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Museum Overload: Travel Goals
Today we ride the metro for the first time. It is clean and bright. I wish for the millionth time that my city would embrace public transportation, but probably not in my lifetime. Midwesterner’s have a lifelong love affair with their automobiles that precludes discussion of public transportation options.
We exit the metro station into parts unknown and I have to turn on data to use the GPS in order to find the way to the Calouste Gulbenkian Museum, a private art collection. In typical Portuguese fashion, there are no signs designating an entrance. We in typical fashion, pick the wrong door. However, we are informed that if we want to see the special exhibit we can buy tickets at this entry. We buy tickets, mainly because we didn’t want to climb more stairs to find another entrance. Lisbon has carved itself into our hamstrings.
The special exhibit is about the effects of ancient Egypt on popular culture. It is art inspired by Egyptian art and kind of trippy. There are replicas of famous artifacts and art depicting scenes in Egypt. There are movies set in Egypt playing on the walls and statues in Egyptian themes. Scattered among the copies are actual ancient artifacts.
I am always a little dumbstruck when I encounter artifacts that are centuries old. I stare at Egyptian glassware that held makeup and ogle the jewelry of pharaoh’s. We like to pretend that modern life is so advanced. In all honesty, the more I encounter history, the more backwards my society seems. There is nothing we produce that doesn’t have an equally impressive historical counterpoint. Perhaps only communication and transportation are more advanced in the modern era.
The main collections are full of Eastern artifacts. Persian carpets, Chinese porcelains, Arabic lamps . . . Here are items rare in the U.S. We try to appreciate them, but our lack of background makes it a bit harder to contextualize. I am a lifelong advocate of true “world” history as opposed to Western Civilization masquerading as world history and yet I find that I am struggling to contextualize what I am seeing. I am a product of an American collegiate experience where European history was the order of the day and everyone else an aside. There is so much I don’t know. I feel my ignorance in the Asian galleries.
The next wing is 17th and 18th century French artifacts. My confidence level is high as I recognize the people, places, and furnishings more familiar. Clocks, chairs, tables, and chests occupy several rooms. The craftsmanship is exquisite. The items are priceless. We linger to admire time gone by.
We are hungry. As we walk toward another museum in the area, I notice “Ground Burger”. It promises American style burgers and fries. There is a 30 minute wait, but we climbed three flights of stairs to get here so we wait. The place is hectic with Portuguese families enjoying their Sunday afternoon. We enjoy watching others enjoy an Angus burger and American beer. We are clearly the only foreigners in the place. It is strange to be a tourist in an American burger joint where no one is speaking English. Isn’t traveling great?
We have tickets to the Casa Anastacio Goncalves. This house is preserved in time even as the neighborhood has grown around it. As normal, the entrance selected by GPs is closed with no indication of where else to go. We wander around. A man beckons us inside and we present our tickets. Three people are gathered in the entryway. They do not respond to English but gesture us up the stairs. We proceed through the house. I read the signs in Portuguese and use google translate when I get stuck. An older woman follows us from room to room. It is starting to feel a little wierd. I smile and speak to her. She does not speak English. We are starting to feel like they don’t get many visitors.
On the next floor a man joins us. He is very talkative and wants to explain everything…every single painting and artifact. His English is broken, but he is expressive and animated. We find out that the owner was an ophthalmologist. He had collections and lots of art. We find out the history of each of the locations of each of the paintings. It takes a long time to hear about every aspect of every object. My back is starting to ache. It is hard to be annoyed. He is so sincere and kind. He is clearly happy to share something he loves. He returns our smiles and for our thanks he launches into an explanation of the pottery in the room. So many pots…
So many artifacts today. So many encounters and interpretations. Some were comfortable and familiar. Some were jarring or confusing. Even the familiar things (like burgers), I saw through a new lens. I am learning to take the time to look and listen, especially when I am uncomfortable and having trouble making connections. Sometimes painfully slow translations have the most promise. I think I accidentally learned that today from an incredibly kind docent who triggered a bout of museum overload. But we persevered, we connected. I now know that Lisboans love their beach communities, that the area around Sintra is no longer as rural as it once was, and that you should never use an ancient Chinese pot to house goldfish. I also learned that humans are so much richer for the many encounters with each other, and our collective past.
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Patron Saints and National Heroes: Travel Goals
An afternoon visit to Sao Vicente seems to be a relaxing compliment to our morning visit to the market, so we trek back up the hill to the monastery. Tuk tuks line the area in front of the church and we carefully make our way to the entrance and pay the five euro fee. We are not sure what to expect. We step into an ancient cistern that collects rain water as a first stop before endless stairs.
