A Postcard from Portugal
The doorbell to Martinho de Almada Pimentel’s house in Sintra, Portugal is hard to find, and he likes it that way. It’s a long rope that, when pulled, rings a literal bell on the roof that lets him know someone is outside the mountainside mansion that his great-grandfather built in 1914 as a monument to privacy.
There’s been precious little of that for Pimentel during this summer of “overtourism.” More than 3 million people every year visit the mountains and castles of Sintra, long one of Portugal’s wealthiest regions for its cool microclimate and scenery.
With the windows open, Pimentel can smell the car exhaust and hear the “tuk-tuk” of outsized scooters, named for the sound they make, as they ferry tourists through the city. And he can sense the frustration of 5,000 visitors a day who are forced to queue around the house on the crawl up single-lane switchbacks to Pena Palace, the onetime retreat of King Ferdinand II.
When Tony and I visited Sintra two weeks ago, part of a ten-day tour of Portugal, we experienced a miniscule of Pimentel’s anguish. At first astonished by the lush vegetation and the walled, one-way streets winding up and down the most beguiling quarter of this nineteenth century city, we imagined the quiet thrill of living here. After spending almost two hours looking for a place to park our rental car near our hotel, the thrill was gone.
The following day, which dawned rainy and misty, we spent most of our time coming and going on the one-way switchbacks to see Pena Palace for ourselves, a grandiose monument to bygone royalty, architectural eclecticism, and uncomfortable period furniture.
That night, I finished reading the story of the soft-spoken Pimentel, who lives alone in what was once an airy retreat. In an interview with a CBS news reporter about how overtourism has changed his life, he said: “Now I’m more isolated than during COVID. Now I try to (not) go out. What I feel is: angry.”
Cue the violins, you might grumble, for people like Pimentel who are well-off enough to live in places worth visiting. But it’s more than a problem for rich people.
“Not to be able to get an ambulance or to not be able to get my groceries is a rich people problem?” said Matthew Bedell, another resident of Sintra, which has no pharmacy or grocery store in the center of the UNESCO-designated district. “Those don’t feel like rich people problems to me.”
Portugal bound
As the 2024 Presidential election heated up this summer, along with hundred-degree days encasing Southern Oregon, I booked a mid-October trip for Tony and me to Portugal, a country we had never visited on our many trips to see his sisters in Italy but which seemed a perfect getaway in these disquieting times. Indeed, it had acquired a buzz, offering visitors culture, beaches, fresh seafood, architecture, wine, nightlife, surfing, Fado music, and so much more.
Like most tourists, we began our Portugal “holiday” in Lisbon, staying at an upscale hotel in the city’s Alfama district, a maze of narrow cobbled streets and traditional houses all leading up a steep hill — the only neighborhood in Lisbon to survive a devastating earthquake in 1755. It’s a bull’s eye for tourists who clog its sidewalks and narrow streets on foot (in packs) or in three-wheel “tuk-tuks.” From the admittedly breathtaking terrace of our hotel, we overlooked a dock where cruise ships equipped for thousands disgorged their passengers, a fresh invasion every day.
Our first day we joined the invasion — from weaving our way through tour groups and gusting winds to see the city from the hilltop Castelo de São Jorge, dating to the 8th century BC, to the spacious Praça do Comércio, a huge harbor-facing plaza where the sun glistens on the white cobblestones.
On Day 2, we Uber-ed to the Belém district north of Alfama, whose parks, tree-lined plazas and riverside walks along the banks of the Tejo estuary reportedly offered a calmer atmosphere.
Alas, on this bright October morning, Belém was mobbed, except for the Padrão dos Descobrimentos, a towering monument celebrating the seafaring history of Portugal. My Italian spouse who grew up on Christopher Columbus felt a kinship to the monument and posed for one of the best snapshots of our trip.
The two-and-a-half hour wait under bright sun to climb inside the Torre de Belém, a small whimsical fort on the water’s edge, or the Mosteiro dos Jerónimos, a magnificent monastery funded by the 16-century spice trade — the sights we’d come to see — sent us in a different direction: a memorable lunch of grilled prawn and chocolate mousse.
We called Uber to take us back to downtown Lisbon, where we found ourselves virtually alone in the Calouste Gulbenkian Museum, one of Europe’s leading fine arts museums, with exhibits dating from 2000 BC to the early 20th century.
