For Whom The Bell Tolls

For nearly two years now I have travelled up and down the A5 motorway between Cascais and Lisboa. Most often I get off at the Carcavelos exit and pass through the toll, costing me 75 cents. Other times I will need to go all the way to Lisboa and pay €1,35. Of course, this is not a problem. It has become part of my daily routine that I make certain to always have a few euros of loose change hanging around in the drinks holder of the car to pay the tolls with. The only real downside is that my wallet tends to get bogged down with an abundance of tiny 1 and 2 cent coins that the toll booths don't accept!

For the most part, that is the extent of the whole "toll road" business on my life. There are occasions when I travel further afield than the A5 and cross the bridge into the Alentejo or, like I did last weekend, travel north up one of the larger motorways stretching the length of Portugal. For these longer motorways, the toll system is slightly different. Upon joining the motorway the first booth prints you a ticket which you must surrender when exiting the motorway where it is used to calculate your fee. You pay the fee, either into the machine or, if there is one present, to the person in the booth, at which point you are allowed to pass.

Thus far, paying tolls is easy. You drive and when you reach a booth, you pay. Or you take a ticket and pay at the next booth. Simple. But then, for some reason, someone somewhere decided to make a simple thing complicated. They created a different system. And quite frankly it's a big pain in the bum. The idea sounds simple enough. There are no booths or people paid to sit in them all day long collecting money. No tickets or pay machines. Only cameras mounted on steel gantries over the road. When you pass underneath a photo is taken of your registration plate and some computer magic happens to figure out which motorway you've driven along and how much you ought to pay. And that part works, which is great. It's the paying part that doesn't work. In a country that has a comprehensively integrated and highly successful ATM banking system, where you can pay any bill and conduct any type of financial transaction with ease, you'd think they have it nailed. Nope. For some inexplicable reason paying these tolls is not linked into the ATM "Multibanco" system. No. Here is what you have to do. You have to wait for 48 hours for the information to be processed, and then, and only then, do you have 5 days in which to visit a post office with your car registration number and pay the required fee over the counter. Fail to pay it within the five days and the toll gets passed back to the toll company who multiplies the amount into a fine. Ironically, the fine you can pay through the Multibanco network. So why make a simple system overly complicated? Why create a new system when there is already one in place that works? A true skeptic will, without hesitation, suggest that it is intentionally difficult so that lots of people have to pay the exaggerated extra cost of the fine. However, as anyone who lives in Portugal will undoubtedly know, the issues concerning this "Electronic Only" toll system are a lot more complicated than that. On the A22 motorway in the Algarve the installation of this type of toll (which happened I believe in Dec 2011) has induced such a feeling of resentment and anger that people have rallied together in protest of the insanity of it all. The ramifications of making this road into a toll road are well known and widespread among the residents of the Algarve, but suffice to say that a quick Google of "A22 tolls Portugal" will reveal an absolute torrent of information about it.

As far as I am concerned, I am not opposed to paying the tolls. Like many people living close to the A22, what I object to is the payment system. When I drove up to Barcelos to watch the footie recently I was very careful to avoid any of these roads with the electronic tolls, however, on the return journey I missed to turn to avoid them and therefore necessitated an inconvenient trip to the Post Office. Well, to be honest, it was that inconvenient, the queue wasn't too long and it did force me into speaking a little Portuguese, which is always good. But if I had to take an hour out of my life every single week just to stand in line at the Post Office? Now that would be a drag.

Fortunately there is another system in place. Yeah, I know. Another system! How complicated do they need to make the whole 'toll road experience' anyway? But hold on a minute. This one is good. It's called "Via Verde" and it allows you to use the special "non stop" lanes at toll booths. After visiting the post office to pay the €2 toll (or more precisely, €2,32 including the Post Office's cut!) that I incurred on the A28 near Barcelos, I decided that enough was enough and that I would get myself down to the Via Verde office and buy one of their gadgets for my car so that I can use these Via Verde lanes. All the tolls in Portugal have these lanes and it even works on the "Electronic Only" roads like the A22. The idea is that you have one of these little boxes, called a transponder, stuck behind your rear view mirror and each time you pass through a toll an LCD screen lights up in green to tell you how much you owe and it is recorded. At the end of the month the Via Verde computers add up your accumulated toll fees and the correct amount subtracted from your bank account.

