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截了纽约时报的一段游记，为啥我读起来这么吃力啊，若是拿这篇来做阅读题，我估计要歇菜一半。
可这这是一篇普通的游记啊，大家若是能无障碍看完这篇文章，能说说大概是什么水平么？比如多少词汇量之类的。。。
Portugal Old, New and Undiscovered
“SEE these olive trees?” said Celso Pereira as his pickup truck slalomed down a road flanked by thousands of them, their pale, pointy leaves glistening faintly, their limbs wretched and magnificent with age. “They make the most wonderful olive oil.”
“And those orange trees?” he added, pointing to a small grove. They brimmed with bright, ripening fruit. “The oranges are amazing.”
The tiny restaurant ahead? “Phenomenal,” he said. The dark soil in the vineyard to the left? Incomparable. It wasn’t thickly accented English he spoke so much as the language of local pride — exultant and, truth be told, hyperbolic. I had tasted the olive oil: lovely, not life-changing. And the oranges: perfectly fine.
But there was one soaring superlative with which I couldn’t quibble. “This drive,” he said as the truck dropped like a roller coaster into the valley below. “It is the most beautiful, no?”
Yes. Oh yes. And that heady conviction had only a little to do with the wines that Mr. Pereira, a vintner in this enchanted region of northern Portugal, had just had me sample. All around us mountains undulated into the distance. The slopes in the foreground were a precipitous, mesmerizing patchwork of greens, reds, browns and grays, the earth alternately craggy and lush, terraced and cleanly diagonal, as if some grand hand had fashioned it into a tutorial on all that nature and agriculture can do.
And at the base of those slopes: a ribbon of water, playing peek-a-boo as it twisted into and out of view. This was the Douro River, the cause and compass of my trip.
I had been drawn to Portugal by word of how splendid the area around the Douro is. It is from the banks of the Douro that the sublime city of Oporto rises. It is along the Douro that a disproportionate share of Portugal’s most respected wine producers fuss over their grapes.
And it was my hope that by tracing the river from Oporto toward Spain, I might construct my favorite kind of vacation, one that mingles — within a few days and a few hours of driving — some time in an old, architecturally distinguished city with even more time in gorgeous countryside, all punctuated by big, slow, boozy meals. That’s my Italy, my France, my Spain. I wanted to make it my Portugal, too.
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发表于 2010-5-31 07:33:41
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