The entryway to the monastery is a thing of beauty. Ornate painted ceilings, mosaic floors, tile murals, and ceramic spindles compete for attention. I move slowly trying to take it all in. St. Vincent is the patron saint of Lisbon. I am told a monastery has been standing on this site since the 1100’s. You can feel the history in the room.
We stroll through simple inner courtyards and room after room displaying religious artifacts. All of the silver in Portugal must be in these endless cases. Each silver candlestick and crucifix is an overt display of wealth. We talk for a bit about the plight of the poor in an era when the church flaunted such wealth and power. The bishops of Lisbon clearly lived like a king.
When we enter the church, I am silenced. The archangels draw me to the altar. The side chapels have their own mysterious pull. A simple wooden carving of Christ catches my eye. It seems to say, ignore all the noise and come to me. So I do. I say a prayer of thanksgiving for my many blessings and I linger in the feeling of peace.
We visit the sacristy, where the priests dressed for services. It is awash in tile and paint. The ceiling is a work of art with the lamb of God looking down from above. We continue our slow progress through more rooms. We read about kings and queens, illegitimate children, power, and despair. There are centuries of history here in Sao Vincente de Fora/ St. Vincent Beyond the Walls; a monastery converted into a palace for the archbishops of Lisbon.
In what used to be the monks dining room, we encounter the tombs of the kings and queens of the house of Braganza. Symbols of crowns and scepters are everywhere. Marble mourners stand among the crypts. We wander the aisles unsure of the history of the Braganzas, but drawn by the imagery. Loud laughter seems out of place as a group of young girls bounce into the room. Sshhhh! Giggles and then they are gone.
Up stairs and down stairs, we trudge on. We walk through an entire floor of tiles that represent the French fables of La Fontaine. The tiles are beautiful. Panels display the accompanying fables. They are strange and dark. Perhaps they suffer from translation to Portuguese and then to English. I keep reading trying to figure out why the fables are popular. The tales do not improve as we go along, so we make an escape to the roof.
From the rooftop, Alfama lies at our feet. We peek into inner courtyards. My husband points out our apartment building and other sights along our street. I can see Graca and Santa Apalonia Station. The Vasco de Gama bridge is visible in the estuary. The most prominent building is the Panteao National. It stands like a fortress against the backdrop of sea and sky. We determine to visit as soon as we can bring ourselves to leave the rooftop and the sun. Eventually we make our way down endless steps and through additional courtyards to the exit. Sao Vicente is surprising and so much more than it appeared.
We rest for a moment in the courtyard before the massive national pantheon and watch the vendor selling drinks in pineapples. Children run and play. I find myself wishing that we had courtyards and pineapple carts at home. Everything feels so alive and vibrant.
Eventually we wander into the building. I tell the attendant that I want to purchase the multi-museum pass. She panics and says that it is for museums that are far away. I smile and ask for the multi-museum pass again. She says that we ldon’t have time to see them all. I ask how long they are valid. She says one month. I smile and ask for the multi-museum pass. She shrugs and goes to get someone to show her how to produce the tickets. Meanwhile we look around the inside of the Pantheon.
It feels like we are in a Dan Brown novel. Enormous domes overhead intersect with hidden nooks and crannies filled with tombs. Some are actually tombs and others are only empty shells. Presidents, futbol stars, singers, writers…Portuguese hero’s laid to rest in a place of honor. We climb hundreds of stairs to reach the roof. I walk around the inner dome and take a selfie looking down. It makes me dizzy and I back against the wall. It really is a long way down. Hundreds of more stairs headed down to ground level being us to Vasco de Gama. He isn’t really here. He is buried in Belem, but there could not be a National Pantheon without him. So a fake crypt ensures that de Gama takes his place in the hall of heroes. We pay our respects to de Gama again and exit.
We venture back into the streets of Alfama. Uphill sidewalks seem impossibly steep after the countless stairs we have climbed, but we press on. We find a quiet courtyard to sit and have an appetizer. As we sit we hear music drifting through the neighborhood. Fado, haunting and sweet. I look to my right and notice mannequins line the balconies of the building. A closer look, reveals an outdoor restaurant has appeared. Tables and umbrellas are set in what had been an empty courtyard earlier in the day. Night falls and we sit down at a table under the lights and umbrellas.
I order fish and green Sangria. Various family members take turns singing Fado. Furious guitar accompanies strong alto and baritone. Generations play and sing together. I am tired, but I don’t want to leave. I am full, but try the biscuit cake anyway. I have earned it. Besides, I know that I still have several hills and stairs to climb in order to reach my bed. Every street in Alfama is uphill at some point.
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Inside the Fiera da Ladro or How We Make Out Like A Bandit at the Thieves Market: Travel Goals
It is Saturday morning and we make a slow start. We wander up the hill toward Sao Vicente da Fora and immediately notice an increase in pedestrian traffic. Every seems to converging in the alley that flanks the monastery. Trying hard not to be flattened by the endless parade of tuk tuks, we follow the people through the alley and under the arch.
