An Aladdin’s Cave of possibilities in Coimbra

Change of pace. Up early, showered, packed, left Coimbra. I’m not 100% sure I’d recommend it: it’s dirty and ugly in parts, but the history and the university complex make up for a lot of the problems. I’ll probably have to go again to make my mind up. I suppose history and interest usually trump the day-to-day issues of places. We were heading off on our penultimate leg of the holiday – to spend a couple of days on the Atlantic coast, just north of Nazaré. We’d booked a big place – which sleeps up to 10 – but hadn’t got round to coordinating with anyone else to come over for a long weekend. This is the problem with making too many plans.
 
Anyway, before we left Coimbra, we had a bit of shopping to do. This was potentially our last chance to get Ottawacker Jr. some football boots (or “cleats”, as they call them in Canada) that didn’t require a second mortgage. While driving in, I’d seen a Decathlon on the hill, so we tracked it down, set the GPS as our guide, and did our best to navigate the blind turns, the sheer slopes, and the imponderables of the Coimbra traffic flow. One of the things I had noticed in Portugal was an absence of regular shops: there were stores aimed at tourists, there were supermarkets, but where did people go to buy things like clothes and equipment? Turns out they come to Coimbra. Relying on the GPS, we got to the general location quickly enough, but couldn’t find the exact spot. We ended up in a huge shopping centre, which was just opening. We looked at the various signs but couldn’t see a Decathlon. So, we gave Ottawacker Jr. the phone and followed him. Five minutes later, we were there.
 
We had a quick look around and got some help from a lovely young woman from Mozambique called Michelle. She patiently listened to what Ottawacker Jr. wanted, then made recommendations. In the end, she sold us a pair of football boots that not only fitted him lengthwise, but also widthwise, were the same ones that Antoine Griezmann wears, and were about 70€. While that is a lot, the same pair costs around $250 over here, so it was worth it. We also picked up a few other things for him, that will be secreted around the Christmas tree.
 
Having spent all our money, we decided we’d get a bit of culture into our heads, and so headed for Conímbriga. (Even our tour guide managed to pick out Conimbriga as being a place to go.) It is the largest Roman city in Portugal, and singularly impressive. We spend a couple of hours wandering around the houses, especially admiring the House of Fountains, the mosaics that were everywhere, and the fact you could just walk around the place without having security guards screaming at you to stay on the path. To be honest, we didn’t stay long enough, but one of us was desperate to find our accommodation before nightfall, and who am I to argue? So, we set off on the 100km-or-so journey, leaving only 5 hours in which to complete it.
 
Somehow, we made it. Or, at least we got to Nazaré. Finding the small cluster of cottages that comprise Água de Madeiros was a little more difficult. Certainly, it was beyond the GPS. We drove along the coastal path trying to find a recognisable landmark, but couldn’t. Eventually, I went back to booking.com and called the number, getting more precise directions back by text. We eventually found the place, but knocked on the door without getting any response. Again, with the texts.
 
“My husband should be there,” came the text message from Liliana, the owner. “If he isn’t, just try the door, it’ll be open. Go in and make yourself at home.”
 
The problem was that we weren’t sure we had the right place. For one thing, the booking had claimed it was “right on the beach” and this clearly wasn’t. From the map, it had seemed the cottage was in splendid isolation – but this was at the end of a small row of cottages by the side of a rapidly crumbling cliff. In hindsight, I should have taken a photo of the cottage and asked whether it was the right place. But hindsight, you know… So, in I went, timorously calling “hello?” as I went in. On a table by the door were keys to the cottage, but little information other than a Wi-Fi code. Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb… so I sat at the table, logged on and looked at the pictures of the cottage in the booking we had made. They looked similar, but still…
 
We waited a while, then brought the luggage in from the car and placed it in a neat pile by the door. Then, after looking at the pictures again, we grew more confident in our belief that the cottage was indeed the one we had booked. So, we decided to do some grocery shopping, locked the door behind us, and headed out for the Intermarché near Alcobaça. There we bought an insane amount of food and wine (spending 90€, which is about the same as we spend on an average trip to Farm Boy), and headed back.
 
We walked on the beach, then went in for dinner. I made a bolognaise sauce, and spent a lovely evening playing cards, listening to music on the laptop (introducing Ottawacker Jr. to James Brown) and laughing. We slept well, the sounds of the ocean crashing onto the beach below being the perfect lullaby.