TRAVEL: Doing it smart in Porto and Lisbon

Day 1: Safety first

If any of you have anxieties about terrorists smuggling bombs/guns/weapons onto planes, breathe a sigh of relief, that is if you are flying out of Stansted. The security team there have the situation under control. First they have the most sensitive metal detectors ever devised. I managed to trigger it, with only the metal in my zipper to show. Then comes the pat-down, and it be thorough. I guarantee you right now, if I had been hiding anything, the security guys hands would've found it. I also guarantee that if the security guy had talents in sculpture, he could recreate me as version David in marble stone. No wonder Kelley enjoyed the procedure so much last trip out (which I'm still writing). Turtle received the same treatment as me, but didn't want to talk about it. He's much more private about these things.

Portugal I didn't know much about, other than like us (New Zealand), they seem like the little brother to an older sister (one that's good looking (Spain)). Having recently been to Spain, I was curious to compare the two, and identify the differences that separate them, as close as they are.

For company in this journey there would be Turtle, as previously featured in the aforementioned Spain trip, as well as a new duo in Hilary & Alice. I'd only met Hilary a few times, and Alice just the once so I didn't have much to back up their characters, and having reread this write-up just now, I'm not sure they come across so fairly. An assessment of facts, detailed as you read, may lead you to the conclusion that their cumulative IQ adds to somewhere in the region of the mid-sixties. I want to assure you right here, right now, that this is absolutely not the case. It is at least twice that. They are both extremely smart girls, once you get to know them. Sure they may say a few things that mystify common sense, logic and reason, but in such a confused and complex world, who doesn't? More about them later, as Turtle and I boarded the plane and headed to Porto.

From left to right: Turtle, Alice & Hilary (not sniffing glue).

We arrived after 2 1/2 hours of a nondescript flight. Turtle gave me shit for buying an Economist to read. Said I was faking it to get chicks. As if I would ever do such a thing. The man knows where I work, I need to be clued up about such things. What if Kofi Annan cancels on a public lecture of some kind at the School? There's going to have to be someone around to step in. I was quite offended by Turtle's insinuation.

A weird thing you realise when you land in Portugal is that it shares the same timezone as London so you don't need to adjust your clocks. It's not actually weird geographically when you look at a map, but after you've travelled for a few hours you almost feel like you deserve to have gone and done a Looper through time and pick up or lose hours. (Looper reference inserted as it's Turtle's new favourite movie).

The girls had just finished a trip to Spain so had travelled separately and arrived earlier, checking in to the hotel. Turtle had booked us into the Vila Gale Hotel in Porto at a very reasonable rate. The coolest thing about it was that it had this movie theme going for it. They had large photo panels everywhere, including a still of Luca Brasi's demise in The Godfather. The other feature that was nifty was that every room was named after a big-time Holllywood legend. On the way to our room I saw rooms for Jon Voight, Paul Sorvino, John Travolta and the like. Was quite excited to see who we had as this kind of thing was right down my alley. Who was it you ask?... Glenn Ford. Star of ... ahem, cough cough, hwack spit. Unless you are a student of film, or over the age of 50, you probably have no idea who this star of the silver screen is. He was a Hollywood legend but I was a little disappointed. The man just didn't feature in the films I had grown up with or studied, and so I couldn't relate. Oh well. Props for trying.

My kind of lobby

We joined up with the girls to see how they were. They were fine, but a little tired from all the walking they had done in Barcelona in the week before. They explained that they had visited no less than 4 or 5 of Gaudi's buildings and were subsequently "Gaudi-ed out". We sympathised for a bit, then agreed upon a meeting time for breakfast the next day, saying goodnight.

Back in our Glenn Ford room, Turtle and I squabbled about whether to keep the air-con on during the night. I told him the sound it made was like an angry swarm of giant killer bees and was probably unhealthy, but he said it was a bullshit and the room would get too hot. The guy grew up in Borneo. Last I checked that was near the equator. The most humid place on the planet. He should be used to that kind of heat. Air-con wasn't invented in NZ till the 90's, and even then no one has units hollering all night in their rooms. Who is in the better position to compromise? Eventually I got my way and he turned it off, but after about 10 mins it got too hot for him and it was switched on. Felt like I was sleeping aboard an Aircraft Carrier. If I wanted to sleep aboard an Aircraft Carrier I would've done more sit-ups, learnt to swim and joined the navy. As it was I was in a hotel in Porto with an anti-sleep torture device ringing in my ears. Didn't catch a wink.

