Vineyards of Douro Valley


Day 2 of our Portugal trip, June 19, early morning we set out from Porto to visit Douro Valley, in Northern Portugal,  It is the first demarcated and regulated wine region in the world (1756), known mainly for Port.  The name Port is obviously derived from their homeland Portugal.  Port is a sweet, red, fortified wine most commonly enjoyed as a dessert wine because it is rich and sweet. Wine production in Douro Valley is regulated by Instituto dos Vinhos do Douro e Porto (IVDP).  They control the quality and quantity of Port wines, regulating the production process.  This region also produces some of the best wines in the world, other than Port, and also olives.


On our drive to Douro Valley, we halted at picturesque Amarante town, on the banks of River Tâmega, known for the São Gonçalo  (Saint Gonzalo) Church.  Amar in Portuguese means ‘to love.’

The granite bridge above was built over the Tâmega River in the late 18th Century. The original bridge, believed to have been built in the 13th Century, collapsed in a flood in 1763.  The present one was completed in 1790. A plaque on one of the obelisks (in Greek meaning a tall, four-sided, narrow tapering monument which ends in a pyramid-like shape at the top) guarding the bridge entrance on the left bank commemorates the victorious resistance of General Silveirea, on the 2 May 1809, when he confronted Napoleon’s troops led by General Loison.


This Church, built in 1540 houses the tomb of São Gonçalo who died in 1259.  São Gonçalo, the patron saint of Amarante, is believed to be a wedding facilitator for older women. As per legend, in order to find the love of one’s  life, one must touch the statue of São Gonçalo on New Year’s Eve.


This lady was selling ‘Doces Falicos‘ or ‘phallic sweets’, a sugar  glazed phallus shaped cake, also known as ‘Little Gonzalves.’  This phallus cake originated in from pre-Catholic times, with roots in pagan fertility rituals. The cakes are handed out together with locally-harvested dried figs at ceremonies held each January (on the anniversary of São Gonçalo’s death) to usher in a ‘fertile and favorable’ year.  It is also used in June street parties, by local singletons who believe that it could bring them true love and a happy family.   The cakes are much sought after by old spinsters in search of a husband, where the ‘old spinster’ are often single woman in their late twenties or early thirties, keen to settle down and start a family.

In the 1930s, Portugal’s fascist Second Republic outlawed the cakes as being obscene, but the villagers of Amarante continued to make and exchange them secretly. After the dictatorship fell in 1974, the Bolos de São Gonçalo came back out of the closet.

From Amarante we drove crossing the Marão ranges through a tunnel to Douro Valley.,


The Douro Valley lies about 100 kilometres inland from the coast and is protected from the influence of the Atlantic winds by the Marão mountain ranges.  The oldest vineyards are planted on traditional terraces supported by dry stone walls. These walls were built by hand on the steep hillsides and then filled with soil.  Most of them are narrow, often bearing only one or two rows of vines.  These historic walled terraces rise up the rocky slopes like the steps of the Pyramids.  Today, they form one of the world’s most dramatic and inspiring vineyard landscapes.  A vineyard estate in Portugal is known as a ‘Quinta’.

Vines of Douro Valley are not artificially irrigated.  The vineyard soil is very stony and is rich in nutrients but is free draining.  The roots sink deep down in to the soil in search of water and the grapes produced by such vines is said to be of better quality to produce Port.


The art of creating a terrace has died down due to hard work and costly labour involved and also availability of earth moving equipment.  The cost of terracing has become prohibitive and they are no longer built today. Only the old vines grow on terraces.  These wines are planted in closer rows as no tractors are used.


Patamares
are modern terraces cut into the mountainsides using earth moving equipment.  They are not supported by walls but are separated by tall earth banks.  Near the vines, they grow lavenders and roses.  The health of the flowers of these plants are indicators of the quality of grapes growing on the vines.


Relatively inexpensive and quick to build, Patamares may cause soil erosion.  Many vineyards plant olive trees to bind the soil.  The vines are planted in rows with a wider gap to allow tractors to move between the rows.


