Since I gave Mike a time limit this year, he had to keep us a little closer to home, and that was fine by me, 'cause I finally got to go to Lisbon. A city which everyone seems to love, and now I know why: it's gorgeous, packed with interesting things to see, and overflowing with tremendous food. Yes, please. We dropped our stuff at our lovely hotel in the upper city, then headed straight into the shopping district around Rossio square.
Past the ruins of the Carmo convent...
...to the Santa Justa lift, which connects the Bairro Alto ("high city") with the lower city. This thing is 45m (147 feet) tall, and was finished in 1902 with no shortage of Neo-Gothic flourishes. The best thing about the lift, however, is the viewing platform at the top...
...which affords one views like this.
And this.
Ok, so this may sound like a weird thing to comment on, but the sidewalks and public squares of Lisbon contain the most spectacular paving designs. As it turns out, this style of paving is officially called "Portuguese Pavement," and its origins lie in the Romans' use of stone in both street pavement and mosaic. The form reached its zenith in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, which is why so much of it exists in the modern city. It's incredibly extensive--we saw it basically everywhere we went in the city!--and extraordinarily varied in pattern, and I loved it.*
I mean look. (There were also these awesome sailing-ship designs, but somehow I managed not to get a usable photo of any of them. Next time.)
The stunning Rossio train station, built in the Manueline style, which I just learned about tonight. Also known as Portuguese late Gothic, it originally appeared in the early 16th century, and featured Spanish, Italian, and Mudejar influences, as well as--very interestingly--maritime motifs inspired by the journeys of the Portuguese navigators. Most of the original Manueline constructions in Lisbon were lost during the major earthquake of 1755, but the style experienced a resurgence in the 19th and 20th centuries, which explains why so much of it remains.
Another thing I didn't know about Lisbon: it has a large and rather bustling theater district. This is the Coliseum, outside of which about a million people and their kids were waiting for the circus to begin. (We didn't think they'd all fit, but apparently, this thing is bigger than it looks.)
Ohhhhh, fried things. Everywhere, everywhere, these little snack-bar-style cafes with fried things in the windows. (Due to all the other, planned eatin' we did, we managed not to stop at one of these, but I will return to Lisbon someday, and then it's going to happen.)
As we were wandering around, pre-dinner, we couldn't help but notice that the city's Christmas lights were up, but that they weren't on. Lo and behold, however, at 6 PM, they all switched on. (I love Christmas lights. It's like fairy magic, I tell you, and I wish everyone'd leave them on until about March. We could use more fairy magic in the world, and especially in Switzerland in January. Ugh.) Here, the Teatro Nacional D. Maria II, all decked out in its Christmas finery. Sigh.
The Santa Justa lift from below. This thing is impressive.
Eeeeeeeee, more lights!!
Ooooh, and another thing about Lisbon: it's got lots and lots of buildings covered in these tiles called azulejos. The patterns and colors, from what I can tell, are infinite, and they are gorgeous. (You'll see more of these. I couldn't get enough of them.)
Saw these weird instruments in a music shop next to our hotel, and figured out at dinner that they're Portuguese guitars. These bad boys have 12 strings and sound kinda mandolin-like.
On the way to dinner, passed this lovely scene. (FYI, my crap phone died as soon as we arrived in Lisbon, so all of the phone photos in this post are from Mike's phone, which takes photos far, far superior to those from my [now dead] phone. You're welcome.)
