#2206: Saturday, December 22: Ramble on

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Post 2206
- 7 years and 356 days since I started this blog -

  

Journal
(written 12/22/18)

Read this once (it won't change for the rest of the trip(s): I'll be linking this post to Facebook. If that's how you got here, here's some background: About 8 years ago I started this blog as a food journal. I had a medical situation and needed to lose weight. Initially, that's all I did here: Journal my food intake and my weight. It contributed to helping me lose 20+% of my body weight in 6 months, and continuing has kept me on track since then. I started adding commentary after a while, but lately it has become infrequent. 

While I'm traveling, I let go of the weight-tracking and food journaling, except for the occasional food shot when I've eaten something interesting. And that's where we find ourselves now.

When I finished the last post I wrote, sitting in the Copenhagen Coffee Lab, I took my longest walk of the trip. I had two goals:

First, I wanted to see more of Lisbon, and the must-see section of Lisbon is the Alfama - the oldest part of the city, right on the river. It is the commercial and cultural heart of the city and, therefore, also the main tourist destination. Taking the gad with the good, I guess.

Secondly, I wanted to go on a long walk, get a little lost, see what an unfocussed view of Lisbon would throw my way. This has always been a mode that works for me. For one thing, it is consistent with my general philosophy of being mindful and present, of lowering or eliminating my expectations of the future. For another, the adventure of it is exciting - forcing me to be adaptive, flexible - go with the flow.

To get me in the general area, I used Google Maps to locate a walking path to what looked like the main square in the Alfama - it indicated a walk of a little over half an hour. I set out at about 2:30pm.

The map must think I'm fifty years younger, or a different species (maybe goat) to navigate the route in that amount of time - and also, that I wouldn't stop every few minutes to take pictures as I went. I also misread the route a couple of times, where the map and the written directions ("Turn right in 20 meters") were at odds. All good! I have no deadline.

I walked along narrow streets, admiring the old architecture, the color contrasts between different buildings. Along this route, there were very few vistas - no overlooks - but that helped me stay focused on my footing and the immediate environment - you can't take anything for granted walking up- and downhill on the uneven footing of cobblestones, which was one hundred percent of the walk. I'm proud to say, I didn't trip once, nor walk into anyone or obstruct any other walker's progress.

There is no mistaking it when you get to the Alfama district. For one thing, there are trolley tracks. Then, trollies. The density of shops of all sizes increases, as does the density of people on the street.

The wider streets all seem to have outdoor cafes, frequently in the middle of the boulevard, seating some multiple of the people who would fit inside the usually small cafes or restaurants. I soon caught the general direction of my stroll and closed my map app.

The temperature is nineteen Celsius, about sixty-five degrees, the skies partly sunny, and in my t-shirt and woven hoodie, I feel very comfortable.

That's when I encounter my first street musicians. They're good - a familiar configuration of acoustic, electric guitars, keyboard and cajon, with a little PA, singing a big beat pop tune. After listening for a while, I step up, throw a Euro in the bucket and walk on, when I am stopped by someone pointing at me, laughing and smiling and extending a hand to shake. I smile back, not knowing what that was about, but, you know, friendly is as friendly does.

A little later, this scene repeats itself after watching a cello player accompanied by some kind of classical music-minus-one track. After listening a bit and making my donation (free music isn't free in my world), a half block later, someone points, smiles, extends a hand, pats me on the chest after our handshake. I still have no clue what's happening, but this time I take an inventory of everything I'm carrying to rule out being set up by pickpockets. What a world we live in.

But I haven't been ripped off. Now I feel a little guilty for suspecting friendliness for something less... genuine.

Looking down a street I'm crossing, I catch a glimpse of the river, and change my direction towards it. I am beginning to feel like I'm in an MC Escher engraving, where the path is mobius-like - you're walking up and down at the same time. At which point I stop for a beer and a break.

It's a tiny, white-tiled cafe. I sit, edit some of the pictures I've taken, catch up with my Facebook and Instagram notifications. I order some kind of savory pastry to go with the beer. I notice, once again, that it seems I'm the only non-Portuguese in the place. I reflect that my near-complete lack of Portuguese has not had any affect. I wonder that, so far on this trip, I have not met a single other American.

I've met a lot of Dutch. I don't know why that is, but there are a lot of Dutch people in Lisbon. I think of the irony that my non-stop flight to Lisbon was replaced unilaterally with a six-hour stopover in Amsterdam, and I didn't hear any American accents on that flight.

