Of Storks and Swallows: A Whole Lot About Portugal
In May of 2023, the long-planned trip to Portugal with my Dad and Ellen, my Dad’s wife, finally came to fruition. It had been a minute since any sort of “family vacation”. In fact when I think about it, it might have been in 2006 or 2007 to Mexico where Dad and I got really sick after drinking margaritas on a snorkel boat thing (it was the ice not the booze that poisoned us and let’s say if you have ever had to travel internationally while wanting to turn your insides out, you know the fresh hell I’m talking about). I had also been strictly confined to the resort because the parentals conflated “exploring by myself” to mean “potential cartel hostage” even though we were in the tourist city of Cozumel. Because of that, I was a bit mopey the whole time—my only friends 2 perpetually drunk Canadian brothers with ZZ Top Beards.
The Portugal trip was considered a hybrid of an early 40th birthday present coupled with Dad and Ellen scouting a potential retirement destination, or escape from American Civil War 2024 if the rotting orange bag of dicks was elected again. Portugal had always been “on the list” at least in the top 10, but now it was suddenly the next destination. 17 years and I’ve done a lot of travel by myself and with my friends, but was I ready to dive into parental vacation mode again?
It was Dad’s first time in Europe so I was excited for him to explore a continent I grow more and more in love with each time I visit. But also, let’s get real here, parents gonna parent no matter how old you are. With that said any “Dad roasting” that is about it occur is in good fun. I was extremely appreciative that I had to pay for very little on this trip (I did stay 2 extra days) and I’m glad we got to have that time together. Thanks Dad!
So here we are again, a day-by-day account of all things Portugal, of course injected with lots of wine adventures, history side bars, wine education blurbs, and me appending the word “ass” to lots of my interpretations on situations. After all, Portugal has the first demarcated wine region ever (Port since 1757). It is currently 10th in the world for wine production and has an insane amount of indigenous grapes varietals, most of which will never see US soil. The US mostly gets Port, Vinho Verde and just a handful of other wines. The “other wines” you will likely need to seek out at a wine shop or specialty store because Big Kroger is too busy pushing that Menage a Trois, Josh, and Cupcake.
Wednesday May 10 (Lisbon)
After getting our FRENCH rental car (I had no idea the French made cars) specifically a Peugeot which I will never forgive the for having reverse right next to first gear, we got checked in at the hotel then promptly took an Uber to a restaurant my Dad found on Google. Turns out this rental car was only for going from hotel to Villa, to hotel and not for side trips, which fine, I was terrified of Dad driving in Europe anyway.
We went to Lucimar and this is where we found out that restaurants in Lisbon open mostly at 7:30 for dinner which is…normal? Late? Another thing I discovered is that there is always a cheese plate with olives out that you can eat but that is not free and if the last table didn’t eat it, it just stays out for the next people to gamble with. We were the first people there at 7:30 so we got the fresh cheese. For dinner I had seabass— like the whole body with head, and Dad had cuttlefish. Ellen had bread and a salad because the only fish she dances with is salmon and oh boy this is NOT salmon country. Cod is Portugal’s star fish, known as “the bread of the tides” and most often referred to as Bacalhau. You can learn more about Portugal’s Cod history here.
At dinner I also found out about a “personal portion” of wine which is basically a mini jug or half bottle you get all to yourself. This place gets me. We walked about a bit after dinner and found the area was on the outskirts of the action and close to the airport so after dinner, Dad and Ellen when back to the hotel and I was told by the concierge to go to “Tapas 52” in an area of town called Barrio Alta. I was dropped off, I guess close to it, but went to a small pub thing instead that looked inviting. Had a glass of wine while finally taking a breather by myself but first a beautiful entitled Norwegian couple stole my seat and I had to sit at a more uncomfortable table, oh well.
I eventually found Tapas 52 and wow...First off, so much cologne from so many men. I was living in a bottle of cologne. I tried to drink an Encruzado, a native white varietal grown mostly in the Dao region (high acid, lemongrass, honeydew, granite) but all I could smell and taste was cologne. Most men need to learn “Spray, Delay, and Walk Away” or just save that shit for the bedroom. Anyway, there was also a lot of air-dried ham hanging around and I could not tell if it was real or fake because the color was off. It had a bunch of random old Hollywood actor portraits on the wall which was giving me TGI Fridays vibes and the tables looked like thousands of rounds of the knife game had occurred. Also, there were more like 89+ tapas on that menu, and it was all a bit overwhelming…that was when the magic happened. Like actual magic. Illusions. I’m sure it was a hustle but I indulged a bit. The magician dude was doing cards tricks for the bartenders then they were definitely pointing at me and probably whispering “do magic for the stupid American.” I mean, I DID want to see some magic but then he started to do weird mentalism stuff and I accidentally ruined one of his cards in a trick before I was like “oh shit am I supposed to pay this guy?” It was a weird vibe and I started to wonder if the hotel concierge sends people here to get scammed and because I have a degree in criminology and a vagina, my gut was telling me “good magic, bad vibes” and it was time to go. I went for a late-night snack at a place called Rosamar, where I had some of the best oysters of my life with coconut, lemongrass, kaffier lime balls, habanero oil, and garlic.
