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wherespaulo · 7 years

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Exploring Lisbon, the Algarve and Andalusia

Nov 18-28, 2017

Portugal and the Andalusia region of Spain had always been on my bucket list, so here I was getting away from the US, over the Thanksgiving period as usual, by splitting my time between two nights in Lisbon, three nights in Seville, and four nights in Albufeira. As well as experiencing the different cultures and architecture, I also wanted to get a feel for whether I might like to live there one day. Although I'm in no rush to leave New York, the job that took me there, along with it's social circle, has now gone, and many of the good friends I'd built up over eleven years have now moved away, so I'd had a loose plan for some scouting trips in different parts of southern Europe over the next couple of years.

After a winding, steep uphill climb over narrow cobbled streets towards Sao Jorge Castle in the chill morning, the taxi driver from Lisbon airport finally dropped me just outside the old town wall around 6am in the chill darkness, seemingly refusing, in Portuguese, to take me the last few hundred meters to my small hotel, the Solar Do Castelo. As I entered the old town on foot through the arch of Largo do Chao da Feira, the source of my driver's reluctance became clear – all the old buildings on these narrow, winding street corners, were covered in scrapes and grooves from car bumpers. I tried to minimize the clanking of my wheely bag moving over the cobbles at such a god-awful hour as I struggled to locate my accommodation in the darkness of the old town maze – yet when Google Maps finally came to the rescue I felt a pang of guilt, as though I'd cheated somehow; made it too easy by borrowing a high tech solution from the future in this historical location.

A stroll in the dazzling early morning sunshine around Lisbon's main plaza, the Praca do Comercio, where so much of Portugal's political history evolved, including the assassination of Carlos I in 1908, and the military coop of 1974, was a great way to walk off the fuzzy head from my sleepless overnight flight. This was followed by fleeting visits to the impressive cathedral and Santo Antonio Church, where I visited the crypt of St Anthony birth of 1195. I have to say that although I consider myself non-religious, I do have an eye for appealing architecture, and houses of God do seem to have some of the very best – it never ceases to amaze me how the power of religion throughout history lead to so many of these enormous, quality structures, where money seems to have been no object.

I headed back up the hill towards Sao Jorge Castle and strolled around the medieval ramparts. From Lisbon's pinnacle I had a panoramic view of red tiled Romanesque roofs in every direction and as far as the eye could see. Lisbon, along with much of Portugal, had been rebuilt following the major earthquake of 1755, and I tried to imagine the devastation that must have been evident from this elevated position.

Over the following 48 hours I would discover the beauty of traveling by tram in Lisbon – number 28, a traditional 1930's model for the city tour, and then number 15, a modern version going east to Belem to view Jeronimos Monastery, which survived the earthquake as it sits on sand, Belem Tower, the Monument to the Discoveries, and the Tropical Botanical Garden. I should say that I'm always on the look out for a botanical garden when visiting international cities – the serenity within the urban chaos seems to give me another angle on the place.

My overriding feeling as I left Lisbon behind in my rear view mirror, on my way to the Spanish border and Seville, was of a cosmopolitan city of culture, full of ancient architecture, great restaurants and friendly people with a strange 'Russian sounding' twang, a very different accent to my Brazilian friends – and on top of all that it's very affordable, and has a certain buzz and edge about it that I found very appealing to my creative spirit.

I finally arrived in Seville after a 4.5 hour drive from Lisbon, quickly checked into my accommodation, the Hotel Becquer, and then headed out for dinner. Taberna Colonial looked like a traditional tapas and wine establishment, so I headed in. The place seemed strangely subdued though, and the owner eyed me suspiciously when he heard my accent, seemingly reluctant to serve me – red rags and bulls sprung to mind as I struggled to get an order in. It was only later that I got an inkling of what might have been going on here. It seemed I'd coincidentally arrived in the city center just as thousands of rowdy, and probably slightly inebriated, Liverpool soccer fans had only just left for the Ramon Sanchez Pizjuan Stadium for an important European Championship game against Sevilla. It seems they had left this owner shell shocked and the sound of my accent probably left him thinking I was a straggler up for some more drunken revelry.

