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Published: October 19th 2021
After a good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast, we set off on our adventure of the day. Lisbon has many hills, trolley cars and similarities to San Francisco, where we had all lived at different times. Our mission if we chose to accept it, and we did, was to find the yellow tram number 28. Tram 28 is known as a touristy tram for good reason, but was well worth the time. We took the Metro down to the start of the 28, waited in line for a good 40 minutes before boarding and securing window seats. I always enjoy watching the world go by as I sit on public transportation, so the window is a must. On a side note, I have to say that mask wearing here in Lisbon is very common. I haven’t noticed much fuss regarding it, which is a nice change. Perhaps I don’t see the behind the scenes drama of it all, but in buildings, on crowded streets, and this tram, almost each person is masked.
Down a tree lined street, our tram rattled along. We turned a corner and started up the hill. Buildings stand right up against the tram along the
route, meaning we could peer into store windows and get a good feel of the area. Our thought was to ride this to the end of the line, turn around and ride it back down, hopping on and off as we came to stops that interested us. A large arch overlooking the water caught Merry Jo’s and my eye, so we made note to find it again. There are some truly amazingly beautiful overlooks on this tram’s journey. At the end of the line, we had to disembark, and queue up again for the ride down. Several people in front of us was France’s version of a male Karen. He and his girlfriend bought a ticket on the tram, but it was the wrong tram. The ticket was for a one-way ride, so was not transferable to the other tram. As we stood there, he argued, cajoled, berated his case to the operator who was having none of it. Off the tram they went, only to pop up like an angry Jack in the box right in front of us. They started the BS again, until they finally relented and bought a new ticket. Seriously, this was all over less
than a $5 ticket. I didn’t get it, but it did make me realize how one can choose to be unhappy or choose to be happy. On this day, I was choosing happy, and loved it.
With the drama behind us, we clattered our way back down the hill. One tree, a burst of purple, had stood out as a reference point. Sadly, when it came down to remembering this reference point, I was caught with my metaphorical pants down. The car was crowded with people standing in the aisle blocking the view of the other side. I remembered the tree, but never saw the arch we wanted to see. Down we went, until it was inevitable that I had missed the stop we needed. We got off, and waited for another tram to take us back up to where we did find a scenic outlook for some postcard perfect pictures. If you are really nice, I may post a few of them at the bottom of the blog. And to be honest, I will most likely post them regardless. Up we walked, until we strolled into a non-descript restaurant. This restaurant broke so many of our travel rules,
that it shames me to say that we ate there, but, darn it, we were hungry. For them, it was the rule of too many menu pages. For me, it was pictures of every item on the menu, plus translation into probably 8 languages. They brought out the obligatory plates of rolls, butter, croquettes and whatnot that had seen better days, and even more table trips. We passed. The food was better than I had anticipated, but then again the bar was pretty low. Soon enough, we were back out in the sun, walking up the hill.
Eventually, we found the arch that we wanted to see. As it turns out, it had been built as a gateway to the city. Nice views, nice architecture, tons of tourist crap for sale. Since we had taken our time, we had to Uber up the hill to meet our guide for our Lisbon off the Beaten Track tour. The guide was a personable woman named Rita, who asked us up front what we were looking to see. Our response pleased her and led us to a very informative tour. We wanted not a tourist tour, but a traveler’s tour to find
out how people live in Lisbon. How much is rent, what about healthcare, how long does someone go to prison for murder? All of these and many more were discussed. It was a fun afternoon, and I think all of us came away learning something from it. I ended up getting a cutting board made locally. Sure, I thought. My luggage came in 3 pounds under the weight limit on the way here, so a cutting board makes perfect sense. Guess who is throwing away clothing he is tired of. At the end of the tour, we took a city bus back to the hotel to rest up before dinner.
Dinner tonight was a big deal. When I was 18 and leaving my parent’s house and farm to head to culinary school, I left on October 13, 1984 (please, for crying out loud don’t do the math. Just say how young I look and let it go at that). Today was the 13
th of October, so Dave and Merry Jo wanted to take me to a special dinner. I did not know this and was not being very helpful in picking a restaurant. To me, some potato chips and
a tub of ice cream would have been enough for dinner. Finally, we spoke with the gentleman at the front desk who recommended a place close to the hotel. The chef/owner loved to come out to meet his patrons, and them create special dinners. The desk clerk called the restaurant, and even though they were speaking Portuguese, we could tell it was not going to happen, when suddenly he used the word chef, smiled at me, and worked his magic. A dinner reservation was ours at
Horta dos Brunos, and off we embarked on a truly amazing evening.
For appetizers, we selected fried sardines, samosas, beans, rabbit and octopus in olive oil. I often tell the waiters at work to roll their eyes and moan when talking about a dish, so it was fun to be the one sitting there, eyes rolling, moaning in culinary ecstasy. I picked red wine, so we ate, drank and celebrated. The chef had more energy than should be allowed and was very pleased to chat with us and decide on what we should feast. He sent out salted fried peppers, crispy garlic bread and the absolutely most delectable chorizo omelet. This was infused
with the flavor of chorizo, was soft and silky, had thinly sliced chorizo on top, and was to be honest, divine. There, I said it. I looked up synonyms for it, but that is the only one that fit. Although we were wined and dined full, we moved to white wine to pair with a simply grilled grouper on thinly sliced green beans, balsamic and a drizzle of oil. This was followed by grilled tuna on sauteed greens. At this point we called ourselves done. Dessert was a platter of each dessert offered that evening including quince poached in port and sugar, cinnamon cake, chocolate heaven (my word not theirs) candied walnuts and an egg cake. These were paired with port. Once again, the brotherhood of culinarians came through to make a magical evening that will not be forgotten. I tell my culinary team that we are paid to make people happy, to create memories. How remarkable it is to be on the other side taking these exquisite memories home with me.
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Dancing Dave
David Hooper
The chopping board
What a great memory of your Portuguese sojourn that you can bring out, admire, hold, chop on, wash, dry and caress daily...brilliant buy Brendan!!!