Thursday May 11 (Lisbon)
I forgot to tell Dad the first cardinal rule of the first morning of international travel with drastic time change differences—if you have any hope of actually wanting to do something that day you have to set an alarm, otherwise you sleep in until 2 p.m. and you’ll never get adjusted. Today we called “turista day”. We started at the Museu De Marinha (Maritime Museum) in an area of Lisbon called Belam. Belam is where all the museums are clustered, presumably so one can hit multiple museums on the same day. This area is also where the Monument to the Discoveries is.
Things I learned: People were legit terrified of the Atlantic ocean before exploration in the 1400s. That is like SO MANY YEARS of living with something you are terrified of. They called it the “Dark Sea” or “The Vast Unknown” or “Water Grave” and other spooky aliases for the Atlantic. I also like “Titanic Murderer”, “Mother of the Bermuda Triangle”, etc. So yeah, in the 1400s Prince Henry was tasked with figuring this shit out which he did, because he “found” Africa which we all know meant the start of the transatlantic slave trade, but I think Portugal is still downplaying their part because in that entire museum there was like one tiny board about it and I was like UM OKAY PORTUGAL BUT YOUR STARTED THIS SHIT. Anyway, the museum covered the maritime history through present and even had a whole thing about commercial fisherman. There was also a whole boat warehouse. I liked one made in the 1960s that had an endearing hand painted story on the rudder and stern. The boat’s purpose was for collecting seaweed.
After the museum we went to the Monument of the Discoveries which marks 500 years since Henry the Navigator conquered his fears of the Atlantic. One side is stone carvings of clergy and nobleman and on the other side is all the dudes that put in that navigational work! We tried to walk to the Belam tower but the boardwalk just dropped off at some point and no one felt like figuring out how to get there so we had a beer on the boardwalk where I promptly broke my cool tile with a picture of a “Quadrante Nautico” I bought at the museum because the chairs at the boardwalk were stupid, and I got VERY sunburnt on my arms.
We then took a taxi to the Time Out market which is a massive food hall where you go to specific restaurants and chef d ’cuisine stands and there is so much good food. It is a very cool concept but that place was a shit show. It was a mall food court on steroids, with people scrambling for open seats like playing a very passive aggressive game of musical chairs. Dad and I got stuff from a few places: a pulled pork sandwich with sweet potato chips, panko tempura shrimp, sardines on bread, oysters, veal pate/tar tar thing on bread, and for dessert, I got a deep-fried dough thing kind of like a French cruller and Dad got a Creme Brule doughnut that was like WAY too sweet for me. This place would be amazing on a slow day though now sure when they would have those. Maybe a Monday in Winter.
After Time Out, we took a cab ride to the Alfama area which is the oldest part of Lisbon and probably the hilliest. Prepare thy calf muscles. An attempt was made to go to the Castle St. Jorges then quickly shut down because too many people were existing in the streets but I guess that is what happens when you travel with people that sometimes have conflicting interests.
We ended up walking all the way down back down to the waterfront area where we walked around a square of congregation and saw some outdoor cafes and the Cerveja museum/beer museum. It was only on a guided tour schedule (which we missed) so we just sat outside on the patio and had a beer. The two main beers of Portugal are Super Bock and Sagres which are both light beers with pilsner vibes. We took a cab ride back to the hotel in which I had to pee so bad I was about to jump out of the car (it was supposed to take 15 minutes and took 45). We also had to listen to our cabbie talk on not one, but two phones back and forth (one his boss and the other one presumably his wife). After pulling myself together after Bladdergate, we went out to dinner at a place that had a twin restaurant like four doors down, because we went to the wrong one first. Dad and I shared a nice bottle of wine, shrimp in garlic sauce and the house steak which was actually 4 cuts of super rare steak. It was all family style but by the end of the night my stomach was like WOW that will do for today madam.
Friday May 12 (Leaving Lisboa, bound for the Algarve)
We left Lisbon and began our rocky ride out, mostly because Dad kept turning before I told him to turn. If he reads this (which he won’t) I’m sure he would blame my navigation. Once on the freeway, it was straightforward from there. There were lots of stork’s nests on the electrical towers. It was also cool to see the changing scenery as we made our way further south.
