A hot start; from Dubai to Lisbon

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“Half the enjoyment is in the planning”. And how fast time went from then to now.



We cooked this idea up as a combination of unrealised plans in Spain from 2020, with the opportunity to one day visit Portugal. Adding some new knowledge, and an aspiration to see Portugal more than what a lengthy bike packing weekender from Extramadura or Andalucía could have been (it was a two town based unrealised adventure), and here it is.



Lisbon to Barcelona by bike is something that might be seen as adventurous, but, we hope to take it gradually, allowing both body and mind to absorb the journey and maybe several paderia/ panadería on the way. There is something about having another birthday, and one’s health, that meant the time’s now.



Night time flights for 17 hours are generally the fastest way to Europe from NZ, and for the first time, we went Emirates. The continual night definitely helps sleeping, and the bright lights of the toilet cabin guaranteed to kick you out of your sleepy state mid flight. Surprisingly, we arrived in Dubai having had several hours of rest, to then disembark to a sultry morning, the opposite of an Auckland spring.



32C at 5.30am, 60% humidity, and high 30s forecast for the afternoon. The Middle East was still coming off a warm and sandy summer.



Staff at reception, quiet in the early morning at the Crowne Plaza, helped us figure out our plans. Warmth was an afterthought, however, well after some laps and poolside time and until we eventually left.



The heat of 38C hits you hard. Wandering a short distance from the hotel to the Festival City Marine boat transfer station, tumbleweeds could have run through the precinct; it seemed in a state of new construction and as if nothing was open. But, where there’s air con, there are station attendants.



We had the transfer to ourselves, over the muddy looking creek, to the aptly named Creek metro station. A submerged small ship sat beside the pier, and a large decrepit but traditional looking ship, peeled of all its exterior. A grand labour of love for someone perhaps?



Creek to Al Ras, in fifteen minutes on an elevated light rail platform, looked like a fairly new way to get around, with some extra large foundations continuing beyond the Creek station track and platform ending. Spice souks, gold souks, trinkets souks, and if so inclined, utensils souks, were all for sale, either by street side or in alley ways.



How heavily sold though, it became immediately apparent at entry. The assertive appeal to enter a stall, for “information” and more promotion, is something that was hard to resist. If the words “air con” were used, tempting. But, having been reeled into one after the other, at times us both split across the alley with another seller, resist we had to and resist we then did. Every single one approached us, and other (obviously) tourists, that we pressed firmly onwards, with a thanks but no thanks smile. Buying bulk raw products and spices, before a nearly 3000km carry-all bike journey, or NZs quarantine, wasn’t the best move.



Meantime, sweating and trying to keep cool in now 39C was a greater challenge. The free water given by one seller wasn’t drunk but saturated my light scarf, to cool and cover the shoulders and head. Reasonably effective. However, a step up would have been an ice shower then and there, thinking back to temperature control methods used on past cycle journeys.



Wandering around increasingly wearily, we noticed worshippers completing one of the daily prayers, and a few people soporifically resting in one shady patio near the station, by a sole tree and creeping pink bougainvillea. A skinny cat or two walks by. Another cat was sleeping by the station in the shade. Robed Arabs stood talking in darker alleys, or were kept busy shepherding yet another spice sack.



We sensibly called it to an end around 3pm, taking the air conditioned Metro back home, for a swim and watering. We’d gone though 2L of water in 4 hours between us, but our bodies hadn’t noticed. The headache was accounted for on such a day.



After some rehydration, and watching a sunset from the room over the hazy city skyline, we headed to the Festival Mall for dinner options. Finding a Japanese Daiso (hyaku-en shop) was a bonus, that didn’t solve the problem we’d had, and for food, Carrefour won in the end. As if we hadn’t had enough already, creating our version of a mezze platter was dinner. Never pass an opportunity for eggplant dip, pitas, and pomegranate seeds/ juice.



Slightly cooler as 29C at 7am, we returned to the pool pre breakfast for laps, as did a handful of parents trying to teach their child swimming, or adults generally swimming in a non linear manner. The one roped lane was eventually available, and P2 clocked up a second day of rarely swum laps, at his physios recommendations, to work out the kinks of long haul flying.



P2 later told me the life guard spoke to him about ‘that’ swimmer. He’d never seen anyone swim like me before. I awkwardly took the compliment.



Our transfer to the airport was polite, on time and seamless, with the safe topics of conversation around sport (cricket) easily shared, having many cricket loving communities residing in Dubai.



Leaving an hour late due to a sick passenger, the pilot made up the time so that 8.5 hours of flying became 7.5, and we were almost travelling as scheduled. The remaining daylight at 8pm allowed us a glimpse of Lisbon on arrival as the (wide) river, and hilly, city it is.



