Days: 8-9 (12 March 2017 – 13 March 2017)

Total distance travelled: 18,833.28 kilometres (11,697.70 miles)

A morning train service later, and we found ourselves in the Portuguese capital.

Welcome to Lisbon!

Our morning had begun in solid fashion, an orange juice and a collection of custard tarts to see us through the three hundred or so kilometres that separated the major cities.

Grabbing ourselves a city transit card (so we could use the public transport system), a short top up later and we’d ferried ourselves from Lisbon’s main train terminal into the heart of the city (Rossio station), like Porto, apparently built across many levels.

Our hostel was in the old town, a compact collection of tiled streets filled with apartments, restaurants geared towards tourists, the odd boutique store and of course our hostel.

Along the way we caught a glimpse of the Elavador de Santa Justa, an iron elevator (that looked like it might have been designed by Gustav Eiffel himself) whose very existence illustrated the different levels of the city better than anything else.

With our bags now off our backs, the cobbled, as to look tiled streets such was their slick sheen, invariably led us towards the waterfront, the height and grandeur of the Arco da Rua Augusta hinting at what lay beyond.

If we weren’t wearing our sunglasses, it is possible we may have been blinded!

Think bright sunshine meets polished marble, bright yellow painted buildings and pallid stone.

This was the Praça do Comércio, and it was quite the spot on the banks of the Tagus (yet another seaport on the river).

By now it was actually somewhat late in the afternoon, and with the gorgeous afternoon sun, and a plethora of umbrella covered tables to choose from, it seemed as good a time as any to indulge in a couple of afternoon beers.

When we finally rose from our beer perch, the sky was almost dark and it was time to find something small to quell the small hunger between now and bed.

As we re-entered the city through that same ornate archway, we stopped to appreciate the efforts of a local drumming troupe, their fast paced rhythms like something you might hear from a posse of Japanese drummers.

We went local again when it came to the food, a few small Pastel de Bacalhau proving sufficient to tide us over until the morning.

Apparently a Portuguese staple, kind of like an empanada, or perhaps a fritter is more accurate, these bad boys were crispy salted cod with a creamy (it might have even been cheesy) centre. Actually, reading my own description, it sounds rather like a croquette!

Next morning, we’d seemingly lost the sun but had plans to visit the nearby town of Sintra (I’ll talk about those adventures in a separate update) which was easily reached by train from the historical centre.

The following day, our third and another sunny one had us up and at it early and after a quick hostel breakfast, we were back down on the waterfront.

A couple of UNESCO World Heritage sights sat further down the river, and so it was in this direction we walked.

For the most part we could stick to the river bank, but there was the odd occasion where a boat yard or restaurant blocked our path and we had to backtrack inland slightly.

Either way, we were rarely at risk of losing our bearings.

You see up ahead, well it felt like we were back in San Francisco.

No, there wasn’t a thick band of fog rolling in, nor had we suddenly hit a gay neighbourhood that felt like we were back in the Castro.

Up ahead stood something more iconic in rather familiar ‘safety orange’.

Could it be a replica of the Golden Gate Bridge?!

It was in fact the Ponte 25 de Abril, but damn did it look like that iconic span that bridges the Golden Gate.

And there on the opposite bank stood a giant statue of Christ, a Cristo Rei if you will, just keeping an eye on things for those with a pious leaning.

* I did some further research after the event, and in fact it is painted the same colour, but is more closely modeled on San Francisco’s other big span, the Bay Bridge (it was even built by the same company) 

A little further on, and we began to see a large, odd shape in the distance which ultimately proved to be an homage to Portugal’s mercantile maritime past.

It was a large monument of stone, seemingly designed to look like the prow of a ship with three billowing sails (it had a style I would liken to Communist tributes), the many statues atop its heroes, your Vasco de Gama types and contemporaries we assumed.

A little further on, after first passing an impressive monument (it basically looked liked a bronze full scale replica) to the first aerial crossing of the South Atlantic (if you hadn’t guessed, the guys who achieved this were Portuguese) we were at the first of those UNESCO sights, the Torre de Belém.

