May 25, 2018. Having driven across the Minho River to Valença, I headed back to Tui, a charming village with narrow cobbled streets only a stone’s throw away across the river. I learned that Tui and Valença, separated only by the Minhho River (and a national boundary), had been been rivals for centuries. At the highest point in Tui sits the cathedral, dating back from the 11th century. The architecture preserves Romanesque elements in its main vestibule, and Gothic ones in the western vestibule. The tiny town has two museums, one dedicated to archaeology and sacred art, and the other to the ecclesiastical diocese. I was in search of a cappuccino and happily found the cafe Ideas Peregrinas, started by pilgrims who had hiked the Camino de Santiago. They wanted to create a comfortable hangout for fellow travelers and had outdone themselves. Their specialty coffees and baked goods were out of this world, with modern hiking gear icing on the cake! Upon hearing that I knew nothing about Portugal, the very friendly barista informed me that there was a Portuguese tour guide sitting at the bar. Anton and I ended up talking for hours (he in Portuguese, I in Castillian). I found out later that he spoke impeccable English. Given that I only had a week and were especially interested in historical places, he recommended Ponte de Lima, Braga, Guimarães, Porto, Coimbra, Aveiro, Lisbon, and Sintra. I decided to also visit Viana do Castelo, Condeixa-a-Nova (Roman ruins), the Monastery of the Dominicans of Batalha, the site of the battle of Aljubarrota, the Monastery of Santa Maria d’Alcobaça, and Évora. It was so rare to have an engaging connection with a friendly human. As it was I tried visiting him when I was in Porto, but he was hip deep planning a tour for 120 tourists visiting Santiago de Compostela. Reluctantly I left the cafe and continued walking around the pretty walled town. My favorite part of Tui was the porto (gate) leading out of town. It was half way down the hill towards the Minho (or Miño in Spanish) River, and very picturesque. Sadly, my phone slipped and shattered on the paving stones. I cut my fingers using the touch screen, and decided to have the screen replaced in Lisbon. It had been raining for days. I was surprised that I still had cool weather since starting my trip in Toulouse a few weeks earlier. I’d thought Portugal would be fiercely hot, as my only knowledge of the country was from English friends who had summer places in the Algarve. Instead, I spent much of my time dodging rain drops. I drove down the road along the Minho River where I’d hidden my car, and drove back to Valença, then continued to Ponte De Lima, one of the oldest towns in Portugal (founded in 1125). The town is bifurcated by a massive medieval stone bridge which spans the Lima River. Ponte was historically significant as a Roman settlement on the road from Braga to Santiago de Compostela and Lugo, and the first place in Portugal to get a municipal charter. Every second Monday, it holds one of the largest country markets in Portugal, and every September since 1826, Ponte de Lima holds the Feiras Novas (the new fairs), originally granted by King Peter IV of Portugal. The area around has the largest concentration of baroque manors in the country, and the most famous of these (ironically, each are named) include Aurora, Bertiandos, Brandara, Calheiros, and Pomarchão. Some even provide tourist accommodation. Too bad I was traveling on the cheap.The town was quaint, and I enjoyed the medieval tower which housed tourist information and the iconically narrow cobbled streets. From there I headed to Braga. Under the Roman Empire, Braga, or Bracara Augusta, was the capital of the province of Gallaecia. As a result of its long and colorful history, Braga’s old town is full of medieval buildings and Roman ruins. I loved the historical old town and spent a few hours peeking into churches, including the cathedral and a ruined gothic medieval church with a few walls and no roof. Within the old walled city is a castle which hosts the oldest Portuguese archdiocese of the Roman Catholic Church. Unfortunately that was out of bounds. As usual I was trying to cram too much into too few days. I wanted to see as much as I could of the country, like trying a little of everything at a buffet with the hope of coming back for a deeper diver. I drove to the historic town of Guimarães. Founded in the 4th century, Guimarães was the feudal territory of the Portuguese dukes who declared the independence of Portugal in the mid-12th century, and it is here that Portuguese national identity and language emerged. The town maintains its medieval urban layout, and showcases Portuguese architecture from the 15th to 19th century. Examples from the period from 950 to 1498 include the castle in the north and the monastic complex in the south. The period from 1498 to 1693 was characterized by noble houses and the development of civic facilities and city squares. A particular type of construction developed here in the Middle Ages (granite floor, half timbered structure above) and was