The highlights of Seville for me were the Real Alcazar de Sevilla, or royal palace, the cathedral, the maze of beautiful old cobbled streets lined with laden orange trees and, of course, the world famous flamenco. The absolutely stunning Unesco listed Alcazar in the center of Seville is a magnificent marriage of Christian and Mudejar architecture dating back to the 10th century. As I strolled through its maze of hallowed halls, it was as though I was in a time machine, every room exuding a different period, culture and architectural style, accompanied by their magnificent, ever-present, Islamic-inspired tiling. And as for the gardens – secluded 'rooms' full of blooms and laden orange tree clipped hedges, which could be overlooked from the spectacular Galeria de Grutescos which almost encloses them.

The largest Gothic cathedral in the world (3rd largest cathedral) was constructed of giant blocks of weathered grey/yellow sandstone through the 1400's, on the foundations of the grand mosque from the 1100's, and is located close to the Alcazar. The builders preserved many of the elements of that earlier mosque, including the minaret which was converted into a bell tower known as La Giralda – a brisk hike up the 343ft of elevation via a spiral stone staircase brought me to the top with panoramic views over Seville. After scanning the cavernous space of the central nave, questioning my ability to fully appreciate even a tiny part of this cathedral's grandeur in just a few hours of strolling around, I paused by Christopher Columbus's tomb and felt privileged to stand in the presence of such an eminent fellow explorer – the sheer immenseness, craftsmanship and quality of materials is overpowering and hints at it's iconic importance to the catholic church and Spain all those years ago.

I couldn't leave Seville without experiencing the world famous flamenco, so headed out to an evening show at the Museo Del Baile Flamenco. There was hushed silence in the audience until the suspense was almost imperceptibly broken by the forlorn notes of a lone Spanish guitar emanating from the darkened stage – as the melody slowly built into a crescendo, a female dancer appeared, her beautiful, tight fitting dress, emphasizing her lithe, leggy, athletic body. I became transfixed at the intensity of passion and humor communicated solely by her foot stamps, facial expressions and hand movements, all perfectly attuned to the fast hand clapping and guitar from the sidelines. I was utterly captivated. It was as if she were striving with every ounce of her being to give this intense and complicated story, of love and loss, some kind of tangible shape and meaning. Then a male dancer appeared with moves that told a simpler, more masculine story – of tolling the fields to feed his family, of hard drinking. I was briefly taken back to an earlier stage of my life, to my own flamenco guitar lessons, provided by an accomplished musician who looked the part -- tall, dark and swarve, the word on the street was that he pursued an artists bohemian lifestyle. So it wasn't a complete surprise when I turned up for my scheduled weekly lesson only to find his house completely empty and vacant – he'd clearly done a runner after someones husband, or wife, had discovered his finagling. Well, that was the end of my woefully unlikely flamenco career and, as far as I know, my teacher.

I decided to drive back to Portugal and it's southern Algarve region via a slight detour through Ronda, to see the impressive bridge, Puente Nuevo, built in the 1700's to span the 400 ft chasm located in the middle of this small city. As I took in the breathtaking panorama from the bridge, I felt an urge to experience the spectacle at closer quarters so that I could truly appreciate the magnificence of this engineering feat. But my attempt to hike into the bottom of the chasm was thwarted when the footpath seemingly fizzled out half way down – I'm sure if I'd had more time to explore I would have found a route. But Portugal beckoned, so maybe next time.

When I finally arrived in the southern Algarve, I made a quick visit to the beautiful old town of Tavira before carrying on to pick up my 26 year old son, Alex, from Faro airport, and we then headed on to our hotel, the Aqua Pedra dos Bicos in Albufeira. He'd taken a 2.5 hour flight down from London for a long weekend. Straight away we couldn't help noticing the preponderance of retired boozy Brits in soccer shirts, and sports bars. I was definitely not feeling it for this place -- Albufeira would NOT be a potential place for me to live! Other parts of the Algarve that we drove to felt much more cultural. A drive west along small coastal roads took us to the pretty town of Lagos and then onto the defensive fort near Sagres at the very south west tip of Portugal – as we strolled around the fort perimeter, a little black redstart, dark with it's flicking rust red tail, flitted here and there amongst the cliff side rocks, and reminded me that it's these little sprinklings of magic that elevates an experience from just mediocre to something special and remembered. As the fisherman lined the cliffs edge all around this promontory, I half hoped to see someone catch a largish specimen as I was curious to observe how they could possibly haul it up the 100's of feet of sheer cliff face.

Another drive, inland this time, took us to Silves, with it's beautiful red sandstone castle, and then onto Monchique with it's medieval, derelict convent which was overrun by a local farmer and his chickens.