In places where the gradient allows, terracing is replaced by vertical rows of vines running perpendicularly up the hillside.  Vertical planting also provides better leaf canopy exposure.


After about thirty minutes, we reached Pinhão, a small sleepy town near Spanish border, the heart of Port wine country on the banks of Douro River.  From here we set out to visit Croft Winery followed by a cruise on Douro River.

Portugal: A Land of Explorers

But Portugal has a peaceful feel about it. I sit on the terrace overlooking the vineyard there and I feel cut off from the world. You need that sort of thing. – Cliff Richard

It was Vasco da Gama, a Portuguese explorer who first sailed from Europe to Kozhikode (Calicut) in Kerala in 1498.  Under the leadership of Prince Henry, the Navigator, the Portuguese accumulated a wealth of knowledge about navigation, geography of the Atlantic Ocean and had monopoly on spice trade with Kerala, during the 15th and 16th centuries.

Christopher Columbus who inadvertently discovered a new continent was neither Portuguese-born nor sponsored, but was Portuguese trained. He married a Portuguese woman; obtained navigation charts and related information from his father-in-law, Bartholomew Perestrelo.  He also collected maritime intelligence from returning explorers and sailors.

Ferdinand Magellan, a Portuguese born explorer, is known to be the first to first circumnavigate the globe, an exploration sponsored by Spain. He sailed around South America, discovering the Strait of Magellan, and across the Pacific.


On June 18, we flew into the Northern city of Porto – home to Port wine and a beautiful old city centre which UNESCO recognised as a World Heritage Site.  It was a rainy and cloudy summer day and in the evening we set out on foot to explore the city.

Clérigos Tower and Sé Catedral do Porto are the two prominent buildings on the Porto skyline, a must-see location for all those who visit the city of Porto.


From our hotel we walked to Sé Catedral do Porto (Porto Cathedral), built in Romanesque style construction which began in the twelfth century.   The paintings by Nasoni, the carved gilded wood altarpiece and the silver altar of the Blessed Sacrament are all worth a glimpse.


The beautiful blue (azulejo) tiles that cover its galleries, as well as the chapel are from the Gothic period.


The church offers a panoramic view of Ribeiro, is one of the most popular neighbourhoods in Porto. True to its name, the district is situated on the riverbank (Ribeira in Portuguese stems from the word river).


Clérigos Tower is considered a National Monument since 1910. The Tower built in the 18th century, is now a museum, open to the public.


From the church, we walked to the Ribeira, a riverside historic neighbourhood that retains all its medieval charm.  Its colourful and wonderfully decorated façades and many restaurants that line up will please any visitor.


Walking through the Ribeira, along the Douro River, we reached Dom Luis bridge, dating from 1886.  The upper level is used by metro-rail and the lower level by automobiles.  We walked along the walkways on the lower level and reached the wine lodges of Porto.  On one end of the bridge is the former Monastery of Serra do Pilar, characterised by its circular church and cloister.


Port Wine Lodges are located in Vila Nova de Gaia, on the opposite side of the Douro River.  Sandeman’s and Croft’s are two of the best well-known lodges.  Most buildings had red tiled roof, akin to old building’s roof of Kerala, which must be from Portuguese influence.


Below the monastery we found many love locks which couples lock to a steel bridge, and throw away the keys into the river, to symbolise their unbreakable love.  The city authorities are not pleased by such display of love as they consider them as vandalism due to the damage they cause and the cost of removing them.


From the Ribeira, we walked through the rain to São Bento Station, made of glass and wrought iron.  Built in 1900, this beautiful station was named after a Benedictine monastery that once occupied this space in the 16th century.


Inside, twenty thousand azulejos (hand-painted Portuguese blue tiles) cover the grand entrance hall depicting Portugal’s history, its royalty, its wars, and its transportation history. The blue and white tiles were placed over a period of 11 years (1905–1916) by artist Jorge Colaço.


Next to the station stood the Santo Antonio dos Congregates Church built between 1662 and 1680.  During the Siege of Porto (1832-33) by the Liberals, this church became a military hospital and army storage facility.