Day 2: Port in Porto!

Wasn't the freshest daisy in the bunch rising up in the morning. So much so the girls even noticed it when we met them for breakfast in the morning. I explained the ordeal and another debate ensued as to whose argument had merit. Turtle claimed he was sick and didn't even sleep himself. In that case, what difference did the air-con make to him? He again said my theory about the unhealthy circulation of air in those things was a bullshit, and that he had switched it on silent mode. Silent like an electric shaver to the air. Then he said I was paranoid and that my theory was just as crazy as the one I have about the bottled water scam (I contest that you don't need to drink 3L of water every day like everyone is obsessed with). The girls didn't really have an opinion, or maybe didn't want to get involved. I knew from previous encounters that Hilary sometimes doesn't know if someone is making a statement or asking a question, so some of what was said may have had no basis for interpretation. At the end of the day, the breakfast at the hotel was a buffet, and was superb which we finished and moved on. If however, you are interested about the myths of daily water consumption or recycling air pollutants, please feel free to read the articles linked.

Porto riverside

Porto is a calm and picturesque city. In amongst hills, the Duoro River runs through with the town connected by impressive bridges that start high from each side. We reached some vantage points and took some good photos. The unfortunate thing was that it was raining. Turtle and I hadn't prepared for this, but Alice had her umbrella and Hilary had her disposable poncho to put to use. The disposable poncho I have to say, isn't the trendiest garment on show, but she didn't seem to mind looking like a plastic wrapped starfish in the wind.

Porto's most famous export is their Port wine so it was first on our agenda, and our hope was to find some kind of tour that included sampling. The cellar we stumbled upon was that of Sandeman, the iconic label with world famous branding. It was still early morning and very quiet, so we managed to get a tour guide all to ourselves. The tour guides are actually made to dress up like the Don (who features in their logo) wearing a cape and hat. Big fan of capes. Before the tour started, Hilary asked privately if Port was from Porto or something in that manner. I replied yes and banned her from asking any questions of any kind on the actual tour. We went inside the cellar, past barrels and bigger barrels, and bigger barrels still before a video at the end. It was good. I even learnt something. The reason why Port is so sweet, is because the fermentation process is stopped early, before all the sugar has turned to alcohol. Knowledge attained. The tasting was what we were there for really, as I had never in recollection tasted Port but recalled it was a favourite past-time of my grandfather so was keen to try it.

We had two Port wines on offer. A white Port and a red Port. I didn't even know they came in white so that was further intriguing to me. We sat down and sampled both. It was, and wasn't what I expected. I knew Port was sweet, like a dessert wine, but for some reason thought it was of a thicker consistency, almost like a syrup. It wasn't. It was very much like a normal wine (at least by my unqualified reckoning). It was also a lot stronger than I realised. 20% alcohol which gave it a bit of kick. Needed it to be fair as it is extremely sweet on the palette, especially the white. For this reason I preferred the red, which Hilary agreed (she was allowed to express herself now the guide had left). Hilary liked it so much, that she convinced me to go halves in a bottle with her for later on. Turtle and Alice both thought it was okay, but because they were not feeling well didn't chose to finish their samples. Hilary and I tussled for the remains, though we left turtles alone because we worried he was more contagion.