used widely exported to Portuguese colonies in Africa and the New World. Wandering through ancient streets, gawking at architectural wonders, and trying to stay dry, I walked through the old town, especially enjoying the gourmands who sat in Tapas cafes full of ambience. The rain-soaked night inspired me to seek lodging, but unfortunately, I couldn’t find a place for less than 120 Euros. I decided to try to find a camping spot in the mountains surrounding the town. May 26. After breaking camp, I explored my surroundings and discovered a verdant trail that wound its way between large boulders. I wondered whether these were glacial erratics like the giant VW size boulders that sometimes appear in Yosemite Valley. By mid morning there were already families and couples who had joined me to ramble through nature. After I had my fill, I headed back to town. I found a good parking place and happily explored the recesses of the town that had seemed off limits the night before, including the newer part of town, exploring side streets and more run-down areas. I went to the castle and took an audio tour. Then I wandered into as many churches as I could. There was a wedding in the main church, but I was able to explore before the ceremony. The bride dramatically arrived in a white Cadillac driven by what looked like her father. Her hair was expertly coiffed, and her raiments looked like those of a queen, with a huge train that took three women to manage. Apparently some Portuguese have a lot of money. Or they spend years paying for a wedding. I headed to Porto, arriving around 5pm. Trying to navigate around a parking area, I backed up and hit the plastic grill of a young woman’s car. She was one of the nicest people I had ever met. It took me an hour to fill out the accident report. By the time I was done, I’d lost some of my desire to see the pretty city. Determined to see what I could before sunset, I soldiered on, walking up the hill to the great cathedral overlooking the great Douro River. Porto is a very picturesque city. No wonder it is overrun with tourists. I walked along the old town toward the sea, staying on the right bank of the river. At nightfall, I decided to head up the coast in search of a place. It seemed that all was industrial, but I finally found a patch of eucalyptus and a narrow dirt road with steep sides. My car barely fit between the berm, but I drove in and pitched my tent. The Douro historically divided Spain and Portugal, and traditional landholders have produced wine in the Alto Douro for over 2,000 years. Since the 18th century, their main export, port wine, has been world famous for its quality. The long tradition of viticulture has produced a cultural landscape of outstanding beauty that reflects its technological, social and economic evolution. The Douro Valley is classified as a UNESCO world heritage site. I’d planned to spend a day or two driving inland along the Douro, but would have to save it for the another time. The continuous growth of Porto (Oporto in Portuguese) was linked to the sea for both cultural and commercial links (Porto comes from the Roman name Portus for port). The city is bejeweled with many monuments, including the cathedral with its Romanesque choir, the Luiz I Bridge, the Monastery of Serra do Pilar, the Manueline-style Church of Santa Clara, the neoclassical Stock Exchange, the São João theatre (1796-1798; 1911-1918) the former prison “Cadeia da Relação” (1765-1796), Palácio da Bolsa (1842-1910), and São Bento railway station (1900-1916). This rich and varied architecture eloquently expresses the cultural values of succeeding periods – Romanesque, Gothic, Renaissance, Baroque, neoclassical, and modern. Archaeological excavations have revealed human occupation at the mouth of the Douro River since the 8th century BC, when there was a Phoenician trading settlement there. By the 5th century the town had become a very important administrative and trading center. In the succeeding centuries it was subjected to attacks and pillage by successive groups, including Swabians, Visigoths, Normans, and Moors. By the early 11th century, however, it was firmly established as part of the Castilian realm. Expansion came in the 14th century with the construction of massive stone town walls to protect its two urban nuclei: the original medieval town and the extramural harbor area. The historic center is located within the line of these Fernandine walls (named after Dom Fernando, in whose reign they were completed in 1376), together with some smaller areas that retain their medieval characteristics. This area conserves to a large extent Porto’s medieval town plan and urban fabric, along with some later monumental insertions as well as the two remaining sections of the Fernandine walls. May 27. In the morning a man walked down the track and swore at me in Portuguese. I explained in Castilian why I was camping there. He kept asking why. The joys of guerrilla camping and traveling on a shoestring. I headed back to Porto and walked to a lovely museum close to the Crystal Palace which addressed how