Nazaré and Alcobaça and then back to the beach

Backblip: And so, after a break for Christmas and hangovers, here is the start of the remainder of the Portugal trip.
 
Awoke to rain – slight but persistent – and found out I was only awake because we had been joined in bed by the giggling and farting Ottawacker Jr. He claimed he had been cold. Still, it was a nice way to wake up (except for the farts) and the cold is nothing that an extra blanket won’t cure. The family cuddle very quickly turned into a “what’s for breakfast?” conversation, so I got up, cooked some bacon, eggs, and toast, got out the yoghurts and cheese, made some coffee, and tried to get back to the table in the kitchen before it had all been eaten. It was a close thing.
 
We decided to start our day with a trip to Nazaré to find the “Giant Waves”™; after all, it was raining, and a bit windy, and the waves on our own beach were quite large, so down in the “Surfer’s Paradise”™ of Nazaré, we must have a good chance of finding “the world’s biggest waves”™ and of seeing “the best place in the world to surf”™. What a lot of trademarks Nazaré seems to deserve. Ottawacker Jr. wasn’t overly impressed at the idea (“it’s just water, dad”) but we convinced him they would be massive and it might be something he’d remember for the rest of his life; so, off we went. They weren’t; he won’t.
 
Nazaré was OK. The sitio bit is a tacky surf town – a bit like Raglan in New Zealand or the whole of Cornwall – but it had a nice church. We looked out over the clifftops to see the beach and town below (very nice views) and then made our way to the best vantage point for the waves. This was from an old fort and lighthouse. It was a long walk down a steep hill, but it was nice to be out and to be able to use my suddenly non-arthritic hips, to not be in pain, to watch Ottawacker Jr. running down hills and climbing rocks to explore. Above all, it was just nice to not be in Ottawa in November (the cruellest month), so we didn’t really even mind that the waves would hardly have moved a duck, let alone a surfboard. Ottawacker Jr. and I dutifully forked over 2€ to get into the fort and museum, while Mrs. Ottawacker stayed behind outside, having cast aspersions on our sanity. She might have had a point.
 
We came out rather quickly, knowing more than I will ever need to know about surfing and surfers, and found out that the museum consisted of surfboards – some of which didn’t look big enough to be allowed in the water. Then we walked back up the hill, ignoring Ottawacker Jr.’s requests to stop at various stalls so he could purchase food/seashell pendants/land in Florida. Back in the square, we further ignored his requests to not go into the church and went into the church, which was called the Santuário de Nossa Senhora da Nazaré. “Very nice,” I thought. So, we left. It was only later that we discovered it was home to one of Portugal’s/Catholicism’s more important relics, the image of Our Lady of Nazareth, carved in black wood and known locally as the “Black Virgin”. Allegedly, this was brought from Merida to Nazaré in 711 by Friar Romano, a monk from the convent of Cauliniana. He had fled the Muslim invaders in the company of D. Rodrigo, the last Visigothic king, following the defeat of the Christian armies in the Battle of Guadalete. They apparently sought refuge in the Visigothic monastery, which then existed in the vicinity, and from which the church survives. You see, I know this now – but didn’t then. The perils of doing research about what you have just seen rather than about what you are going to see… Mind you, an interpretative panel might have helped as well.
 
There then followed a brief period of complaining, during which we convinced Ottawacker Jr. that the Monastery of Alcobaça was the place he really wanted to go. He, naturally, was getting to the end of his patience with cultural sites and wanted nothing more than to go and sit at an airport and watch some planes (not happening), go for lunch (might happen, just not yet – we have just had breakfast), or go back to the cottage and wander down to the beach to kick a ball about (will happen, but later this evening, once I have wine taken). Seriously, against such plausible arguments, how could he hope to win? And my God, what a place the Monastery of Alcobaça is. The link will take you to the UNESCO world heritage page, where you can get tons of information if you want, but suffice it to say, it was stunning. Built in the Cistercian Gothic style, it was founded in 1153, and building finished around 1270 (i.e., it took longer to build than the Lego puzzle of a Star Wars cruiser I started with Ottawacker Jr. when he was six). (Although, I would argue the results are not as impressive.) Anyway, everywhere you looked, there were things that made your jaw drop. Cloisters rising to infinity; gardens bejewelled with orange and lemon trees; a frontispiece that takes your breath away; examples of 13th century statuary… it was all a bit gobsmacking, to be honest, and even Ottawacker Jr. walked away impressed. We stayed there for a couple of hours, much longer than we had intended, and so decided that we needed to head back to our cottage via Intermarché, in order to pick up some more wine, and possible dessert, so the evening could continue in this same vein of magnificence.