Uncle Bob's search for those elusive Lisbon women
Tourist numbers aren't as high in Lisbon as Barcelona, but it's only a matter of time.
In the meantime, we loved our time in Lisbon. We went for two primary reasons: warmth and custard tarts. London has been so cold and rainy; we were desperate for some sun. We did find some Lisbon sun, though the temperature wasn't exactly hot. Bob received a happy welcome all over Lisbon and was kissed by many waitresses and had cheeks pinched by many grandmas. Back in Iowa, years ago, his namesake, Uncle Bob, confused lesbian women with "Lisbon women." The Lisbon women here were swooning for Bobby, as I imagine would the Lisbon women of northeastern Iowa. (My grandma said about her brother Bob, "Who the hell taught him how to speak?")
We stayed in an apartment on the top floor of an old building in the ancient Alfama neighborhood. The apartment had a wide balcony, and from there we could see the River Tagus. With a nod to the famous patterned tiles found all over surfaces in the city, the tiles on the apartment's kitchen floor were aesthetically appealing. All over town we were impressed with how low the prices are.
We had a lunch at Alma, a restaurant featuring Portuguese foods and wines and Bob's second Michelin starred dining experience (first was River Cafe in Hammersmith with his Nainai). The restaurant had a sommelier that helped us to pick Portuguese wines made from grapes we'd never had and regions we'd never heard of. Bob managed to fall out of his chair from his incessant squirming. Right before dessert, he threw up on me a bit; I deftly exited the table to the bathroom and cleaned us up. But overall, he was a good boy; we made it through another fine dining experience.
We strolled through the twisting narrow streets of Alfama. Alfama is famous for its fado venues. Fado is a style of Portuguese blues that Africans from the Portuguese colonies brought to the mainland. We had a few dinners in Alfama, and walking back from dinner, from a few open doors and bouncing down the narrow alleys, we heard the long slow notes of fado wafting out from a few places starting early. Nightlife and dinner get started late in Lisbon, but toddler in tow, we were all anxious to eat dinner early and get to bed early. Someday, Christine and I, with Bob on a long trip to Iowa, will come back and listen to the live fado singers in some of the tiny dens while sharing carafes of house red.
We ventured out of Alfama into districts built after the great earthquake of 1755 and when imperial Portugal was rich and could undertake grand public works projects. (In fact, economic historians would say that the eventual breakdown of Portugal's imperial power was caused at least in part by the state extracting wealth from the people to fund its prerogatives, benefiting its own egos and not the people.) In the stately Praça Luís de Camões, we visited the world's oldest bookstore and found the world's best tarts. Of course I haven't had all the tarts in the world, but I am confident the tarts at Manteigaria would hold up. Christine has travelled the world over to find a custard tart, pasteis de nata, like she had in Macau (the former Portuguese colony off the coast of China). We returned to Manteigaria multiple times; the ladies there always remembered Bobby. Bobby gleefully gobbled down his share of tarts, and though he slept through some of his visits to Manteigaria, we did visit several other tart purveyors.
To be trite, Lisbon is a charming city. Much of it was grand when built, but now much of it is a bit dilapidated. However, when the construction dates before the times of uniform, mass-building projects, you say it's not beat up, it's charming. Walls and floors are decorated with colorful tiles, sometimes cracked. Old cable cars shimmy up the steep narrow streets. Public staircases are as common as paved alleyways. Shops and restaurants are frumpy and staffed by people who don't speak English. The streets and sidewalks are paved with small flat stones arranged into sometimes fantastic designs, waves of black stone through an ether of yellow stones (interesting article on Portuguese paving stones). In the cab on the way to the airport, meter after meter of sidewalks were paved with these stones, and I was thinking it surprising that it could really be cheaper to pave with individual stones than to pave the ground with bland concrete. Alas, I'm sure it's not, and maybe someday only the highest rent streets will be able to maintain such fantastic paving.
