Before we left Nazaré, we drove toward the plaza and eventually found the Forte de São Miguel, from 1577. The views of the sea were breathtaking. The fort at the end of a long hike to the point had an exhibit describing how the biggest surfing waves in the world are formed here.

We found our hotel in Évora just outside of the old walled city. We were tired when we arrived, but hope to explore a bit more in the morning.

We’ve been passing huge, truck-sized gas stations for two days in Portugal. But guess when we couldn’t find one? When we needed it. I won’t push it to 1/8 of a tank the next time.

I learned a number of new words for gasoline when I finally found a station. Gasolina and Gasoléo which sound similar, are completely different. Other pumps say diesel, and others say “super green.”

Seems like “diesel” was the right choice today, but I’ll need to stay on my toes. I learned later that gasoléo is in fact diesel.

The BMW is amazingly peppy for a 1.8-liter diesel. Doesn’t sound or smell like a diesel, either.

The toll roads have been another saga. At one toll station, the machine asked for our ticket. We didn’t have a ticket. I pushed the “call” button as the cars lined up behind me, before being presented with a bill for 53 euros. Perhaps this included a fine for not having a ticket, but there weren’t any choices to be made at the moment.

We had an unforgettable dinner with my old friend Kevin Lossner and his partner Glória.

The small local restaurant in the old city was on a street so narrow that the taxi had to let us out at the corner. Kevin had remembered eating there years ago, but didn’t remember if the owners spoke English.

I took a chance by sending a WattsApp message to their number asking for a reservation. João was very gracious, and took particularly good care of us. It was a “chef’s menu” of perhaps 20 or 25 dishes, and I tried everything! Even Victoria tried about half of what they served.

Kevin has been living in Portugal for over 10 years and has invited me to visit several times. He was a year ahead of me in high school, but we ran in all of the same nerd circles (German Club, annual staff, Dungeons & Dragons, etc).

We spent a ton of time together back then. He went on to Occidental College in nearby Eagle Rock, where one of his classmates was a dude with big ears named Barry (long before he transferred to Harvard and subsequently served as our nation’s 44th president).

Kevin is quite simply one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever known, with a sharp memory and a quick wit to match.

He remembered stories about me that I’d rather forget, and vice-versa. The ladies had quite a few laughs, and it was no mystery that Kevin and I had been friends for so long.

Kevin and I established that the last time we’d seen each other was around 2005, when I met him during a business trip to Berlin while he was living in Germany. Then, as now, our conversation picked up right where it had left off in 1977 or 1978.

Glória, a retired orthopedic surgeon from Lisbon, was delightful. They live on a small farm near, Elvas, where they raise chickens, turkeys, rabbits, and hunt wild boars. Kevin owns a successful translation business, but is also now, as I call him, a gentleman farmer.

About an hour into the meal, I realized that Glória was wearing a Charles Bukowski T-shirt. I mentioned that my copy of his book of poetry, “Love is a Dog From Hell,” had been purchased from the famous beat-era City Lights bookstore in San Francisco, while over (and poet laureate ) Lawrence Ferlinghetti was still alive.

Pretty good and wholly unexpected conversation ensued. Bukowski was a genius, but a challenging figure. He died of non-Hodgkin Lymphoma in 1994, about 5 years too early. I was lucky enough to get it in 2008, when monoclonal antibodies had become mainstream (at Stanford, at least).

Glória pointed out that he didn’t exactly take care of himself. Fair point.

Kevin and I have lost touch several times over the years, but have always been happy to reconnect. We both realize that such chances will become fewer and further between as we tiptoe into old age.