Also known as the Tower of St Vincent (Belem is the neighbourhood we were in), it seems ridiculous in a modern context, but this squat tower was once a key point in the defence of the Tagus river.

It was certainly a pretty structure, but at least on the day we were there, entry was not allowed.

This however was a UNESCO listing that gave us more than just a small (although admittedly beautiful) tower.

A little more than a stones throw away (in this case true, as opposed to simply an expression) sat Mosteiro dos Jerónimos (the Jerónimos Monastery), a grandiose, blinding in the sunlight complex that is apparently no longer functioning as per its title.

Whether this means it is no longer a religious building, or is simply no longer under the sway of the Jerónimos monks, I truly have no idea.

The closer we got, we could see even more clearly how stunning the ornate, almost lattice like decoration was (in fact the finer details looked very similar to the university in Salamanca), and we also became even more thankful that we’d brought sunglasses.

Try to get a shot of the full monastery was a challenge (the building being quite long), so you’ll have to settle for the effort I’ve posted above.

Now even closer to us (I’m talking within eyesight this time) than the tower had been to where we now stood, was a small crowd, in this instance huddled around the entrance to a small shopfront.

This bakery or cafe, was the most important motivator for excursion that morning (not that we weren’t interested in the other sights).

This was the Pastéis de Belém, the apparent home of the best Pastéis de Nata, the delicious Portuguese Custard tart (historically, they were apparently first cooked up by the monks in the monastery we’d just left next door)!

So what if this would make three mornings in a row that we’d chowed down on these sweet treats?

It was a vast, almost cavernous place, and once we got past the main entrance which almost felt like a delicatessen, it opened up into a series of different rooms, and in one of these we managed to snaffle ourselves a table before placing our order for tarts and a pair of coffees with which to wash it all down.

It’s hard to pinpoint what makes these versions of a run of the mill custard tart so much better… but they just are!

The walk back towards the city took us past the Mercado de Riberia, basically a market meets food hall, but stuffed as were full of custard, we had to put it on the back burner for now…

With another beautiful day before us, we ‘forced’ ourselves to take it easy for the afternoon, starting with a jug of Sangria on the Praça do Comércio.

It was tough, but we figured we better suck it up and just make the best of the hand we’d been dealt.

The Sangria flowed into some beers, and thinking it rude to support only the bar staff and not the kitchen, a delicious wood fired pizza was added to the afternoons fare as well.

We get chatting to a couple seated adjacent to us (eventually joining them and assisting them in finishing their jug of beer which in turn became another), an English guy and his Swedish partner.

He operated a garage in Denmark, whilst she lived across the bridge (in Sweden) and they effectively only saw each other on the odd weekend (but at least once a month they’ll jet off somewhere else in Europe together).

It was a pleasant enough way to while away the hours on our last afternoon before we were set to jet back into Spain that very night.

Now before we left, there was one glaring omission from our food consumption whilst here, although in fairness to us we hadn’t actually spied it on any menu.

So absent had it been, that I actually began to wonder if perhaps it wasn’t even a Portuguese thing (kind of like the Dim Sim in Australia isn’t actually a Chinese snack, although it is influenced)?

Back home, fast food chains such as Oporto & Nandos spruik it as a thing, but maybe Portuguese Chicken was actually the result of some very clever marketing?

Well it took until our last meal, however back at the Mercado de Ribeira (which we’d skipped due to being full of custard tarts), but as we wandered the food hall assessing our dinner options (we’d already decided on some roasted pork to share), suddenly, there it was.

Finally we got our teeth into some Portuguese Chicken… in Portugal!

 

 

Notes:

* Our Eurail 2 country passes allowing 6 days of travel within 2 months cost us $96AUD per person (a special travel agents rate). 

* The train service from Porto to Lisbon took a few hours and cost us an additional booking fee of €5.00 each.

* A metro card in Lisbon cost us €0.60 per person, with an additional fare of €1.20 for the ride from the train station to downtown.