Lisbon ranks amongst our favorite European cities, up there with Paris and Amsterdam. We love the preserved old-world feel, the compact size, the everyday appreciation of design, the sun, the canned sardines, the wine, the seafood, and the tarts -- oh lord, the tarts. We hope to return many, many more times. Alas, we're probably not the only ones. Observed during our visit to Lisbon was a lot of construction sites, fixing up those old world buildings to make them more like a museum exhibit, and we saw an English language newspaper reporting that Lisbon house prices were amongst the fastest growing in Europe. But this is what happens with great places: people want to go to there. I just hope these old European cities can remain vibrant centers of life and not become but mere museums where we go to not experience what is but what was.
In the meantime, we loved our time in Lisbon. We went for two primary reasons: warmth and custard tarts. London has been so cold and rainy; we were desperate for some sun. We did find some Lisbon sun, though the temperature wasn't exactly hot. Bob received a happy welcome all over Lisbon and was kissed by many waitresses and had cheeks pinched by many grandmas. Back in Iowa, years ago, his namesake, Uncle Bob, confused lesbian women with "Lisbon women." The Lisbon women here were swooning for Bobby, as I imagine would the Lisbon women of northeastern Iowa. (My grandma said about her brother Bob, "Who the hell taught him how to speak?")
We stayed in an apartment on the top floor of an old building in the ancient Alfama neighborhood. The apartment had a wide balcony, and from there we could see the River Tagus. With a nod to the famous patterned tiles found all over surfaces in the city, the tiles on the apartment's kitchen floor were aesthetically appealing. All over town we were impressed with how low the prices are.
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| Bob enjoying the sun for the first time in months, on our porch overlooking the Tagus estuary. |
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| Father and son consuming beverages on the veranda while desperately seeking the sun. I'm having a Super Bock lager, Bob some milk. Super Bock is the most common Portuguese macrobrew, and it's not bad. There is a small craft beer scene in Lisbon, but distribution of these new brews is not too wide. |
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| Racing to the door to soak up the morning sun on the veranda. Check out those local tiles on the kitchen floor. |
We had a lunch at Alma, a restaurant featuring Portuguese foods and wines and Bob's second Michelin starred dining experience (first was River Cafe in Hammersmith with his Nainai). The restaurant had a sommelier that helped us to pick Portuguese wines made from grapes we'd never had and regions we'd never heard of. Bob managed to fall out of his chair from his incessant squirming. Right before dessert, he threw up on me a bit; I deftly exited the table to the bathroom and cleaned us up. But overall, he was a good boy; we made it through another fine dining experience.
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| Alma didn't just feature fine wine and food, the prices were low for what you get. Bob ate what we ate, perhaps too much of something though since he threw it up on me. |
We strolled through the twisting narrow streets of Alfama. Alfama is famous for its fado venues. Fado is a style of Portuguese blues that Africans from the Portuguese colonies brought to the mainland. We had a few dinners in Alfama, and walking back from dinner, from a few open doors and bouncing down the narrow alleys, we heard the long slow notes of fado wafting out from a few places starting early. Nightlife and dinner get started late in Lisbon, but toddler in tow, we were all anxious to eat dinner early and get to bed early. Someday, Christine and I, with Bob on a long trip to Iowa, will come back and listen to the live fado singers in some of the tiny dens while sharing carafes of house red.
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| A common narrow street in the hilly Alfama district, Dad, with Bob on shoulders, walking home from dinner. |
We ventured out of Alfama into districts built after the great earthquake of 1755 and when imperial Portugal was rich and could undertake grand public works projects. (In fact, economic historians would say that the eventual breakdown of Portugal's imperial power was caused at least in part by the state extracting wealth from the people to fund its prerogatives, benefiting its own egos and not the people.) In the stately Praça Luís de Camões, we visited the world's oldest bookstore and found the world's best tarts. Of course I haven't had all the tarts in the world, but I am confident the tarts at Manteigaria would hold up. Christine has travelled the world over to find a custard tart, pasteis de nata, like she had in Macau (the former Portuguese colony off the coast of China). We returned to Manteigaria multiple times; the ladies there always remembered Bobby. Bobby gleefully gobbled down his share of tarts, and though he slept through some of his visits to Manteigaria, we did visit several other tart purveyors.