Dinner on our first night was at the fabulous Casa de Linhares, a restaurant where they feed you and perform fado, this wonderful genre of music specific to Lisbon. Fado, like the puppets of Catania and the techno music of Zürich (ugh, really? yes, really.) is included on UNESCO's list of Intangible Cultural Heritage, and I can't really classify the sound of the music except to say that it's pretty (mournful at times, fun and upbeat at others), and, here, featured a classical guitar, a Portuguese guitar, and four singers; it takes some major training to sing (lots of changes in both volume and tempo, and some serious sustained notes); and I very much enjoyed it. As I did the food here. I think we may have been the only fools in the place to order the rather lengthy tasting menu, which was great, but just a lot of food. (Bread with butter and olive, sardine, and tomato-garlic spreads; a small cheese-and-ham board; smoked mackerel with apples and vinegar; tuna tartare; fritters of alheira sausage; a wee cod fritter with tomato rice and smoked cod; a small steak sandwich on the best bread, with jus; and for dessert, this lemon-custard-creme thing with lemon gelato. And, of course, there were far more details to this food that I would have recorded, had I a phone, but Mike got a little tired of my constant asking to borrow his, and it was more fun just to eat and listen to the music, so there you have it.)
Also, Casa de Linhares is in a coooool building from the 16th century, this part of which survived the 1755 earthquake. Amazing.
The next morning, we trekked southward towards the banks of the Targus river, down this street full of lamps with ships on them...
...and eventually made our way to the Torre de Belem, another surviving Manueline wonder. In its current incarnation, the bones of this thing date to about 1580. Over the years, it was used as a fortress; a barracks; a customs house; and a dungeon.
Nowadays it's just a giant tourist draw, but it is rather spectacular.
Plus, the view from the Torre de Belem lets one take in the mighty Targus, along with Lisbon's version of the Golden Gate Bridge (actually constructed in 1966 by the same guys that did the Oakland Bay bridge, but not the Golden Gate) and of Rio's "Christ the Redeemer" statue. It's an intriguing vista, to say the least.
And! Just down the river is the absolutely massive "Monument to the Discoveries," built in the 1960s to commemorate the accomplishments of Portugal's seafaring explorers. (Statues on this thing include Henry the Navigator, Vasco da Gama, Pedro Cabral, Ferdinand Magellan, and Bartholomew Diaz. Among others. You can tell how big this thing is by the size of the people at the top...!)
Our next stop, back in Lisbon proper, was the castle of St. George. In the 11th century AD, Moorish invaders built a rather impressive castle here, on a hilltop site fortified by local peoples since the second century BC. In succeeding years, various additional structures were added and subtracted, including a large and lavish medieval royal palace; the national archives; military barracks; a prison; a school for the education of the poor; and an observatory. In the first half of the 20th century, restoration work to return the castle to its (relatively) earliest glory began, and the result is a site featuring the Moorish castle (above); the ruins of the royal palace; an archaeological site and museum containing finds from the the 7th century BC through the 18th AD; varying circles (and ages) of walls; and excellent views from the castle towers and said walls.
Like, say, this.
And this.
Aww, and then there was also this little lion statue, which we'll definitely be adding to the "Faces are hard!" collection.
After a bit of a walk downhill, past heaps and heaps of gorgeous tiled walls and buildings...
Ooooh, a tile mural of the city!!
...we stopped for a little lunch at a cafe surprisingly good for being right on the tourist path: Canto da Vila, where we shared, among other things, some killer prawns with garlic/chile/lemon/whiskey and a basket of the bread dreams are made of. (Srsly, the Portuguese make THE BEST BREAD EVER, end of story.) Then, it was on to--surprise!--the cathedral. I'd read in several places that it wasn't the most interesting place to visit, but boy, was that wrong.
First off, this place is big, people. Originally built in 1147, it's been expanded and rebuilt over the centuries (mostly in the wake of earthquake damage), but, thankfully, retains some of its original Romanesque construction and slightly later Gothic additions (as well as a few baroque and neoclassical elements, most of which were stripped away in the 20th century).
Obligatory nave shot**, but this time with a twist: it's taken from the balcony in front of that rose window visible from the main entrance. This balcony is only accessible if you spring for a (ridiculously affordable) visit to the treasury, which is small, but totally worth it if you're into jewels and old stuff. (My favorites: the old Chapter Room, with its beautiful original 18th-century tiles and frescoed upper walls and ceiling, as well as a bishop's throne [designed to be carried like a litter, on the shoulders!] and accompanying feathered fans, like you see in old-timey movies about emperors; a massive, ornate, solid-silver coffer weighing over 100 kilos and still paraded about on Easter weekend (!); a couple of jewel-encrusted bishops' miters, one done all in shades of green; and this 18th-century monstrance made of solid gold and over 4,100 rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and diamonds. Wowwwwww.)