As we started our drive back to Faro Airport from Monchique we started laughing so hard at the most bizarre spectacle – it was a muster of storks. I should say here that my sense of humor, along with my sense of the bizarre, is perfectly aligned with that of both my sons. Within a half mile stretch of road there must have been fifty families of these strange, prehistoric looking creatures perched on their large, ragged nests, occupying the pinnacle of every single telegraph pole and tree in sight. And strangely enough, just after we'd left the storks behind, and just as it was turning dark, a gigantic domestic pig nonchalantly strolled in front of our path, briefly reminding me of that bizarre scene from the Lobster movie when the two-humped camel wanders through the woodland in the background. I managed to swerve around it just in time, the pig non-the wiser for it's lucky escape, and luckily for us, and the pig, nothing coming the other way on this narrow road. This had been a strange drive indeed, and a feeling of anxiety slowly started to descend on me as the thought that we'd almost wrote off a pig, a car, and possibly ourselves, started to sink in – what if we'd been at that point in the road two seconds earlier?

After dropping Alex off at Faro airport for his return flight to London, I headed back to my hotel in Albufeira for one final night, then drove back to Lisbon airport the following morning for my flight back to New York. As my plane taxied on the runway, I decided Lisbon and Seville were definitely contenders as places to live, and that the wider Andalusia region certainly deserved more scouting out, maybe around Granada and Cardoba, but parts of the Algarve were probably not for me; I'm not really looking to find a bit of England in a foreign land.

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greateacheropke · 7 years

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Welcome (Me) Back (?)

So things have been a bit... negative in the last two posts here. Just like last year, I had a rough 2/3 of the school year (in that I felt inundated with work and didn’t have time to write) but the topics of the last two posts didn’t really help motivate me to say anything positive here. So let’s write about some positive things.

First of all, what a school year it has been. Yes, there has been a lot of work - I am writing something about that, for later - but it’s also been a lot of fun! Just like in Egypt, where I only really found a social circle that worked for me in year two, things really clicked this fall. No offense intended to all of the other beloved members of La Sagrada Familia - Caitlin and Jacob, friends who still live in Madrid; Carolin from Hamburg, who learned how to share and hug; Virginia aka Maria aka Grace from Athens, applied mathematics student; Thør from Copenhagen, whose name was never Thør but no one could pronounce it, conspiracy theorist like no other that has ever lived; Karina from Toronto, with us for only a few short weeks; Rollie, Martin, the Turks, travelling Irish guitar guy, and all the other couch surfers who have stayed with us for only a few nights - but the apartment eventually became the home it was intended to be, with Caroline and Maura joining forces with Jonny and myself, as we planned to do over a year ago now. We’ve done just about everything but bathe together, but it’s come close. This is the home I have been missing since leaving Egypt.

There have been many adventures this year! Here are just a few from 2016.

In August, following the events previously commented upon, I traveled to Portugal to see Lagos on the southern coast. Many people travel to Lagos to party, I guess, but I went to scuba dive and see the southwest corner of continental Europe.

There are lots of places to stay, but João from Lagos4U runs a very friendly and open place, as long as you don’t mind crowded rooms. I think I was in a 10 bed dorm and the bathroom was inside the room, so there was a lot of noise between people coming in and out at night and using the restroom and showers. Since I was diving, I was asleep pretty early every night, but I dealt with the noise fairly well (Egypt training still paying off). The town itself has got a nice marina and long stretches of beach, and lots of fresh, cheap, delicious seafood (go to A Barrigada) and a seriously great burger (”Toucan Burger” from Nahnahbah).

It’s just a pain to get to, as I took a bus and had to transfer in the middle of nowhere, with no easy way to communicate with the drivers other than me saying “Lagos” and them pointing at an empty street corner where, thankfully, another bus showed up in a few minutes to take me the rest of the way.

After Lagos, I took a bus to Portimão and did a few hours tour of the area through the company Bike My Side - a fun dude drove me around in a sidecar of his motorcycle and took me up through Monchique to the top of Fóia, the highest peak in the Algarve region. It was a fun time, something different to do, but was a little pricey.