people lived in the 1800s. I found out that museums are free on Sundays. The curator was very helpful and suggested that I visit Viana do Castelo, which I decided to do that night. He also recommended the house museum and birth place of Henry the Navigator, which I managed to find an hour or so before closing. I had just enough time to check out the displays on the role of Portuguese in navigation and the importance of Henry in Portuguese exploration. From there I crossed the river and walked along the left bank, where I bought some Portuguese linens (I liked the colourful patterns and thought I’d give a few to friends). I stopped at the cathedral on the way back, then headed to my car in the dark. There was a strange droning over loud speakers in the town, and I finally figured out that a priest was saying mass over the loud speakers as a procession of people walked in the Main Street. I decided to pull out ahead of them in fear that I’d get stuck for a long time. I wasn’t in a particularly reverent mood. I headed to Viana do Castelo, where I found a place to camp near the ruins of an old fortress along the coast. May 28. The next morning I heard people chatting and realised I’d camped right next to a walking trail that hikers on the Camino de Santiago take heading north up the coast. I drove to the center of the idyllic town of Viana do Castelo and walked along the pretty streets, window shopping and enjoying shop displays and street art, including a colorful display of parasols hanging from between two buildings. I found a shop that sold blue cloth naturally dyed with indigo, and was intrigued by the artisanal crafts displayed there. I wandered over to some Roman ruins, and met a nice couple who were very chill and reminded me of some friends in Santa Cruz. It seems that this town attracts a Bohemian crowd. From here I headed to Coimbra on the recommendation of an esteemed friend who had delivered a paper there and raved about the town and university library. Little did I know the fate that awaited me there. I arrived in the old town in the later afternoon to begin my exploration of the old town and ancient university perched above the town. On my way down the steep, winding streets, I heard the strains of Fado emanating from a cafe and sat near the door, feeling too cheap to pay for entry. I let the music penetrate my soul as I listened to the melancholic strains of vocals and guitar. A note to readers: the next few days are hard to remember because I lost detailed notes when my laptop was stolen in Sintra a few days later. These next few entries represent my attempt to reconstruct my memories almost 2 years later. Situated on a hill overlooking the city, the University of Coimbra-Alta and Sofia grew and evolved over more than seven centuries within the old town of Coimbra. Created initially as an academy in the late 13th century on the hill above the town (Alta), it was established in the Royal Palace of Alcáçova in 1537 before developing as a series of colleges. The University of Coimbra-Alta is an exceptional example of a university city, illustrating the interdependence between city and university in which the city’s architectural language reflects the university’s institutional functions. As the center for training the elite of all the territories under Portuguese administration, the University played a key role in the institutional and architectural development of universities in the Portuguese colonies. Key components of the university’s pedagogical institutions are the 17th century buildings including the Royal Palace of Alcáçova, St Michael’s Chapel, the Joanine Library, the Colleges of Jesus, Holy Trinity, St. Jerome, St. Benedict, St. Anthony of the Quarry and St. Rita; the colleges along Sofia Street including St Michael (Inquisition – old Royal College of the Arts), Holy Spirit, Our Lady of Carmel, Our Lady of Grace, St Peter of the Third Order, St. Thomas, New St Augustine, and St Bonaventure; the 18th century facilities in the Alta area including the Chemistry and other laboratories, Botanical Garden and the University Press, and the large ‘University City’ created during the 1940s. I searched for a place to eat and found a hole in the wall cafe where I could take sustenance. My goal when traveling is eating to live, not vice versa, and instead I prioritize learning (in a manner peripatetic and/or via museums and other centers of learning) over enjoyment of more hedonistic pleasures. This style of travel certainly has its downfalls, and I often find myself frazzled as weeks turn into months of what sometimes feels like a forced march. By the end of most trips I crave the comfort of my bed, cooked food, luxuries like reading, hiking, or listening to progressive radio, as well as seeing friends. I often sacrifice these needs when I travel, and want to figure out how to address them when away. I got back to my car at nightfall, or where I thought my car had been. Having had a car towed at least 4 times in my life, I still remember the sinking feeling I have had each time. Was I misremembering? Off a street? When