#2203 (Lisbon): Friday, December 14: On the ground in Lisboa

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Post 2203
- 7 years and 348 days since I started this blog -

  

Journal
(written 12/15/18)

Read this once (it won't change for the rest of the trip(s): I'll be linking this post to its associated photo album on 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.

The trip from Liverpool, NY, USA to Lisbon, Portugal was the most exhausting trip I've ever taken. While the flight time was half that of my trip to Chiang Mai, Thailand eleven months ago, the actual travel time was only a couple of hours less, and far less comfortable. I am unhappy with United Airlines, who re-programmed my non-stop flight from Newark to Lisbon to a stop-over in Amsterdam, three hours further away, with a five-hour layover, and then the most uncomfortable flight (tight, non-reclining seats, no entertainment options) ever.

My first view of Lisbon, from the plane as we landed.

There was some confusion when I finally got off my Amsterdam-Lisbon flight, because I walked from the gate straight out to the airport exit without going through customs/immigration. After being guided to a local official, I found out that the ten-second stop I made through customs in Amsterdam ("What is your destination?" (Lisbon) "Are you traveling on business?" (No) Passport stamped) was all I needed, because, you know, it's all the European Union. Oh, the civilization of the EU.>

My host had given me simple directions to take public transportation - the Metro, Lisbon's subway system - which was closer to the airport exit than any of my arrival gates were to my departure gates this trip - and I stepped right onto a train that reminded me of the subway trains of my youth in New York City, except brighter and cleaner. One transfer and twenty-five minutes later, I set foot in Lisbon for the first time, only to be unable to find any street signs to tell me which was the one that led to my AirBnB.

So I asked the first person near me where the street was was. It turns out, given a binary choice which corner to walk to from the Metro station, I guessed wrong and had gone a block out of my way. The stranger politely pointed back from the direction I'd come. When I got to that corner, there were again no street signs, and a confluence of three streets as well, so I asked a cop, who smiled and pointing, said, in English, "You're on it now." I proceed up the steep hill, backpack-laden, cobblestones underfoot. Lisbon is as hilly as San Francisco, apparently.

It is a two-block walk, uphill all the way. I arrive, sweaty, at the address, and call my host (WhatsApp). A minute later, Maria appears smiling at the building's outer door to let me in. We take a ride in the smallest elevator I've ever been in to the 3rd floor, and she leads me to my room, through a kitchenette, showing me all the locks I have to open along the way, as she gives me a handful of keys. It turns out, when I come home at night, I will have to use five keys and a five-digit keycode to get from the street-front to my bed. I've never felt more secure.

The room-with-private-bath I expected turns out to be a little apartment with a balcony, possibly, at some point, butler's or maid's quarters. The unnecessary TV is tiny, the WiFi is great, the furnishings tasteful. I'm good, but still very tired.

I ask to be excused, so I can take a nap. In my home time zone it is 11:15am (4:15pm Lisbon time). I left for the Syracuse airport almost twenty-four hours ago. I undress, get into bed and fall asleep immediately. I wake up eight hours later, still a bit tired. I unpack, set up my computer and phone for the WiFi, make a few calls to let people know I'm safe, and start doing some research on my specific location and it's relative distance from restaurants, although I'm not at all hungry. I do tend to let my appetite lead me in exploring new places.

Then I go back to sleep.

I wake up and take a shower in the spa-like bathtub. The bathroom is very pretty, tiled and everything convenient.

I do some more computer stuff (I spend a lot of time on my computer, always), make some more calls to friends back home. It is 6pm by the time I'm ready to set out. On Maria's recommendation, I try a neighborhood place, a ten-minute walk away.

But first, some more calls, some Facebook time replying to posts, and then, I'm out.

I use google maps for walking directions. This time, I am directed down some very steep steps, and my walk to the restaurant has very little level ground. It is around 8pm. I fall in behind a young woman walking alone. I'm not stalking, but we're walking in the same direction, and she is walking at a comfortable pace, so I follow her for a few minutes. It occurs to me that it has been a while since I've encountered a woman walking alone in the city at night. She makes a left, I make a right. I'm on the phone, wanting to show my friend Jerry what this area looks like - it is old, worn, lived in and very beautiful to me. I walk past my last turn, end the call and I'm at the restaurant in a minute.

This is what Charrusqueira da Paz looks like from the outside.

Charrusqueira da Paz, which I think translates to Barbecue of Peace, is a hole in the wall that comes highly recommended. I am seated almost immediately at one of the half-dozen tables. Looking around, I feel right at home, the clientele is eclectic, casual, and fairly hip-looking (but what do I know). I have fish in mind, but I see that there are no filets on the menu, and I'm not down about getting precisely surgical with my food, so I opt for a mixed grill of pork, fatback, and sausage.

I order bread and butter (not complementary, but worth a Euro), decline the olives, get a jar of the house red and a bottle of water. I've already resigned myself after looking at neighbor's plates, that fries are on the way. I never order fries with anything, typically. No big deal.

The food comes quickly. The waiter, in good English, suggests I rub the lemon on the pork to bring out the flavor of the rub. I do on one piece, then compare with the other. I should never doubt the man bringing my food. It is very flavorful, and the home-made sausage, which looks very hot dog-like, is also a nice rush of flavor, with some good spicing.

The house wine is great - maybe the star of the whole meal. By the time I've finished what appears to be a little less than a litre, I'm pretty high. Another diner takes the last chocolate mousse in the case, so I finish with an espresso, and start my walk (uphill, all the way, this time).

Google sends me on a different path back than the way I came. After a few blocks, I turn and am facing a very large and official-looking building, beautifully lit in warm, orange-y tones and contrasting blue inner lights. I take a photo. I'm semi-drunk, not tipsy.

Further up the block, I pass a couple kissing. Makes me smile. I walk into a convenience store and buy a big bottle of water. I drink a lot of water. The tap water is potable, but the big bottle will be convenient in the bedroom. When I get, somehow, back to the steep steps I came down earlier, there are four teenage (twenty-something? I can no longer reliably tell) boys singing good harmony. I don't recognize the song, but the harmony is tight. I listen for a minute until they finish, looking somewhat embarrassed at this accidental audience. I compliment them, one thanks me in English. It's time to climb the stairs.

That is a workout. When I have negotiated my way back to my room (remember the five keys and the key-lock? It's harder when you're drunk) I get a call, do some writing, do some facebooking and suddenly, it's 4am.

I have found Lisbon very charming my first night. I'm grateful for the day. I sleep another solid eight hours (something I never do). It's 12:15pm on a Saturday in Lisbon, and I'm grateful, and I'm writing this, on and off, for the next four-and-a-half hours.

Food Comment

This is the mixed grill, etc.

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