Farewell, Lisboa (and Ginjinha)

We’re taking a short late-afternoon break from the sun—before heading out for our ginjinha and our last dinner in an absolutely lovely city.  As mentioned before, there’s a decay that exists, but you really stop noticing it.  Each day, at miradouros (belvederes) around the city (the trees behind this church in Graca is one of them), locals gather for a drink under a shady stand of trees and look over their city.  We were lucky to have been able to join them.  From that vantage point, you stop seeing the imperfections and are able to drink in the beauty.

We finally made it to the Elevador Santa Justa (one of the funicular/elevators that were designed to move people from the Baixa to higher elevations.  Santa Justa is a metal ironwork that is very evocative of the Eiffel Tower , not surprisingly because its designer studied with Eiffel.  The views from the top are extraordinary.  This view looking down from the top at Rossio (the main square of Lisbon ) shows the artistic calcada design.  The large, columned building at the end is the National Theatre.  Our hotel is directly behind it.

Our last pic is the first sight that many saw of Lisbon when they arrived by boat as they sailed up the Tejo from the Atlantic —The arch of Praca de Comercio.  A most welcoming sight indeed.

With any luck, we’ll be somewhere over Goose Bay at this time tomorrow, headed back home.  The trip has been very relaxing—the weather perfect.  October is the beginning of Lisbon ’s rainy season.  We saw not a drop.  These Lisbonetas are truly gracious hosts.

Adeus.

There's Crack in Those Pastries

Belem is a suburb a few miles west of the city center.  The royal family happened to be staying there when the great earthquake of 1755 occurred and destroyed, along with the ensuing fires, most of the city.  They were spared and Belem became trendy for the well-to-do.  That would do it for me, too.  Throngs flock to Belem , allegedly to see the Manueline monastery, the monument to Discoveries and the Tower of Belem .  They’re really here for the pastries.  Pasteis de Belem.  They’re little custard tarts that are served warm from the oven, sprinkled with cinnamon and powdered sugar.  The secret is buying a few and finding a shady spot in the park across the street for sitting and enjoying the treats.  Otherwise, you’d be popping them in your mouth as quickly as they’d put them in front of you.  They’re pretty addictive.

 

Terry seems to find the Manueline architecture understated.  The south portal of the chapel is pretty typical.  It’s understated if you’re Louis XVI.  The Monument to the Discoveries is pretty powerful stuff.  It juts out over the Tejo (you call it Tagus ) and features the many who led Portugal to greatness. 

 

Back in town, we started the evening as we always do, along with hundreds of our closest friends, having a ginjinha.  At sunset and later, people show up and stand in line at these tiny holes in the wall, as the owner lines up shot glasses filled with ginjinha.  You pay your 1.10 each and join your friends outside to sip the stuff.  You can order the stuff com or sem (with or without the cherries), but it is always the same—a few cherries with pits are at the bottom of the glass.  Our spot is A Ginjinha (THE Ginjinha).  Across the street is Ginjinha sem Rival.  I think you always stay with ‘your first’.  It just seems right.  As you’re sipping your ginjinha, you ponder the number of stoneworkers it took to cut and lay the calcadas that make up every sidewalk and plaza—in varying patterns and colors.  They’ve been worn smooth over the last couple of centuries.  Fortunately, it’s been dry.  I’m betting that surgeons make a killing when the calcadas are wet and slick.

Sintra's Not For Sissies

Yesterday, we visited the town of Sintra .  It’s in the mountains about 40 minutes from Lisbon .  You would never stumble across it unless you were a llama.  For some unknown reason, two nutty royals built castles there.  I guess you don’t need a moat.  You need a ski lift.  Seriously steep roads.

 

Imagine the love-child of Salvador Dali and Walt Disney.  Now, imagine that kid on acid.  Now, imagine that tripping kid decided that he wanted to build a palace on top of a mountain.  You’d think he was nuts, right?  Since he was married to the queen, they let him do whatever he wanted.  Pena Palace was the result.  It’s WILD.  

 

The OTHER palace in Sintra is the National Palace .  It’s almost boring in comparison.  It’s most recognizable for the two massive conical chimneys that rise of its kitchen.  Apparently, that’s what you need if you’re going to cook a whole cow on a rotisserie in the kitchen.  Whatever.

 

Our latest observation is that the Portuguese are the world’s most relaxed people.  Nothing seems to bother them.  The trams/subways/buses/funiculars all accept a travel card that the passenger holds in front of a validator as you enter.  In theory, a green light goes on and your passage is ‘legal’.  Half the time this process doesn’t work and you get a sour ‘honk’ and a red light.  Tourists spend considerable time repeating the process hoping for ‘the green’.  Old Lisboetas give it one try.  If it goes green, fine.  If not, screw it.  The card goes back in their wallet and they sit down.  The driver ignores everyone.