It's after four. I've been walking around for more than two hours. I've been up and down high-angle narrow stairs, in alleys so narrow I had to go back-to-wall to let someone pass in the opposite direction. I've seen a thousand cute shops. I've seen huge squares all Christmas'ed out and beautiful. It's the day before the Solstice, and it's getting towards sundown. Time to wind things up.

I open my map app to see where I am, and what the route back looks like, and see I am going by some more big boulevards and large squares on my way, and that the walk will take me three-quarters of an hour (Google time). Uh-oh, I think to myself: I am, right now, nearly down to sea-level - my walk will be up-hill most, if not all the way.

But, again, I'm in no hurry - I'm not hungry and I'm really enjoying myself, making mental notes about the sights, sounds and smells of this part of Lisbon.

I get a near-sunset picture of a Paul Bunyon-esque Santa Claus, found in my path, walk a few blocks past some department stores amazingly decorated for the season, and then, suddenly, it's dark out, and the temperature is dropping.

Which is fine, because I'm definitely involved in an uphill workout.

There are beautifully decorated streets and buildings, and it could be Christmas season anywhere - bustling shoppers look the same in every city.

Then my route goes off the big streets, and I'm walking through dimly-lit narrow streets, always uphill. I become aware of my knees. Very aware. I know, though, that the pain is the product of my downhill afternoon ramble, and the subsequent steep up-and-down stair climbs and descents that has aggravated old injuries. I have insulted my musculoskeletal system. Payback, as they say, is a bitch.

And the going is slow. Finally, after more than an hour of uphill walking, with only a few short moments level or downhill, I arrive at Rodas.  It's after seven pm. That sentence probably deserves an exclamation point, but I'm really, really tired at this point, and there isn't a punctuation mark for tired. I go inside, I'm warmly greeted by the waiter, waitress and grill-man (my designation - I suspect the roles in this place are completely interchangeable).

Dinner (a somewhat cream-of-spinach-like vegetable soup of the day, grilled salmon with broccoli and a mixed salad, chocolate pudding, water, house red wine, and an espresso) is delicious.

I get home after eight-thirty, mentally canceling all my evening semi-plans.

Next day, I wake up with a considerable amount of pain in my left knee. I cannot face even a short walk, knowing that there is no route out of my apartment that doesn't immediately entail going down and up some steep streets and stairways. I'm taking the day off.

It's a total rest day. I sleep on and off all day, doing a little computer-watching from bed. I spend Friday evening planning a trip to the Algarve, which is Portugal's beach playground vacation area. I get an airBnB for eight nights beginning the day after Christmas - it's a bargain, they must have had a cancellation, there's a big discount. I like that the host has named my quarters Quarto do Silêncio, that is, Silence Room.

I am going to Faro, Portugal. Specifically, the town of Montenegro. We'll see, we'll see - I've never heard of this specific part of Portugal before, and up until now Montenegro was a country in the Balkans, but it looks good. It has an airport (which, after checking the Winter holiday airfares becomes moot), seems to be a good-sized town with a lot of the same type of architecture of the buildings I've found so attractive in Lisbon, and things to do, as well as a beach (for which I'm unprepared, clothing-wise). I'm psyched.

It takes a while to determine the best way to get there, but since a bus and a train take about the same amount of time, and the bus is a third of the cost, I get bus tickets.

I spend the rest of the night - I still don't feel like going out - researching CBD oil for my knee(s). This will prove vexing, because all the leads I find are internet purchase for home delivery. No storefronts. Sigh.

Today, I continue my quest, and find a place that seems to have a storefront, is repping a name-brand of CBD oil, and has a Facebag page. I message them from there, and get a near-immediate reply. They can help! But... They've gone to Amsterdam for the holidays (WTF???) and have left their supplies with a friend so their customers are taken care. A bunch of WhatsApp group chat conversations later, and I'm meeting him at his apartment on the other side of town, after I eat 'breakfast'.

I Uber to the other side of town, seeing many new views along the way. He is a very pleasant man originally from South Africa, speaking excellent English. We chat for about fifteen minutes, I get the oil and pay him (discount!) and Uber on home. Along the way, the driver takes me along a mountaintop route, and I get some good pics.

Tonight will be more music playing at Jam Bar. I'll probably Uber both ways. Lisbon has officially gotten expensive. I'm grateful that it isn't lifestyle-changing expense, and that I'm still having an excellent time.

Food Comment

At Rodas, a nice salmon steak. Not shown: cream of spinach vegetable soup, chocolate pudding, red wine, and espresso.

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