I'm not going to describe our day-by-day activities in Lisbon. To do so would take more than a week, and perhaps you've read all of my posts about DW's and my trip to Portugal, and you're ready for me to move on.
I get that.
I'll probably have a couple more posts but then I'll turn to other topics. For now, the trip is still fresh in my mind and I'd still like to share it, if that's okay with you. We spent eight nights in the capital city but only the highlights are worth mentioning, so I'll start that, next week.
Okay?
I awoke on our first Saturday morning, just a few minutes before 5. For so many days on this vacation, my body wanted me awake before the sun, before my scheduled alarm sounded. Even on mornings when I didn't feel like getting up early, to photograph sunrise, I would still open my eyes around 5:00 in the morning.
Perhaps my body was still on Ottawa time. I'm usually still awake at midnight and perhaps my body was still five hours behind? It made sense, in a way. I was often tired in the morning, when I would usually be asleep, back home.
Regardless, I lay in bed, awake, until my alarm sounded, at 6:30, when I gently nudged DW. "Are you coming with me?" I whispered.
"Yes," she muttered.
There are several scenic lookout points in Lisbon, with its many hills. And the closest of these miradouros was less than 10 minutes, on foot, from our Bairro Alto apartment. Miradouro de São Pedro de Alcântara looked eastward, across Chiado and Alfama, toward the 11th-century Moorish castle, Castelo de São Jorge.
And I wanted to capture sunrise. Again.
It was cool enough to want to wear a sweater or jacket: DW donned the former; I, the latter. With my Nikon D750, tripod, and remote shutter release in tow, we walked the darkened streets. The pedestrian streets were awash in the litter of last night's revelry. Plastic cups were strewn in great quantities, as though there had been some festival. A few street cleaners were already at work, sweeping up the refuse, unconcerned about any noise they were making.
Bairro Alto is not a quiet neighbourhood at any hour.
We seemed to have the lookout area mostly to ourselves. One young couple, plastic cups still in their hands, were embracing under a street lamp. Some workers were tearing down temporary kiosks, set up, it seems, for the evening's partygoers. I was able to set up my tripod and camera with a good view of the castle and even a glimpse of the Tagus River.
DW and I discussed our coming day as I intermittently pressed the remote shutter release and adjusted my exposure, as the light changed. We were in for a long, busy day.
We only had one activity that had been planned in advance. We were going to join a free walking tour. When we had first registered, online, from home, we weren't sure about where the meeting spot was. But last night, as we were catching up on e-mail and social media, I had checked my confirmation message. The starting point for Lisbon Chill Out Free Tours was at Praça Luís de Camões, a small square that was about a two-minute walk from our apartment.
How's that for coincidence?
We'd have plenty of time to shoot sunrise, get back to the apartment, shower, eat, and relax before we'd have to walk to this praça. I also learned, in checking Google Maps, was that there was a Manteigaria shop next to the plaza: I could grab a pastel de nata, or two, and a coffee, and eat it in the square before the start of the tour.
When we returned to our apartment, it wasn't even 8:00 and I was feeling tired again (in Ottawa, it was 3 am), so I went back to bed for another hour. It actually made all the difference. DW had eaten some of her breakfast cereal and yogurt, and even made herself some coffee, and was pulling our dried laundry from the clothes lines that ran outside the kitchen window. Across from her and one floor lower, one of the locals was doing the same. I could hear Lori call out "bom dia" (good day) as I got out of bed and made my way to the shower.
The tour started at 10:00 and was led by the organization's founder, Joseph, "or Jose, or Joe, however you want to remember me." Joseph used to be a school teacher until there were massive cuts to education in Portugal, and he had to provide for his wife and kids. He said that he loved working with people in sharing the history and his interpretation of his city, and it showed in his tour.
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| Praça Luís de Camões. |
Born and raised in Bairro Alto, Joseph started us through his childhood neighbourhood and led us through Chiado, Baixa, Alfama, and up near the castle. He talked about the 1755 earthquake that devastated 80 percent of Lisbon and killed about 60 percent of the population. He talked about the Carnation Revolution of the 1970s (he wasn't born until after but his father was at the protest in front of the National Guard Headquarters).
He told us about the people and the different neighbourhoods, and we met some of his friends, outside their homes in the Alfama neighbourhood, which survived the earthquake, fires, and tsunami of November 1, 1755. He even taught us some Portuguese: "Alfama é lindo!" (Alfama is beautiful!)
The tour ended at Miradouro da Graça, just north of Alfama and the castle.