I am not prepared. I have visited flea markets my whole life. Countless Saturday’s following my grandparents through aisles of junk should have made me ready. Multiple encounters in European markets should have me in shape. But nothing can prepare you for the Fiera da Ladra. The thieves market is massive. It stretches over many blocks and parks. It takes over streets and sidewalks. People use buildings, tents, and blankets on the ground to hawk their wares.
I am immediately drawn to the myriad of stalls selling tourist goods. Cork purses, tea towels with sardines, brightly painted roosters, and endless painted tiles. Locals push past to the heart of the market where used clothing and household goods are up for grabs. They jostle, push and dig through boxes hoping for the best bargain. Less rushed are the antiques stalls, where leisurely negotiations sound like a conversation between friends. Underwear and socks are available from bulk wholesalers. Handmade shoes beckon. Bread and cheese straight from the farm is ours for the taking.
We wander in circles, unsure how to plot a course to cover as much ground as possible. Just when we think we have a plan, we find entire buildings of more stalls. I buy wool hiking socks, three pairs for five euro. I ogle the tourist goods, but we have just arrived and I have a month to decide what I most want. I control my urges to spend, spend, spend. So many beautiful things that will never fit in our suitcase. I find designer jeans for 50 cents. My day is getting better and better.
Fatigue sets in as we wander through the crafts section. Artisans beckon with jewelry and clothing and paintings. I make a bee line to the bread. Older woman at their booths who seemingly only speak Portuguese apparently have a sacred agreement that “ten euro” is the correct answer to every inquiry about cost that is spoken in English. Farmers are funny and friendly as they showcase their cheese. They offer free samples of sausage and bedazzle me with homemade pastries.
As we leave the market with fresh bread, cheese, and half of a new wardrobe, I find I am smiling. We met some interesting people today and saw a side of local life that reminded me of my own childhood. Best of all, I am the proud owner of a Malasadas or horse hoof. It is pastry stuffed with nuts and jam. According to my farmer friends, I have selected an authentic Portuguese dessert. I can’t wait to get back to the apartment for lunch. Now, if I can only manage to not get run over by a tram or a tuk tuk on the way home; a feast awaits.
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Journey to Belem: Travel Goals
The journey to Belem, the birthplace of Portuguese exploration, begins with a little exploration of our own. The walk through Alfama had fewer mistakes and backtracks than our walk yesterday. We celebrate our progress. It is now time to conquer the bus system. We look for the 728 bus stop and with some assistance from a local are able to find the boarding area. Unlike the tram, the bus is spacious, clean, and comfortable. The ride is short and I am captivated by the riverfront parks along the way.
We are deposited just steps away from the Monsteiro Jeronimos, a massive monastery built in the early 1500’s. It is on the site where the Templar knights assisted the seafarers and near the docks where the explorers started their journeys into the unknown. There is already a line forming for entry. We run the gauntlet of people trying to sell us sunglasses and cheap jewelry as we try to figure out where to go. Eventually we are told that we have to walk down the block to buy tickets before we can get in line.
Tickets in hand, we wait. I ogle the intricate stone carvings. I learn that they are done in the Portuguese Manueline style. Once inside I feel as if I am in another time. The stones are cool beneath my feet. It is peaceful and calm. The tile work takes my breath away. Scenes from the Bible painted on endless tiles in blue and yellow and green fill up entire rooms. I take way to many pictures. I am reluctant to leave.
I am lured away by the promise of the Santa Maria chapel, the main church at the monastery. We wait in another line for our turn to enter. The soaring ceilings take my breath away. As we enter, I am drawn to the crypt of Luis Camoes a Portuguese poet. The large stained glass window casts prism of colorful light. As we approach the altar, I see the tombs of Kings and Queens resting on marble elephants. I sit for a minute and say a prayer, connected to the many who have worshipped here. I take a quick look in the sacristy where medieval art is on display.
On the way out, we find the final resting place of Vasco de Gama. It may be our first de Gama sighting, but will not be our last. The national hero lies in state as a marble effigy. His spirit is alive and well throughout the nation in pictures and statues and verse.
After paying homage to Portugal’s great explorer, we walk down the street to the end of the monastery walls to enter the National Maritime museum. At the entrance we are greeted by an enormous statue of Henry the navigator. He is surrounded by countless explorers that sailed for glory of God and country.