Once we got to the Algarve, Google maps had a meltdown and there was a lot of unnecessary turns but eventually we found the Villa in what was actually more of a “suburb” to the town of Albufeira called Olhos de Agua. The Villa was pretty nice expect for everything was in GERMAN. House Instructions. TV. All German. Dad loves to have the TV on in the background so watching him give up and give into the TV-less-ness of it all was pretty funny. This is also when we find out that this guy owns multiple properties in the area and this is a hot area for German tourist because we have already seen and heard them around.
The pool and patio are amazing. The house itself is a bit old but that is okay, it’s Europe, it’s all a bit old. The Villa was a stone’s throw from the area’s supermarket and a little enclave of restaurants, bars, and other shops. We had a drink at the Neptune Bar where I got a tin of pistachios from a coin turn nut machine. I wish America had more nut machines, and if you read the Ireland Blog, you’ll know that Jackie would think that Ireland probably needs them too.
Afterwards, Ellen and I went ham at the supermarket for provisions where I introduced her to Buzzballs. I also purchased two bottles of white wine from the region, the Algarve DO for 12.50€. Jesus take the wheel. We had a disastrous dinner out at one of the fancier restaurants in the enclave (good first course then the service became nonexistent and we saw our entrees sitting under the expo station hot lamps for way too long). Afterward it was back to the Villa for a nightcap and chatting before another fairly bad night of sleep for me because I’m still trying to adjust to the time change.
Saturday May 13 (Algarve)
The day started out not so great, with a miscommunication about needing the car for something and Dad thought I needed to drop him off at the golf course for his tee-time. This was the darkest of hours as the French have reverse right next to first gear and I could not for the life of my get it straight. I drove stick for like People were honking at me, Dad was freaking out because google maps was wrong about the location entrance to the golf course. He eventually figured out how to get there by himself in the car.
Today, Ellen and I went on an off-road Safari thing with a winery tour and tasting after. At 1:30, a very old Toyota Land Cruiser showed up empty, but we had to pick up more people which included a Father/Son duo from France and 5 entitled hoochie/douche couples from Birmingham (maybe) who made us wait so they could get McDonalds because they were hung over from the night before. My great joy of the whole day was watching one of them desperately try not to puke from all the jostling. I also really enjoyed all the fake hair extensions whipping around in the wind, like this is an off-road safari girl, not a night out at the club…I felt like I was on an episode of Love Island, but in an open-air car. Even though they started out as assholes, they were not terrible the whole time, they were a bit inconsiderate during the winery tour…anyway back to the beginning…
With the squad loaded up we went straight into “the mountains” which I never found out the name of on the tour but according to Google, they might be the Monchique Mountains. On the way up, we got to see the Albuferia new town, and old town. Our guide told us the new town was not owned by any native Portuguese. I can see how downtown Albuferia has a much more club and party vibe. Glad we are out a bit further out. We bobbed, weaved, and dodged lots of alleys in “just another small village” according to our guide.
On the off-road portion of the trip, we saw lots of dry streams and river beds, olive trees, cork trees, lemon trees, and apricot trees (which were surprisingly small). We stopped at a Goji berry farm which was clearly a “buy stuff” stop, but the farm was cute, and I learned about the health benefits of Goji berries. We were offered a shot of some liquor made from some relative of the strawberry which several dudes in the Birmingham bunch were clearly not ready for and I witch cackled internally as they tried to keep their breakfast Big Macs down. I bought a small vile of homemade orange liquor and some dried bee pollen which strangely tasted like malt and matcha had a baby. We continued to bump about, and it was pretty fun overall because we got to see so much more of the area than we would’ve have been able to otherwise. Key knowledge take-aways: If a house has more than 3 chimneys, then they are all have a different/unique design. It was fun to spot all the different chimneys. Cork trees – they only cut the bottom half of the trees, or the tree’s “shirt” then wait for the tree to “sweat out” a new layer of the cork. All the food produced from the area is for local consumption, except cork. There is no mechanical harvesting, and the soil is very fertile but the area has been in a drought for the last 5 years.