So, a couple of days ago I drove down to the Via Verde office. I parked up, went inside, took a ticket and dutifully sat down with my book to wait for my number to come up on the plasma screen. It cost me €25 for the transponder and an extra €10 was fleeced from my wallet to have it activated right away, but I can't complain really. I can now drive on any toll road in Portugal and never have to worry about stopping at a pay machine without the correct change, or popping down to join the queue in the Post Office on a Wednesday lunchtime. It pays to follow the Green Way.

Final Score

Gil Vicente 1 - Estoril Praia 3

That was last nights final score, for the final match of the season. And what a journey getting there! Both for Estoril and also us Englishmen!

For Estoril Praia it has been a tumultuous year of ups and downs. We started off the year really well and were soon in 5th place on the table. I remember it well. I took a screen shot of the Liga Zon website so that I could prove to people that Estoril once held that important 5th spot. Of course at the time I really didn't expect the season to go as well as it has done. The talk was of how lucky Estoril would be if they managed to avoid relegation and stay in the Premier League the following season. Early in this season, as games were won and lost, Estoril found themselves floating around the middle of the table. However, it seemed as though as the season progressed Estoril went from strength to strength. Apparently since the half way point Estoril have won every single home game. It has been a joy to watch Estoril Praia rise up to the challenge of playing against such enormous teams as Benfica and Porto and actually finish the season in 5th place. It's almost surreal.

On a much smaller scale, for us supporters yesterday was also a very long journey. It took us three and a half hours to drive north up to Barcelos, near Braga, to watch them play against Gil Vicente. Last week there was much talk between us about welching out and not bothering, but in hindsight, it was indeed well worth the drive up there. We had Computerised Kate holding the maps to guide us and so we arrived in plenty of time and had chance to look around the town of Barcelos. We'd heard that there was a castle so we followed the brown signs for the Centro Histórico but we couldn't find it. What we did find was a bar showing the second half of the match between Chelsea and Tottenham. After that, we headed for the stadium.

Our presence at the recent away matches had apparently not gone unnoticed by the regular hardcore supporters with their many flags and drums. One obviously heard us talking in English and was a little confused as to why we'd be there in our yellow Estoril Praia T-shirts. He asked us where we had come from and when we replied, "Estoril!" he seemed to be even more confused. After we explained that we lived there and had supported our local team for some time now he seemed to became overjoyed at our efforts to travel the length and breadth of Portugal to support Estoril, grabbing us around the shoulders and jumping up and down with excitement.

Gil Vicente had a lot to play for. They needed to win to avoid being relegated to the Segunda Liga. By half time Estoril were one-nil down and we had received a text message informing us that Rio Ave were winning their match by one goal to nil also. What a nightmare! If things didn't change then it would be Rio Ave getting that place into the Europa League instead of us. Clearly the players had also caught wind of this information in the changing room because they came out for the second half fighting. Our section of the stadium went wild with the equaliser from Steven Vitória. Then Gil Vicente's keeper got a red card and the ensuing penalty meant that the ball was propelled to the back of the net for a second time. The third goal from Luís Leal was just rubbing salt in the wound!

Europa League here we come!

Carnations and Bridges

Ponte 25 de Abril, crossing the Tejo between Lisboa and Setúbal

I'm always a little disappointed by my children's lack of excitement whenever we have to cross over the river Tejo and use the "Ponte 25 de Abril." I think that it's a stunning bridge; a marvel of modern architecture. It's difficult to see from this picture but underneath the six lanes of roadway suspended from the cables is also a railway leading in both directions. The road has a toll, but only in one direction and so while it is free and easy to get into the Alentejo, heading North into Lisboa usually involves queueing for around half an hour followed by a tax of €1,60 before you are allowed to cross into Lisboa. So anyway, I digress, but like I said, I'm always somewhat perplexed by my children's distinctly nonchalant attitude towards the bridge. I can't help myself though. For some reason, as yet unknown, I like it. I just think that it is a hugely impressive structure. One of those things that you look at and can't help but think of all the hard work that went into it's construction from blueprints to the last can of red paint.

If you remember, not too long ago, I traveled south across the bridge to Setúbal for a football match. The Thursday after that match was April the 25th, which in Portugal is a National Holiday, and not just any National Holiday either, since the bridge is not the only road in Portugal to be named after that date, and in fact, there are many roads and avenues and other places across Portugal sharing this honour.

