As vaccines steadily rolled out across the land last spring, as Covid numbers tumbled into the low thousands back in the early summer, and as Europe opened up to American travelers, we were incredibly excited about the prospect of Parallel trips in Europe this fall. Reservations were made, flights booked, maps dusted off as we looked forward to finally running our long-planned itineraries in Spain on the Cap de Creus north of Barcelona and along Portugal’s wild and beautiful Atlantic coast.
And then, of course, Delta. Everyone’s least favorite Greek letter. Covid numbers climbed again and everyone seemed to know someone with a breakthrough case. As the US rose through color-coded alert maps from a pale yellow into an urgent orange and then into an alarmed red in August, the European Union recalibrated its travel recommendation for its member states, urging those states to reconsider the free admission of travelers from the US.
In light of these concerning developments, a number of our guests balked – very reasonably – at the prospect of a September trip to Europe and we decided to postpone – yet again – both of our planned 2021 trips.
My own hopes were not entirely dashed, however, as I had a ticket in hand, a perfectly good itinerary ready to go, and – most importantly – the blessing of my wife, Susan, to forge on alone. We were hoping to go together, but she wisely pointed out that it would be a real problem for our 10-year-old twins if we wound up stuck in Europe together.
So, with a bit of trepidation about what international travel would be like this fall, I gathered up the appropriate Covid tests, my proof of vaccination, and completed several “passenger locator forms” for Spain and Portugal, and set off for Boston’s Logan International and on to Barcelona via Lisbon. Thus began Parallel’s “first” international trip, with myself as the sole guest and sole guide.
Because of the shuffle in plans and tickets, I planned to spend one night in Barcelona before flying back to Portugal where I would spend the bulk of the trip. Travel from Boston, through Lisbon, and onto Barcelona, was, frankly, a piece of cake. I had my Covid forms and tests in order so I was able to get through Barcelona’s immigration and Covid form check very quickly. My bag even showed up in a timely fashion, and I was out the door before my Airbnb host in Barcelona’s lively Bourne neighborhood was ready to receive me.
After getting in and getting settled, I enjoyed a full afternoon in the magical city of Guadi and Almodovar, getting in a quick dip in the still-warm Mediterranean at Barceloneta beach, before a long walk in the hills above the central city, capped off by a glass (or two) of excellent sangria and then a long walk back to my apartment, enjoying a nighttime view of Sagrada Familia lit up from below and by the nearly full moon above.
From a Covid-concerns perspective, Barcelona is very lively these days, but still obviously Covid conscious. You are asked to wear a mask indoors in just about every setting, but diners are mask-free and you see relatively few masks walking on the streets. To me, the scene seemed reasonable, and did not at all detract from my enjoyment of the city.
The next morning, it was a relatively quick Metro ride back to the airport and then an easy, decidedly inexpensive ($60!) flight from Barcelona back to Lisbon. Because this was a flight between Spain and Portugal, there was no Covid check at all as I left the “domestic” terminal and set out to the south for Porto Covo and the start of my Rota Vicentina “Fisherman’s Trail” hike.
I have been very much looking forward to this hike for two years. Susan and I had come over almost exactly two years ago to scout this trip, but, due to a little health blip of my own (I wound up with an idiopathic virus in the summer of 2019 before they were cool…), I wasn’t doing much hiking that season. So I would move from place to place with our little rental car while Susan hiked from town to town – usually meeting her for a beach picnic somewhere in between. It was a fantastic trip, but I couldn’t wait to experience the hiking for myself.
And what a gift it turned out to be. I had four days of hiking – from the little town of Porto Covo to the bustling, historic Vila Nova de Milfontes at the mouth of the Mira River, on to the tiny village of Almograve, to cliffside Zambujeira do Mar, and finally to Odeceixe sitting on a quiet hillside under its enormous 19th-century windmill.
With a fair amount of coastal up-and-down, climbing from beachside creek beds to cliffs towering up to 300 feet above the ocean several times over the course of most days, the hiking itself was perhaps more challenging than I had expected, although this was no doubt due in part to the fact that I was stubbornly carrying everything with me rather than using a luggage transfer service to keep things light. The trails were (usually) well-marked and I knew, too, that I’d be fine if I just kept the ocean and its rolling swells to my right. Leaving each morning around 8:30 or 9, I would be into my next town by 2:30 or 3 in the afternoon, having enjoyed a lunch stop and sweat-rinsing dip into the remarkably chilly Atlantic. This left time for a pre-dinner siesta before setting out on tired legs to see what each town had to offer.
I enjoyed truly delicious, well-prepared food in each town I visited – including, at the recommendation of the Polish bartender at Porto Covo’s beach bar, the single best octopus I have ever had (and, I will have you know, I have had more than your average Mainer’s share of grilled/roasted/stewed/canned octopus in my day…). The octopus was prepared by a Michelin-rated chef who is now running a farm/sea-to-table restaurant in an unassuming campground in Porto Covo. Lord, I love Europe!
Breakfasts were offered by most of the places I stayed – usually a local croissant or Portugal’s ubiquitous pastel de nata (that heavenly concoction of flaky crust and egg custard found in every city and town throughout Portugal) along with yogurt and a carafe of coffee.
The weather was sublime – daytime temperatures were in the high 70s every day with bright sunshine firmly in control. Evenings would bring much cooler temperatures and I enjoyed my al fresco dinners with a light jacket. Similarly to what I had found in Barcelona, folks were taking Covid seriously in that masks were asked for in every indoor setting and generally eschewed outdoors. And because I spent 99% of my waking hours outdoors, the scene felt remarkably good – just about normal.
Perhaps because of the long months of anxiety, worry, and, dare I say, existential dread, the entire experience felt much more like a pilgrimage than I would have expected – with long, happy hours along the trail with only the sound of the crashing surf as a constant companion, and only a handful of similarly-situated hikers encountered along the way. I did find a number of other solo hikers and we would greet each other with a smile when we, inevitably, bumped into each other in the small towns after each day of hiking. But folks mostly kept to themselves – and I was happy for the time to myself after the long, long months of the pandemic.
Indeed, over and over again – whether on the trail, racing into chilly ocean water, or sipping a glass of wine as the sun set over the sea, I just felt so grateful for the opportunity to be there – to be traveling again, to have my own health and the health of my family, and to be able to absorb the whole experience. It reminded me that we should, more often than not, take the naysayers with a grain of salt, do the research, and then – do it.
With all of this said, we are more eager than ever to run these trips with more than, umm, one person. As far as scheduling, we are definitely feeling a bit once-bitten-twice-shy (or more like twice- or thrice-bitten…), and are going to wait to put anything on the calendar until we’re more certain that the pandemic is diminishing to the point that more people feel comfortable traveling. But when we do, I so hope you’ll join us – the octopus is just that good.
Chad