Next, we were dropped off at the Qunita do Conhoto. We got a one-hour tour of the vineyards and surrounding facilities of which I was the only person in the tour that was interested. At one point, I heard a Birmingham Bro state, “I think my soul just left my body” which was funny but also, respect what this dude is doing for everyone. Afterwards was the wine tasting in which we tasted a sparkling rosé of Touriga National, a white blend of Antão Vaz and Arinto, and their newly award winning red of Alicante Bouchet, Syrah, and Cabernet Sauvignon blend. Here is their website if you are curious and want to know more: https://www.quintadocanhoto.com/ I loved trying Touriga National as a rosé, it was hearty and reminded me of a Cerasuolo d'Abruzzo, an Italian rosé wine made from the Montepulciano grape in the Abruzzo wine region (well it can also have Sangiovese but at least 85% of it needs to be Montepulciano). Both Touriga National and Montepulciano can have notes of plum, blackberry, violet, and various herbs such as oregano and thyme with the wines resulting in dark pink coloring and a more medium bodied mouth feel. I had also asked the winery guy (I forgot his name) about the Syrah which seemed like an interesting choice in a land with so many native grape varieties. The land was almost sandy, beach-like in its appearance (we were after all, pretty close to the ocean) and was alluvial which is great for water retention and in a place in a 5 years drought, water retention is what you want. The Algarve consists of four DOs: Tavira, Portimao, Lagoa, and Lagos. I had previously mentioned the nearby mountains and the proximity to the ocean. The mountains shelter the region from cold winds from the North and the Ocean brings in breezes that cool down the grapes in the evening after spending all day in very warm temperatures. This is a true maritime climate. There are more red grapes here than white, and the whites are a little more full bodies due to the southern heat. The Red Wines: Negra Mole, Trincadeira, and Castelão (either together or separate, with at least 70% of the vines being of these grapes), plus Alicante-Bouschet, Aragonez, Bastardo (tee hee), Cabernet Sauvignon, Monvedro, and Touriga Nacional. White Wines: Arinto, Malvasia Fina, and Síria (either together or separate, with at least 70% of the vines being of these grapes), plus Manteúdo, Moscatel Graúdo and Perrum.
During the wine tasting, Ellen and I chatted up a mother and daughter from Manchester who wanted to hear about the horrors of the American health care system and I found out why Brits don’t do more vacations in their own country. If they do travel within the county, its Wales or Cornwall and that shit is expensive so it’s just cheaper to catch a flight to Portugal or Greece, etc.
Later, back at the Villa, I took an evening swim before dinner at a close by Italian restaurant whose balcony overlooked tennis and pickleball courts.
Sunday May 14 (Algarve)
Today, after sleeping-in way too late again, an excursion to Falesia Beach was planned of which Dad assured me was “not walkable” but 100% was. We parked where one inch of erosion would’ve resulted in the rental car log rolling down a slope to deceased status, but miraculously the ground held up. One steep incline up and 6 flights of stairs down later and we were at one of two, longest uninterrupted beaches in the Algarve. We rented an umbrella spot with two loungers for 18€ (worth it!). I read a few chapters in my book, got a weird sunburn in my thigh crevasses, and enjoyed the people watching to the gentle and reliable sound of lapping waves. Took a quick dip in the ocean with was very cold and very salty….damn “The Vast Unknown”, why were you so salty? Like way saltier than the Pacific.
Dad and I took a stroll down the beach where fisherman had planted their poles in the sand very far out, so the walk turned into a mini Mission Impossible scene complete with trip wire choreography so as not to ruin the daily catch. I found, well I won’t call it a rock, but it def looks like an old piece of reddish-orange roof tile or ceramic with horizontal notches. Maybe I found an archeological piece of history, maybe not, but it was still cool.
By the time we got back, it was already 4. I took another late afternoon swim. Dad and Ellen went to the cocktail bar, of which I declined attendance since I needed some alone time. They brought back food from a place called Frango (like chicken and rice stuff) and we had dinner on the patio.
Monday May 15 (Algarve)
Dad had an early tee time, so Ellen and I cooked the good bacon and eggs, then walked to the little coffee hut to get an actually latte because I had just been drinking instant (I know, I know). I also bought some festive scrunchies from one of the shops. After Dad got back, it was time for our boat tour of the Bengali Caves. We took an Uber to the marina which was a happening place—lots of restaurants and other “shore” type shit like arcades and go-carts. We were booked on the 2:30 Algar Experience on board the “Belize.”
On this experience we learned about how the dramatic coastline was formed and the guide told us something about each beach, its tide patterns, its restaurants, its resorts, and the names of small towns. He would drop this knowledge VERY SLOWLY. First in English, then Portuguese, and BONUS French. I love a tour guide that drops a morbid fact in an otherwise “sunny” activity. During his bit about a nicer looking house on a cliff he said, “Do you see that house? Do you know the famous ex-Portuguese football player so and so? I was a waiter at his wedding there and he killed himself.” LIKE WHA? Turns out the suicide happened later (NOT at the wedding) because I was about to say what a crazy shitty day to commit suicide. Nelson, the bartender made some delicious boat mojitos, so I had two while I enjoyed the ocean spritz and watched Ellen mad dog two couples from Brazil blocking her view and Irish adult sister triplets with smoking bods and great hair but the faces of ancient Shakespeare bog wenches. Once back at the marina, I realized how colorful it was! Lots of pastel color blocked apartments and a lot of buildings had windows of different shapes, (like triangle, square, circle).