They're EVERYWHERE

They’re everywhere.  Marathons, that is.  This is our third European city that we have visited during their marathon.  It screws up an otherwise lovely city.  Today, our plans to visit Belem to see the sights (and pay homage to the national pastry) were shot down, as the transportation to it was blocked by traffic due to the marathon.   We had to move to plan B.

We paid a visit to the Gulbenkian Museum .  The incredible art collection came from the private collection/home of an Armenian named, somewhat unsurprisingly, Gulbenkian.  He gave his fortune and collection to Lisbon .  Nice guy.  VERY nice guy.  Absolutely top-flight museum…and it was free today.  Suddenly, I didn’t hate the marathoners quite as much as I had a few hours earlier.

Then, it was off on a short train ride to the beaches of Cascais and Estoril.  You really needn’t use a map, simply follow all the people toting beach towels and surf boards toward the train.  40 minutes later, we were seaside.   Cascais is charming.  After a lovely lunch and some too-tasty white sangria, we strolled the seaside promenade for a couple of miles toward the next town of Estoril .  We blame the marathoners for our lack of foresight about towels and bathing suits.  We won’t make that mistake again.

Tomorrow?  Maybe Belem .  Maybe Sintra.   There may be pictures!

Horrible news struck today.  Our secret plan to ‘unintentionally’ extend our trip with a couple of nights in Paris due to the air strike were thwarted, as the pan-Euro union agreed to call of the strike on the promise that ‘there would be talks’.  What the hell kind of muscle is THAT??? 

Father Knows Best

Lisbon is dramatic.  Not like Paris , Rome or Barcelona …but in it’s own way.  It seems to thrive on a very dignified decay.  It’s elegant and gritty at the same time.  You never get the feeling that Disney just breezed through and painted the facades to make for pretty photographs for the tourists.  This place is well-worn and comfortable. 

After the traditional post-flight coma, we headed out for dinner last night to a little tasca that people raved about on TripAdvisor.  It was tiny—maybe 30 seats.  Half were reserved for a large party and we nabbed the last two available.  Lucky we were.  Tascas are typically run by older couples—mom does the cooking and dad does everything else.  Dad tells you what to order.  You always do what Dad says.  We had two different grilled fish dishes.  It’s what Dad said to do.  The large party were young Lisboas out for a celebration.  We seemed to be the only Americans.  Dinner included soup, tomato/onion salads, the grilled fish with potatoes, desserts and a litre of wine. A simple and delicious experience for 25 Euros.  We’re saving money by being here.  

 

Today, we started with a round trip ride on an old open-air trolley to help with our orientation.  Fascinating, as it wound its way through neighborhood after neighborhood of tiny streets and grand plazas-the warning to keep your body parts inside the windows was advice well-taken, as you often could have reached out and touched the buildings you were passing.

 

We’re starting off the evening with the traditional ginjinha bar experience at sundown and then we’ll be off to take the advice of Dad at another tasca.  Tomorrow, we will make the stop on Terry’s pastry tour of Lisbon—in Belem.

The Boys Head to Lisboa

We normally take all our travel cues from V. She's been everywhere (although she couldn't possibly find her way back without a guide) and knows everything. She had pretty much convinced us that Istanbul should be our next destination. It didn't sound like a bad idea UNTIL we learned that she didn't understand the cardinal rule of international travel: DO NOT SHOW EVERY PERSON ON THE STREET THAT YOU HAVE A WAD OF CASH IN YOUR OPEN PURSE. That did it for us. Suddenly, all her sage advice was suspect.

So...Lisbon it is! (despite V's reporting that Lisbon is the least honest city in the world when it comes to the dreaded "Dropped Wallet Competition") We've decided to risk it. We're heading out on Thursday for a week in Lisboa and environs.

We haven't a clue when we will return. We bought TICKETS to return on Thursday, October 10. As soon as we did, the pan-European air traffic controllers union set that day for a continental strike. They're European, so they're only striking from 7 to 9AM and again in the afternoon. What the hell--it'll be an adventure. Besides, we don't have to be anywhere until the following Tuesday. It's not as if a dinner or two in Paris would kill us.

We've just about mastered all the Portuguese that we'll need. Sure, they speak it in Brazil, but, unless we go to Macau or Rhode Island, there's not much of a future in having spent too much time memorizing too many idioms. Besides, if we're not readily understood, we know just what to do--speak more slowly and loudly.