South Florida Sun-Sentinel (Sunday)
Seaside traditions in Portugal’s Nazaré
Aswe’ve had to postpone our travels because of the pandemic, I believe a weekly dose of travel dreaming can be good medicine. Here’s one ofmy favorite memories from Portugal— a reminder of the fun that awaits us at the other end of this crisis.
Settling into a grungy fishermen’s bar in the beach town ofNazaré (two hours north of Lisbon), I order a plate of barnacles. Yes, barnacles— called percebes here.
Mywaiter is happy to demonstrate howto eat them: dig your thumb between the shell and the leathery skin to rip off the skin. The meat stays attached to the shell. Bite that off victoriously andwash it down with local beer.
Fresh barnacles are expensive, as they cling to rocks in the turbulent waves along the coast and are difficult and dangerous to harvest. Savoringmy plate of barnacles at sundown, I gaze out at the surf attacking that stark bluff. Because I knowthat’s where theywere gathered just hours ago, investing in a plate of barnacles feels like moneywell spent. I’m enjoying the endearing charms of unassuming Nazaré being itself.
Perched on a far corner of Europe, Nazaré is one of my favorite beach towns anywhere. It greetsme with the energetic applause of the surf, widows with rooms to rent, and fishermen mending nets. This fishing-town-turned tourist-retreat, set between cork groves, eucalyptus trees and the open sea, is a place to relax in the sun. I join aworld of ladies in petticoats and men who
still stowcigarettes and fishhooks in their stocking caps.
Though many locals seem older than most of its buildings, the town feels like a Portuguese Coney Island, humming with young people who flock here for the beach. Offseason, it’s almost tourist free— the perfect time to take in the wild surf and get a feel for a traditionalway of life.
The town’s layout is simple: a grid of skinny streets with sun-bleached apartment blocks stretching away froman expansive beach. The beach— in many places as wide as a soccer field— sweeps from the new harbor in the south to stark cliffs in the north.
It seems that most of
Nazaré’s 15,000 inhabitants are in the tourist trade. But somehowtraditions survive, and it’s not hard to find pockets of vivid and authentic culture. I stroll through the market andwander the back streets where people happily trade ocean views for a little shade. Laundry flaps in the wind, kids ride plastic trikes, and fish sizzle over tiny curbside hibachis.
Nazaré is famous for its traditionally cladwomen who, at least according to local lore, wear skirts with seven petticoats. Is that one for each day or for the seven colors of the rainbow? Make up your own legend.
While the story you’ll hear may be an invention
for the tourists, it contains an element of truth. In the old days, womenwould wait on the beach for their fishermen to sail home. To keepwarm in the face of a cold sea wind, they’dwear several petticoats so they could fold layers over their heads, backs and legs as needed.
Even today, older and more traditionalwomen wear skirts made bulky by several— but maybe not seven— petticoats. The ensemble, with boldly clashing colors, is completed with house slippers, a hand-embroidered apron, woolen cape, headscarf and flamboyant jewelry, including chunky gold earrings (often passed down from mother to daughter).
People-watching here is
like going to a living art gallery. The beach, tasty seafood and a funicular ride are the bright lights ofmy lazy memories. The funicular leads fromthe beach up to the Sitio neighborhood atop the cliffs. Sitio, with its own church, museum and main square, feels like a separate village.
Back down along the beach, a local folk-music group plays and dances. This troupe, with petticoats twirling to the beat of a percussion section of bongo gourds and extra-large pine cones grating against each other, has been kicking up sand since 1934.
When these dancers were younger, the vast beachwas littered with colorful fishing boats that were hauled in by oxen or teams of fishermen. But ever since a new harbor was built south of town, the working boats have been moored out of sight. Today, only a few historic vessels remain, ornamenting the sand. On the boardwalk— an artful and traditional mosaic pavement of black and white stones— squadrons of sun-dried and salted fish are stretched out on nets left under the midday sun. Locals claim they’re delicious … but I’d rather eat barnacles.
Rick Steves (www.rick steves.com) writes European travel guidebooks and hosts travel shows on public television and public radio. Email him at rick@rick steves.com and follow his blog on Facebook.