Back at the Villa, I swam again while Dad desperately tried to find a place to eat. After a while, I told him to throw in the towel, so we just went to the Italian place again because the thought of actually going further than 20 feet from the Villa sounded exhausting.
Tuesday May 16 (Porto)
Today we left the Villa and hit the road for Porto, which is a 5-hour drive and basically covers the whole length of the County. Context, right? It takes me 5 hours just to reach the California border from Portland. Dad wanted to stop for lunch in a town called Leiria, which was pretty stressful to be honest because Leiria is smaller = smaller streets, roundabouts, many curves and hills so bringing the Dad driving insanity to a small village is a recipe for disaster. But getting out of the Algarve was step one. Again the topography change was fascinating and I saw different smaller towns and villages off the highway than the drive down. Of course they all have the same style, white houses with terracotta roofs but they pop out of the landscape so there is no misidentifying a town from a hill. Leiria was a charming city that I would like to revisit at some point. Very classic while still feeling modern, but yes, a total nightmare driving wise. At lunch I had a really yummy shrimp and mushroom thing. I tried some of Dad’s octopus salad which was actually really good but I felt a lot of guilt because I don’t really like to eat intelligent species. Anyway, we escaped Leiria alive and made it to Porto!
Once in Porto, it was already 4, so I decompressed from the drive before our dinner reservation at 8 at MUU, a hipster steakhouse. Our waiter was Carlos, and he was the sweetest. He spent lots of time with us and the place had this cool triptych with a bunch of cartoon characters all chaotic and running around after a cow. We had a bottle of Syrah and this is when I started to notice this trend of Syrah being very prominent and it was even from the Algarve where I had just come from.
The food was marvelous, and I asked Carlos for a wine bar recommendation. He told me his old boss had opened up a place called Apothek, so I embarked solo and headed there. This old boss, Pedro, was indeed there and was as Carlos explained him to be. I had some small portions of Madeira, a muscatel, and a very oxidized white wine that tasted like bruised pears and tarragon.
Wednesday May 17 (Porto)
Since I was still so full of steak, I had a granola bar for breakfast. At noon, Dad and I took an Uber to the Gaia side (Porto is actually two cities, Porto and Gaia but just all get called Porto) for our Port tour at Burmester, which somehow stared at 12:45 instead of the 12:30 listed on my ticket. The Uber ride was quite illuminating regarding the streets and the driving conditions in Porto, which is hilly as shit and narrow as shit but was also great because it was like a mini tour of the town and we got to see a lot of architecture and the tile work on the buildings. Burmester was right by the Dom Luis Bridge that had multiple tiered sections for pedestrians, cars, and trains. Luís I Bridge, is a double-deck metal arch bridge that spans the river Douro between the cities of Porto and Vila Nova de Gaia in Portugal. Construction began in 1881 and the bridge was finished in 1886. The bridge was built by an associate of Gustave Eiffel named François Gustave Théophile Seyrig who was known for his bridge designs. Him and Eiffel actually founded the Eiffel Company together in 1868. But the partnership eventually dissolved (I HOPE FOR JUICY REASONS!) and Seyrig worked for a different company out of Belgium when he secured the proposal for the Bridge, BEATING OUT EIFFEL’S PROPOSAL! Damn, I would watch that movie. I love a good architectural and engineering design feud.
Anyway, back to the Port tasting portion of the entry. Burmester was cool, I got to re-fresh myself on the Port styles, winemaking etc. I thought it was funny that all the Americans thought the upstairs locked cellar areas for port ageing was an “old jail”. Got to see a big-ass leaky barrel which I guess they will fix once all the wine is out. Got to taste white port which I actually didn’t know was a thing until this day. There was way too much information to retain but basically, we went over the Burmester family history, style of port etc.
After the tour, we crossed the bridge over to the Porto side where we saw dudes in wetsuits diving off the lower half of the bridge which was obviously for tips and made the whole bridge a cluster fuck because technically this is still the car portion of the bridge but apparently that doesn’t apply to dumb tourists.
We were on our way for a walking tour of wine and food. We basically ended up crossing that damn bridge like 4 more times—once because I was confused about the meeting spot, then went back across to original meeting spot, then crossed again into Gaia with our guide. Our tour guide was Benjie, and we were joined by a radiologist from NY, a couple from New Jersey and a couple that was half from Malta and half Dutch. Benjie dropped mad facts about the boats that bring the finished port wine from the Douro Valley into Gaia to the cellars for ageing. Basically, Gaia is North facing which is colder than the Porto side. He told us the old monastery on the hill became a fortress during the Portuguese Civil War which seemed short and was about some brother beef shit. Later I found out that proper name of the feud was “The Liberal Wars” and not “The Brother Beef Wars.” It DID have the alias of “The War of the Two Brothers” which I guess I’ll accept. The war was, SURPRISE, between liberals and conservatives in Portugal over royal succession that lasted from 1832 to 1834.
