Portugal at Random

You know how this works by now: stuff about Portugal, lack of interest in or time for composing something coherent, read it anyway.

- Now you know the secret of the Solar do Vihno do Porto, so I’ll let you in on another cheapie alcohol experience in Lisbon – the VinoPortugal. This is a free wine-tasting bar at Plaça Commercial in Lisbon. It’s in a lot of guidebooks so it’s not exactly a secret, which is why I was surprised that it was completely empty when I went in. Here’s the deal: they feature 20 wines from each of three different regions of Portugal, rotating through the regions periodically, because there are a lot of distinct wine-producing areas in Portugal. You go in, tell them you want to do a tasting, and they let you pick two wines and give you a form to fill out about your opinions on everything from the design of the label to the taste to how much you’d pay for the bottle. Then they pour you a tasting size sample of your two wines, and you go off to sit and taste and make notes. (“Woody undertones with distinct notes of red fruit, pig ears and wet umbrella”… that kind of thing.). And then you hand in your notes and you get to pick two more wines for the same treatment. No catch, other than you’re limited to four tastes (Per day? Per week? I don’t know, but it would be fun to find out.)

Part of the selection at VinoPortugal

- Tricky restaurants! When you sit down at the table the waiter brings over a tasty assortment of things for you to munch on while you contemplate the menu and wait for your order. Sometimes it’s just a basket of bread and butter, but at one place Freddie and I went to it was bread, butter, tuna paste, sardine paste, olives, and a lovely round of soft local sheep’s cheese. Everything you touch goes on the bill, even if you only have a nibble. It’s not hugely expensive – bread or olives is usually under a euro, but the cheese is often €3-4. (And it’s not just Portugal. I’m writing this from Italy, and can report that a restaurant in Padua had the audacity to charge €1.50 for a package of six dry, factory-made breadsticks that were only slightly thicker than uncooked linguini and about as tasty.)

- The LP promised, and Portugal delivered. Those folks really like their pastries, as evidenced by the presence of a pastelaria approximately every 50 feet on every street in Portugal. As I mentioned earlier, the specialty of the place is the pastel de nata, a flaky pastry tart filled with custard. But these pastelaria have loads of other stuff. It was all I could do not to walk into every one I passed and try something new. Thankfully, I was uncharacteristically abstemious.

Pastel de nata and coffee. I should have had two... they’re small.

- When I was riding around with Freddie I found out about a clever system they have in Portugal for getting people to keep their speed down when driving. There are speed detectors in places that are connected to traffic lights. As long as your speed is below the limit, the light stays green. If you’re over the limit, the light turns red, forcing you not just to slow down, but stop completely. Freakin’ brilliant.

- The Hostel Report: I stayed at Rossio Hostel in Lisbon (recommended by my new best friend in Madrid, Christine) and turned out to be, by a significant margin, the best hostel I’ve stayed in so far. In fact, it was voted best small hostel in the world (2008) by the people who frequent Hostelworld.com, and I can see why. Here’s just a sampling of its charms, available for just €18 per night:

• Perfect location, just off Rossio Square
• Clean rooms with only 4 beds each
• Large, free lockers in the room, with locks provided
• Free towel and bed linen
• Clean, bright, cheery, well-designed bathrooms
• Sunny, pleasant common room
• Separate tv room with wide screen tv, and library of DVDs
• Lovely kitchen
• No lock-out
  
• Free wifi and free computer terminals
• Free hot breakfast – scrambled eggs and toast, or crepes, with coffee and tea, juice, and cereal. I’m not kidding, you came down in the morning and a happy woman asked what you wanted for breakfast, cooked it to order, and brought it to you at the dining table. It was like a dream.
• Laundry service: For €5 they would do a load of laundry for you – washed, dried and folded - and return it to you in a tidy little tote which would be waiting on your bunk by late afternoon.
• A cooler of water, soft drinks and beer, all available for €1 per can
• Really friendly and helpful reception staff. They could tell you how to get to any of the tourist spots, which bus to get to the airport, and what was playing for movie night.
• A handful of umbrellas by the door, just in case

Rossi Common Room, set up for serving breakfast

And just because you haven't seen me in a while, and because I got my first non-English haircut in Lisbon, here's me at the castle:

Obrigada, Lisboa

Three days in Lisbon was not really enough, but I managed to cram in some good stuff. One of the must-do things for tourists is to ride on Tram 28. It’s a vintage streetcar (well, one of several) that runs on a route that covers several of the tourist hotspots and, more importantly, does all the climbing to get you up to the Castle of São Jorge, in the Moorish old quarter of Alfama. It’s in all the guidebooks, and I was a bit aimless the afternoon I arrived so I thought that would be a good way to see a bit of Lisbon, but not have to make any decisions about what to actually do. I got on at Rossio, the origin of the route, and had a really nice ride. The tram is all wooden and creaky and rattly, and has to stop periodically to reset the electrical conductor bar thingie that connected it to the power lines above, or to wait for a car that was double-parked on the tram tracks. I had a window seat and the window was open, so I could lean out for a better look at things or just rest my arm on the windowsill. But some of the streets in the Alfama district are really really narrow - so narrow that there were a lot of times I had to duck my head back in quickly or risk being lobotomized by a passing building. I could easily have run my fingers along the wall, or plucked a toupee off the head of a pedestrian on the sidewalk.

Tram 28

I was enjoying the ride, so I decided I’d just stay on and see the whole route, reasoning that it must just end up back where it started from at some point. Heh. It turns out that reasoning was errado. In fact, Tram 28 delivers you to Estrela, quite a long hop from Rossio and then the route just ends. If you’re a (clueless) tourist, you then have to walk across the square and get bus #706, and ride all the way back. Consider yourself warned.

As I mentioned, I’ve taken quite a liking to a nice glass of port, and Freddie was kind enough to alert me to the location of the Solar do Vihno do Porto, which turned out to be just 275 steps from my hostel (and in Lisbon, steps mean stairs not paces. It was perhaps a ten minute walk, but in that ten minutes I climbed 275 steps. Lisbon is an exceptionally vertical city.) Anyways, the Solar do Vihno do Porto is lovely bar subsidized Portuguese port producers, where you can enjoy a glass of one of about 973 different kinds of port, ranging in price from €1.10 to about €16.00 per glass. Most of the stuff mere mortals drink clocks in around €2-6 per glass. I went two nights in a row, and tried two different ports each night. My favourite was the Ramos Pinto 10 year old tawny which was very very nice indeed. And the bar itself is just a lovely place to sit. It was quite warm and sticky while I was in Lisbon, and the SdVdP was enthusiastically air-conditioned, and open until midnight. And the inside is just like you’d imagine – dim lighting, red armchairs, big wooden beams, and stone walls. And the waiters wear aprons and bring your glass of port on a tray, along with the bottle, so you can check the label before you sample. I felt a bit like I should be wearing a smoking jacket and sucking on a pipe or something. Just great. You should go to the Solar do Vihno do Porto, probably right now. Go ahead, I’ll wait.

A fuzzy look at the Solar do Vihno do Porto

As I mentioned above, the castle is in the old Moorish quarter called Alfama. It’s got loads of little windy streets, and my guide book’s number one recommendation for things to do in Lisbon was to wander the tiny alleys and back streets of the area, getting lost and seeing what was to be seen. Given my oft-mentioned proclivity for wandering around lost, you’d think this would be right up my alley (It was not. Even though I knew it was going to happen, I was still annoyed when I got lost on my way back to the hostel.) The castle São Jorge was nice though – mostly deserted inside, but with excellent ramparts and stunning views of the city.

The view of Lisbon from the castle

On Wednesday I took a trip out to Belem, where there’s a nice monastery and a famous bakery that purports to be the origin of Portugal’s signature dessert, the pastel de nata. It’s a custard tart in flaky pastry, and goes nicely with a cup of coffee.

My favourite sight out at Belem, though, was the Berardo Collection – it’s a gallery of modern art pieces that were owned by José Manuel Rodrigues Berardo , and is now housed in part of the enormous cultural centre in Belem. (And admission is free, so there’s no excuse to skip it.) I was interested in seeing the permanent collection, which includes Hockney and Warhol and such, but the entire collection was being re-worked so there were only temporary exhibits open. One was a quite diverting (often very oblique) look at time and calendars such. There were a few really interesting things there, and it was the kind of discovery that’s especially nice because it was unexpected, and free.

There was also a big exhibit on the life and career of Amalia, a famous Portuguese fado singer who died ten years ago. I was not hugely interested in the exhibit, but there was one room that I just loved. It was dark, with black walls and there was a sound track of fado playing, and hanging in the room were three enormous sculptures that were rotating slowly. They looked a bit like giant paisley chandeliers: one red, one black and one yellow. They were really lovely, and caught the light beautifully. And then I looked closer and realized that they were constructed entirely from translucent plastic disposable cutlery – knives and forks and spoons – that had been twisted and curled and glued onto a frame of welded steel rods. And that just made it even more fantastic. I took quite a few pictures but they didn’t turn out well because the pieces were always in motion.

