The title of this entry, of course, hearkens to the classic 1966 film of the same name, starring Clint Eastwood. There are no further links to the film in our tour, but the classification system will simply serve to introduce our retrospective on our Iberian Inquisition.

The Good

Now, over two weeks since we left Porto, enough time has passed to give some perspective on our experience in Portugal and that little bit of Spain. My overwhelming impression is of the beauty of the place. This includes the amazing sea coast, with the ocean waves and the flower filled dunes. Then there were the orchards of lemon and orange, and the seas of olives to the horizon, and the vine lands.  We found this especially in the Alentejo region, and then were totally blown away by the beauty of the Douro valley. Finally there was the rich texture of the buildings, from the postcard worthy riverside houses of Porto, to the heavily gilted churches in most towns.

Seville deserves special mention, not only for the convoluted narrow streets of the old city, but also for the palm trees and general tropical feel. And then there was Semana Santa. Had we wanted to prejudge the case, we could have prepared a chip on our shoulder based on the history of the Spanish Inquisition, the negative connotations of large crowds, with marching and drumming, the general ill effects of religion ( a la Christopher Hitchens, Richard Dawkins, Lawrence Krauss, et al), not to mention the use of pointed hoods, whether or not this pre-dates the Ku Klux Klan. But we went in with open minds, and came out with one of the most memorable and enjoyable experiences of the tour. Our sensitive antennae picked up no hint of violence, suppression of minorities, militarism, or anything like that. We saw only (admittedly) over the top glam and drama, and a population having a uniquely good time. Some might call us naive tourists on this score, but we can only report that we too had a uniquely good time.

The Bad

For some, fun and adventure lies in finding your own way, and battling various forms of adversity. We understand that, and in fact might be planning our next tour with, in fact, less planning than has been our custom. But honestly, Portugal could do with a minor investment in some bicycle route signage. So unlike Germany, this country just leaves you to sort it out on your own. And if you think your GPS will guide you through, if it is following some "official" bike route, that will likely land you pushing through a sand dune or adding unnecessary kms as you diddle along up and down headlands, or (as reported by the Classens at Huelva), barricaded bridges.

Just as finding your own way can be fun, climbing a lot of hills can be too. Especially with our gentle e-assists, we are not averse to some hills either. But coming out of Faro on N2, and again in the Douro Valley, it really was a bit much. We had planned to cycle west on the Douro, but were foiled by hills and a lack of affordable places to stay, had we tried it in short hops. So we will have to call that "bad". Those unaffordable places to stay are part of the story, but it is a mixed situation. Anywhere near Porto or Lisbon we were hard pressed to find anything we could feel comfortable with in terms of price. Yet in the rest of Portugal, we found hotels, groceries, even restaurants to be cheap, or at least reasonable. 

The Ugly

Portugal was almost universally beautiful. The one type of exception was something found throughout Europe but somehow very noticeable in Portugal - the ring of used car dealerships surrounding every sizable town.  Since its start around 1900, the car has filtered into almost every corner of the world, transforming our surroundings with roads, suburbs, and yes - dealerships.  Even in a medieval city core it is almost impossible to make a photo that does not have a car in it. It struck me recently that although cars are sprinkled thickly over every part of our towns, the actual specimens we see are typically less than ten or fifteen years old. That means that the car factories (and their dealerships) have not only smothered the towns, but they have produced enough to have done this about eight times over since 1900!

The only other candidate Portugal has for the "ugly" designation is the piles of dried salt cod in the stores. Technically this is not so much ugly as stinky. Just as we found our own way, went on the hills, and dodged the cars, we did eat salt cod (bacalhau). That qualifies us to have had a full Portuguese experience. The real test comes with the question would we do it again. Our answer is yes. In fact, we are actively planning for a return next year. But next time, we'll try it without the bacalhau!