The museum is a sprawling collection of all things naval. Astrolabes and sextants from early ships. The wooden statue of the archangel Raphael taken from de Gama’s ship. Cartographers maps. Model ships. There is a large gallery for the Portuguese navy and another for the marines. You can explore the cabin of the kings yacht and early fishing boats. We wander in and out of galleries. The history is fascinating. After a quick walk across the courtyard we enter a large hangar filled with royal barges. I try to imagine life as it was when the King and his court would be rowed into Lisbon.
But we are hungry and it is already early afternoon so we walk toward the Docas de Belem. The waterfront is close, but how to get there? The garden is fenced off. The train tracks cut off any possibility of crossing the street. We walk back and forth for awhile until we notice stairs leading underground. A tunnel takes us under the trains and the highway. Suddenly Pedroas dos Decembrimentos looms ahead. The monument to the explorers is inspiring in size and detail. Prince Henry leads the navigators who changed the world. We circle the dock, trying not to be run over by electric scooters and bicycles. We eat lunch at the dockside restaurant and plan our return to Alfama.
After the bus ride home, we decide to search for icecream. The five minute walk turns to ten as we walk up the steepest hill yet. But we are rewarded with Graca park. The park is lovely with children playing futbol and musicians strumming Fado. Mouriscos restaurant has set up chairs on the plaza and we order Sangria Branca. The citrus is crisp and refreshing. The music is mesmerizing. This is how life should be lived. Peaceful and slow.
At sunset we walk over to the miradouro and take in the aerial view of Lisbon. I squeeze the hand of the one I love and feel that everything is right in my world.
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A Walk Through Lisbon: Travel Goals
The air is crisp and cool when we leave the apartment. Already feeling accomplished as we finally figure out how to use the light in the stairwell and manage to find the electric release latch on the door to the street, we walk with confidence into the unknown. That is short lived. When you walk in Alfama, you will get lost. Gps in hand…you will get lost. Streets wind in near circles. Stairs can go nowhere (into rock walls and even into someone’s living room). All road choices sometimes lead to the same spot. You feel like you are in a fun house.
We walk with confidence down escolas gerais only to find that we need to turn on rua escolas gerais. Then we need to turn on beca escolas gerais….the bico escolas gerais. And so on. Each street has connecting streets that share part of the same name depending on whether it is stairs or an alley or a plaza or…
We giggle as the gps reroutes us for the 29th time. We gasp when we see the length of a stairwell only wide enough for one person with no way to pass someone coming up if you are going down. We meet dead ends and have to backtrack several times. A final long staircase and a shooing of pigeons and we reach the waterfront. The road is a bit confusing and it takes a minute to find a crosswalk to clear several lanes of traffic. But the Tagus is in front of us in all its glory.
The sun shimmers on the water. Fishing boats drift in and out of the dock. A cruise ship arrived in the night and sits looming over the riverfront. Cafes line the water with brightly colored lounge chairs. We see benches along the inner dock ledge and head toward them. The benches are more like curved beds and we stretch out and turn our face to the sun. It is warm and wonderful. I can see Palm trees and sea birds. Feelings of happiness well up. We take a few photos to send to our work colleagues, and then move on.
After a stroll down the river bank we reach the Terreiro Do Paco…also know as the Praco Do Comercio. The plaza is huge with ridiculously large buildings on three sides. A large statue of King Jose 1 stands in the middle. He is crushing snakes underfoot and there are symbols for each continent that the Portuguese explored and conquered. A large arch leads to the Rua Augusta, a pedestrian shopping street. It is here that I get my first Vasco de Gama sighting. He is everywhere in Portugal. I can’t determine if Lisbon has more churches or Vasco de Gamas.
The sheer size of the Praco de Comercio is overwhelming. What used to be the center of government is now a meeting place in the city. Tourists take photos. A giant dancing panda and a man with a bubble machine entertain children. Police mingle with youth mildly protesting something, although I can’t figure out their cause. We wander the square and find a cafe for lunch.
Menus are available in Portuguese and English. We select a seat on the plaza facing the water. There is only one waiter and it is busy. We wait. After 15 minutes we begin to squirm. We are Americans and we are hungry. We are getting cranky. I observe the leisurely pace in which others are eating and talking and check myself. The pace here is different. We will need to embrace the slower lifestyle. The waiter explains that we need to move sections if we want lunch. White paper placemats indicate the section where food is served. So we leave my seat facing the water because I am hungry. My salad is delicious. Before we know it an hour and a half have disappeared.
We decide that our first tourist stop should be the Lisbon story center. The small museum provides an audio tour outlining the history of Lisbon, starting with the discovery of the city by the Greeks. Roman occupation, disputes with Spain, maritime adventure, commerce… are all woven together. The earthquake room commemorates the great earthquake and tsunami of 1755 that destroyed the city. On a Sunday morning when most of the city was in church, the entire center of Lisbon was flattened. Inside the simulation, the floor shakes while a wrap around video screen show scenes of devastation. We agree that the Story center was a great first stop to get a since of the history of Lisbon.
