"There are only two Jewish families left here in Tomar" the guide informed us.  "The only services we have in this synagogue are Americans or Israelis visiting Portugal".  She let loose a strong note between broken teeth; there were large terra cotta jars set in the upper corners of the 15th century room, to aid the acoustics.  I thought of Ivanhoe and Rebecca and Sir Walter Scott.  It was from Portugal so many Jews embarked for freedom in Cuba, and North and South America during World War II.

Portugal is a country of churches, mostly Catholic, some Protestant, and probably more than just this one synagogue but it was hard to tell.  Moorish remains surrounded us in the cities and towns we visited.

We flew into Oporto on Thursday.  Our first impressions were unsettling:  bulldozing trees to make way for commercial centers and car lots. Smoky fires obscured the landscape.   Our pace slackened as we drove into Porto in our rental car:  a maze of medieval streets and tile-clad buildings delighted us.

Most of the concierges in Paris are Portuguese and some of our favorite people:  Mme. B, Mme. G, F, and R.    Porto was chock full of people like them, friendly and eager to please, to help.  I wondered where the money and impetus for the development around the airport was coming from.  All the concierges we know left their country at an early age to earn a living and send money back to their families.  When we told R we were going to visit Portugal, she exclaimed, "you are visiting my home".  Mme. G was disappointed we wouldn't be staying at her house near Braga.

Henry the Navigator was born in Porto.  Streets are named "Formosa" and there is an old Chinese presence here.  Elaborate tile work spells out ancient fables in blue and white, across the fronts of buildings.  There is a poetic feeling to Portugal, perhaps know as "rhythm" in Brazil. There are hundreds of coffee shops, serving tasty Brazilian beans.

Electric cablecars carry people up and down the hills of Porto, and Lisbon, which we also visited.  Woven rattan seats and sliding windows adorn the simple advertising-free conveyances.  The driver stands in front with a horizontal wheel and lever, screeching around corners.  Two police horses race us up the hill and win.

Porto is divided into two cities, old (more than 1000 years) and new (about 200 years) by the river d'Ouro.  We crossed a 300 foot high bridge designed by Gustav Eiffel to reach New Gaia, where the "Port" houses are.

Old Porto is a UNESCO site, and there is some protection for the tiled edifices.  It seemed like all were different, and often repaired with a slightly different motif.  It was sparkly and joyous, like the people.  I searched for tiles to buy, but could only find the souvenir shop variety.

We drove north to Braga, the true religious capital of Portugal.  We visited the church of "Bom Jesus", set atop some 800 steps (we took the funicular up).  We walked down the dozen or so levels afterward, each described in a different stone pattern on the sidewalk and another chapel full of lit candles.  On Sunday we took the three hour trip to Lisbon, to visit a museum with the best Lalique collection in the world.

We came away from Portugal with photos and souvenirs and reminders of rich history to inspire us.  And a wish we might have visited sooner.

Laurie (text) and Blair (painting) PESSEMIER
"Porto"  oil on linen, 10 x 20 inches