This is the closest I've ever been to a monumental rose window. This one's a reproduction of the original Romanesque window, which was more-or-less destroyed (sigh) in that same 1755 earthquake. (It's the equivalent of Sicily's 1693 earthquake--terribly destructive, and kinda the reference point for modern history. That is to say, when talking about the city's history, most events are referenced in the context of the time before, or the time since, the earthquake.)
Also worth paying the pittance of an entrance fee: a visit to the Gothic cloisters. Fascinating.
And full of interesting, and/or weird, stuff. Like, say this intricate column base with what appear to be dragon-dogs on it...
...some late medieval/early Renaissance tombs...
...and, oh yeah, this giant archaeological dig in the middle of it. They've found structures and artifacts here dating from the 8th century BC through the 14th century AD, when the cloisters were built. (In this shot you can see portions of Islamic houses from before the 12th century, as well as Roman walls and streets.)***
After a brief respite at our hotel, we headed out for dinner at Cervejaria Romero, where we waited 45 minutes in the freezing cold to get in (I hate no-reservations places, and avoid them whenever possible, but Mike insisted)...and I actually will say, for once, that it was probably worth the wait. (Although next time I'd go much, much earlier.) The menu is simple: local seafood, just. No sauces or cheeses or even seasonings besides salt and pepper, and it was killer. First came a basket of more of that heavenly bread, lightly toasted and with salted butter (when I bother to comment on the bread, you know it's good), and then we went with some steamed clams; cold (but cooked) prawns; and our very own ginormous rock lobster. (And, of course, plenty of vinho verde. Every single one we tried on the entire trip was fantastic.)
Best. Prawns. Of my life.
Art Nouveau in tile. I can't even.
...on our way to our next stop at O Pacheco, a tiny, family-run bar that offers a few simple plates each day. Upon our arrival, every single person in there (i.e., the owners and a few day-drinking old men) greeted our guide very warmly, and one lovely gent even bought us some wine. We then sampled some incredible fish stew, fried pork fat on bread, olives, and homemade potato chips--the last three of which were not on our planned food itinerary, or so Joao told us; apparently, our host is rather infamous for feeding tour-goers way more than planned. (Which can be dangerous on a day such as this; one must pace oneself, but there was no resisting either that food or that gracious hospitality.)
Amazing fish stew with potatoes and peppers (...and a shot of ginjinha, a traditional liqueur made from sour cherries).
Outside, more gorgeous tile.
Next stop, Europa restaurant, which was larger and more upscale than O Pacheco, but with no less hospitality or amazing food. There, we tried out some cold cod salad with onions, chickpeas, olive oil, and vinegar; octopus salad with onions and oil; and a plate of mixed sausages (one made with flour, one chorizo, and one blood sausage--all smoked).
These don't belong to anywhere in particular; I'd just like to point out these cobalt-colored tiles. Pretty.
Then, a quick stop in the Livraria Ler, a bookstore whose original proprietor was known for stocking books banned under the authoritarian, quasi-fascist regime of Antonio de Oliveira Salazar and the Estado Novo, who were in power in Portugal from 1933 through 1974. The owner even had co-conspirators at the train station to help him smuggle the books into the city, and a fake wall for hiding the books once they'd arrived at the shop. The current owners--the son and daughter-in-law of the original owner--have other jobs, and open the bookstore only on weekends as a hobby, for them, but it's a labor of love, as they are totally dedicated to preserving the shop's history.