We walk through the Arch and up the Rua Augusta. You can climb up inside the arch for a small few. We see no sense in paying to climb more stairs. We have climbed several thousand already. We see a small church, the Igrezia de Santa Maria Madalena and go inside. There is a prayer service in progress. Though we don’t speak Portuguese, we sit and participate. The Spirit moves in any language and I pray for friends and family facing health challenges back home. The church is ornate, almost gaudy. But the prayers are simple. Upon leaving, I press a small coin into the hand of an old women begging at the doorstep of the church. (There but by the grace of God….)
We wander the area, taking in the elevator de Santa Justa. This elevator is a fantastical iron tower that carries passengers up to the neighborhood near the convent do Carmo and can prevent a long walk uphill. The line wraps around and around so we walk on. We see elevator signage on the outside of a tall building near the church. We walk in and see free elevator lines. I get in line. My husband reminds me that I have no idea where I am going. I agree and get in line anyway. After several stories, we exit the elevator onto a street. We are starting to figure out that unless we want to walk long distances uphill both ways, we are going to need to learn the short cuts.
As afternoon sunlight starts to fade we wander through Rossio square and encounter O Mundo De Fantastico Da Sardinha Portuguese. Rough translation the fantastic world of Portuguese sardines. The entire store is sardines in decorative cans. You can buy sardines in cans labeled with the year of your birth and in cans that look like gold bars. There is a carousel and a sardine throne. Of course I take my picture with the sardines. A very nice girl does her best to sell us sardines. Alas, we don’t care for them. So we say our goodbyes and head for Martim Moniz to catch the 28 tram.
Good news! A tram is in sight. I try to enter only to discover that the driver is on his break. He points to the other side of the square where the tram line is already 30 people deep. We walk to the line. It is a sea of people with multiple bus and tram stops. We are overwhelmed. Gps says we can walk to Graca in 15 minutes. Since we need to buy groceries in Graca we decide to head off. After a few blocks we come to an outdoor escalator up the hill. Yay! This won’t be bad after all. After a few more blocks we see a giant hill. Sigh! We can do this. We huff and puff our way to the Jardim da Cerca da Graca. Beautiful views on a beautiful terrace. I am enchanted and explore the park. Meanwhile my husband and travel partner has been assessing our location and correctly assumes that we are only halfway up the hill. He begins to protest, but there is no remedy but climbing on . . . So up we go to Graca. At the miradouro dos barrow (a miradouro is a scenic overlook) we find young musicians playing fado (Portuguese blues) in the park. It is wonderful and haunting. We collapse against a wall and listen as the sun sets. Some climbs are worth it.
After a rest, we walk to the Pingo Doce, our local grocery store. We pass through the gate and walk past the security guard and begin our shopping. It is hard to find vegetables and food we are used to. Lettuce and carrots go in the cart. Wine is plentiful and cheap. So is dried and salted fish. I use google translate to read labels and manage to find what we need for the next few days. We realize at check out that we need our own shopping bags. I go back through the store and find two sturdy bags to purchase. We carry the overloaded bags the half mile downhill to our flat. Food tastes better when you have to carry it home, or maybe we are starving from the multiple hills we have climbed.
My husband makes our first dinner in the apartment. . . Tacos. We laugh and linger over dinner. A great day. He settles in to watch television and is surprised to find several American programming options. I begin to prepare a bath. The water isn’t hot, so I boil water on the stove and in the kettle to add to the bath water. I am just getting ready to get in the tub when the power goes out. We are in total darkness. We can see lights along the street. We try to call our hosts, but the call won’t go through. We locate the fuse box to no avail. Internet is down. I take my bath using the flashlight on my cell phone. I am tired and more than a little stressed. We finally reach the owners of the apartment who send us hunting for a master fuse switch in a hidden location. I flip the switch and we are back in the 21st century. I go to sleep thinking about all the things I learned in the last 24 hours. I have a whole month to encounter Portugal and now that I have electricity I feel confident that I am up to the challenge.
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First Encounters: Travel Goals
After a quick shower and change of clothes, we are off to enjoy the city. Well, if I am being honest, we are out walking around to keep ourselves awake. We have found that if we can stay awake the first day until evening in our new location that there is no jet lag. So off we go!
We decide that we need to find food so we take a five minute walk up a long hill. (Note: Lisbon is built on a series of steep hills and cliff faces. You will be walking and you will be climbing hills and endless stairs.). I am fascinated by the narrow streets. In places, we have to turn our bodies sideways and hug the wall to let the tram pass. Motorcycles dart in and out of traffic. But most noticeable are the endless waves of Tuk Tuks zooming up and down the winding streets. Delivery vans can park for a few minutes only in the middle of the street. They run in with their deliveries. If they are lucky, they will be back and gone before the tram appears. If they are unlucky, they will return to a tram driver aggressively ringing his bell and gesturing for the driver to move. The unfamiliar vehicles and unfamiliar streets are both exciting and a little intimidating. With a goofy grin, I stop several times to take pictures of the tram.