The airport was only a fifteen minute ride from our accommodation in Intendente, near one of the many hospitals. Leafy streets, some on the outskirts of Lisbon with fountains and watercourses, would be appreciated in the 30C+ days we would have over the Thursday to Monday stay.



The national day (public holiday) fell on the 5th, a Thursday, which was our chance to get to know this part of Lisbon on foot before collecting bikes, and thereafter, the pedal power began. Sluggish with lingering jet lag and our late arrival, we had a leisurely start late morning, heading off in general direction of Park Eduardo and the botanical gardens. Admiring the large Português flag and view down to the coast were gatherings of other tourists, all the while as busloads of people were discharged or collected at the main rotunda.



Now 30C and rising, we kept on the shady side of the city as best possible (some streets are very leafy) by also paying €5 to enter the sanctuary of the botanical gardens. Filled with novel flora and fauna based sculptures / artworks of one artist in particular, Sylvia Bongard and another family member, it was pause for thought as we passed row after row of tropical and sub tropical plants, including one from a NZ family that, several days later, we noticed named on a tree at the costume museum gardens (Museu Nacional da Moda).



Leading back down the hill to the Placa Comércio and Arca da Rua Augusto, it was now heaving with people. The temporary fences were out. And the floating Petri dish tourists of three ships had discharged for the day, so finding that calm in hilly Alfama late afternoon required a little more effort.



P2 overheard two North American cyclists riding past where we’d stopped for a cold drink; “let’s get out of this mess” he said. Exactly. As we both discovered, the transit police broadly out in force had their place. Jaded by yet another foreigner infringement, be it photographic (P2, asked to move on at the monastery) or cycling on a tram lined road the right way around (me).



We’d a longish walk mid morning though the neighbourhoods of Alfama, and beyond, to the Lisbon Oceanarium, which beautifully segued to get to nearby Kombina. Filipe, the owner of Kombina (who, like our local Auckland bike mechanic, was also married to a nurse), had been our contact since starting the bike selection-to-purchase journey. After a few ‘misses’ at shops elsewhere (there were not enough bike mount points on some other bikes / models), the experience has been second to none, and incredibly genuine.



Filipe set us up with the Schwalbe tyres, bottle cages and the proper bike fit we wanted (drop bars were P2s comfort choice for hands, as we whiled away the K’s in past trips on flat bars …). So, in the end, we chose Specialized Diverge gravel bikes, at the more affordable end of the spectrum. Pedalling back home for the night along the continuous ciclovia, and then testing them out for 40 odd kilometres on a trip into Belem the following day (which ended back up at Kombina, we had them tweaked, and within the time taken for a good coffee from across the road at , we’d resolved those few early use issues.



Aside from the natural anxiety of starting out (P2s a lot less of a rider than I am), our we felt ready for the intended adventure.



Getting about by bike in Lisbon has been easy, with the general caveat of ‘once on the bike lanes’. To exclude the driver behaviour would not do any place justice, which had been from courteous, to downright speeding, and all that occurs in between. Surprisingly, with bike lanes at most roundabouts, there did seem to be more giving way to cyclists as traffic flowed, which is heartening when you see the green path continue basically straight through it. In Alfama / Intendente, we rode centre line, or centre median, along a long grassed traffic island as the tramlines ran to our right. Road works, transit police, bystanders, and large sacks of 2 metre high ‘something’ being pushed by a small cart; the bike lanes had it all.



Seeing the outside of Monasterio Jerónimo and the Tower of Belém were a case in point, where we managed to cycle all the way into town almost to our end point. Once we’d taken in a beautiful old church’s fresco, we partook in the recommended Pastel de Nata (custard tarts, with icing sugar and cinnamon) at what was the oldest shop making them here. With very average customer service to match the hoards of, perhaps, demanding tourists, I used my limited “Muito obrigada” to try and make her day better …



Unfortunately, the heat could not be satisfied properly at Alges beach for the same reason as at other Tagus river beaches, water pollution, so, I reinstated the ‘ice bucket challenge’. Or, make that the ice cold shower/ ice cold bottled water and wet headsock challenge. Ice cream, ice blocks, and frozen water bottles were all trialled over our five day stay, the final one (a Sunday) spent seeing the lead runner in the Lisbon Marathon, wandering in Monsanto forest park, and seeking culture at the Museu da Moda. It was after those 35 euro cents coffees at a vending machine there when the heat and fatigue hit really hard. Five days here at 30C+, and two days at 38C, it has been quiet the opposite of NZ.



Packing up, testing the bags, and feeling their wobbly weight. Now, the real deal starts.

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