Better to see something once than hear about it a thousand times.
Asian Proverb
Although both are situated in the temperate zone, Sarges at 37.01650N , 8.9406W enjoys a Mediterranean climate while Bardstown at 37.8092N , 85.4669W inhabitants a temperate climate. Southern Portugal is surrounded by the Atlantic Ocean which mitigates the temperatures normally seen in the temperate zone and delivers the winter rainfall.
A Mediterranean climate produces a dry and hot summer, and a cool and rainy winter, with rainfall not exceeding 20 inches a year. While the Algarve region experiences no extreme temperature swings, indigenous plants must tolerate drought stress and irregular soil conditions (edaphic stress) to survive. The land alternates between flood and dry seasons. Endemic species must tolerate high climatic instability (pics below).
Iberian, Phoenician, Carthaginian, Celtic, Greek, Roman, Germanic, and Moorish cultures. populated “where the land ends and the sea begins.” The Phoenicians dedicated a sanctuary to Hercules. The Romans called Sarges the “Sacred Promontory.” Christians believe St. Vincent (patron Saint of Lisbon) was buried there in the third century. The Moors named this region “Al-Gharb,” which means the “West.” and erected a mosque. During the fifteenth century, Henry the Navigator (pic below) established the “Navigational School of Sarges,”
The Portuguese “Age of Discovery” linked Sarges to “The Far East” by sea routes (pic below). The Northeasterly winds blew Caravels to the Azores. In the South Atlantic, rather than tack upwind against the African Southeasterly trade winds, sailors headed West towards Brazil. Around 30°S, they sailed East and rounded the southern tip of Africa (Cape Agulhas).
On Oct 5 we traveled from Odeceixe to Sarges, a total of 70 km and 2000ft of ascent. We pedaled on the N120 and theN268 most of the day (pic below). The route bordered the eastern edge of the Parques Naturat, which continued to enjoy blue sky from the high pressure zone overhead.
We stopped for a well deserved ice cream at Carrapateira, and lunch in the park at the 41 mile marker. This summer’s severe drought allowed wild fires to sweep across the park and destroy acres of cork and pine nut thickets while leaving nearby groves unscathed (pics below).
At Sarges we biked the seven kilometer spur to Cape St. Vincent, and “the end of the world.”The lighthouse was closed for remodeling but the ground views were great.
So at sunset in Sarges, I asked Gnomeboy, “Now that we have reached ‘The end of the Western world,’ where’s Henry the Navigator? Is he a hologram, or a “Pocket Monster? Are we playing Pokeman?” “Where is he hiding?” (pic below).
Gnomeboy frowned and had me open the compass app on my iPhone. ” Look due West! I’m by his side.”
He stopped short of calling me a Nincompoop, so I did as he said.
Gnomeboy continued in a scornful voice. “Watch the Sun! The Earth cycles about the East/West Axis year in, and year out, and as it wobbles, creates Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall. It’s not North and South poles that orient Mother Earth, but East to West motion. A nautical gnome named Delmar (pic below) taught Henry this never ending cycle. “Our Earth is a carousel, merry-go-round, roundabout, whirligig. Mother Earth is round and continually spinning.”
“Mother Earth rolls towards the sun in the morning and rolls away at sunset. All creatures great and small intuit this concept. Every day they ride, race and spin about. Only man and his myopic forebrain perceived the Earth as stationary, and the sun revolved around him. Such hubris! Aristotle pointed to the North Star as his proof. All the heavenly bodies rotate around the motionless Earth.”
“When you can feel the Earth rolling towards sunrise and cycling away at sunset, you will enter Prince Henry’s world. You will see him pointing West, not to the North or South. Then and only then will you see him.”
We stood in awe of the waves, the cliffs, and the western sky until the milky way glittered and the yellow moon rose in the East. No matter how I hard tried, I beheld a glorious sunset, while Gnomeboy enjoyed Mother Earth’s joyride.
So on down the road I spin, absorbing Gnomeboy’s “flow of boundless time… apeiron.”
If that’s not nice, I don’t what is.