Graca is a busy little neighborhood. Local residents do their shopping along Sao Vicente. We wander a bit until I notice the Pastelarias (pastry shop). So many beautiful pastries! Lisbon is famous for Pasteis de Nata, but I wanted to wait and taste that in the original shop. My husband insists we have a proper lunch, so I put my pastry dreams on hold and we sit down. Looking forward to dessert, I order a grilled cheese. I was surprised to receive a plate stacked with sandwiches. Freshly baked whole grain bread with goat cheese drizzled with honey and walnuts. Who needs dessert!
The waiter (we quickly discover that most people younger than me speak English) teases us about ordering a “mother in law” for dessert. We are stuffed and sadly decline. He hands us what looks like a credit card and walks away. In situations where we are unsure what to do, it is useful to linger and observe others. By waiting and watching, we learn that the card was our bill. We take the card to a cashier who swiped it to show us our total. We are supposed to insert our money in a coin box, but we do not have change. The friendly cashier/owner helps us check out with an invitation to return.
With full bellies, our next big decision is transport options. Our choices are a Lisboa card that provides free or discounted entry to museums and unlimited transport in and around Lisbon for 72 hours; a day pass providing unlimited transport; pay as you go; or a zapping card. Because we are staying for a month and do not want to rush around the city trying to fit everything in a few days, we opt for zapping. Zapping is simple. You buy a card with an electronic chip and you load the card with an amount of your choosing. We buy an initial load of $15 euro. Each time we use the card it will be charged at a discounted rate. Any transfers made within an hour are not charged. All our transportation issues are solved! Zapping cards worked on trams, trains, buses, funiculars, ferries, and even elevators. We purchased our card at the local tobacco shop where owner was kind enough to write down what we would be charged for each type of transport.
Zapping card in hand we step up to the stop for the famous Tram 28. Honestly I am unsure why the guidebooks fixate on this particular tram. There is nothing different about it from any other tram in the city: except . . . it is in every guidebook as a must do. . . it is overrun with tourists . . . and it runs across the breadth of the city. Guidebooks also warn us to beware of pickpockets. While we never encountered an issue, if you ride the tram: a) you will be lucky to find a seat b) you may be lucky to squeeze in the tram at all c) you will likely be standing d) you may or may not have a handhold e) you will be bumped, jostled and rolled as the tram bounces over winding, hilly, uneven streets f) you are expected to move to the back of the tram as others enter if you are standing g) you are expected to give up your seat for the elderly or disabled or those with small children e) you must stand in line in the order of arrival to the stop to prevent line jumping in case the tram is full f) you may be yelled at if you violate items a through g. Unfortunately it takes a few days and some mistakes to learn the rules. I pity the locals who must use tram 28 daily. Tourists are literally ignorant of the protocols.
I don’t love the first ride. Standing and trying to learn to balance, jammed in the tram with 50 strangers pressing on all sides, hearing instructions in a language I don’t understand is a bit overwhelming. I also realize stops are not announced, the driver will not stop unless you push a button located in spots I may not be able to reach, and I can’t see out very well while standing. We decide we will ride the whole route since we have no idea where we are going anyway. After a lengthy ride, of jostling and adjustments the tram stops. The driver announces, in Portuguese, that we have to get off. I have no idea what he is saying but the hand gestures are clear. So we get off. I had read tram 28 made a loop so I am confused. Turns out that at the end of each loop, the driver gets a 10 minute break. Everyone must exit the tram and line up a few yards away at the tram stop. Upon reentry, after the driver changes the signage on the tram to reflect the new destination and pulls up to the stop, you must re-zap you card. Failure to zap can mean fines and removal from the tram. Watching and imitating the locals, we make the transfer back on the tram.
The ride home is much more enjoyable. We find seats near a large open window and are able to enjoy the view. We exit the tram at the Portas do Sol and I am immediately in love with Lisbon. Blue sky, a tranquil river opening to the sea, and a peaceful patio with cafe and palm trees welcome us home. This haven is just a few blocks from our house. The tiredness melts away. After a lengthy visit to the miradouro (overlook), we pop into the super mercado on our street for dinner ingredients. The choices are very limited (think 1980’s gas station) so we grab a frozen meal and some lettuce for dinner and bread/butter for breakfast. I would tell you more about our day, but I am sure I fell into a deep sleep shortly after arriving in the apartment. New stories will have to wait.