After our history lesson, we had another Port tasting at Fonseca and basically got the same information about port making as Burmester (oops!) but with some differences such as Burmester still has some old-ass vintages, but Fonseca basically auctioned all their old stuff off with their earliest bottle likely only from the 1990s. We had a dry style of white port that can be made into a cocktail called a Port Tonic. It was quite the uphill hike to Fonseca which had me fearing for Dad’s knees. It was a struggle for most of us to be honest.
After Fonseca and a few more hills, we went to a place for some Rissol (which are basically Portuguese empanadas) and some Vinho Verde. I had a cod Rissol and a lobster one. Benjie was dropping some more history which I promptly forgot before telling us he was going to show us “the most beautiful McDonald’s in the world”…OKAY BENJIE, weird but okay…and honestly it was! Basically, it was an old famous café in the early 1900s, late 1800s called the Imperial which had gorgeous chandeliers, art deco glass mosaics, etc. According to Atlas Obscura, “It (the McDonald’s) opened in 1995 in the space previously occupied by the famous Portuguese coffeeshop, which was an icon in the 1930s. The building retained many of the original Art Deco features including the ornate ceilings, chandeliers, and a large stained-glass wall, which is currently behind the counter.” The reason for this is the government doesn’t want to you go and change beautiful historic places into sterile white fast-food halls so Micky D’s had to adapt. More history, more walking, more of Dad telling me he was reaching the end of his knee rope. Our final stop was at an unmemorable place for a trio of Douro Valley wines, which Dad had no chill for and was making an active facial showing of his distaste of the wines.
Had a breather back at the hotel before venturing out for dinner at a place called Almada 33. Almada 33 was TINY. Like that awful porch Ikea furniture tiny and there were only 5 of them. The owner was very nice and also very eccentric. He kept introducing tables by their country of origin, it was charming. Had the best Salmon sashimi of my life then for a main course this delicious codfish with parmesan cheese au gratin. I wish I could have been able to finish it, but I was SO FULL. After this dinner it was time for just a chill night back at the hotel with my fancy mechanical bathroom blinds.
THURSDAY – May 18 (Return to Lisbon)
Communication wasn’t all that great this day, and basically two of us were on board for a final stop in Porto before leaving for Lisbon and one wasn’t. We went to the Museu Nacional Soares dos Reis” which was the National Museum, and it had a really nice layout kind of art history style but because of said communication mishap, only got to stay for 45 minutes so I snaped pics of people I wanted to learn more about like naturalist painters Silvo and Henrique Pasou.
It was a 3-hour drive south back to Lisbon. Dad dropped Ellen and I off so he could take the rental car to the airport early so he would not have to deal with it for their early flight the next day. The hotel was The Ivans and it was the hotel lobby of my dreams. It was all art deco and jungle animal/tropical kind of Hemmingway vibes. All the bellhops and doormen were dressed in safari outfits, and they even give you this free beautiful tote. This was Dad’s splurge hotel, and it was def like $300 a night. Too bad it was just one night.
Ellen and I walked around this new area of Lisbon which was kind of in between Bairro Alto and Alfama. We went into this cute kitchen store then to Bertrand. Bertrand claims to be “The World's Oldest Bookstore” founded in Lisbon by two French brothers in 1732. I have my doubts that there was no such thing as a bookstore prior to 1732 but okay Lisbon. At the bookstore, I bought a book on Portuguese history and a poetry book by some famous poets like Pessoa. Pessoa is probably considered one of the greatest Portuguese writers. He wrote under 3 different heteronyms, each being a different expression of Pessoa. I love this poem that he wrote as Ricardo Reis:
With one eye on the past,
some see which they cannot see,
whilst others in the future see
that which cannot be seen.
Why go so far for what is so near—
The actual day that we can see? In a single gasp
we live and die. So seize the day,
for the day is what you are.
We watched some street dancers before heading back to the Ivan bar for some drinks (please say a prayer for my liver at this point) I loved loved loved this bar’s aesthetic which isn’t surprising because I love the hotel aesthetic too. I had a few different types of negronis (sour and one with elderflower).
For dinner I made a reservation for dinner at the Italian restaurant. We sat at an area where you can watch one of the sous chefs make appetizers. By this point I had hit a bit of an exhaustion ceiling and went down to the fancy bathroom to cry. I thought I was alone until a women popped out from the other side of the mirrors and asked if I was okay. I apologized since I thought no one was in there but it turns out she was a trauma therapist! LOL HOW FORTUATOUS! She assured me my response was valid and congratulated me on taking a moment for myself then left me with some inspirational Brene Brown quote. Thanks Analie Howling! After dinner, Dad and I went to Wine Not? Wine and Tapas bar and split a sparking Portuguese wine then had a final cocktail at the beautiful bar. I thanked him for everything then we said goodbyes.
