1) The wheels of my new suitcase glide like silk over the roughest sidewalks. And it fit everything so well I didn’t need to take an additional carryon. So with that and a heavily burdened laptop bag, I easily propelled my luggage and myself to the MBTA to launch three weeks in Portugal.
2) Sartre famously said “Hell is other people.” Mother, less famously, said (and said and said) “This is an opportunity to practice patience.” And my departure provided a few opportunities for the latter provided by the former. (That said, why travel if you can’t deal with other people? Just stay home.) The one instance I’ll share is the delay at the metal detectors caused by the sweet old couple directly in front of me. Their difficulties reminded me of some training we got in aging-related issues back at ye Instytte around 2017-2019. We had to wear headphones broadcasting static and dark glasses, and then get timed on completing a series of tasks, the instructions for which were all given verbally. Or something like that. And whaddya know, all that distraction impacts the outcome.
2a) The power of one screaming child to influence an entire restaurant can never be underestimated.
3) It seems a whole lot of people on the flight got downgraded to a lower level of service, including me. I was actually OK with that — though that seat did feel a little narrow. Imagine my surprise getting a refund via email! Now that is actually a pretty nice way to start the trip.
4) I rested rather than slept on this night flight. Toward the end I noticed that the man next to me had the Kirstie Alley remake of The Parent Trap on . . . a curious choice.
5) One of the attendants complimented me on my clothes as I was exiting the plane: navy blue blazer, gray polo shirt, khakis, burgundy leather belt and shoes. Dressing well is the best revenge.
6) Passport control offered two choices: “All Passports” and “Electronic Passports.” Long story short, I chose the former, which was a lot longer — and apparently I could have used the other, but there was no one to ask. That zigzag queue did feel like it would take forever, but it was a handy study of just who’s traveling now. And that’s just about everybody. A melting pot of languages.
From the hotel terrace.
7) The advantage of the “All Passports” line, long as it was, was the handsome smiling young customs official who welcomed me to Portugal. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that “Et le douannier, c’est notre affaire!” didn’t pass through my mind. “Il aime à plaire, it aime à faire le galant . . . “
8) After finding my bag at the extreme end of baggage claim — clearly they’d had time to gather the fall harvest while I was in the passport line — I was then able to Leave the Secure Area and find the Nice Man with the Car who was going to get me to the hotel. At the exit I found myself on a landing in the large terminal. At the height of about my calves, leaning against the edge, were the usual signs with traveler and agency names. For a change, mine was one of the names. And the Nice Man with the cars was very nice, well-dressed and well-spoken, and he allowed me to sit in the front so I could have more of a view of Lisbon than the roof of the car.
9) Really, I expected a superhighway, but instead we were practically taking back roads past old Manueline barrack-style buildings in various states of spruceness or decay — and graffity ornamenting them both. The airport is that close to the city.
The Sé of Lisbon.
10) In a twinkling we were driving past the Sé, the cathedral of Lisbon, up the traditional narrow winding street to a narrow winding alley that ended . . . at my hotel! It is quite charming and modern on the inside, and I even have a small seating area outside facing the river beyond the hotel terrace.
11) I figured I’d better get started right away before the jet lag slammed me, so I changed and headed to the Sé. This enormous pile reminded me very much of the Escorial outside Madrid — unforgiving and austere granite with elements of colorful beauty.
On the Sé balcony.
11a) First one goes upstairs to the church treasury. The stairs turn off to an extremely narrow balcony outside underneath the cathedral’s rose window. There’s a lovely view, and it’s really pictureseque and stuff — but the only way out is the way you came in, and when other tourists come in, there’s nothing for it but to squeeze past them.
From a window in the chapter room.
11b) Photographs did not appear to be allowed in the treasury, which contained the usual collection of gold-embroidered vestments and other precious oddments. I recall a beautiful ceramic head, a reliquary of St. Ursula. But the true showpiece is the Patriarchal Gold Monstrance, also known as the Rich Monstrance, all gold and diamonds and other precious stones, clearly the masterwork of its creators.
11c) The adjacent chapter room, exquisite in every detail, included two tall windows with balcony grilles overlooking the sunny river view. The sumptuous creation of man overlooking the simplicity of Nature.
Saint Sebastian.
11d) In the cathedral itself, what impressed me most was the little chapel of St. Sebastian.
12) Fading, I returned to the hotel and crept into bed for a couple hours necessary sleep. I was roused less than three hours later by a knock on the door. “Not right now!” I called sleepily. “It’s a gift!” came back the feminine voice. “Just a minute!” I answered, sliding naked from the bed to find something to put on. The robe I grabbed hastily in the bathroom a) was so small I had no choice but to hold it closed, and b) the stupid belt just fell on the floor . . . and I had to answer the door!
12a) The nice young lady was there to offer me a slate plaque with three exquisite chocolates on it and a nice note from the management. We had some confusion about holding the door open and my robe closed, and then she explained that the Do Not Disturb sign was actually part of the doorknob. Her English was better than my Portuguese at least . . .
13) The real gift of her untimely visit, however, was to motivate me to start my evening. I redressed and stepped onto the hotel terrace, taking a seat at a long wide marble counter facing the river, a glass of sparkling Portuguese rosé, and two small chicken croquetas. The idea of reading became impossible.
An attempt at a panoramic photo from one of the overlooks.
14) For the views, I ascended the hill and discovered two beautiful overlooks, each heavily populated with young people, tourists, bougainvillea, and of course azulejos, the famous decorative tile of Portugal. At one there was some gentle live music going on, a violin and a guitar.
14a) Also here, a beautiful tile panel mentioned in the guidebooks of the conquest of Lisbon in 1147. It’s set into a wall in this little park, with a window over it. I kept wondering whose window that was, and how they liked being over a major tourist attraction with guides interpreting it in every language every day at every hour.
15) For dinner I chose a wine place recommended in a pamphlet published by the hotel. Just bear right at the Sé and continue for two blocks. There I sampled a couple lovely light Portuguese wines, but their menu was a) really more tapas, and b) just . . . whaaaaat is this? Tomato water? Leaves? Like Mrs. Maisel’s unworldly mother-in-law, I need food I can understand.
The wine started to go to my head.
15a) So after the admittedly wonderful tapas-size bearded forkfish or something, I found an unpretentious little bar just behind the Sé where I had a hefty pasta carbonara.
16) And so to bed. I tried writing outside in my little seating area, but even the magically beautiful full moon over the water couldn’t keep me awake. I retired grateful for safe travels and for this little jewel of an oasis in the Alfama of Lisbon, a nice spot to ease myself into this vacation.
