1) Up on time, completely packed, and another sunny breakfast al fresco complete with gulls eager to crash the party. The staff take it in stride, standing like sentinels at momentarily vacant tables to protect the food.
My last dawn on the Algarve.
2) And . . . we’re off! Adeus, Portimao! My days with you restored my equilibrium.
3) I read and wrote most of the drive up to Lisbon, occasionally appreciating the scenery. I do remember driving by some transmission towers that featured very large bird’s nests. I didn’t see any birds, but those nests were large enough for storks.
4) And then Lisbon appeared over the horizon, complete with Christ the King. The excitement! My final week of this adventure was really beginning.
Isn't she fabulous?
5) My bed and breakfast was giving a combo of Emily and Cornelia’s Parisian pension in Our Hearts Were Young and Gay and my basement studio on Beacon Street back in the early 1990s. Friends had recommended it, it’s well situated, and I had insisted on it. As Phil Harris said in The High and the Mighty, “. . . the nice little hotel that fit our budget.”
5a) The casa is really the first floor (American second) of an old building that also contains a language school and who knows what else. The Parisian vibe comes from the cage elevator inside the old grand staircase and the timed light switch that turns out the light after five minutes — “Gallic efficiency.” My room has 14-foot ceilings with beautiful mouldings, pale green walls with celadon green panels, a crystal chandelier that could use some polishing, and two tall windows overlooking the active street and the botanical garden across the way. After a week at the beach, this is very urban.
6) Successfully unpacked, I stepped outside at a whisper before 1 PM, and there was Leonor, my guide for a food-tasting tour. We proceeded into the neighborhood over the distinctive Portuguese pavement of rough-cut black and white mosaic cubes.
7) It quickly became apparent that this week in Lisbon was going to take me out of my comfort zone over two deep-seated fears: being in the way, and crossing streets into oncoming traffic. Lisbon is an international capital city, but some of these sidewalks are so narrow they could be in Provincetown. As to traffic, Leonor told me right off that more people die getting run over in Lisbon than anywhere else — which was not exactly comforting — but pedestrians have the right of way (as long as they are in the crosswalk). It’s always my instinct to yield to the car since it’s big enough to kill me. But waiting on cars is rather not done, so I have some adjusting to do.
The improbable appearance of Joan Crawford.
8) Well, my goodness. Leonor knows her food, and she knows this area, and she just could not have been more delightful and engaging. First she brought me to a small place reasonably close to my hotel, Faz Frio, where we tried tempura green beans and pica-pau beef. Then it was off to a charming and tiny old-fashioned grocery store for sheep’s cheese and freshly grilled chorizo with bread. This little grocery had two features: a parakeet named Zé in a cage outside by the door, and photo of Joan Crawford (!) hung up behind the counter. Not autographed, just a photo. But how unexpected!
Zé!
8a) We saw a lot of other sights on our journey: scenic overlooks, old-fashioned trolley cars, and of course retail. And of course pastel de nata. Our final destination was restaurant called Corrupio where we enjoyed oysters and vinhos verdes, and I was made to have a delicious codfish fritter and — oh mercy, that ice cream dish was so good I don’t remember what it was called!
8b) Our return trip took a different route (which was good), and I saw and heard very much. By the time I returned to my hotel, I discovered that I had spent 90 minutes over and above our scheduled time together. We ended up sharing a lot, and I hope her guidance will turn out to be a good omen for my week here.
Freshly filled pastel de nata, ready for the oven.
9) Active listening in an active environment took a lot out of me, and I needed some quiet time before I could consider going back out. When I did, night had fallen and the energy of the city had changed to that of People Younger Than I. I covered a lot of the ground Leonor and I did, but from the opposite side of the street. People were spilling out of restaurants we had passed earlier, drinking wine at to-go windows on the sidewalk, at café tables, everywhere.
10) I just kept walking, uncertain about where to go. And then . . . there was a bookstore! A famous one, I guess, Livraria Bertrand. And they had books in English! And I needed a new book having just finished the last one yesterday! So what did I pick up? The Age of Disquiet by Portugal’s greatest poet, Fernando Pessoa. And it is already promising to be devastating.
11) One advantage of my evening ramble was finding where an Fnac was, as I need to replace my Apple smartphone charger. It’s the little things . . .
Outside Livraria Bertrand.
12) Long story short, I finally found a restaurant fairly near my hotel called Lost In — and that felt appropriate on this night. The place has a commanding view of the city, and they gave me the farthest corner table in the place, which was perfect. I ordered a smoky negroni and the duck, which turned out to be very thin slices of duck draped over a mound of rice and other savory things. I was then talked into a chocolate tart with red berries. Again, my equilibrium was restored.