that is striking here – the walls are so high! Surely, in the days of its use, it must have been hard on defender and attacker alike.
All-in-all, a magnificent structure and one well worth the visit.
Once I had experienced the castle, I wandered down the hill to the oldest church in Lisbon (one of them, at least). It is impressive and old and rather large – still, it’s mostly Romanesque and that style is less attractive to me than high Gothic. As it turns out, Miguel and Isabel’s apartment is right by the other end of the church complex, as I found out later. I watched several trolleys pass by as I wandered further don the hill. They really are quite engaging to look at and they were certainly as fully utilized as any cable car in San Francisco.
A little after two I caught a cab over to the Faculty of Medicine and Science (they use ‘faculty’ the way we would use ‘school’). My appointment was for three but I wasn’t sure how long it would take to get there. As it happens, it wasn’t too far. Having a bit of time to kill, I wandered around the park that is just across from this imposing late 19th/early 20th century edifice. It is not really neoclassical, nor is beaux arts, though it reminds me a bit of some of the buildings at Cal.
The park is full of poultry – ducks (Muscovy?), geese (grey, white), a dozen or so stunning jungle fowl (all roosters, it seems), and a peacock. I’d seen a peacock and hen at the castle too. And a host of pigeons, most looking like genuine Columba livia. At the café I had a meia de laite (something like a cappuccino – literally, a “half of milk.’) and a roll. The Portuguese bread is excellent and varied. I liked all of it.
The park is dominated by a green-end-blue bronze statue of one “Dr. Sousa Martins,’ upon a tall white marble column. I am not sure what his original claim to fame was, but in the century or so since the column was erected, me has become the object of supplication and veneration by countless sufferers. Dr. Matrtins’ current status is that of a medium. Many supplicants, (after successful intervention, one supposes) demonstrate their gratitude for his help by having their thanks engraved on small marble tablet. These are piled around the base of the column to a depth of two or three feet and many are quite recent. Some of these testaments even bear photographs. Judging from the statue, I’d say that these are likely to be one of the person for whom intercession was requested and another of Dr. Martins himself.
Here, unlike in Braga, the candles available to be lit (in a windproof structure that reminded me of those barbeque trailers one sees sometimes) the candles are real and must be lit by hand. Judging from the way the brief drizzle sizzled of the metal, I suppose that a whole lot of candles were burning in there.
In Braga, if I forgot to say it, the ‘candles’ in the church were quite up-to-date. One drops a coin into the slot and the appropriate number of LED electric lights that look like candles light up. No muss, no fuss. I ‘lit’ 4. The no muss is probably more of a driving force here than no fuss. The interiors of these ancient churches have been begrimed with centuries of soot from candles. Clean up and restoration is underway in may churches or has been recently done in others and so the switch to 21st century devotional symbols makes sense. Still, I found it amusing just the same.
We next headed over to the section of Lisbon known as ‘Belem’ (Bethlehem – sounds almost like ‘blame’) right along the waterfront. There we saw the magnificent Monastery of Sao Jeronimo. This enormous, while limestone structure was built in the 16th century to commemorate and give thanks for the blessings and riches that Portugal reaped from the great voyages of discovery in the late 15th and early 16th centuries. The style is called ‘maritime gothic’ and nautical motifs abound in the decoration, which is abundant and ornate.
The church itself is enormous and darker than most gothic structures. I imagine that this building was begun much earlier and only finished in the newer style. It seems a lot, perhaps most, of the churches in Portugal and the Islands were either finished, built, or renovated in the 16th century. This may reflect the vast sums of gold and silver that flowed in with the opening of the sea route to Asia in 1497. Vasco da Gama, the man who first reached India by sea from Europe, lies at the back of the church.
The columns and piers that support the ribbed vaulting of the ceiling are themselves ornately carved and statuary niches abound, though statues, for some reason, don’t. Almost all are empty. Here too is a venerable pipe-and-trumpet organ, but behind the alter rather than at the entrance to the nave.
Unlike most of the Gothic churches that I can recall, this ceiling is at one level. The side aisles are no different in height than the main aisle and there is no upper story with an ambulatory. Of course, this unusual choice for a Gothic church may be owing to the fact that the main walls were already to go when they decided on Maritime Gothic and are thus massive with few windows – quite unlike the High Gothic I love so well, with its paper-thin curtains of stone.
The cloister is another awesome sight. It’s not a style that I’d want for my own home, but it’s an impressive structure just the same. The same attention to decoration is given here as elsewhere in the monastery. The cloister is two stories tall and on three sides the back walls of the arcades are pierced by low black doors set into elegantly-carved doorways. These lead to the monks’ cells (I believe the monastery is still in use and it looked as if some of the cells were.)