After the bookstore, we headed to Xurrex to try out some excellent spit-grilled chicken (an import from the one-time Dutch colony of Angola) with homemade piri-piri sauce (SO good, I wanted to steal their entire stash), and then it was on to a very, very unique place:
The People's Bakery Cooperative Society, which opened as a bakery in 1904, at the suggestion of the king, in order to provide bread to the poor. It now functions as sort of a community center and restaurant/bar.
When we walked in, there was, as Joao described, a "senior citizens' disco" in full effect on the ground floor. There were two older gentlemen playing live music on stage, and Mike immediately got pulled onto the dance floor by yet another friendly person who seemed to know our guide. (I get the impression Joao knows everyone in that neighborhood.) I managed to huddle in a corner and not be forced to dance, but Mike was a good sport and went for it. (Note original oven in background; this was a bakery at one point, after all.)
Up an entirely unmarked back staircase, one finds the bar and restaurant, which has not only a charmingly old-school interior, but an excellent outdoor terrace which I can only imagine is just lovely in the summertime. (In winter, it's a bit frosty.) Here, we tried out some samosa-like goodies, locally-grown rice, and some amazing pork vindalho--the predecessor to the famous vindaloo from Goa. (Goa was a Portuguese province from 1510 through 1961. The Portuguese took this dish to India, where the locals added their own spices and flavors to it, and voila, vindaloo.)
Our next stop was at Giallo, a family-run, artisanal gelato shop, for a pre-dessert; Mike tried out the Sicilian pistachio (yummmmm), and I went for the ginjinha and chocolate. (What?? I'm a huge, huge fan of sour cherries, which aren't something we get in Switzerland.)
And then, the actual dessert: pastels de nata at Aloma, a pastry shop which had, apparently, just that day, reopened. (After what, I don't know, but we were informed that we were very lucky). I get why these things are sold everywhere; when done correctly, they are magnificent. Creamy and custardy and sweet on the inside (mostly egg yolk, of course), and that pastry crust is, at the same time, substantially crunchy and buttery and flaky. They're downright magical, really.
Our final stop was at the really excellent Mercado de Campo Ourique, a historic market revitalized as part market, part upscale food court. (Joao shrugged off this concept as something entirely normal, as though every place has one of these. Apparently, he's never seen the covered-market- and foodcourt-free wasteland that is Zürich. Sigh.) We ended our epic day of food with some soft Portuguese cheese and a little more of that magical bread, parted fondly with Joao, and traipsed back to our hotel, swearing never to eat again. (Well, I was, but that's what I always do.) All in all, it was a marvelous tour with a tremendously fun, enthusiastic, and knowledgeable guide, and if you ever find yourself in Lisbon with a day to burn, I can't recommend it highly enough. (Mmmmmmm, food tours...!)
And with that, we concluded our time in Lisbon proper. Next stop: Sintra. Magical, magical Sintra.
*Sadly, as with so many beautiful-yet-unnecessary things like this (e.g., frescoing), it is both expensive and time-consuming--and requires skilled artisans and lots of hard work--to install pavement like this. Rightfully so, the craftspeople and stonecutters who work on these designs are tremendously proud of their work, but of course, it's in danger of becoming a lost art. Totally understandable, yes, but an absolute shame. (I did a lot of reading about this, since I was totally taken with the sidewalks and wanted to figure out why they existed, and in such quantity. It's pretty interesting in terms of both the history and the process; if you're into reading about that sort of thing, the best English-language resource I found is here. [Scroll to p. 141 for the English part. The interesting part is short, I promise.])
**Um...does my propensity for this sort of photo make me a nave gazer?? Just checking...
***Fascinating historical notes: Lisbon was "reclaimed" from the Moors by Christian knights during the only successful campaign of the Second Crusade, in 1147, when, according to legend, a knight threw himself down in a castle doorway to prevent the Moors from closing it, thus allowing the Christians to take the castle. Immediately thereafter, construction began on this cathedral. Which, as a final kick-in-the-pants to the defeated Moors, was built on top of the city's main mosque. (So classy.)