Our next stop was at the Praça da Liberdade, the commercial hub of Porto, built in 1920s. At the top of the square is the Câmara Municipal (City Hall), with its distinctive clock tower.


Walking through Rua Santa Catarina, a cobblestone paved pedestrian only shopping street, packed on either side with international stores and numerous restaurants, street vendors and coffee shops, we came to a shopping plaza.  My eyes caught on to the Indian made Bajaj Scooter on display in a clothing store.


We continued walking along Rua Santa Catarina and reached the Chapel of Santa Catarina, also called Chapel of Souls. This unique shrine dates back to the 18th century and is completely covered in the typical blue Portuguese tiles.

A bit tired after a long walk through the rain with jet-lag hanging on our eyelids, we dined at a roadside restaurant with entrée being Bacalhau (salted cod fish).  It is the most popular base commodity in Portuguese cooking.  Traditionally there are more than 365 different dishes, one for each day of the year, and the country has a love affair with the pungent smelling fish.

We then returned to our hotel to prepare for the Wine Tour of Douro Valley for the next day

Meeting Subedar Major Paramjit Sidhu


We were enjoying the Canada Day long weekend from June 29 to July 01.  Our daughter Nidhi and son-in-law Jay had left our grandson James with us and went golfing the weekend.  We the grandparents were enjoying a laid-back and relaxed long weekend with our grandson.

Canada Day is celebrated on July 01 to commemorate Canada becoming a self-governing dominion of Great Britain and a federation of four provinces: Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Ontario and Quebec in 1867. The anniversary of this date was called Dominion Day until 1982.  Since 1983, July 1 has been officially known as Canada Day.  It is a public holiday, a day off for the general population with all schools and most businesses closed.


In many towns and cities, municipal governments organise many events, often outdoors being summer. These include pancake breakfasts, parades, concerts, carnivals, festivals, firework displays and so on. Canada’s national flag is widely displayed and a lot of people paint their faces red and white – Canada’s national colors.

On June 30 morning, as I was playing with our grandson and also watching the inglorious defeat of the Indian Cricket team at the hands of their English counterparts in the league stage of the World Cup, I received a call on my cell-phone. The caller spoke in a soft and confident voice introducing himself as Subedar Major (SM) Paramjit Sidhu.  He said that he was visiting his daughter in Toronto and had got my number from his Commanding Officer(CO), Colonel Viveka Murthy of 288 Medium Regiment.  He informed me that he was at the Square One Shopping Mall near my home and expressed his desire to meet me.   I could immediately place Colonel Murthy as I had interacted with him on the Sainik School Amaravati Nagar WhatsApp Group.  Colonel Murthy had joined the school in June 1979 shortly after I had left the school to join the National Defence Academy.

Vet Plate
I briefed SM Sidhu that our home is only two minute away and he must come to Gate 8 of the Mall and my car would be parked outside the gate.  It would be very easy to recognise my black Honda CRV with its unique licence plate.

As I pulled alongside Gate 8, a tall smart Sikh gentleman emerged from the shadows.  From his bearing, gait and the meticulous folds of his turban, I couldn’t have missed him a mile away. He was a true representation of the smart and ramrod straight Indian Army Soldier.  On entering the car, he greeted me and introduced himself.  The way he spoke and his conduct was the reflection of the confidence this soldier had and obviously it came from his CO. I felt he was different from many of the Subedar Majors of the Indian Army that I had come across.  Why else should he ring me up in Canada and express his desire to meet a Veteran Gunner who retired 15 years ago?


We drove home to be greeted by Marina and James.  We spoke at length about his daughter, family and military life.  During our interaction I confirmed my earlier belief that he was ‘something different‘ when he casually mentioned about his achievements in powered hang gliding.

After the meeting, I drove him to his daughter’s home, a 30-minute drive.  He was very pleased and thankful to me for this gesture.  I said to him that I take it as a matter of pride and my solemn duty to take care of all soldiers of the Indian Army who visit me. Irrespective of rank and stature, I treat everyone alike.