One cell was open so that we could inspect it. ‘Cell’ doesn’t begin to do it justice. I remember seeing Father Serra’s cell at Carmel when I was a kid. These made that look indulgently extravagant. The cell was a windowless, low-ceilinged closet with hardly enough room for a body to sleep. Even is such lavish surroundings, a monk’s life was rarely enviable. And recall that they had no central heating nor running water.
We then strolled a few blocks to the National Coach Museum. Apparently, no king or other royal in Portugal had thrown away a ceremonial coach since the seventeenth century. In consequence, the Portuguese have a collection of gilt and scarlet, baroque coaches dating back nearly 400 years. That’s a lot of years and, correspondingly, they have a lot of coaches; about 40 on display and then perhaps 10-20 sedan chairs. This is all housed in what was once a portion of the royal palace - a ball room, perhaps. In any event, the venue was equal to the subject.
We then stopped at the famous Paistes de Belem, a café dating back to the 19 century for a famous local delicacy – egg custard in a flaky crust. We had ours with lemon tea – an excellent, and uniquely Lisboan, experience. As with many restaurants with a well known specialty, the service was the polar opposite of what was served to us. The pastries were delightful all the same.
Before deciding on where to go for dinner, we swung by a local shopping mall. Malls are malls – the names of the banks, shoe stores, and jewelers may change but the look and feel does not. This, even though the mall is housed in the shells of some old buildings. Apparently, a whole historical block or so of old Lisbon burned up and down in 1989 and the new development was able to take the opportunity to bring modern commerce without doing violence to the classic cityscape.
For dinner, we chose ‘the oldest and most beautiful beer house in Potugal.’ About the same time that Bowie and Crockett were standing with Travis and 180 others down in San Antone, the original proprietors were converting a medieval monastery into a brewery. Two years later, in 1838, they began table service and have kept it up, through several changes in ownership, ever since.
Inside the old main hall is lined with heavily decorated tiles depicting as semi-draped human forms notions such as Earth, Water, Wind, and Fire on one wall and the four seasons on the other. In between the figures are the faces of rather rakish looking lions. All of these are depicted in a slightly primitive manner in delft blue, an ocher-ish yellow, and a rose-madder-like red. One must look for a moment to realize that only three colors are employed.
For dinner, we started off with large prawns accompanied by another local invertebrate. My host had warned me he wanted me to try ‘something weird’ but he couldn’t recall the English name – he suggested limpet. I allowed as how I’ll try anything edible once (well, almost anything – I won’t eat brains, for example.) When the dish arrived I recognized the unknown items as gooseneck barnacles. In truth, though they look rather ugly (and hey, what shellfish doesn’t, when you stop to consider?) they had a flavor of crab, though very salty.
For the main course, I had a traditional ‘cervejaria’ style steak – different from the Azorean fare, but every bit as tasty. Having gone for the barnacles, I opted to shy away from another suggestion: another local specialty called Asorda. This last is a selection of seafood in a sort of stew, served all mixed up with bred until it has the consistency of oatmeal. Well, like the barnacles, it may not be much to look at but it was certainly tasty (again, somewhat salty, though).
That wrapped up my journey to Portugal. As I had a 6:30 flight, I needed to call it a night. I arranged for a wakeup call and a cab, packed up everything, and so to bed. I eagerly anticipate returning to this beautiful city and country – I recommend it unreservedly to anyone.
The Lisbon airport was as efficient as ever and I was checked in and clear security in minutes. Lisbon, while certainly not small (for this trip the ‘small’ award must go to the Aeroporto Jaoa Paolo II on Sao Miguel) is nothing like Heathrow or O’Hare. Nevertheless, one does a great deal of walking to get anywhere. I was surprised to realize that the flight to London lasted about half an hour longer than the flight to the Azores. We left a bit late so we landed about 9:45.
My flight to Chicago was scheduled for 11:30. Well, after walking two or three kilometers, I had to re-clear security and then catch a bus over to terminal 3. The AA system wasn’t allowing their co-share operators to check customers through so the connecting check-in line was rather long, but it all worked out. After all that walking and standing in line, the left ankle was complaining and I was limping a bit but the gate staff were extremely helpful and I was able to use an upgrade. I am ever so grateful for that on this 8 hour flight. That’s one reason I am typing this – it’s actually comfortable to do so.
Once Flt 67 from Heathrow to DFW via O’Hare landed there, I walked a mile or so to get to customs – more waiting, more lines. Customs is reasonably efficient but they have so much more to do these days and so many more folks to serve. At baggage claim a helpful young American Airlines employee called out several names to let us know our bags wouldn’t be arriving. Great! Nothing to declare. He was able to tell us what flights the bas were on and when we might expect them. Hey, if your bag has to be late, the last leg home is the time for it. Then to the recheck counter (no waiting!) and to the gate. After all that, I got there just as Flt 67 was boarding. Imagine If I had missed the flight I came in on! It could happen to you!