Friday May 19 (Lisbon)
I had to check out of that gorgeous hotel and wait an extra 30 minutes for my wine tour because once again, the ticket said 9:00 but it was really 9:30? Anyway, I thought this was a small tour group but guess I actually just ended up booking a PRIVAYE TOUR, lucky me! My guide and driver was a very handsome 20-something named Vasco (like Vasco de Gama) but I guess its actually pronounced Vascoz. We crossed the Ocean? Harbor? Bay? Wait, it’s a river that empties into the Ocean…AN ESTUARY…we crossed over the Tagus River on that bridge that looks like the Golden Gate Bridge called the 25th of April Bridge, or “bridge over the Tagus.”
We were headed to the Setabul wine region. On the agenda was a more commercial fortified muscatel cellar called Jose Maria Fonseca, a smaller winery/farm called Quinta de Alcube, and a co-op called Adega Cooperative de Pamela. First was the JMF for the famous Moscatel de Setabul. This is fortified muscatel. They are also famous for their Periquita made from the Castelão grape which has robust red fruit notes of strawberry, plum, red current, with cured meats, and cocoa beans with medium to high tannins. I’d say it’s similar to Monestrall/Mourvedre but it is truly a Portuguese original. It is rarely grown outside of the county. It is sometimes used in Port production, but it is not one of the usual suspects.
The Moscatel de Setubal is a fortified dessert wine which has a very similar story to Maderia in which wine merchants found out that sea voyages altered the wine through temperature fluctuations and movement from the ship itself, so they fortified the wine before the voyage to help stabilize the wine for its journey.
JMF was founded in 1834. They often exported to Brazil but sometimes they had to turn around mid-voyage because of rough seas or some shit but basically the tropical heat that hit on the return voyage helped the Moscatel improve so they started calling this failed delivery wine the Torna Viagemi or “Return Voyage”. They still do that to this day as part of a very special vintage. We got a tour of the Moscatel cellar which was next level moldy and the most spiderwebs I’ve ever seen in my life in one place. The mold and the spiders are actually part of the mini eco system inside the cellar—the spiders eat the wood termites, and the bats eat the spiders. Either way I felt like I was in a haunted crypt. After the tour, we got to taste the Moscatel Roxo which is actually pretty rare which mean we never see it in the US. It is made with the Moscatel Roxo grape which is red instead of white, while the classic white version is made with Muscat of Alexandria grape. Standard Muscatel is aged up to 5 years, and anything beyond that is considered a Moscatel de Setubal Superior. Superior is often labeled by the amount of years they have been ageing the blend so labels will say 20, 30, 40 etc. anos.
What does this taste like? Well, I didn’t have the expensive stuff but the regular stuff is like is very mandarin orange, dried apricot, and honey vibes. The older the Moscatel, the more caramel, marzipan, and nut flavor notes come out. People probably thought I was all fancy with my personal tour guide (or I would like to think) and I asked Vasco if he had fun hanging out with the other tour guides.
Next was the Quints de Alcuble. It was a quant farm or “Adega” operation. There was a small cat on a chair taking a nap then I fed him a cracker. I saw an old dog wondering around free to just nap wherever the hell he wanted which was surprising because later when I got to see the other farm animals there was a dog living in what I consider to be horrific conditions—direct hot-ass sun exposure, gross looking water, a hot plastic “shelter” that was probably hotter than the actual outside was. Vasco told me it was the dog’s job to protect the chickens next to him or some shit but I don’t know…. the whole situation made me uncomfortable, maybe the old dog used to have that job and that is why he gets to do whatever he wants now…who knows. All I know is sometimes it is hard to swallow other countries’ treatment of animals. I know the US is far from perfect, especially in Texas and other areas of the south that keep dogs outside all the time. Guess I’m just living in my liberal PNW dog are children utopia! Anyway, the wine was okay. Had a white wine made from Arinto, a muscatel blend that wasn’t very good, and a 100% Touriga Nacional which was decent. Next was the “oh we have some more time side hustle” in which there is a strategic stop to a place where they want you to buy stuff (remember the Goji Berry farm?) but I don’t know maybe it wasn’t, but it worked lol.