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Departures and Arrival: Travel Goals
When we travel, I find that I spend a lot of mental energy playing endless versions of “how to beat the airline” in my head. It starts with trying to decide which flights to pick and which ticket options we need. I only have a few requirements: the tickets must be affordable, we need to be able to select our seats at the time of booking (to make sure that no one is stuck in a middle seat during a long haul flight), and our connection times need to be reasonable to prevent missed flights. While these sound like perfectly reasonable and simple requirements, they are not always easy. Why you ask? Different airlines and different ticket types provide different amenities and fees. What looks like an affordable flight may not be if you have to pay for bags, pay to select a seat, pay for meals, etc. And, after you select flights to meet your requirements, the airlines at their discretion often make changes.
On our recent trip to Lisbon, the airline changed our flights as well as the type of aircraft. They changed our seat assignments, and they changed our ample connection times (that we had carefully selected) to very short lay-over schedules. This meant that I had to re-consider our packing options. We decided to check our luggage, rather than risk running through the airport with carry ons.
This trip required some extra planning as I needed to be at a meeting in the morning, prior to an afternoon flight departure. We spent the night in a hotel near the airport. After a short drive to the meeting location and an eventual short drive back to the airport hotel, we were off. We arrived at the airport unexpectedly early, so we asked if we could take an earlier flight to Newark in order to eliminate our tight connection. The United airlines staff at STL were wonderful. After a few changes in ticketing, we walked directly on a plane and arrived in Newark with three hours until our next flight. It never hurts to ask about a flight change, and in this case it paid off!
With plenty of time before our next flight, we were looking forward to finding our gate and then enjoying a leisurely meal. We walked to our departure gate (it was the farthest possible from our arrival gate) and headed to the food court. The food station informed us that the only way to order was to use an online app and the only way to pay was by credit card. We stood for awhile processing the situation. There were people at each station, but the couldn’t take your order or your money. You could download an app, pay by credit card through the app, get an electronic receipt, and collect your food from the appropriate food station. As we stood there we watched a college student (who didn’t have a credit card) turn away with no food, an elderly couple (who didn’t have a smart phone) turn away with no food, a foreign visitor (who didn’t understand the complex directions) turn away with no food, and countless others (who didn’t like the system) turn away with no food. They had no cashiers, but individuals were there to “help” you do everything yourself on your own phone. These individuals were mostly just standing around and looking at their own phones and ignoring people who were obviously confused and hungry. I won’t take up extra space in this blog expressing my feelings about this “cashless” airport system other than to say that no public airport in the U.S. should refuse to accept U.S. currency. Not everyone has a smart phone or a credit card, and travelers are at the mercy of the airport vendors. The expectation that everyone should be able to use the internet to order by credit card on a personal device was an unwelcome surprise and resulted in many travelers not being able to eat.
We finally ordered through the app, paid a ridiculous amount of money for two slices of pizza and a soda and sat down to await our flight. We just got seated when we received notification that our gate had changed. Of course, the new gate was next to our original arrival gate on the other side of the airport! So we walked back to our starting point. Once at the gate, the boarding process was chaotic. The elite passengers were unable to board first, because their cabin had not been cleaned. They did not get out of line. Instead all other passengers were weaving in and out of the cluster of upset individuals, to board the aircraft as their numbers were called. As a result, the boarding process took much longer than normal. Once on board the aircraft, we were informed that we were not able to leave because the aircraft had not been catered. There was no food for the seven hour flight on board. So we waited and then waited some more wondering if we would be able to depart.
Finally we took off. Lisbon here we come! I relaxed and sat back to enjoy some movies. Those moments right after take off are the best. We conquered the airline obstacles. It registers that we are going to arrive at our destination as planned. We did it! Portugal awaits. I can feel the anxiety leave my body.
Dinner was served…at least something was served that I am told was food. I received noodles smothered in something that tasted like brown gravy with random vegetables on top. There were a few spoonfuls of couscous and a small square of what I can only describe as a fruity pebble rice Krispy treat. (I was actually thankful that we had purchased the overpriced pizza slice back at the terminal.) Other than terrible food options, the trip was uneventful. Shortly before landing we got a container of plain greek yogurt (nothing says glamorous travel like peeling open a plastic bucket of sour yogurt and trying not to let it explode on the outfit you have been wearing almost 24 hours because it already smells bad enough without a sour yogurt shower).
Entry into Portugal was easy with a simple border passport check. Luggage was collected and we approached the taxi stand. We don’t speak Portuguese and we had never been to Lisbon. With address in hand and google translate at the ready, we made our request. We secured a driver, who told us a little bit about the area. He assured us that his part of Portugal, the Douro Valley, was better and prettier than Lisbon and suggested that we might want to go there instead. We told him that we were staying in Lisbon for the month. He shrugged and then made some suggestions about locations in Lisbon. Within 15 minutes, we were in Alfama, our new neighborhood.
