So imagine David Attenborough is talking….
And as the curtain comes down on the stage that is Lisbon, I am reminded that what we have witnessed here is a metaphor….
A metaphor that explains all the mysteries…
no wait…a metaphor that draws us closer to the conclusion….
no wait….
I have no idea what it is a metaphor for, but this sentence has been floating around in my head for days and I just had to get it out. Lisbon deserves it.
It’s a great city, filled with wonders. I wish we’d discovered it 10 years ago when we would have had more energy to walk up all those stairs and hills. As it is, we did pretty well for old fogeys who let the last three years of pandemic turn us into slugs.
We walked miles and miles, climbed stairs and hills, and marvelled at the tiles and the architecture and the brilliant blue sky and the shirt-sleeve weather.
Our hotel was in the old part of the city worthy of, well maybe John Clease would be better than David Attenborough. Stairs went up and down, corridors zigged and zagged, and not an elevator in sight. Our taxi deposited us at the front door of what looked like any other door on any other street. We’ve learned that in Europe nothing looks like you expect it to. We’ve walked right past our hotel (notably in Nice) missing it’s demur, understated entrance. North Americans expect big neon signs announcing the presence of a hotel. Old hotels in Europe are often what this one was, a door off a narrow sidewalk. A porter, older than us (and yes, that’s going some, don’t you be rude now) bounded out onto the street, wresting our suitcases from the hands of our cabby, who was probably 50 years younger than him, and headed through the door and up the stairs.
I count things. There were 51 stairs up to reception, and this old dude is carrying our two heavy suitcases. Ken has a backpack and I have a small piece of on board luggage and my handbag, and I had a tough time making it to the top. It’s the fact that the stairs are stone and hundreds of years old, and so very uneven that did me in. Sure. Spry old geezer. I hate him. (After note, when we checked out, an even older porter was on duty, and he bounded down those 72 stairs with all our luggage. I think ability to “bound” up and down stairs was a job requirement. I further think we overtipped both of them out of sheer admiration.) Anyway, after checking in, we are dispatched to our room which is up a further 21 stairs. The hallway twists and turns and we leave a trail of breadcrumbs so we can find out way out.
The room is charming. It’s actually two rooms, a bedroom and a smaller sitting room with a desk and window seat. And most importantly, coffee making supplies. We settle in and head out for our first walk in Lisbon.
We pass a multitude of street cafes and what looks like a wine and cheese bar. Oh we’ll have to drop in there. It isn’t a wine and cheese bar. It’s a luxury bed and breakfast. Or at least so says the sign. We find our way down to the water, which always draws us and wander up and down just people watching. Everyone, well, lots of people seem to be carrying pineapples with straws in them, and nothing will do but that I have to see what this is all about.
Before my very eyes, a nice young thing cores a pineapple, puts in it a blender with ice cubes, what I think is condensed milk and something that could be vanilla, honey or liquor and blends it up. Pours it all back into the hollowed out shell, sticks a paper umbrella in it and hands it to me. Those who know me, know I prefer my drinks with umbrellas, so I am a happy camper. The drink is further enhanced by three slices of pineapple that didn’t make it into the drink.
It weighs a tonne. Well, it’s heavy. And I am unable to walk and drink, never was good at multi-tasking, so we walk a little further down and sit on the edge of a square where a nice man with a guitar serenades us. I believe it is fada. His adoring partner several feet away, sways and sings along. She’s beautiful. After all she is wearing a twirly dress and she has long flowing hair. How can she be anything but.
Ken who has spent the last several decades declaring to me that he hates pineapple, asks if he can have one of my slices. Of course. He eats it. Eyebrows raised up to his forehead. “This is good. This is really REALLY good. It doesn’t taste at all like pineapple.” And he helps himself to another slice. Food epiphany one.
And to be honest, it’s all about food. Moorish architecture and beautiful tiles aside, Lisbon is all about food, and we are happy.
Food epiphany two happened in the Mom and Pop restaurant just down the street from our hotel, where we had our first dinner. Ken has always loved fish of almost any sort, and had his first of what I am sure will be many fish dishes. Sea bream. The look on his face told it all. Carnivore that I am, I had ribs, which were really nice. And to celebrate being on vacation, I had dessert, cheesecake. Ken has spent almost as many years hating cheesecake as he has hating pineapple. But he can’t resist a taste. And he is hooked. We ate here again a couple of nights later and he insisted that I have the cheesecake again so he can share it with me.
Food epiphany three is double barrelled. And it happened on our second night in Lisbon when we ate at an amazing Japanese restaurant, again just a couple of blocks from our hotel. We like to be adventurous with our food choices (although I do draw the line at, oh, say sheep brains) so we placed ourselves in the hands of our server and were we rewarded. The one exception was that I chose to have gyoza as my appetizer. I do love it. Ken has never figured out why I like flour and water stirred together and stuffed with something, but since I had made myself quite free to share his appetizer, which was amazing, he decided to have some gyoza. “Does it always taste like this?” Yes. “And the sauce too?” Yes. And he had another.
Along the same food lines, we discovered a market in our walks. A huge place filled with fresh fruits and vegetables and meats of all kinds all for sale. The perimeter of this market was restaurants offering a huge variety of choice, and we had a lovely lunch there. Imagine eating outside in early February.
Glad we remembered our sunscreen, we needed it in sunny Lisboa.
The food market
My pineapple drink