Here’s a close-up that I prefer to think of as “arty” rather than “out of focus”. (More “arty” shots over at Flickr)

I did make it out to the Museu des Azulejos – the Tile Museum (ceramic tiles, that is, which are absolutely EVERYWERE in Portugal. Entire buildings are covered with them). It came highly recommended, but I have to say I found the whole thing a bit of a snooze. I mean the displays were pretty, and the building was nice, but on reflection it may have been a bit ambitious to expect that a museum devoted soley to the history and display of ceramic tiles in Portugal would be hugely riveting.

Yup, there’s some tiles. (“Oh look over there! More tiles. I wonder what could be in the next room?…”)

And once again, the hash came through for me. After having a nice run with the Lisbon group on the previous Saturday, I met up with one of their number, Dave, and his Portuguese friend Antonio. We went for a nice dinner and had a great night chatting and drinking wine and eating. Then Dave and Antonio took me to a positively fantastic bar whose decor was not to be believed. It was a warren of cozy rooms, one after the other, and each room was absolutely crammed with odd collectibles of every possible type – dolls, toy soldiers, model airplanes, hats, ceramic figures, military medals, cigarette cards…. on and on and on. You could stare at a single wall for hours and still glance back and see something new. We played pool (badly) among the china frogs and action figures and drank beer (and port) and had such fun that they actually had to throw us out when the place closed at 2am. It was a great last night in Portugal.

And you’re right, I did not tell you the name of the bar. I have to have some secrets. If you want to go you’ll have to head to Lisbon and look up Dave. But I can assure you, it would be worth the effort, as is the case for the whole country, in fact.

R&R in Portugal

It was a perfectly excellent few days. I arrived in Lisbon on the overnight train from Madrid, and was met at the station by my old teacher/mentor now colleague and friend, Freddie. (Never mind that poor Freddie was making his second early morning trip in to Lisbon in as many days since I’d mistakenly told him I was arriving Thursday morning, when of course I was leaving on Thursday and arriving on Friday… but then again I can barely remember what month it is these days. It’s still August, right?*). Despite the confusion of the previous morning, Freddie was in his usual good spirits and whisked me off to his spare room in the small town of Sesimbra. And then, because there was exceedingly noisy work being done on his back patio (involving a jackhammer), we immediately buggered off for the day.

We drove south to Setúbal and wandered through a great market there where I picked up some fruit, and was scolded by a lady for squeezing the pears, and Freddie educated me in the 87,392,493 different types of fish and seafood for sale. They do like their fish here.

Swordfish at Setúbal Market.

And picturesque neglected buildings in Setúbal.

After killing some time in Setúbal, we got the ferry to Troia and had a nice long drive, aiming at a small roadside restaurant that Freddie knew (one of countless restaurants Freddie knows). Tragically, the place was closed down, taking with it what was apparently the best Porco Alentejo with it (pork with clams). Instead we opted for a place just up the road and had a lovely long lunch, accompanied by lashings of tinto de casa (made on the premises). I had chocos fritos – fried cuttlefish, which were tasty but I think should easily qualify as Steve’s Weird Food for Portugal. Well, just look at them:

Chocos Fritos, somewhat out of focus. But yes, they did look like baby aliens. (Also, I have to add that it is just downright WRONG that these are called “chocos fritos” which should clearly be something involving chocolate and heat combined in a delicious and satisfying way, and not anything with freakin’ TENTACLES, however tasty those tentacles might be. I mean, REALLY.)

And my host. Lookin’ good, Freddie!

After lunch, we went to a beautiful stretch of white sand beach for a bit of a break. I had a book with me but after laying down a towel and stretching out on the sand, I was unconscious in moments. Naturally Freddie had planned the whole business, reasoning that after a night on the overnight train and a big lunch I’d need a siesta, but that jackhammering would not be as appropriate an accompaniment to that as crashing waves. He was right of course, an attentive host indeed.

The beach.

And then there was the leisurely drive back to Sesimbra, and the relaxed pre-dinner conversation, and the aperitif before heading for another little place in the next town for a dinner of more beautiful seafood. This time it was gigantic shrimp, split in half and lightly grilled, ordered by the half-kilo. And a bottle of tinto de casa, naturally

On Saturday I spent 3 hours making my way to the start of a run with the Lisbon Hash House Harriers. I left the house just before 11:00am, and travelled by bus, ferry, train and car. (It was easily the longest I’ve ever traveled for a hash, but definitely worth it, despite the fact the the return trip was even longer - 3-1/2 hours - due to the unfortunate timing of ferry arrival and bus departure.) The run started at about 2:30 and was 12.8km of exhausting, hilly, hot, dusty running through trails and scrub and infrequent shady glades, and it was just great. The Lisbon Hash is a big group – well-organized and very family-friendly. I’ve never seen that many kids at a hash before. And we had two namings and a re-naming. And I met some good people, including a woman recently posted to the Canadian embassy, who may be able to help me with a bit of a puzzle to do with visas.

