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Post 2203
- 7 years and 348 days since I started this blog -
(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.
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| My first view of Lisbon, from the plane as we landed. |
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.
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.
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| This is what Charrusqueira da Paz looks like from the outside. |
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.
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.
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
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| This is the mixed grill, etc. |
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Thank you!
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