Spring 2025 weeks 6 & 7: Lisbon, Madrid, and another terrifying mountain climb

After a lovely fish dinner in the coastal town of Peniche, we asked my son Michael if he and Victoria would like to meet up in Madrid. They were spending Easter there. The answer was “yes” and thus our next few travel days were filled: first to Lisbon, then to Madrid. But…could we get a camper pitch near what is now the third largest city in Europe and then for Easter at the last minute? We did. And thus we headed to Lisbon with the reassurance that we would have a place to stay in Madrid, once we got there. 

Lee Ann found a free camper site on the Tagus River with a lovely view of Lisbon and its famous bridge and imposing Christ the King statue (Cristo Rei). We couldn’t believe our luck as there was also a ferry at the end of the parking lot. It took us right to the center of Lisbon (in 20 minutes) and cost only 3 euros!

We bike rode to the local village, Seixal, to have a drink and watch the sun set. The next morning, it was fun to see at least 20 people digging for crabs and such at low tide. When I didn’t see the low tide at 9.00am the following morning, I was confused. But by10.00am, the water had receded more than10 meters! My sister-in-law who lives near the North Sea coast of the Netherlands later asked me about this. Apparently the ebb and flow on the coast of Noordwijk is not nearly as marked as on the ocean (or nearby the ocean). This left me, Lee Ann, even more in awe of the sea. And by the way, Lisbon is not located directly on the ocean but on the Tagus River, which flows through Spain and empties into the Atlantic coast of Portugal. (Sorry if I’m boring you, but I’m from Chicago and still not very familiar with ocean life.)

I continue to be amazed by the use of color in Portugese streets and buildings (see above photos). Even the facades of otherwise identical new apartment buildings are always finished differently (in terms of pattern, color, or both). I wonder how this comes about. Is it heavily regulated, like in the Netherlands? Or are you free to do whatever you want, like in Belgium?

The hop-on, hop-off tour bus in Lisbon was a great way to get an overview of the otherwise — for us — unwalkable city (or any city, for that matter). I loved the blatant conflation of old and new architecture that we glimpsed along the way.

At just the right moment, we came across a beautiful bakery and enjoyed a — still warm — Pastel de Nate (typical Portugese pastry filled with custard). We then happened upon a HUGE market with ALL handmade stuff along a gorgeous, tree-lined boulevard right in the middle of Lisbon. And we later lucked out with front row seats at an intimate Fado show. Absolutely amazing guitar work! And what we heard was not as intense as I recall Fado to be! Maybe because it was early in the evening? Or maybe toned down for tourists?
Leaving Lisbon, we stopped for two days near the Portugese-Spanish border, just 12 kilometers from Castelo de Vide (one of Ron’s favorite places). We loved the drive through the relatively rolling but still snow topped Portugese mountains. We didn’t bike up to the castle the next day as it was raining, but an early evening walk gave us an interesting audio-visual experience. The romantic gurgling of an initially invisible creek followed by the bleating of some clearly distressed sheep (Easter lambs had apparently been removed that day).

Next we drove a long trip (for us, that is 4 to 6 hours) to Madrid and a nice camping — just a 10 minute walk and 25 minute metro ride from the city center. When we emerged from the underground, we were completely taken aback by the shining white grandeur of the architecture on the Trans Via. After hopping on the hop-on, hop off bus, we continued to be amazed by the scale of things (large) and the polishedness (for lack of a better word).  We popped into a local diner, just across from the Prado Museum. And we met up with Michael and Victoria in a lovely place for some wine and delicious Spanish ham. 

Rain was coming (again), so we decided to to head home. We had 1800 kilometers to cover and therefore opted for the tollway. As Jacques wanted to cross the Pyrenees in the same way as before, we programmed St Jean Pied De Port as our destination on the French side of the mountains. But then something went very wrong. Despite two navigation systems set to take tollways/highways, we ended up on one of the most terrifying road climbs of our lives. Lee Ann was driving (again) and was about to lose it (having been through something similar just two years prior in the Picos de Europa and having just read that there was 10 kilometers still  to go). Luckily, a stop presented itself. This turned out to be the top so Jacques could take over. Tears of relief filled my eyes and my hands were still tremblng. The photo shows a mild curve from the route down: no guardrails and hardly any shoulder on the road. And then the occasional oncomng car to deal with. The Spanish side (going up, in this case) had been one hairpin turn after another. Without Jacques reminding me to  “give gas, give gas” during each turn, things could have turned out very differently.

The next morning, we had to be pushed out of our wet camping spot by a few kind Frenchmen. This was apparently not uncommon, but the signal for us was loud and clear: It’s time to go home. 😊 

We headed to Reims (in the champagne domain of France) but then decided on a smaller place where we’d been before: Niort. The city has lots of really nice boutiques, but the weather was turning cold and I was definitely not in the mood for shopping. So… we travelled on to the last stop of our trip without knowing where it was going to be.

Alternating driving in the rain, we “stumbled” upon the very old and very quaint Nogent-sur-Seine. It turned out that Nogent had a number of claims to fame. A little Camille Claudel museum (because her family lived there when she was 12 and she started sculpting there, so they say). A bust of Gustav Flaubert (simply because he located a character for one of his books there). And a nuclear power plant!

Needless to say, we have never been so glad to see the fields of yellow rape so typical of France (used for margarine and canola oil, among other things). And then we arrived home —  7 weeks and more than 5500 kms later — to celebrate Jacques’ 80th burthday on May 2nd!