abroad I will sometimes write down the nearest address with the hopes of not misplacing the car, though that strategy backfired on me in Vienna when my phone died before I could access what I’d written. I ended up having to borrow a charger to see what I’d written. Tonight was another story. I hadn’t mislaid the car, I had parked in a spot that indicated that parking was allowed (but only for government employees). Sadly my Spanish did not aid me in the translation of this important detail written in Portuguese. As soon as I realized my error, I rushed across the street and found a police officer, spoke rapid Spanish (Portuguese speakers understand Spanish), and described the car, license plate number, and other details. They made some calls and found the car already impounded in a lot. They gave me a ride to the lot, indicating that it would cost me 600 Euros to get it back. So much for trying to live on a shoestring budget! To add insult to injury, I had to wait for 2 hours for someone to finally arrive at the lot and let me get my car. Then I had to drive to a small police headquarter and give additional money and fill out some forms. Four hours and 600 Euros later, I was exhausted and angry at myself for making such an expensive mistake. I had a similar lesson months later when I parked in a handicapped spot in Copenhagen. I’d been unable to find a spot and knew that most European countries honored disabled placards from the US. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize that it was for a particular car (ie, license number), not any car with disabled plates. Another expensive lesson, which I appealed, but to no avail. I had been interested in the ancient Roman settlement of Conímbriga located near Condeixa-a-Nova about 10 miles south of Coimbra, which had been the Roman town of Aeminium. I decided to sleep in my car near the site and investigate in the morning. May 29. I awoke to a few tourists strolling through the tree-strewn parking area toward the museum. It was already a hot day and I donned my sun hat and made my way to the museum, then out to the well-preserved ruins of one of the largest Roman settlements excavated in Portugal. Conímbriga is a walled urban settlement, encircled by a curtain of stone structures approximately 5000 feet long. One enters the settlement from vaulted structures consisting of two doors, defended by two towers. Remains of various structures include a forum, basilica and commercial shops, thermal spas, aqueducts, insulae, homes of various heights (including interior patios) and domus (including the Casa dos Repuxos and Casa de Cantaber), as well as a paleo-Christian basilica. My head overflowing with information, I returned to Coimbra and booked a tour of Biblioteca Joanina, or the Johannine Library, a Baroque library situated in the heights of the historic center of the University. Built in the 18th century during the reign of the Portuguese King John V, it is part of the University of Coimbra General Library and is a National Monument. I was dazzled by the gorgeous architecture. It is made up of three great rooms divided by decorated arches, each with the national coat of arms over the doorway and executed entirely by Portuguese artists. The walls are covered by two storied shelves, in gilded or painted exotic woods, vaulted by painted ceilings. The building has three floors and shelters about 250,000 volumes, namely works of medicine, geography, history, humanistic studies, science, civil and canon law, philosophy and theology. The collection date from the 16th, 17th and 18th centuries, whose majority represent the best works from Europe at the time. The stacks are afflicted by papirófagos, insects that eat paper, but the dense oak shelves and bats in the belfry keep the population down. Every evening, bookshelves are covered with sheets of leather which are cleaned of bat guano next morning. From Coimbra I headed to the Monastery of the Dominicans of Batalha, erected to thank the Virgin Mary for the Portuguese victory over the Castilians in the battle of Aljubarrota in 1385. It is one of the most impressive monumental complexes (not to mention the Soviet-size square outside) that I’ve ever seen. From here I headed to another UNESCO world heritage site, the Monastery of Santa Maria d’Alcobaça, founded in the 12th century by King Alfonso I and closely associated with the beginning of the Portuguese monarchy. It was awe-inspiring. Nevertheless, I was tired, and found a rural spot to pitch my tent a few miles from the monastery. May 30. I headed to Lisbon to repair my iPhone screen. I was told it would be about 70 Euros. What I didn’t know was that I was voiding the warranty and that the touch screen would be much slower to respond. While waiting, I had a nice walk around the historical city, and hoped to have time to walk along the Tagus River and admire the iconic tiles (azulejos) created in this part of the world to beautify facades. I was in a bit of a rush as I had a dental appointment with Dr Windisch in Budapest on June 4. Lisbon is one of the oldest cities in the world, predating other modern European capitals by centuries. Julius Caesar made it a municipium called Felicitas Julia, adding to the name Olissipo. After the fall of the Roman Empire it was ruled by a series of Germanic tribes from the 5th century; later it was captured by the Moors in the 8th century. I wanted to explore Sintra, the summer playground of the Portuguese aristocracy. After driving around for more than an hour, I found the only place to sleep near a cemetery. A barking dog intent on warning its master almost blew my cover. Luckily nobody came out. May 31. This was the 6th anniversary of the car accident that shattered my ankle. I’d been a passenger, and this day had become my own ides of March.  