On returning home, I decided to research on SM Sidhu’s power hang gliding.  SM Sidhu hails from Sangatpura village in Ludhiana district of Punjab.  He joined 76 Medium Regiment and was later posted with the Adventure Cell at the School of Artillery, Devlali.  He has an experience of over eight hundred hours of hang gliding during his 21 years stint there.

On 17 February 2012, he broke the 33 years old British world record in powered hang gliding by covering a distance of 380 km between Sriganganagar and Sanderav near Jodhpur. Gerry Breen, a British Pilot had on May 7, 1979 created the previous world record by gliding 325 km from Wales to Norwich.


Mr. Pranab Mukherjee, the President of India conferred Tenzing Norgay National Adventure Award to SM Sidhu, named after the first Everest summiteer Tenzing Norgay.  SM Sidhu also holds three national records in hang gliding as mentioned in the Limca Book of Records. What a great achievement for an Indian Army Soldier!!

I am very thankful to Colonel Viveka Murthy for providing me an opportunity to meet and interact with SM Sidhu. It was an opportunity to rekindle a sense of belonging, regale about the good old times and share a camaraderie and esprit de corps, albeit separated in space and time! I felt wonderful and perhaps a wee bit more thankful to him than he was to me.

The Left Pocket Appendage: Confessions of a Notepad-Defiant Officer

During my service in the Indian Army, I harboured a deep envy for those officers who carried a perfectly organised notepad. The envy was born out of sheer frustration; no matter how hard I tried, I could never maintain one. My notepad was almost like God and Time—it had neither a beginning nor an end. I never knew what I wrote or where I wrote in it, making retrieval completely impossible. Why? Because I never even attempted to organise it.

Some officers of the ultra-meticulous variety divided their pads into pristine, labeled sections: orders from the Commanding Officer, instructions from the Battery Commander, tasks allotted to Sergeant Majors, and so forth. Some even utilised a complex multi-colored ink system to rank points by priority or severity.

A few went so far as to keep a notepad permanently stationed beside their toilet seat. Supposedly, all earth-shaking ideas dawned on them while they were on the throne, and the thoughts had to be captured immediately lest they be lost forever.

Inspired by a senior officer, I once attempted to replicate this discipline. I carefully drew lines and created sections in a brand-new pad. But the moment I actually wrote in it, the book instantly reverted to its chaotic, God-like status. Later, when I tried to decipher what I had written, I realised it would have been significantly easier for me to decode the ancient Harappan script than my own handwriting.

The Harappan Dilemma

The Harappan script was used by the Indus Valley Civilization some 4,000 years ago. From excavations in present-day Pakistan and Northwest India, archaeologists have recovered several thousand short inscriptions, mostly consisting of four to five signs. To this day, no scholar has successfully deciphered them.

Interestingly, although the cradle of the Indus Valley Civilization sits squarely in the heart of modern Pakistan, that nation claims virtually no cultural heritage from this indisputable historical fact. Due to the civilization’s non-Islamic roots, Pakistan has found it convenient to hand over all cultural heritage claims to India.

The Motions of the Script

In my case, the notepad eventually degenerated into a mere uniform appendage, stuffed awkwardly into the left breast pocket of my tunic. In the Regiment of Artillery, we proudly wear our lanyard on the right shoulder, with its tail end tucked into the right breast pocket. Naturally, the left pocket was surrendered to the notepad.

At the slightest hint of an instruction coming my way from a senior officer, I pulled out the pad and dutifully go through the motions of writing. The pad accompanied me to every conference, briefing, and war game. Like every other officer in the room, I scribbled furiously into it using my personal version of the Harappan script. However, when it actually came time to execute the mission, I found it far more comfortable to rely entirely on my memory.

The Masterpiece Caricature

Captain Desh Raj (now a veteran Colonel) was the self-appointed commander and mentor for all the young officers in our Regiment. A phenomenal sportsman who captained almost every regimental team, he took his role as our guide very seriously.

One day, immediately following the Commanding Officer’s monthly Sainik Sammelan (the CO’s address to all soldiers and officers), Captain Desh Raj summoned the five of us to the anteroom.