On the run with the LH3.

Sunday was a lazy day – Freddie’s spare room is equipped with light blocking shutters and the town is small and quiet, so I slept until almost 10am and lounged about all morning, with only a brief foray to the market. Lunch was at home on the balcony, where we sat in the sun and watched the sea mist roll in and obscure the entire town.

Mist appearing on the right.

About five minutes later.

And of course we discussed the plans for dinner. In fact, the whole visit felt a bit like a Food Network special, which is positively brilliant. I’ve now had cuttlefish, shrimp, monkfish, octopus, baby squid, clams and swordfish. And I’ve sampled a great variety of local wine, and learned a lot about it, and I’ve even had some instruction in port (which I requested since it is, after all, Portugal). It turns out I like port very much, which is a good thing to know. I love that an appropriately significant amount of our time was spent in contemplating where and what we might next eat and drink. And I love that one of the things I heard most was, “Red, white or rosé?”. Either that, or, “How’s your glass?” (As if to imply that the glass itself might suffer some damage if the liquid level were to get dangerously low.)

Monday was Republic Day in Portugal, a national holiday. I got up and headed out for a run in the NEW SHOES that arrived, along with a bunch of other good stuff, in the care package that was waiting for me in Sesimbra (Thanks Karen, and Steve, and Lisa!). I hoped the run would be about 10km long, but I ran smack into the preparations for a 10km road race to be held along precisely the route I was planning. I thought briefly about trying to enter the race on the spot, but my enthusiasm was as limited as my Portuguese (I can say Yes, No, Thank You, Good Morning, Good Evening, One way, Return, and Dessert. Oh, and Tinto de Casa…), so I contented myself with trying a run up a gravel road at the end of the town. That ended up being about as hilly as the run up to Arthur’s Seat, so I tried my luck back down at sea level but got hemmed in my the race and had a long and humid (and yes, partially lost) walk up the hill back to Freddie’s.

The race.

Later that afternoon, after another leisurely lunch and some quality relaxation time, we went out to explore the Moorish castle at Sesimbra, which turned out to be perfectly excellent. It’s almost like a cartoon of a castle, it’s so perfect. It actually reminded me of the Fisher-Price castle that I always coveted as a kid, and it actually looked at lot like the castle my Dad made me out of cardboard, since I didn’t have the Fisher-Price Castle. (Mine was called “Happy Castle”.) I mean, just look:

The castle.

It had great crenellations (which sounds a bit like a lame medieval pick-up line, “Hey baby, those are some great crenellations. Wanna come back and check out my keep? It’s got an en suite garderobe and you can see the severed heads on the tower from my arrow-slit.”), and great ramparts, and unlike every other castle I’ve been to, it was completely deserted. There were no ticket booths or barriers or turnstiles or audioguides or hordes of cruise-ship based tour groups. It was a great treat.

A view of the walls.

After that, we visited an abandoned convent on a very windy bit of clifftop, that afforded this reasonably acceptable view:

And then it was really time to think seriously about dinner, which ended up being the aforementioned swordfish, which was excellent. (Lesson from Freddie: Do not even bother ordering the swordfish if the raw meat is not slightly tinged with pink - as in the photo above. The stuff that’s all white will dry up and be horrible and disappointing.) And then there was the after-dinner port, and the last bits of sitting on the balcony chatting, and not chatting, and attempting to phone Canada, and not getting to talk to who we wanted to (Norberts, I’m talking to you.), and a general sense of well-being that I hope Freddie shared.

The next day I packed up and Freddie drove me in to Lisbon to the brilliant hostel I’m now at, and I’ve been enjoying the city. But that’s another story. This part of the story ended when I said goodbye to Freddie and turned my face to Lisbon, and you’ll have to stay tuned to see what happened next.

* At the request of ROB HAMILTON, I am attempting to cut out the ***s at the end of posts, so let me know what you think about having these slight diversions buried parenthetically in the text instead of piled up at the end. Rob’s argument is that he’s forgotten what the associated subject was by the time he gets to the end. My intention was always that the reader would scroll down to read the *** right after the text, and then scroll back up to continue, but maybe that’s asking too much. Or maybe Rob doesn’t know how to use the scroll-wheel on his mouse. Or perhaps we need to take up a collection to buy Rob a mouse with a scroll wheel. Thoughts?