Pastel de Nata:A delicious Portuguese tart consisting of a flaky delicate puff pastry crust and filled with a creamy egg custard slightly broiled on top. (These are becoming a problem as it is unclear how many are socially acceptable to eat in the course of one day.)
Tomar to Alvaiázere: 30.9 km
"That is a spectacularly liberal thing to say," Alexander stated in a loud voice while news of the attempted Turkish coup played out on the cafe tv. Alex had no way of knowing that "spectacular" was a trigger word of mine, typically sending my temper into overdrive, but as it was 7am and I had yet to finish my coffee, I hadn't the energy for my usual rage. We had been discussing the political and social changes in Turkey (a slightly ambitious topic for so early in the morning..) when Alex pointed out that the only slight move away from secularism came in the form of a repeal of the ban on head scarves in public spaces. I responded that as a result, many women will be encouraged to cover, a comment which seemed to greatly annoy Alex. When I pursued my line of thought by mentioning family pressure, Alex reached the height of his incredulousness. Stunned in the quickness of his temper, I backed down, closed my mouth, and fought against the waves of insecurity painting my cheeks red. I felt stupid.
Alex fascinated me. A tall man nearing 30 with wheat colored hair, friendly blue eyes, and a smile that generally sets those around him at ease, Alex had gone from boarding school to Oxford where he completed his undergrad and Masters. He has an incredible store of knowledge and a fluidity with languages that I envy. He worked for the British government in posts that took him all over the world and upon becoming tired, he took time off, to walk Myanmar from top to bottom, to experience the Camino and to write. I am awaiting his novel. I, on the other hand, came from foster care, lucked my way into an average college and often forget names with shocking swiftness. I speak "European," as Alex teases, a mixture of words pulled from any language, combined with helpless hand gestures and smiles. Upon leaving the country for the first time at 24, I found myself in a Scottish drawing room surrounded by a conversation on the Rwandan genocide, a topic of which I had never heard. I realized then that there is so much that I don't know or understand. The learning began in that room and the learning continues every day.
Alex later quietly apologized for snapping at me, citing a lack of coffee as the root cause, but in all honesty, he likely knew more on the subject than I did. (Though when he was last a Muslim woman in a rapidly changing society, I do not know..) I had wanted to go back to the subject to understand more, but as my fear of feeling stupid overrode my desire to learn, I hesitated and I missed the opportunity.
Alvaiázere is perhaps the least interesting example of urban sprawl that I have come across in my wanders, the distance from the city limits to the bombieros on the other side of town cruelly taunting our poor tired feet. Arrigo put on a brave face despite wincing with each step as his Achilles pulled uncomfortably. After what seemed years of walking, we arrived at a very filthy yet hospitable bombieros, Alex and I both itching for a broom and cleaning supplies. As it was Monday, the town felt ghostlike, the only restaurant open being up the hill...of course. We sat to an unknown meal in a pretty, newly decorated restaurant as the curmudgeon owner took our orders. To my right, sat a quiet, dark haired Portuguese man and to my left sat a bronzed, fair haired, older British woman and her heavily mustached husband. While I sailed through a meal of yet another form of baccalao, the woman to my left began a conversation with us. The couple, Bunny and Martin, from the southern part of England, owned and had just sold a large vacation home outside of town, planning instead to move further south. Upon hearing of our journey, their jaws dropped.
"Walking?? But there are trains!""How do you get around once you get to town?"
"Uh, we walk.."
"I don't understand.."
In our conversation, Bunny touched on the subjects of the prevalent forest fires and the safety threat to the bombieros, on the thorough packing up of their Portuguese home, of her missing hair dryer.. "But isn't all of Portugal just one huge hairdryer," I teased. As I chatted away superficially with Bunny, I turned to discover that Alexander and Arrigo had, in fact, finished my dinner for me, the fork in my right hand still dangling over the place where my plate had once been. (Bastardos) During the desert (which I guarded closely,) the man who had been sitting to our right, dropped a case of moleskin and handfuls of band aids on the table in front of us. After our hearty thanks, Gonçalo, a physiotherapist for the national surf team, simply stated, "I can see your feet!"
We slept soundly that night, ignoring the possibility of the other tiny creatures sharing our beds in the unkept little room.
For more on our topic of disagreement and my ever evolving, soon to be better informed opinion..
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2013/10/131011-hijab-ban-turkey-islamic-headscarf-ataturk/
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