So I did a little surfing around on Wiki. April the 25th is called the Dia da Liberdade, or sometimes called Carnation Revolution Day, celebrating the day in 1974 when the dictatorial Portuguese government was deposed. This dictatorship was lead by a man named António de Oliveira Salazar for over 50 years until he suffered a stroke in 1968 and was replaced by Marcelo Caetano. During the time of Salazar the Portuguese economy was strong and thriving, in part due to goods such as coffee and oil being produced in the Portuguese colonies in Africa. Unfortunately, the Colonial Wars between the Portuguese Military and various nationalist and guerrilla groups that were forming in response to the Portuguese government's refusal to withdraw from it's colonies after WWII, were becoming an ever increasing expense to maintain. Inevitably the conflict drew to a head with a military coup in 1974 where, accompanied by a surprisingly large civil demonstration in Lisbon, the military officers loaded the barrels of their weapons with carnations as a sign that they refused to fire.

So it came to be, that the very impressive suspension bridge joining Lisbon to the Alentejo, previously named the Salazar Bridge, had it's name plate unceremoniously removed and the words, "Ponte 25 de Abril" daubed in it's place in red paint. At least that's how the story goes. I tried to find a photo of the temporary painted sign as proof, but could not. But it does not matter. The events leading up to the renaming of the bridge only serve to make the bridge itself more important than just a huge mass of red painted steel. It has character and history. The renaming makes the bridge into more than just a means to get over the river. It is a Symbol. And maybe one day my children will be impressed by that.

Daily Bread

Bread. It's a very important part of life. I can't think of a single culture on this planet that does not have some great affiliation with bread. It's a staple of life. People on this globe have been making and eating bread since Neolithic times when man changed from simply being a hunter-gatherer, discovered agriculture and hence started purposefully growing grain. Bread is so culturally central to modern life that the word itself has become a synonym for money and phrases such as "breaking bread" have gained meanings beyond the literal. If one is to look into the history of the word "bread" in different cultures you shouldn't be too surprised to find that many languages share very similar words. In Northern Europe we get Germanic rooted words like brood, brot, brød and, of course, bread. In more Latin based Southern Europe we also have many variations, but this time to the Spanish word "pan", such as "pain" in France, "pane" in Italy and of course "pão" in Portugal. The fact that these languages share an obvious similarity in the word for bread would suggest that the roots of these two main words for bread are very old indeed. Other bread related words such as "loaf" can also often have roots way back in history.

So is bread important in Portugal today? Well, clearly it is, yes. Every day people all over Portugal walk down to their local bar or shop, have a quick coffee while they are there, and walk back with a half a dozen rolls, or perhaps a loaf. I distinctly remember a time, a few weeks after I moved here, going to my local corner shop to buy some bread and the shopkeeper's son, who speaks very good English, apologised profusely because the only rolls that he had left were yesterdays bread. It's a good thing though, this regimen of buying bread fresh every day. It means that I'm always going to get bread that doesn't need to be crammed with preservatives to keep it fresh. If you actually buy bread from a supermarket here, where they are obliged to put a sticker on the bag with a list of ingredients, you'll find that there are no preservatives, or E numbers, or flour improvers. What you're getting is simple wholesome fresh bread. And what could be better than that eh? That's not to say that you cannot buy sliced white loaves here. Of course you can. It's simply that most folk do not buy them. The difference is a cultural one. There are so many cafes and bakeries scattered around the suburbs selling freshly baked loaves and rolls that it simply makes sense to get fresh bread in every day.

Of course there are lots of types of bread available, most of which are associated with a particular region of Portugal. Around here, there is a variety of diamond shaped crusty roll that is particularly tasty. Then there's the round rolls baked in a traditional "wood oven" which are to die for. As far as local loaves go the most common is Pão de Mafra, which is a long crusty white loaf. The bread of the Alentejo, Pão de Alentejano, is a round heavy loaf with a distinctive top part that pops up as it is baked and a tough crust. The design of this loaf, if one is to believe the legend, is in essence to be the "Cornish Pasty" of Portugal. The top part would be sliced off and the soft insides removed and filled with meat and vegetables instead, providing a sort of edible lunchbox. Of course the crust had to be tough, otherwise the moisture from the filling would seep through the crust making it all soggy and the whole thing would be ruined way before lunchtime. At least, that's the story. Or it could just be that the people of the Alentejo like their bread tough. Life can be tough in the dry plains of the Alentejo!

