Xenophilia

A stroke of luck for me resulted in a last minute trip to Lisbon, Portugal around Memorial Day 2006. I had to pack a suitcase in anticipation that I may or may not go, but because of scheduling issues with my co-worker, I was chosen to go in her place. For two days of work at the conference, I ended up getting a week of free time in Lisbon and environs. Aside from thoroughly investigating that city, I also saw Belem (technically a part of Lisbon), Sintra and Fatima.

About two days prior to the Memorial Day weekend in which I was planning to go to Brooklyn, my boss approached me asking if I would be available to travel to Lisbon for the European Conference in case the program manager wasn’t able to go. I was poised to leave work at 3 to head up to New York, so I had to pack a backpack for New York and a suitcase for Portgual just in case. At about 10 am Friday morning my boss called me into his office and informed me that he’d made the decision to send me to Lisbon. I then had to rush through getting my ticket, meeting with my colleague and boss and making other last-minute preparations in order to be prepared for the conference. Given the tight schedule, I knew there was no way I could leave at 3, especially considering I had a 2:30 meeting! I finally left around 5, taking my time getting north with rush hour in full force.

Fast forward to Monday, May 29th. After downing some beers at a Park Slope bar, my friend Mark and I headed to the Newark airport, stopping off in Staten Island at a pizza place Mark had discovered years ago. After finally finding the correct road to the airport, Mark dropped me off and I was headed for the international departures hall. For the most part, I had no problems getting through customs and all that, and the flight was fairly decent. I actually managed to fall asleep for a large part of it. By the time we approached Lisbon, it was probably 5:45 am local time. I looked out the window of the plane to see the Portugal coast and the terra cotta tiled roofs of Lisbon houses.

In an ever-so-slight disoriented state of mind, I wandered through the arrivals hall at the Lisbon airport. I queued up at the information booth to find out just how on earth I can get money, find a way to the hotel and locate a bathroom. Alas, my questions were answered although I later realized that the money exchange counter was a ripoff and the ATM machine would have been my best bet. It was quite disheartening to hand over $140 US and get only 97 euros back. For some reason I had mentally calculated the euro to be less than a dollar but obviously it was more, which I had heard but thought it might have changed. In any case, I was able to track down a city bus that stopped more or less across the street from the hotel. Getting across that street, which was mired in construction that blocked the median for nearly two blocks in either direction, became a coin toss and I decided to go towards the opposite direction of the Marques de Pombal circle. My suitcase wheels proved sturdy as I bumped along the blocky concrete tiles that lined the sidewalk, occasionally requiring me to shift into the road or lift the suitcase over a missing block of tile.

Despite the early morning hour (by then I believe it was 8 am local time), I was able to check into my room and take a much needed shower. It took me awhile to realize that the lights operated by inserting the room keycard into a slot by the door. The card had to remain in the slot in order for me to turn lights on and off, which was supposed to be energy-efficient I guessed. I flipped on the television and gathered my battered Lonely Planet Portugal book that I’d picked up at the Towson Library for 50 cents a couple years before. The lineup was a mixture of local and international stations, including BBC and MTV. I settled for a Portuguese channel that was showing a movie. The language sounded like an odd version of Arabic with a French accent. I was able to read several signs and words due to their proximity in spelling to Spanish, but understanding the pronunciation was a different story.

Once I got my bearings from the map, I decided to begin my overseas adventure with a quest for breakfast, or some sort of sustenance. Shortly through my journey down the cobbled sidewalks of Avenida da Liberdade, I realized wearing thongs just won’t do, so I returned to the hotel and changed into shoes and ventured back into the city with refreshed feet. In my food quest, I was also searching for post-conference lodging that would not break my budget. I was lucky to be able to stay at a nice hotel from Tuesday through Saturday nights, but on Sunday I was on my own. I stumbled across a quiet cafe on a parallel side street to the Avenida. The friendly bartender/waiter spoke some English and we agreed that I would have the sausage for my meal. Here I was in Lisbon, Portugal, hungry and open to adventure in trying the local cuisine. I’m not usually fond of sausage, but given the available translations it seemed the safest bet. To bide the time, I had my first taste of Sagres beer in its standard 0,20 liter glass. The time was irrelevant to me, and since I didn’t have a watch and didn’t bother to operate my cell phone, by then I lost all track of time. It felt like 1 to me, but I’m sure it was only 10 or 10:30. Finally my plate arrived: two fried sausages topped with a fried egg and surrounded by a bed of french fries. Get ready for grease! It turned out that the sausage was the best feature: a delicious treat with the consistency of mashed potatoes inside but with a lightly crunchy “shell.” I stopped myself from questioning how that was possible and just enjoyed the taste.

