After an overnight flight from JFK, I make my way via metro from the Lisbon airport to Oriente station, and now I'm boarding a train to Coimbra, affectionately known to Portuguese as "the city of students."
About two hours later, I'm in the heart of the old student district, atop a steep hill on the banks of the Mondego River. The Dutch proprietor of the charming Casa Pombal welcomes me with open arms, a touch of port wine and a map of the area, pointing out some of the highlights, including the famous University of Coimbra just steps away and dating to the 13th century.
Armed with my map, I start a self-guided walking tour of Coimbra and soon find myself enjoying a drink at a restaurant called Loggia, with its terrace overlooking the roof of Sé Velha de Coimbra (the Old Cathedral of Coimbra), which was built by the Romans in 1184 when Portugal was still battling the Moors to the south.
As I marvel at the fortress-like cupola, which looms over the moody city, I reflect on why I've traveled to this little-known country in the first place.
The first king of Portugal, Alfonso Henriquez, was responsible for building Se Velha in Coimbra in 1184.
I've always been fascinated by this part of the Iberian Peninsula because when my grandparents were escaping Europe in 1940, running for their lives from the Nazis, their final stop was Portugal. It was here that they got their visas to America and caught a ship for New York City, embarking on a new life in the New World and paving the way for future generations of our family.
In traveling to Portugal, I hoped to connect with that family history and this country -- and the best way I know how to do so is through my photography and fishing!
I set my Portuguese photo safari route based on the places my grandparents went during their 3-month odyssey in this part of old Europe: Coimbra (their first stop), then Porto (where they got their visas!) and finally Lisbon (where they caught the ship to freedom).
Leaving Loggia, I wander through the cobblestone and windy streets below the cathedral. School is out, so it's quiet, but there are still people eating and drinking at outdoor cafes tucked into tiny corners and alleyways. I stop for a pre-dinner artisanal beer at a cavelike bar next to the Arco de Almedina, a gateway which marks the former entrance to the Moorish medina leading up the hill.
The Moors occupied Coimbra from 711, using it as a trading center for almost 300 years. In 1143, Coimbra became the country's first capital thanks to its location in the center between the Christian north and Moorish south. Eventually the capital moved to Lisbon in 1255; in exchange Coimbra received the university, one of the world's first. A good deal for Coimbra, in my mind.
Exiting the old city walls with my camera in hand, I cruise up the Rua Ferreira Borges, the city's commercial hub, past the Church of Santa Cruz before reaching the Jardim de Manga (Garden of the Sleeve). Built in the 16th century, the garden's main attraction is a central dome, which rests on eight columns and is surrounded by four small chapels, on top of a small pond inspired by the fountain of life. I snap a few shots.
The first of many amazing meals in Portugal.
The Jardim is a national monument and one of the earliest examples of Renaissance architecture in Portugal. It is also a perfect setting for my first meal in this country. Tucked away behind the dome is a modest, family-run restaurant that serves homestyle Portuguese food. Dinner tonight: Salt cod bacalao prepared simply with olive oil and onions and served alongside a white wine from the Dao region.
As I devour this 4-star meal, which is served at a ridiculously reasonable price, I can't help but think about my grandparents, Victor and Madeleine Tarica. They arrived in Coimbra in September 1940. Madeleine, who left much of her family behind in Paris, was already six months' pregnant with my father.
Once here they tried to get their visas to America but were denied. My cousin Rae, who was part of that odyssey and lives in New York City, remembers Coimbra fondly, the streets full of cafes and students, a sense of fresh air, free of danger and Nazi-occupied Belgium and France. My guess is that Rae recalls the labyrinthine district below Se Velha, where I just wandered.
It's meaningful to feel that link between my travels and those who came before me. As I cap off the meal with an espresso and some homemade cookies on the house, I wonder if my grandfather tried the bacalao in Coimbra. I think he would have really enjoyed it.