by Mick Rhodes | editor@claremont-courier.com

My wife Lisa and I returned late Sunday from our 18-day trip to Spain and Portugal, bleary-eyed but grateful. We soaked up the history, art, architecture, food, wine, and culture. It was a glorious escape.

Over the past year-plus we’ve traveled by boat, train, subway, light rail, plane, and car throughout Ireland, Scotland, Spain and Portugal. As with anything done repeatedly, a style has emerged, and all those kilometers have revealed we’re well-matched travelers … mostly.

I’ve come to realize these holidays are about more than exploring other countries and decompressing from our professional and familial obligations. What’s really happening is a sort of extreme relationship test. The good news is the marriage is still going strong, despite my sometimes adolescent chimp-like behavior and tendency to shift from jovial to sullen as my blood sugar levels drop.

Lisa brings a welcome contrast of rationality and good-natured curiosity to the equation. Her temperament is even, like an actual adult. Fascinating. Our 24-hour immersion style of traveling has laid bare what annoys us about each other, and, in a surprise to no one, it’s mostly me. She’s constant, able to tolerate traveling’s everyday hiccups with a smile. Her saintly countenance is our steadying North Star, guiding us through obstacles small and large. And on top of all that, she books the flights, the excursions, the hotels, and transportation.

My contribution to the undertaking seems to be showing up, getting things of high shelves, carrying luggage, and ordering appetizers. And even with that grossly unbalanced workload, I still find ways to complicate things.

Take for instance, the great underwear crisis. In America, “boxer briefs” are a compromise between the dreaded briefs (aka “tighty-whities”) and boxers (see, “hangers”). They’re comfy, don’t ride up, and have been my go-to since the early 1990s. Well, somewhere around day nine in Lisbon I was down to my final clean pair, and decided to splurge some new ones instead of braving the lavanderia. So, out I went and bought my American size and of course they were too small, which was a bummer but not a deal breaker. What really made it a non-starter was Portuguese underwear are really more micro-miniskirt that boxer briefs. I’m sure a younger, less husky man would look and feel good in these teeny bikini contraptions. I did not. So, I ranted about that for a day before trudging off to the laundromat while Lisa took a much deserved nap. The great underwear crisis was over, and I’d given her a break from my kvetching. A win-win.

I’ve heard tell that marriage or children don’t fix anyone’s problems, that if anything, they amplify them. I’d add travel to that adage. I thought wandering through Spain and Portugal — and wander we did, averaging around 15,000 steps a day — would quell my baseline anxiety and make me a little more fun to be around. No such luck. I was the same over there as I was here. There were times when I calmed down and was sorta fun, usually when we were just sitting around some random square, having a drink and a snack.

Still, we had some wonderful adventures. Barcelona was absolutely thrilling. All that history, great architecture, fantastic food, and the city’s sheer vibrancy was intoxicating in an entirely new way. A dark history walking tour was a highlight, as were a couple trips to the beach and harbor, where the America’s Cup was happening and the dockside was bustling with sailing fans.

Spain’s robust, state-of-the-art public transportation system got us everywhere we needed to go, including to one of Antoni Gaudi’s masterpieces, Sagrada Familia, and all the way to Montserrat and back, where we spent the day checking out the famous monastery and park, and the superb, surprisingly deep Museu de Montserrat.

Barcelona also introduced us to the wonders of Spanish vermouth  (pronounced and spelled “vermut,” with a hard “t”) and the dangerously delicious digestif “heirbas.” We fell in love with the wild regional variations of tapas. The city won us over.

Though Lisbon was a mere hour and change away by plane, it looked and felt completely different. The second oldest capital city in Europe next to Athens, it was mostly destroyed in massive earthquake in 1755. All our Portuguese friends made clear much of the city was “new” as a result. Funny hearing folks declare near 300-year-old architecture as “new,” but that’s Europe.

I’d like to say I was more fun in Lisbon, but alas, it’s not the case. We walked all over the hilly, compressed and slightly anarchic city and took in its beautiful architecture, most of it post-1755. And as per always, Lisa made do with her intermittently crabby husband. Food is always the primary way to calm me, and we found a holy site: the Time Out Market. Home to 26 restaurants, eight bars, a dozen shops and a high-end music venue, it was one of our favorite destinations in Lisbon.

We also took a day and visited Sintra to see Pena Palace, which originated in the 12^th century. Our last day trip took us to Evora and its uber creepy Chapel of Bones, a 16^th century chapel festooned with human bones, skulls, and entire bodies hanging from the wall.

By day 18 we were missing our kids, pets, and home, and were ready to return. It was a gloriously invigorating trip, though somewhat diminished by my sometimes erratic mood.

I’ve done some thinking on this. On previous trips we’ve traveled by car, seeing new cities, towns and countryside daily as we meandered. We’ve done it by train, hopping off and spending nights and days and seeing new stuff close to stations. On this trip we went to two large cities and hunkered down in a hotel right in the middle of the action for a week in each city. I think I do poorly in that configuration. My wife does too. Lesson learned.

Our next sojourn will be to Wales and England in 2025. I hope to be able to report then that I was a more agreeable travel companion.

Remembering Jan

The public is invited to attend a memorial for the beloved and greatly missed Jan Wheatcroft from 2 to 4 p.m. this Sunday, October 27 at Claremont Heritage’s Ginger Elliott Exhibition Center in the Garner House, 840 N. Indian Hill Blvd., Claremont, CA 91711.

Folks are encouraged to bring their memories, with tables set to display items, and a wall for hanging work. Anyone wanting to say a few words about Jan, an artist and former Claremont Courier columnist who died in April 2023, can do so starting at 3 p.m.

Contact Chris Frausto at (702) 501-9219, or via email to christina.frausto@gmail.com, for more info.

P.S.

Go Dodgers!