A recipe that I came across a little while ago, and have yet to try is Açorda de Alentejana, which is a simple dish comprising of a slice of Pão de Alentejano with a poached egg on top, sitting delicately in a light broth. The recipe dictates that one is to poach the eggs and then use the water to make the broth by adding raw crushed garlic, plenty of finely chopped coriander leaf and some olive oil. It looks and sounds delicious! I mean, what could be better? Poached eggs; my favourite kind of eggs! Coriander; my favourite herb! And all together in a lovely garlicky soup. Fantastic! I quite often have eggs for breakfast at the weekend, so maybe this weekend, I can muster the extra effort required to serve up some Açorda de Alentejana for the family?

Losing Is Not An Option

I just received an email this morning with the subject, "Oh dear. The devil is in the detail." It was an email from my football buddy about Estoril's standings in the league table and the chances of them securing a place in next year's Europa League.

With three points clear of both Sporting and Rio Ave, and a huge eleven goal difference we were thinking that all we needed was one win from our last two matches and that would be it. Liga Europa here we come! The fate of Estoril was to be decided at this afternoon's match where a win would put us into Europe. But, alas, this is not the case.

My friend had taken the liberty of copying and pasting the official rules directly from the Liga Zon website for me:

Para estabelecimento da classificação geral dos clubes que se encontrarem em igualdade pontual, serão aplicados em todas as jornadas, para efeitos de desempate, os seguintes critérios:
(Artigo 13.º Regulamento das Competições Organizadas pela LPFP)

A. Número de pontos alcançados pelos clubes empatados, no jogo ou jogos que entre si realizaram;
B. Maior diferença entre o número de golos marcados e o número de golos sofridos pelos clubes empatados, nos jogos que realizaram entre si;
C. Maior número de golos marcados no campo do adversário, nos jogos que realizaram entre si;
D. Maior diferença entre o número dos golos marcados e o número de golos sofridos pelos clubes nos jogos realizados em toda a competição;
E. Maior número de vitórias em toda a competição;
F. Maior número de golos marcados em toda a competição.

Of course the first thing that I did was copy that lot into Google Translate...

To establish the overall standings of the clubs that meet on equal points will be applied on all days, for the purpose of a tie, the following criteria:
(Article 13.º Regulation of Competition Organized by LPFP)

A. Number of points scored by the clubs tied, the game or games that held together;
B. Biggest difference between the number of goals scored and the number of goals conceded by the clubs tied in games held each other;
C. Greater number of goals scored in the opponent's court, in the games held between them;
D. Biggest difference between the number of goals scored and the number of goals conceded by the clubs played matches throughout the competition;
E. Most wins throughout the competition;
F. Greater number of goals scored in all competition.

I then went through this, rule by rule, checking off the standings. Rule A. Well, as far as Sporting goes, we won one match and drew one, thereby putting Sporting out of the running at this stage. Regarding Rio Ave v Estoril, we both won our away games, and so with three points gained for each team, Rule B comes into play; goal difference between the two clubs. Rio Ave won 1-3 at our stadium and we won 0-2 at theirs, and therefore, equal standing again according to Rule B. So on to Rule C, where away goals count, and clearly, Rio have 3 against our 2. Damn.

Of course, this only comes into play if we finish the league on equal points. Clearly this we must avoid. If we assume that Rio Ave and Sporting win both of their last two remaining games then we must, at the very least, win one and draw one to secure the four points required to come out on top of both of the other teams.

This afternoon is Estoril v Beira Mar. And Losing Is Not An Option.

Another Enjoyable Weekend

Friday, May the 3rd

Phew. Work finished. Time to sling my hold-all into the boot of the car, set the Sat Nav and head south to meet up with my brother and a couple of mates for our MotoGP weekend. I had already spent Thursday night making certain that I had everything I needed. Clothes, toothbrush, passport just in case we get stopped trying to cross over into Spain and a large bag of butterscotch flavour boiled sweets. The boys and I had decided eventually on Plan C for the weekend. Plan A, which was to pick the lads up at Faro Airport and head straight for Jerez seemed to be a no brainer since we'd then find ourselves putting up a tent in the dark at the race track. Plan B of stay in the Algarve on Friday night and take the tent to the track on Saturday had also been railroaded in favour of the modern comforts of Plan C. Plan C was set up base camp in Albufeira and drive to and from the track in Jerez, thereby make full use of the comfortable ameneties that go with a holiday residence in the Algarve. Obviously, as men of great taste and distinction, we would much prefer to live in the lap of luxury for the weekend rather than slumming it in a field. And that made my life a little easier, since it meant that I didn't need to worry about packing a tent, cooking stove, pots, pans, utensils and all the other necessities that we'd need.