Sandeman sampling

More walking ensued, thankfully rain-free, as we explored the streets and the city around. I couldn't quite get over how quiet it all was. During the day on a working week probably isn't peak time, but it did seem hushed even by those standards. We actually had limited time in the day as we had to catch an early evening train to Lisbon, but found one last site to cap it off. This was the Palacio Da Bolsa, a palace and former stock exchange of Porto. The main feature of the tour here was the exuberant 'reception room' to quote their website, which was an adequately fitting description. Plastered with detail and colour in an Arabic style fashionable at the time, it was extremely impressive and reportedly took 18 years to complete. As with most of these places, we weren't allowed to take photos, not that that stopped Hilary and Alice as they flagrantly flouted the rules. They probably thought that if they were arrested, Turtle and I would bust them out like Liam Neeson in Taken, but they would've been sorely mistaken. "Enjoy the cells girls! Don't forget to write!" Luckily for them it didn't happen.

The train from Porto to Lisbon takes about the same amount of time as it does to get from London to Porto by plane. Travel times in Europe are always a bit bizarre like that, but the train itself was actually very comfortable. Nice seats, lots of legroom, and even a telly in the aisle to watch. I was sat beside Alice and decided to have a conversation to try to get to know her better as we'd never properly spoken. Turns out she had a very interesting story. She grew up in Taiwan and her family moved to NZ when she was 10, without knowing a word of English. This was surprising as she spoke very well, pretty much like a native. She went on to talk about her upbringing/schooling/work etc and how she was now employed by EMI Records doing project work. 'My word' I thought. This was an extremely smart, girl who had achieved a great deal in her life against obstacles and challenges. Just as this thought manifested in my head, Turtle returned from the bathroom whereupon Alice asked if the toilets were "bisexual". Turtle gave her his look of utter confusion as she realised in complete embarrassment what she had said. I mean everyone loves a nice Freudian slip-up, but this was more like a Freudian tumble-down-the-staircase. Hilary thought this was especially funny. When Hilary gets a joke on her own accord, without aid or guidance from anyone else, she is the happiest girl in the world. She basks not only in the humour of the joke itself, but also in the fact that she got to the punchline without any help. This keeps her in hysterics for 10 minutes minimum. Understandably I had to realign my opinion of Alice, but it was an honest mistake, just in the wrong company.

An interesting building we saw before leaving Porto

We arrived in Lisbon in the pitch of black at approximately 10pm. Needless to say, it was dark. Very dark. Arriving in a new foreign city at night is my least preferred time to do so. Trouble comes out at night, no matter what city you're in. Services are closed, people are tired and shroud is everywhere. We'd had disgusting meal as we'd left Porto (which I won't go into), but it'd left me damn hungry and we needed to drop our bags off at the apartment first before any thoughts of food. Turtle had found this place on Expedia, but wasn't precisely sure where it was. After calculating his bearings, he led us in the direction of least light. As we followed him nervously, the surroundings got more desolate and equally ominous. It also seemed to get very ghetto, very quickly. There were boarded up buildings on both sides, all of which were completely covered in graffiti. It was as if someone had given a hundred ganstas, fifty spray cans each and told them to go wild. I wondered if it had always been like this, or if it was the more the result of the recent tough times. Whatever the cause, it was all a bit hairy. Luckily however, we found ourselves to the apartment which was very nice inside, although the girls made us close the shutters because they were scared of the derelict building on the opposite side. We dropped our bags, and I suggested a nice walk to go get something to eat. Was swiftly told that there would be no further walking that night. My appetite had more or less left me anyway.

Day 3: Castles of Sintra, Egg tarts of Belhem 

Woke up to a beautiful Lisbon morning. The weather had cleared and the day looked a treat. Turtle had planned a lot for the day, so we were once again off early for our first destination of Sintra. Walking through the streets we had previously trekked through the darkness of night, we saw in full colour what we had thought we had seen. That is deserted buildings, tagged to hell. During the day it isn't half as distracting, though still nonetheless alarming that an area of city centre can so easily go to waste. In its prime it was probably a nice area. Not so now.

This town seen better days.