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| Espresso is a great pairing with a pastel de nata, and the espresso at Manteigaria was some of the best I've ever had. It is actually very difficult to find espresso good enough that you can drink it without milk or sugar (latte, never) and not grimace at least a little from either the bitterness or sourness, depending on which fault the maker exhibits. Some say the average Lisbon espresso rivals Italian espresso for quality; I would like to gather more evidence before joining this debate. Manteigaria is a narrow shop where you take your coffee and tarts back to the bar that faces the guys behind glass folding the dough and butter into each other over and over and over. |
To be trite, Lisbon is a charming city. Much of it was grand when built, but now much of it is a bit dilapidated. However, when the construction dates before the times of uniform, mass-building projects, you say it's not beat up, it's charming. Walls and floors are decorated with colorful tiles, sometimes cracked. Old cable cars shimmy up the steep narrow streets. Public staircases are as common as paved alleyways. Shops and restaurants are frumpy and staffed by people who don't speak English. The streets and sidewalks are paved with small flat stones arranged into sometimes fantastic designs, waves of black stone through an ether of yellow stones (interesting article on Portuguese paving stones). In the cab on the way to the airport, meter after meter of sidewalks were paved with these stones, and I was thinking it surprising that it could really be cheaper to pave with individual stones than to pave the ground with bland concrete. Alas, I'm sure it's not, and maybe someday only the highest rent streets will be able to maintain such fantastic paving.
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| At a monastery turned into a restaurant and brewery, Bobby was having fun. |
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| Bob, staring down a plate of grilled octopus and French fries in a frumpy little tavern (Tasco do Vigário) in Alfama that didn't accept credit card. Never forget cash, man, because running out into an old city late at night with your foreign debit cards to secure cash from an ATM sucks. Not able to remember my cards' PINs, I was ready to offer my dishwashing services (of course being a former professional dishwasher myself, I have been wondering whether I may like to rejoin the game). Tasco do Vigário didn't have an English language menu, and the staff didn't speak English; this is part of the travel adventure that is more rare now than it was when I first travelled Europe in 2000, and much more rare than when my dad travelled here in 1972. Much less guessing and sign language now, and much more English, everywhere. |
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| Bob, growing more confident in his walking and running, speeding through Chafariz do Carmo, a grand monastery that lost its roof during the Lisbon earthquake of 1755. |
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| Time Out Market Lisboa, an old food market hall, some of which is still a traditional food market, but where another half is full of stalls, usually manned by chefs or restaurants with other, more established outposts in town. Of all the gourmet prepared food courts I've been to, I think this Lisbon one is near the top, with so many fine dining chefs preparing the casual meals here. See octopus hotdog below. |
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| Does an octopus hot dog sound delicious? This is one of the best things I have ever eaten. And I've eaten a lot of things. Like my grandmother searching for a cannelloni to rival what she had in Venice, henceforth I shall scour the world for an octopus hot dog like I had in Lisbon. |
Lisbon ranks amongst our favorite European cities, up there with Paris and Amsterdam. We love the preserved old-world feel, the compact size, the everyday appreciation of design, the sun, the canned sardines, the wine, the seafood, and the tarts -- oh lord, the tarts. We hope to return many, many more times. Alas, we're probably not the only ones. Observed during our visit to Lisbon was a lot of construction sites, fixing up those old world buildings to make them more like a museum exhibit, and we saw an English language newspaper reporting that Lisbon house prices were amongst the fastest growing in Europe. But this is what happens with great places: people want to go to there. I just hope these old European cities can remain vibrant centers of life and not become but mere museums where we go to not experience what is but what was.
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