We wandered a bit of the neighbouring Igreja Paroquial da Graça church before we went in search of lunch. Three hours of walking and climbing had made us hungry.
At this hour, restaurants were in full swing (though As Bifanas do Afonso, our first choice, was closed), so after a couple of times of being told that our wait would be more than an hour, we stumbled upon Floresta das Escadinhas, which I had seen a few times while watching YouTube videos, and we learned that we'd only have a half-hour wait, we put our names in for a table.
This restaurant, between the Alfama and Baixa neighbourhoods, is famous for its grilled sardines and octopus. I had already tried both but wanted to go for the sardines again, as that seemed to be its signature dish.
"We just sold out," our server said.
"Really?" I said, disappointed. "Okay, I'll go for your octopus."
"I just put in the last order." She pointed to a table that had been seated after us. I shouldn't have hesitated when she first came round and we only ordered drinks.
"What do you recommend?" asked DW.
"Our special today is Portuguese sausage with fries, rice, and salad."
That's what we went for. Big mistake.
Folks, when you go to a restaurant that specializes in seafood, don't go for a sausage. It tasted more like oatmeal than meat and had a funky flavour to it. DW only took one bite of the sausage before giving up but I ate the whole thing because I felt I shouldn't waste it.
I didn't enjoy it.
We didn't linger, but wanted to treat our tastebuds, so we walked to A Brasileira do Chiado, a famous coffee shop near the Baixa-Chiado metro station. It's been around since 1905 and still has that bygone-era feel to it. Though we peeked inside, we sat on the patio and did some people watching as we sipped our lattes and ate our snacks (yes, I did have more pastels de nata).
We wandered the neighbourhood, did a bit of window shopping, and picked up a nice Douro red table wine, which we dropped off at our apartment before heading down to the river, for sunset.
As if we hadn't walked enough through the day (by the time we went to bed, we had covered nearly 16 kms and more than 20,000 steps), we walked down Rua do Alecrim to Jardim de Roque Gameiro, and down to the waterfront to view the fading light. There were so many people who were doing the same, taking in sunset and watching boats on the river.
Wooden kiosks were assembled along the pathway that followed the shore, and DW and I stopped at one, to pick up cocktails, and another, to pick up a bifana—a simple pork sandwich, which we were looking for at the closed A Bifanas do Afonso. We saw the price of €4.50, and below it read Special, with egg, bacon, crispy onions, and cheese, but when we went to pay for our sandwiches, they came to almost twice that amount.
Apparently, the special price was for a plain bifana, without the extras. DW sort of lost it and told the cashier that she was ripping us off. I tried to calm her down, telling her that we must have misread the sign, but in truth, it was misleading. It was a lot for this sandwich but I have to admit, it was really delicious. DW couldn't finish hers, she was so upset and lost her appetite, so I helped her.
Live music played in Jardim de Roque Gameiro, so after eating we wandered there, with another cocktail, to liven DW's spirits. It worked.
Eventually, we made our way back to our neighbourhood, where we saw a long line outside the Fado bar that was next to our apartment. We decided that we weren't tired and that we should end our Saturday night at this venue.
Tasca do Chico takes reservations for dinner and a show (our host, Carla, told us to skip the dinner) but also has no cover charge if you just want to come in for a drink and listen to music. You just have to wait in a queue until some space opens up. The line was long but moved fairly quickly.
We were admitted between sets. There still were no seats available but we were allowed to stand at the bar and we were told that we would be notified as soon as a table became available. But we'd be sharing a table with other patrons. We ordered glasses of wine and stood between the bar and the space where performers would sing.
We stood for one set and then were seated at a table, across from a young German couple and next to a Portuguese woman who spoke no English but, through Google translate, learned that she was a Fado groupie who was a regular at Tasca do Chico. She shared opinions on the various singers and musicians: who was new, who was good, and who was excellent.
Between sets, we chatted with one of the singers (the first lady in the video, above: when you see her smile, she's smiling at me because she hadn't realized we were sitting so close—we had been standing when we were chatting), who was alternating venues and would come and go. She had such a lovely voice and such a presence. It was a real treat to be in the bar that night.
As the clock approached midnight, we bid our new friends a good night and made our way to our apartment. The lineup outside Tasca do Chico was even longer than when we were there, as the bar would be open until 3 am.
Indeed, the nightlife below our apartment went on until dawn. I awoke before 6 and could still hear folks revelling on the corner.
Such is the life in Bairro Alto.