Perhaps it was appropriate that I’d slept outside cemetery gates. A bit morbid perhaps. I followed signs to Pena Palace. On the way I saw Natalie’s Café, a small, idyllic place, and made up for my austere camping experience with two pieces of cake and a wonderful latte. I worked on the computer for 2 hours, though lack of Wi-Fi required that I save my work to my local drive. After the respite, I headed up toward the castle, parking near a fountain. From there I hiked up the steep incline to the stunning park and grounds of Pena Palace. I spent hours walking on the castle grounds and through the eclectic castle. On the way back I skirted the walls of the ruins of the Moorish castle and finally found my way back to the car. Upon opening the door, my heart sank. Something wasn’t right. Everything was topsy turvy and scattered hither and yon. With trepidation I opened the trunk, and my worst fears were confirmed. The car had been broken into and everything, all my money, computer and cables (a MacBook Pro with retina screen no less), credit cards, warm clothes and down jacket, daypack, earplugs, and main car key had been taken. I was devastated. I was sitting next to the car crying, when a young American tourist walking by felt my loss. He suggested that I file a police report which I did, though of no use. The officer was not at all concerned and said this happened all the time. Later on the trip I met a German tourist in Slovenia’s Triglav National Park that told me his misadventure in Portugal. They had just parked the car and returned 10 minutes later to find that thousands of dollars of camera gear were gone. I called Shawn hoping for some empathy, then drove to a mall on the outskirts of town to replace the down jacket and keyboard for my iPhone. I would have to use it as a computer for the rest of my trip. I barely made it before the store closed. I felt horrible, and with sinking heart I left at 9pm and drove to an olive grove outside of Evora, where I camped to loud music that played all night. June 1. I awoke to sheep surrounding my tent, grazing. I headed into Evora, walking the narrow streets and exploring the main monastery complex, where I headed up to the roof, still really upset about my laptop being stolen. I called my friend Kanga and he was very empathetic about the trauma that I’d experienced, not only with the theft but having my car towed and a tire blown a few days before. Evora is much hotter than more northern parts of the country, and the sun was already cooking my brain by 9am. Its roots go back to Roman times, and it reached its golden age in the 15th century, when it became the residence of the Portuguese kings. I especially liked the portals, old walls, and whitewashed houses decorated with azulejos and wrought-iron balconies dating from the 16th to 18th century. Apparently, its monuments had a profound influence on Portuguese architecture in Brazil. At 11:30am I left, knowing that I had to average 550 miles per day for the next 3 days to get to my dentist appointment in time. I drove non-stop until 10pm, when I was waylaid by a storm that hit while crossing the Cinca River. I parked in the downpour, listening to the rain hitting the metal roof and enjoying the patter. Despite the cramped conditions (my car was the size of a Mini Cooper), I slept well for the first time in days. June 2. I continued driving through Spain and into southern France. Along the coast of Italy, west of Genoa, I drove through a gauntlet of metal guard rails so close I was sure I would hit them. Italians were driving like crazy people. I arrived at a gas station at 9:45pm just before station closed and slept in a corn field near factory. I awoke to the sound of a tractor and began driving again. I had hoped to stop in eastern Italy but had no time. I finally stopped in Ljublijana where I spent 3 hours walking through the old town and exploring the beautiful park. For some reason my father was on my mind, and though he had died in January 2007, I felt like he was with me. I cried, missing him, despite the fact that we often had disagreements. On I drove, to just outside of Maribor where I was deluged by rain and slept in the car. June 3. I continued my drive through Austria and into Slovakia and finally Hungary, where I camped in a field and psychologically readied myself for my dental appointment the next day.