“Show me your pads,” he barked. “I want to see the points you noted down from the CO’s briefing.“

Four of us shifted uncomfortably, desperately trying to hide our notebooks. Sensing our hesitation, Captain Desh Raj swiftly snatched the pads from our hands and flipped through them. He looked up, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

“None of you can draw a decent caricature of our Commanding Officer,” he declared. “Your artistic skills need serious honing. Look at my pad. Next time, I want to see a better caricature of the CO than this masterpiece of mine!“

That was the exact moment I realised all that intense note-taking by the young officers was a front. They were doing the exact same thing Captain Desh Raj was doing! Years later, when I became a Battery Commander and eventually a Commanding Officer, I ensured that none of my Sainik Sammelans ever exceeded ten minutes. I was mortally terrified that my subordinates would spend the time drawing a caricature of me, so I simply resolved never to give them the time to do it.

The Thirteen-Month Notepad

In an Army governed entirely by rigid checklists and Standard Operating Procedures (SOPs), I proudly trod a different path, relying solely on my memory. I prioritised, analysed, and filed tasks away inside my mind, executing them to the best of my ability. I had my share of failures, of course, but my fierce dedication to the mission always outweighed my mistakes. I made a silent vow to myself: the day I forgot or failed to execute an assigned task, I would accept the consequences and carry a notepad for the rest of my career. Fortunately, it never came to that.

At the end of our grueling, 13-month Long Gunnery Staff Course, our juniors presented the student officers with mock prizes. You guessed it—I was handed the absolute smallest notepad available in the market. Attached to it was a note: “This will last for your entire military service.”

Outsmarting the Brigade Commander

Later in my career, I was posted as a Brigade Major. Our Brigade Commander was perpetually peeved by my refusal to carry a pad when he summoned me. He tried every command-trick in the book to break my habit, but failed.

One morning, his Personal Assistant (PA) approached me nervously. “Sir, the Brigade Commander has summoned you. Please, carry this pad and pen inside with you.“

To keep the peace, I walked into the Commander’s office holding the pad. He smiled warmly, pleased with his apparent victory, and asked me to take a seat. He proceeded to brief me on ten highly complex tasks. I sat there, religiously noting down every single word onto the notepad. At the end of the brief, thoroughly satisfied that he had finally disciplined his Brigade Major, he called for a cup of tea.

The two of us sipped our tea, chatting amiably about mundane military matters. When we finished, I saluted, left his office, and immediately set out to execute the orders.

An hour later, my phone rang. It was the Commander, requesting a progress report. I methodically briefed him: seven tasks were fully completed, and the remaining three were currently in progress.

Confounded by the speed, he summoned me back to his office. As I walked through the door, he pointed to the center of his desk. There sat the notepad. In my casual departure after tea, I had inadvertently left it right in front of him.

“What is this pad doing here?” he asked, staring at it.

“Sir, it is exactly where it is supposed to be,” I replied evenly. “I don’t need it.“

The Commander, a thorough gentleman, looked at me, exasperated but curious. “Seriously, Reji, tell me—why don’t you carry a pad at all times like every other officer?“

My instant, unfiltered reply was: “Sir, only cricket players and women use pads. I am neither.” (My sincere apologies to anyone who finds the old military humour of that era politically incorrect!)

That did it. The Commander burst out laughing and never asked me to carry a notebook again.

Breaking the Chain

When I finally assumed command of the Regiment, my very first order to our officers was clear: no one was to pull out a notepad the moment I started speaking.

“Listen to me with your full attention,” I told them. “If I feel an instruction is too complicated or likely to cause confusion, my Staff Officer or I will issue it to you in writing with every detail mapped out.”

A few months into my command, our Regimental Havildar Major, Kaptan Singh, approached me with a smile. “Sir, whenever you start a conversation, my hand automatically flies to my left breast pocket to pull out my pad. Then I remember it is an anathema to you, and I snap it back down. Most of our soldiers face the exact same dilemma.“

It was a living testament to that famous, unchanging military axiom: “It is always easier to put a new idea into a military mind, but it is next to impossible to take an old one out!”