To pass the time on the walk I started to chit-chat with Hilary. Hilary likes a good ol' chit-chat. She likes to chit-chat so much she could do it for a profession, instead of whatever it is that she does, accounting or something. We started talking about the places we'd been to, the things we'd seen. I asked her about her top destinations she had visited. She named a few of the typical ones, Berlin, St. Pietersberg and also said she had been very moved in Ostrich. "Ostrich?" I asked. Seemed a little strange. "Where's that?". She looked at me herself somewhat surprised. "You know, Ostrich... where they have the concentration camps...".  Place names can be tricky, and I decided not to hold this against Hilary too much. I made her practice saying Auschwitz a few hundred times, and then made her promise never to use the other word again, in any context as long as she lives. Even if one attacks her and she has to report it as a crime. Some things in humanity need to be protected.

Sintra exists about 30 minutes train ride from Lisbon. It is known for its castles, ruins and palaces (think there are about 5) topping peaks all within the same area, and are all said to be grand and unique in their own right. Like the rest of Portugal (from what I had seen), Sintra was a mountainous and hilly area. To get to any of these sites, you have to take the bus or a good pair of hiking boots (athletic legs attached). We decided to opt for the bus, though this was no easy feat as Turtle decided to quiz the bus driver (who spoke no English) about the different types of tickets available. Wasn't that well explained at the bus stop but the effort was all a bit painful, especially as we were at the front of fast growing line for the bus. We eventually purchased tickets to get us to our first destination Palácio Nacional da Pena.

Palacio Pena

It was certainly something different. Atop a hill, it had an almost fairy-tale like construction to it. The colour scheme looked that fitting of Alice in Wonderland. Every colour of the rainbow seemed represented on one wall face or another. It was multi-layered with enough turrets and look-out points for everyone. It was like a play-land, made for kids to run around and enjoy. Turtle liked it the most out of the group. He went camera crazy, taking lots of photos from all sorts of angles. He actually made us stay there a bit longer so he could sit and absorb it all. Hard shell on the outside, soft sponge on the inside. 

The tickets we had purchased also allowed us access to the Moorish Fort about half a click away. For me this was more impressive as it was a proper war fort, with a massive wall that lead to outposts on the steepest peaks. At some point on the way up, Hilary started singing 'My Heart Will Go On' for reasons unbeknownst. It was quite possibly, the worst rendition of the song, the worst attempt at singing I had ever encountered in my whole life. She was quickly ordered to "pipe down" and that a voice like that had no business in amongst wildlife, yet she continued. She seemed to think it was funny in some sadistic way, probably like a cat-strangler would in throttling satisfaction. I told her if that version of the song had been the one used in the movie, the Titanic would've sunk in about 10 minutes. Undeterred, she reveled in self-glory with continued singing, as we powered towards the summit. We reached the highest outpost (thankfully out of breath), and saw there was a view to behold. From here you could see a full 360 degree view of the entire region. The only thing is that it is extremely exposed up there and gusty and cold because of it. Taking a photo, especially a panoramic photo if you have a super Sony Xperia like me, can be a bit of a mission. Nearly fell to my death a few times so had to get Turtle to take one as he has a stronger centre of gravity. He said it was the scariest thing he had ever done in his life, but I think the result was worth it.

The Great Hike

For the great view (click to enlarge)

Having spent a bit more time absorbing than anticipated, we headed back to Lisbon for some tasty treats in the form of the world famous Pastel de Nata (Portuguese Egg Tarts). To get these, you have to go to a place called Belém where there is a shop that serves the very best. This shop is so famous (10,000 Egg Tarts sold a day) that when you arrive, there is a queue that forms outside the street. It moves very quickly however and we got ourselves four each and took them away to eat with much glee. Now, I've never been a huge fan of custard, but these I enjoyed. The pastry was probably the best part. It was both crunchy and flaky at the same time. The custard itself also had a nice glaze finish to the surface, richly sweet. Even after the third one, I thought I could keep going, but we all decided to save at least one for the next day. 

It was around sunset time, and so we took a walk alongside the Tagus River towards a tower built on the beach so Turtle could take some more photos and do some absorbing. I couldn't even remember the last time I had seen a sunset and it was a refreshingly tranquil moment. 