The next night we came across a wine bar with tapas, frequented by up-and-coming young locals, that made us want to return to Lisbon someday. Fresh scallops on a puree of sweet corn, a vegan brioche with mushrooms, and fine wine erased the 15,000 steps we’d accumulated that day, 7,500 of which were uphill.
Porto and the Algarve
Wanting to chart our own course, Tony and I left Lisbon in a rental stick-shift VW and headed for Porto, quickly learning that driving in Portugal meant navigating a roundabout every few kilometers (except for the Autoestrada sections) and mastering intricate GPS directions.
Porto, you may have heard, is the “hot spot” on today’s Portugal itineraries.
“Proud Porto,” Rick Steves writes, “boasts a colorful riverfront, thriving food scene, and an Old World atmosphere that’s as well preserved as its port wine.”
Rick Steves was right. As soon as we settled into the small studio I’d reserved, we headed for the bohemian chic riverfront Ribiera quarter. We also walked the Luis 1 double-decker bridge across the Douro River, taking in the 360-degree panorama of white stucco buildings and red tile roofs. We climbed the Torre dos Clérigos, the undisputed landmark of Porto and a test of lungpower.
But, again, the tourists were unremitting. The next day, Tony and I retrieved our rental car and headed east through the Douro Valley, a drive that follows the Douro River as it meanders through hilly vineyards as far as the eye can see. In the end, it proved to be a less-than hoped for escape: the vineyard and tasting room I’d singled out to visit was filled with tour buses when we arrived. We had to enjoy a flight of Port wine, cheese and figs on a terrace bench under a blinding sun.
The Algarve, a six hour trip south from Porto, ended up suiting us best: small cities and towns bordering craggy rock cliffs, caves, grottoes, sandy coves and beaches — nicknamed “the California of Europe.” Here, the tourists were more spread out.
I’d put hiking the “Seven Hanging Valleys Trail” on our to-do list, a 7-mile roundtrip trail that follows the coastline, offering stunning views, coves, and geology. I should have guessed, by now, that it too would be packed, making it feel like the rim of the Grand Canyon. But a storm the previous night had produced crashing waves this blue-sky morning. It was exhilarating.
We drove to the westernmost point in Portugal, Cape St. Vincent, and to the town of Nazare, a surfing icon with the biggest waves in the world (think 100 ft. high).
We stopped for lunch on our last day at the tiny village of Burgau, a former fishing village now living entirely on tourism, true across the Algarve. Surrounded by bougainvillea and sun bathers, we ate every last mussel in the mountain of mussels mushroom, cream, and onions that covered our table.
Afterword
At day’s end, this is a story of what it means to visit and be visited in 2024, the first year in which global tourism is expected to set records since the coronavirus pandemic brought much of life on Earth to a halt. Wandering is surging, rather than leveling off, tourism gurus say, driven by lingering “revenge travel” and so-called “golden visas” contributing to skyrocketing housing prices.
Anyone paying attention to this summer of overtourism — clearly, I hadn’t paid enough — is familiar with the escalating consequences: traffic jams in paradise, impossible lines at tourist sites, “selfie”-posing at every turn.
Earlier this March, the United Nations World Travel Council reported that more than 285 million tourists had travelled internationally, about 20 percent more than the first quarter of 2023.
In the past six months, the over-visited have begun to pushback. Venice, in April, became the first city in the world to charge day tourists a fee just to visit its historic canals and other attractions on peak days. In Barcelona this July, anti-tourism protests shamed visitors as they dined, dousing them with water pistols. Graffiti in Malaga reportedly urged tourists to “go f——— home.”
Locals favoring “sensible tourism” have begun to issue destination leaders an ultimatum: Manage this issue better or we’ll scare away the tourists — who could spend their $11.1 trillion a year elsewhere. Housing prices, traffic and water management are on all of their checklists.
When Tony and I joined the traffic inching its way along Sintra’s one-way streets, we passed signs posted by an association called QSintra that read: “Sintra: A Traffic Jam in Paradise. We are holding CMS [the city tourism office] Accountable for Sustainable Policies with Measurable Outcomes” and “Sintra Does Not Equal Disneyland.”
Looking back, what astounds me most about our Portugal “holiday” was the amazing graciousness of the locals we encountered, despite the havoc, from hotel staff, waiters, storkeepers and Uber drivers to chance encounters on the streets and in the parks. They deserve a standing ovation.
As Tony was quick to remind me, several times a day, we were tourists ourselves, part of the invasion. And our privilege is immense.
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