We went to the artisan tile maker place called Azulejos de Azeitao. I got to see a tile making demonstration and learned the following: They shrink a bit after drying. There are two styles, the painted blue ones that are pretty standard all over Portugal vs the fancier embossed ones. The colors come from the reactions of the chemicals from the heat in the kiln. So even though you used “white” paint, it could come out cobalt. I bought an individual embossed tile and had it fortified with some Portuguese cork because why not? It was between a frog on a lily pad or a grasshopper on some wheat. I asked Vascos which one he liked better and he said the grasshopper so that is what I went with. Next, we drove through the hill top medieval town of Palmela (PAHL-MEL-AH) not Pamela like I kept saying like an asshole. It would have been cool to check out this town but alas not on the itinerary. The Co-op was a pretty large facility. I saw the machine that tests the grape juice as it comes into the facility and got to learn how the co-op works with their grape farmers. Basically, the co-op pays the farmers for their grapes and turns them into finished wine under their label. Part of the deal is also that the co-op will provide advice on harvest times or help when issues might arise in the vineyard, etc. I got to taste more Castelão, and Moscatel and surprise, more Syrah. I also got my own personal board of sheep cheese, chorizo, apple butter and the water bread which you will find all over Portugal as Pão de água.
After the tour was over and Vasco took me back to the Ivens to get my stuff, I then had to find out the hard way that Ubers don’t drive in Alfama, the old part of the city and where my Airbnb was. Only certified regular taxi drivers can go there since it is so narrow and with many one ways. Even my taxi driver was too scared to actually go down the road I needed so I had to go down many flights of stairs with my suitcase where I met with Marina, my host who helped me schlep that thing up the 4 flights of stairs with the first set basically being vertical.
The apartment was super cute with AMAZING views of the water, church towers, and tiled buildings. It was resplendent and worth the hellish staircase (maybe lol). You have to experience getting lost in Alfama— is just this winding amazing maze of streets, and stairs and you never know what each ally way hold! After some relaxing and settling in, I wondered not too far for a starter dinner at a place called Restaurante Fado na Morgadinha, which was giving me the Fado music tourist trap vibes that Marina was telling me about. I had a small and mediocre octopus salad (I’m sorry Octopus!) while I’m guessing the two father figure of the place’s children took turns singing, it was fine for a short stop.
Next, I went to one of Marina’s recommended places called Alfama 63 but had to come back in an hour so I had a beer at on outdoor café close to the Fado Museum. Once back at Alfama 63 (circa 9:00 p.m.) a mother and father operation with again, only like 5 tables, I splurged because the son was so nice. All the wine was from the family vineyard, and I had a sardine tar tar, gazpacho, and razor clams. I also had a small glass of Ginja, the cherry wine that also gets hocked by random ladies in the alley ways in small chocolate shot glasses. Ginja is delicious especially for cherry lover like me. I lovely French girl named Tea (TAE-A) wanted to practice her English with me and she shared a glass out of of her red bottle of wine with me. Her boyfrend only spoke French and of course the son was speaking French, English and Portugues. It was a good time there, and on the walk back to the Airbnb I got to hear bits of Fado as I walked by all the restaurants. Once I got back upstairs, I could still occasionally hear the high notes from the balcony.
Saturday May 20 (Lisbon – Last Day)
I woke up after not the best night sleep. The bed was on a metal frame which means squeak city…seriously, why are we still doing metal bed frames? I went to another Marina recommended spot for breakfast called Qusa Café and finally got a decent fucking latte and I liked their “choose your own adventure” pressed juice. I went with what I’m calling the anti-inflammatory special of Pineapple, Ginger, and Papaya (Papaya is so good and I wish we had more of it in the US). I got a version of eggs benedict which was okay but once again hardly any hollandaise and when I asked for extra it was cold. This is an international problem y’all.
Next, I walked down to the Fado Museum, where I got street hustled by the Ginja ladies and almost got swindled by some children who wanted to like sing me some religious song for money? No thank you small hustlers. At the Fado Museum, I got to learn about the history of Fado, the humble working-class songs of the people of Lisbon and how it became more mainstream in the 1970s when there was some drama with censorship and pollical assholery. There is a particular style of Fado called Saudade which is a word symbolizing longing or a feeling of loss. One of the most famous singers was Amalia Rodriguez. I listened to her more after the museum.
The museum was a bit hot (like no A/C) and I started to feel pretty shitty so I headed back to the loft and just spent a lot of time chilling on the couch and watching the boats come and go. At some point I went out for an unmemorable dinner where I had these prawns that would have been delicious, but they came in a shell which is where all the sauce was and still had the poop vein! No thanks…lots of picking apart and some weird ground sausage and mushroom soup.
I went back to the loft and just continued to watch boats, the sunset, and all the swallows chirping and sky dancing in the sunset. I learned that swallows are couples and mate for life and are very symbolic in Portugal, they mean family, love, and fidelity, and according to Nat Geo, they live in Portugal for the warmer months. Swallows also co-parent their chicks and won’t leave the nest until their chicks do. I saw them going in and out of roof tiles where they likely have their nests. I really like their tails. SO yeah I guess the two Portuguese birds are Storks and Swallows. New hot Portuguese wine bar name alert! Maybe…