A Kodak moment with Turtle in Belem

We headed back to town for dinner, making up for the meal had in Porto the previous night. I had a seafood pasta which was extremely tasty. Turtle and Alice both had curries which they enjoyed, and Hilary got the salted cod which she quickly decided upon tasting was too salty. With this she picked up her piece of fish and dumped it on my plate. Again, she found this to be maniacally funny. The rest of us sat there stone-faced as she cackled away like The Joker. I secretly hoped, the similarities ended there.

Seafood Pasta

Day Four: Walking with Luggage? Yes please!

Re-heated Egg Tarts are a pretty good way to start the day. In the oven, they were surprisingly brought back to life remarkably well. One could almost not taste the difference to the ones we had fresh the day before. I wondered if one could live off a breakfast diet of such. I decided one could, just not for very long. 

It was our last day for the trip and the plan was loose because of it. We had most of the day to kill (minus Alice who was to leave early), but also had our luggage in tow as we had checked out of the apartment. This wasn't too bad for most of us, apart from Alice who happened to have a decently weighted suitcase on wheels. 

After some debate, we decided to check out the Castle of St. George. It was Turtle's idea, but Alice backed it up, excited by a nearby structure we thought was the castle but ended up being something else. The Castle itself was a substantial distance away, up a sizable hill with a fair few steps to ascend. After a while, Alice started to get fatigued through physical exhaustion, so Turtle and I took turns carrying her suitcase up the hill, showing tremendous chivalry. I'm not sure what she had in that thing, but it was weighty. Hilary by comparison only had a small backpack, and had been travelling for a good month... which in retrospect was a little dubious but is best not to ask when one fears the answer. 

Having a rest...

... for another view

Liked the castle, but liked the views more. The Portuguese I had decided were the best locators for a good viewing perches. The whole of the city could be seen from here, and it was the first time I realised how vast the city actually was. It seemed to stretch to the distant hills and beyond. You could understand how it was the largest city in Portugal, quite easily from here. Alice, who was still slightly fatigued, observed that Turtle had been taking a lot of photos and asked me what he did with them. Unable to pass up an opportunity to be a smart-arse, I explained that Turtle was on a mission to create a competitor to Google Street View and was taking all these photos for that purpose which he was going to call Turtle Maps. "Really?!" she asked with genuine intrigue. Hilary, who had not suffered the same delirium having only carried a rucksack worth of clothes despite having travelled for more than a month, started laughing straight away as Alice realised I was having her on. I regretted it almost immediately, not just because it got Hilary in her mode of mad laughter, but because I had picked on Alice in such a vulnerable state. I'm not Australian, and it just wasn't cricket. She saw the funny side to it though to her credit and it was laughed away.

We headed back to town to have lunch and farewell Alice. She actually offered to pay for our meals because of all the carrying Turtle and I did, which was an extremely nice offer, but one we had to refuse. If Hilary had offered the same token for a similar gesture, I think I would've ordered a 3-course meal. Was sad to see Alice go, but not her suitcase. That thing was a mare, and being rid of that was like a breaking of the shackles. 

The three of us remaining only had a few hours to kill after that, so spent it roaming around. We stopped at a few local diners and had a few espressos at the bar, much like they do in Rome. We found another vantage spot and took some more photos, and had some grilled squid as our last supper. I digressed during this meal. My initial point of interest was to compare my experience and learnings, with my equivalent findings from Spain. I realised at this point, I hadn't actually done that, as there hadn't been much to trigger a comparison along the way. The cuisine was different, the cities were different, the people were different. The Portuguese themselves were likewise to us (Kiwis) in many ways. Quiet, friendly and modest (if I may), whereas the Spanish seemed more excitable from what I remembered. In the shallows of my thoughts, it was an interesting idea to recognise.

Leaving Lisbon behind... but what becomes of it?...

We were delayed getting back to Gatwick which was a bit of a pain, but our last act of the trip was to say goodbye to Hilary, forever. She was leaving London the next day to go to China to get her grandparents to do her laundry, before eventually going back to her life in Sydney. I promised her a balanced representation through the blog, and told her to stay off the drugs... Just to clarify she's not a user (this I know because she didn't recognise hash the half dozen times we were offered it in Lisbon)... though if she was it would make sense of a few... ... ... Joking of course Hilary, you're a star!