From there I went back to Lisbon to see Scott and Jen, two friends from Egypt who were staying in an airbnb for most of the summer. I had visited Lisbon briefly in May and had some sense of the city, but they had experienced much more and shared with me some of its wonders: Bifana, a pork steak sandwich that we topped with mustard and hot sauce, would be #1. I love these things (on a more recent trip back to Lisbon I had 5 of these in 48 hours). I can personally recommend O Trevo, Ginginha Popular, and Zé Dos Cornos. All are dirty, cheap, and cater to locals. With vinho verde on tap, you can get an awesome meal for under €4.

Lisbon is somewhat famous for the pastry known as pastel de nata, said to have originated just outside of the city, in Belem. There is no need to travel to Belem and wait 20 minutes in line for these (although Belem has its own sites to take in), just go to Manteigaria Fábrica de Pastéis de Nata in the city, below Bairro Alto. Lines are not that long, although there is no seating. €1.70 for a pastel de nata and an espresso.

If you’re thirsty, obviously Lisbon has plenty of wine options, and is famous for the green wine (which, while refreshing and is what I always order with my cheap meals, I could honestly take or leave). The beer scene in Portugal is still emerging, and Duqye Brewpub and Beer Station both have plenty on offer. The local liqueur should be sampled at A Ginjinha, apparently a pretty famous, well established shop (sells one type of drink, served two different ways, and is about the size of my bathroom). It was recommended to me even down in the Algarve region as a place the man speaking to me had never been to but had always heard about.

The church known as Igreja De São Domingos is one of my favorites on earth due to its unique looks - there are still many signs of a 1959 fire.

Finally, the LX Factory is a little out of town but is hope to some nice hipster stores and restaurants, and some good graffiti.

Really, I love Lisbon. One of my favorite cities to visit, hands down. Cheap, great food and drink, on the water...what isn’t to love?

In late September, Jonny and I went to Hamburg to visit the aforementioned Carolin (we took no pictures! sad face). Hamburg was a nice little German city to take in with our expert local guide and host. The red light district, while famous, pales in comparison to what can be found in Amsterdam, although the forbidding gates (stupidly male only) are a nice visual touch. Good company and of course good food and beer, the trip was not without its surprises and bad memories - suffice to say, Cohen’s “Hallelujah” has been ruined for me. But overall a trip that we are all glad happened. And the Germans have great parks! Look at how happy this guy is.

In November, the four of us went to Rome, ostensibly for a work trip, but really used it as an excuse to see a bit of the city and stay in a hotel room for free. We didn’t really get to see or do too much, but we had a lot of fun sharing a room together.

For Thanksgiving, we all went to Budapest. Here we were joined by Ryan (Caroline’s friend) and Emma, the American that I met in Spain who, at this time, was living in England... I am dating Emma. Here is a terrible photo of us together.

Budapest is a rad place, ripe for making bad puns on its name, mixing beautiful old history with soviet grunge. The food was good; I don’t remember specifics, just a lot of fried dough and meat stews. Really hardy stuff, for hardy people (you’ve got to be strong to drink the local pálinka). They have these neat “ruin bars” which have very artsy hipster feels to them. The biggest that I saw was called Szimpla Kert, and it was a shit show, so I did not get to explore much. Definitely seemed like a cool place to go back to during the day to try to take it all in. But if you like salvaged furniture, what you really need to do before your Budapest trip is look up the official schedule for "lomtalanítás" - “gypsy christmas” is my favorite translation - and walk through any districts that are having them. We found one by accident, and it seemed as though the refuse spread out before us like an endless sea of scraps. Teams of people went through it with backpacks, headlamps, I think I saw one person taking notes in a book of what they had taken or left behind for a second pass. Must see.

In early December, I had an opportunity to go to Athens to visit Virginia, and as an added bonus see Bob from Egypt, along with a group of former students he was leading on an AP Art trip. It was great to catch up with some of my favorite people from around the world! It was a quick weekend, so again I didn’t get to eat or do too much. Obvious items were checked, like the Acropolis. Extra thrilling points were getting to vote on where to get beers (imagine my exuberance: practicing democracy in its birthplace; now imagine the despondency of the Greeks I was with: “see how far democracy has gotten us!”), checking out Exarcheia (the anarchist neighborhood), and The Neon Exhibition: Flying Over the Abyss (seriously the best art exhibit I’ve ever been to; I felt feelings and want to go back very badly - http://neon.org.gr/en/exhibition/flying-abyss-athens/).

See, it was an art trip! And the teacher even drew me!

So anyway, yeah... it’s been over a year since most of this happened. But it happened. So I wrote some things. I might write again sometime.

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