After a satisfying meal, my journey continued south along the Avenida towards the city center. I passed beautiful European architecture, blooming flowers in the large median and some of the most perfect summer weather I could have ever hoped for. The buildings were stately and of relatively normal height (approximately eight storeys). I eventually approached a curve in the road that revealed a large, beautiful square that I learned was dubbed Rossio. Flanked by outdoor cafes and even more stately, ornate buildings including the National Theatre, Rossio featured a central monument of Dom Pedro IV and two fountains on either end. The tiles revealed a wavy zebra-stripe pattern. People crisscrossed the square on their way to work, lunch or shopping.

I continued along whatever street the Avenida turned into by then and stopped at the Praca do Comercio, which was the end of the street before the large estuary of the Rio Tejo (Tagus River). Commerce Square is a large, rather empty square surrounded by arcaded government office buildings, a few cafes and a gateway arch to Rua Augusta, a major pedestrian shopping mall. This is also the location of many of the city’s bus, tram, trolley and tourist bus stops. This was once the premier entrance to the city from a mariner’s point of view.

At the moment I centered a stunning view of the plaza in the window of my digital camera, the memory card proclaimed it was full. “Not to panic, I am in the capital of a European country where they are sure to have memory cards,” I thought to myself. For a few moments I was beginning to wonder, but I looped back around to Rua Augusta after a detour through several interesting side streets and stopped in a few shops. One friendly shopkeeper informed me that he did not have memory cards, but walked with me outside his shop and pointed up the street where I coud find one. Sure enough, I was in luck! The women in the photo supply store not only sold me a very reasonably priced memory card (with a 550+ photo capacity!), but also made sure it loaded in my camera and worked. And thankfully they accepted my American plastic.

The shutterbug blood rushing in my veins, I returned to Praca do Comercio to shoot the picutre I hadn’t gotten, and continued back towards Rossio. There I detoured left and around a hairpin turn that lead to a road going uphill. On either side were several upscale-looking shops with decorative facades, in an area called Chiado. Somehow I meandered through twists and turns to the district known as Bairro Alto which was an extensive web of streets and alleyways where much of Lisbon’s nightlife occurred. By day, it was a peaceful stroll up steep cobbled streets that were barely wide enough for the compact cars that bumbled along at unimaginable speeds. Several buildings were lined with the traditional azulejos, or decorative ceramic tiles, in several patterns or designs. Most of them were blue, as the name suggests, but they also came in other colors and varieties. Another feature of Lisbon was the prevalence of jacaranda trees–beautiful lavendar-colored flowers in place of where most trees have green leaves. I came upon a courtyard in front of the ruins of a convent and church. To the side of this was a walkway to the top of the Elevador de Santa Justa. From here, magnificent views of Rossio Plaza, Castelo Sao Jorge and the rooftops of Lisbon were visible. The elevator itself was ornate, with intricate designs around the edges and a set of spiral staircases, one of which led to the top platform where to my surprise I discovered a rooftop cafe. With breathtaking views and a smiling bartender waiting for me to place an order for cerveja, I had no choice but to sit down with a cold beer and enjoy the scenery while I wrote postcards to home. I had to remind myself that I was actually here on business!

Luckily the bus pass I had purchased from the airport was valid on a number of public transportation features in the city (anything owned by Carris, the company), and I rode the elevator down to Baixa for free. The interior of the elevator was something to behold: carved wood, ornate mirrors and very spacious.