The drive down to Albufeira was one I'd done before, so no surprises there. Kilometer after kilometer of motorway passed without incident, but it is a long drive and I was hungry for both some food and indeed a nice refreshing beer. I found the apartment, parked up, freshened up, and we headed out. We found a nice bar down by the beach, had a nice cool beer (or was it two?) and then headed for the Old Town to eat.

Saturday, May the 4th

Bocadilla de Tortilla

An early start, and with tickets and passports in our pockets, we headed for Spain. We stopped for breakfast at a motorway cafe just across the border and with a mixture of English, my terrible Portuguese and a generous amount of pointing we ordered some bocadillas and coffees. The lads called me names for being a boffin and attempting to order my breakfast in Espanguese, and bless her, the lady serving us was very nice about correcting it into proper Español. Then, back on the long long road to Jerez.

The road led us through Sevilla and then towards Cádiz, until finally we arrived at the circuit. It had been a long drive and we were eager to see some bikes. Initially we were struggling to place ourselves on the map supplied with the tickets, but it didn't take us too long to find both the grandstand and the merchandise village. We bought some caps and t-shirts and headed for our seats. The qualifying sessions were soon underway and we had a good view of turns one and two along with a prime seat for the Jumbotron on which we could watch the action from the far side of the track. Cal Critchlow managed to ditch his bike after a couple of laps, lowsiding on a corner, but wasn't alone in this, with most of the other top riders at some point during the practice or qualifying sessions also hitting the tarmac. Lorenzo on the other hand was managing to stay upright and also put in qualifying times good enough to secure pole. Critchlow returned to the track to continue his qualifying laps, and managed to secure 5th place on the grid.

It was very hot sitting in the grandstand, and we had got through more than our fair share of suntan cream and bottled water. But we'd had a good day. When we left it was a relief to get back into an air conditioned car despite the long drive we had in front of us back to Albufeira.

With a very early start planned for Sunday morning, we decided to go easy on the beers and go off the beaten track to a traditional Portuguese restaurant to eat. And in true Portuguese tradition, we ordered four Menu do Dia's comprising starter, main, dessert, wine and coffee for all of us for 30 euros. A walk along the strip, with perhaps a stop for a beer on the way back to the apartment was in order, but with full stomachs, we cheerfully passed each and every bar, ignoring the repeated attempts by the staff to encourage us in with the promise of free shots and giant screen football. We returned to the apartment, chatted, drank coffee and finally went to bed with heads full of anticpation of Sunday's racing.

Sunday, May the 5th

5 a.m. The sun was not up yet of course. It was a few minutes after six and the sun was just rising up into the sky when we stopped off at the same motorway services for the same breakfast served to us by the same lady that had served us the day before. When she laughed at one of our blokey jokes we realised that she obviously spoke much better English than we had initially assumed. The joke was on us I guess! Anyway, we were shortly back on the road again, and managed to make up a little time by not getting lost in Sevilla, thereby arriving at Jerez in plenty of time for the racing. The grandstand was packed, but with a slight breeze in the air, somehow it wasn't quite as hot as it had been on the Saturday. We watched the Moto3 race. And then the Moto2 race. Finally it was time for the MotoGP race. I will refrain from giving a commentary, as if you really are that interested, then you probably already know by now what happened in the race, or you could Google it! Suffice to say that the crowd was thoroughly enjoying the fact that the Spanish riders were dominating the podium positions throughout the race. Of course the major highlight is illustrated by the picture above, of Lorenzo and Marquez having a little tussle on the final corner of the last lap of the race. Pedrosa, Marquez, Lorenzo, Rossi, Crutchlow. Excellent result for the Spanish. Not too bad either for the English. And a thoroughly enjoyable day's racing for all. Except perhaps a rather miffed Lorenzo?!

On the return journey home, upon every bridge across the motorway from Jerez all the way to Sevilla, there were fans, with large Spanish flags, jumping up and down in celebration and with each and every bike passing beneath horns were sounded and the flags waved again with renewed vigour. After Sevilla the number of motorbikes sharing the roads with us dwindled somewhat but when we stopped for coffee at the last services before the Portuguese border a couple of bikers rode in, clearly also on their way back from Jerez.

To finish the weekend, a curry, at the Clay Oven, which we'd been told was the very best Indian restaurant in Albufeira. Poppadums, Pakoras, Gobi Aloo, Garlic Naan and a large Coke. After all, I still had to drive back to Estoril. It was eleven o'clock when I finally got home. It had been a good weekend. Very tiring, and with way too much driving, but enjoyable none the less. Although next time we slum it, in a tent, in a field.