Lisboa

I arrived in Lisbon last Friday morning, on June 3rd. Logan would be joining me in several hours, who was coming from Amsterdam. I checked into our hostel and, intending to follow the U.S. --> Europe jet-lag advice, tried to avoid falling asleep until the evening... did some calisthenics, yoga proved a tease, and then tried reading some Hamlet on the balcony of the room. (I can't recall if I foresaw it being one of the more difficult pieces of literature to read while severely jet-lagged.) I should also mention that I packed Hamlet last minute when I realized that despite my close attendance to space throughout my planing, I could not zip closed my bag, and had to forego some things. My complete collection of Clarice Lispector short stories was the first to go, and my edition of Hamlet surely has the greatest ratio of density to book width. It also seems an appropriate time to reread it.

I ended up taking a nap.

I was soon woken by Amir coming into the room, the first lovely roommate of many more lovelies to come, a man from Iran who has long lived in Frankfurt, with an interesting accent in which the nativeness of both languages mingled, and who had come to Lisbon purely for the five-day Lisbon Tango Festival. He had come into the room to change into his attire for the afternoon session. (It was Day 3 of the festival.)

Here is Amir in his Saturday night dancing outfit which he modeled the next day. (He had said that Saturday night was the most well attended and lively session of the whole festival, and indeed he arrived back to the hostel at 6:30 A.M. on Sunday morning.)

Logan arrived in the early evening, and we ate our first meal at an unassuming little restaurant that served only one dish: "fish rice," which is basically a tomato based stew with rice and dismembered body parts of sea creatures. A very popular Portuguese dish.

We wanted more fish the next morning, and found a family owned shop and small restaurant that specialized in tin fish. Tinned fish is generally not very popular but Portugal is known to prize its tin fish. Indeed, the fish was delicious. Pictured. below from left to right is mackerel in spicy tomato sauce, tuna in spicy olive oil with peppers, and sardines in plain olive oil.

We then continued on our way to the Museo de Farmacia, which exhibited the history of pharmaceutical practices and substances in Portugal. The most interesting part of the whole museum was the creature pictured below (accompanied by Logan), which is the costume that was worn by doctors during The Black Plague. It was believed that the plague could be transmitted through smell, and so they stuffed these beaks with rose hips and other herbs to... filter out the smell? Mask it? Either way, imagine being surrounded by a bunch of these things on your deathbed.

Dealing with transportation antics on our way to an orchestra concert.

We went to a restaurant called O Frade for dinner, some highlights pictured here: an especially wonderful octopus dish with roasted red peppers and lots of other cheery flavors, pulled duck with mustard seed, parsley, and many acidic punches, and a polenta-y-ish fish stew with lots of dill.

Afterward we found a great small jazz club.

The following day was a 10 mile walking day (note: there is barely a stretch to be found in Lisbon that does not have a severe incline — these miles are not even close to typical miles.) On our way out of the neighborhood we came upon a wonderful food market/fair, where we got some sausage and beer for breakfast. Features of our walk included an underwhelming museum and an overwhelm of closed food establishments. We again stopped by the fair on our way back and picked up a big hunk of goat cheese that resembled brie to gobble.

At the hostel we assembled on the balcony the cheese, some bread, and the Miss Can fish that we had gotten the day before.

Day 3 was a hodgepodge of transportation, scaling, intermittent drowning, and contrastive kinds of eating. In the morning we took a train to Sintra, but instead of following the slews of tourists we took another train down to Cabo da Roca, on the west coast, right on the Atlantic. Here are some of the initial views:

We had indeed had the vision of swimming in the ocean, and this was surely more beautiful than either of us had envisioned. We were skeptical about there being not a figure down there, but we did spot a trail so it clearly had been traversed. We set off.

Maybe this is why there was no one down there.

Progressing.

Scaling!

We made it. Now let’s swim to therock.

…..

Tough. As we approached shore the waves grew massive and several times slammed me against some stray rocks.

About right.

Lunchtime. More bread and cheese.

And orange.

We made it back to the beloved hostel and cleansed ourselves for dinner at a Brooklyn-esque vegan wine bar. We got a white wine that was unlike anything either of us had ever tasted. Maritime, the waitress called it. Some gastronomical highlights: black rice balls with umeboshi sauce, mushrooms with hazelnuts, miso, pecorino, and lots of other stuff, and potatoes with mole.

Our final day was another big walking day, the main destination being a restaurant that specialized in chicken and beer. It was a really cool place filled mostly with natives and that gave huge servings, kind of like a casual Portuguese rendition on a steakhouse.

Grilled chicken, sardines, and accompaniments.

Sardines.

Sardine remains.

On our walk back to the hostel we stopped at a beautiful park. I had fun photographing some characters.

I will leave it at that. Next stop is Porto.