So much for my blog on Portugal. It’s been a long time since I’ve updated this, and never finished. The conference went well and I had a couple interesting experiences like an 8-course Portuguese dinner at a gay restaurant in the old part of town and the 10-km walk several of us ventured to have dinner at the docks under the bridge.

I also experienced what late-night Lisbon was all about when I stayed up as late as I could on Friday and wandered through the crowded streets of Bairro Alto. At 3 am it was as packed as sardines, with people ranging in age from 16 to 65 drinking their beer or cocktails in the labyrinthine pathways that formed the spiderweb this part of Lisbon was.

Belem is technically part of Lisbon, but is still about 6 kilometers from the downtown train station. It is an historical section containing a huge museum complex and an Imperial Palace as well as Geronimo’s Monastery (with Vasco da Gama’s tomb). For me the cool thing was being at the place where Vasco da Gama set sail for the New World, and not only him but many other explorers I’d never heard of. It was inspirational as I consider myself to be a modern-day explorer anyway. It was a very hot day but worth it to experience being there. The monument to him wasn’t very pretty but the museum was interesting and I enjoyed the vista from the top. I also visited Cascais that day, a little beach town about 30 minutes by train west of Belem.

Cascais, upon arrival, was touristy for sure, but it was nice to sit and relax under a beach-view terrace umbrella watching the world go by. The cobbled pedestrian streets were smooth as agate and omnipotent in Portugal. I walked through town to the ruins of a fort and a strip mall by the docks. The weather was hot and the air salty but for some reason I remember feeling comfortable walking through the town. There were plenty of shops but I didn’t see an expanse of beach worth venturing to, and I didn’t have a swimming suit anyway, so I went back to Lisbon. Besides, my plan was to head to Costa di Caparica for my sunbathing.

When you travel you always forget something. For me, it was a towel for the beach. Luckily though I found a nice beach towel at the Caparica market for only 10 euro. It was the sunscreen that set me back about 15 euro. I waited for the supposed beach train to take me to the end of the line, and sure enough it came along. It was the type of train you would expect to find at a zoo or park to transport little kids around through some sort of fairytale backdrop. But in this case most of the passengers were shirtless or bikini-clad folks with beers and beach towels. I wasn’t quite sure where the nude beach was but I took the train to the designated stop and walked a few yards in the opposite direction to finally find a few scattered pieces of flesh. I was disappointed, to be honest. I expected a find something a bit more vibrant and exclusive, but amidst mostly clothed straight couples were the 3-5 nude gay men, finally including myself. The water was cool but comfortable. The sun was gently warm and after a dip in the ocean, I felt comfortable on my new beach towel with appropriate layers of the expensive sunscreen on. After awhile I was worried I would get stranded, so I made my way back to the train stop and eventually to a bus stop. It took quite awhile actually, after realizing I was at the wrong stop. Finally, I found a deserted stop at the edge of town and waited for about 40 minutes for what I gathered was the last bus back into Lisbon. I think the taxi would have cost me much more than the measley 20 euros I had on hand. It was a nice day and I was going to go home with a nice Portuguese tan.

Sintra was by far the highlight of the trip. It is a hilly town with several sections, a “lower” town, “upper” town (downtown) and some further uphill sections. I walked to the top of the Castelo dos Mouros (Moorish Castle) and had the best views in all of Portugal. I could even see to the Atlantic Ocean, which is some 35 km away. The climb up was enough to test my physical strength but it was well worth the efforts. The climate was much cooler than the rest of the places I’d been to and it was a much-needed break to the humid summer air. Sintra also had a quaint downtown, in which I toured the National Palace, had a filling lunch at an interesting restaurant with a storage hole in the center of the floor. They said it had been used to store perishable goods, and they left it intact with a railing around it. The Palacio dos Regaleiros was equally enchanting. I think that may have been my second favorite moment of the trip.

I saved the most spiritual for last: Fatima. The town is quite tacky but the basilica is impressive and what struck me was the walkway through the olive garden where Lucia saw the first apparition. It was just me and God until a group of Spanish tourists arrived, but still the tranquility and peace was almost tangible. I really enjoyed the trip even though it wasn’t a typical destination for a short trip. In retrospect I wish I had taken a couple extra days off, but I was still quite lucky to go.