Bends Toward Justice

I wrote that I wanted to say more about the BnB in Odeceixe, but I find it isn’t much, just this: it was run by a mother & daughter, the mother is 92, she put a pot of some kind of fruit tea on the table & pushed Bruce & me to have some, ascribing her longevity to it & a mixed fruit dish, and she made these covers for the water & juice glasses: Of course, my dad lived to 96 & was still moving pretty good past 92 & he liked to get up in the middle of the night and have split two hot dogs with cheese & mustard with his dog. So what does she know? Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s sonnets are pretty overwrought & full of poetic devices that detract from the sincerity of the message, but they get better as they go along. I think Dad would have been able to recite the most famous one from memory even a few weeks ago: XLIII How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For

I’ve concentrated these posts on the travel & walking, shortchanging some other cultural observations, like food, drink, etc. As we are now headed back to Lisbon, those things may get more attention. Events elsewhere have colored our experience here. This next part is personal. Some reader may find it interesting, or in the future we may appreciate the reminder of these things. Jan & Bruce have been particularly concerned about the impact of Hurricane Helene the last few days. A couple weeks before we left & just before his 96th birthday, my dad began hospice care. We went to see him on his birthday. It was not at all clear that he was any closer to death. On our first day here we were shocked to learn that a beloved friend since college died due to consequences of cancer. Our thoughts the first two days were on Terry, her family, and our mutual friends. She was active, adventurous, loving, fun, and until last spring, healthy. She’s on the left in this photo. Thursday, Dad’

Breakfast included today & everyone in there was heading out one way or the other on the Fisherman’s Trail, it seemed. Some of them we’d seen before & saw again later today. It was one of two times so far this trip when we’ve had a chance to slurp up coffee the way we’re used to at home. Thing is it’s shitty coffee. I quite like having an Americano the way they do it here . The start today was down to the beach then steeply up & an elevation profile of the route shows that’s the story of the day. But not the whole story. Here we went partway down, then crossed a wet place above a waterfall. That’s Meg descending some stairs to get a good angle for a photo. The waterfall is visible at the bottom of the photo. This is the photo she took: We stopped at a beachside coffee stand only a mile or two along. The sign indicates we’d gone about four miles. In here, if I remember right, there’s a stretch where we turned inland and squeezed between a wire fence and the vegetation, getti