Arrivals are interesting. You are tired from flying all night. You are in unfamiliar territory. You are not quite sure of customs, language, currency, etc. The streets looked a little dirty. The buildings were tagged with graffiti and were clearly centuries old. The streets were narrow with one way traffic. Sidewalks, when they existed were uneven with holes. I had to laugh at myself for reacting to the neighborhoods age and unusual street formations. We picked the Alfama district precisely because it was the oldest and most historic part of the city. Its character and environment were what we were there to experience. We wanted something outside our norm. So we took a deep breath, exited the car, and tried not to panic that a tram was directly behind us ringing its bell in protest of the time it was taking to remove the luggage and pay the driver.
After hurrying off the street and onto the narrow sidewalks, the next adventure was trying to get inside the apartment. Our key had been left by the owners for pick up in a neighboring restaurant. My husband went to retrieve the key while I stayed with the luggage on the street corner. We located our outer door and entered the hallway. It was dark and the hall lights would not turn on. While he made his way up the stairs in the dark. I piled our suitcases into the very tiny elevator, sat on top of one case in order to fit in the elevator, and began the very slow ascent to our floor. By the time I arrived, my husband had found the apartment and was trying to use the unfamiliar key type to unlock the door. We tried several variations of twists and pulls and pushes. Finally the door opened and we entered our new home.
The apartment was lovely. The rooms were spacious and comfortable. The decor was quirky and playful. We had window seats, a piano, and patio furniture in an enclosed courtyard. Multiple bedrooms meant comfortable sleeping, dressing and office areas for the duration of our stay. We each had a bathroom and large closets. The kitchen was well appointed and ready for us. I was already feeling at home. It seemed sanctuary in an unfamiliar land. We had arrived!
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Travel Goals
Travel goals. Perhaps because my parents made regular vacation a priority, even when money was tight. . .perhaps because my husband loves travel as much as I do. . . Whatever the reason, a life goal of mine has been to travel the world.
Little by little, my husband and I have sought experiences that enrich us, that push us out of or comfort zones, that make us better people as we experience the fullness of humanity’s cultures. As lifelong public servants, we are not luxury travelers…in fact we have often traveled on a shoestring budget.
If I am honest, I actually prefer our method of travel. Finding an economical means of travel often means we live like a local. We avoid resorts. We by groceries at the neighborhood store. We use public transportation. We look for free entertainment.
We talk to people to find out where they go for fun. We attend local celebrations. We stay in residential neighborhoods and eat in local restaurants. Why travel halfway around the world to stay with people who look just like you and do the things you can easily do at home?
This is a long introduction, so I will get to the point. I have been in the habit of organizing my travel photos on social media in order to have a digital record of the trip. Over the years, I have received lots of question and comments about how we plan and adventure. Since I have more time in retirement, I have determined to document our experiences as we travel more frequently.
The Travel Goals (Real life adventures of ordinary people) blog posts will primarily be a personal outlet to reflect on our experiences. It will also (I hope) be informative for others who travel, who hope to travel, or who are just interested in new experiences. I hope it challenges all of us to encounter the unknown with humor, grace, and hope.
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Not in Kansas Anymore
It is no secret that I love to travel. Each adventure changes me. I believe it makes me more empathetic and allows me to think more broadly than my otherwise limited experience would. I now have a great sympathy for visitors who struggle to understand our customs and strange ways of being.
Even the simple things can be a challenge. This past fall, I mastered a wood stove and cast iron stove tops while in Ireland. I learned that if electricity isn’t working you need to flip an individual switch on each outlet. I learned to drive on the opposite side of the road and found out the hard way that ramp actually means a speed bump.
This winter in Portugal, I have tried to master the eco friendly washer and drier. After watching an almost 4 hour wash cycle, learning to properly drain the machine and going through four drying cycles only to be left with steaming wet towels…. I can only say I tried. On the bright side, I now also know how to switch on the master fuse that controls the electricity to the house. And I have a new appreciation for a good old fashioned clothesline.
In each new place, I struggle to learn local phrases and basic communication. How fortunate am I that strangers who speak English come to my rescue, usually within minutes. I wish I could say that visitors to the U.S. were so nicely accommodated. After visiting cosmopolitan cities where languages flow like water, it jarring to re-enter the U.S. Here, it is most common to hear a visitor approach with a question and be answered in increasingly loud English without any attempt to understand what they actually needed to know. Americans simply don’t feel they need to know another language and we are poorer for it.
Another notable difference is the abundance of quality public transportation across the world. When traveling abroad, I can choose trains, metro trains, buses, trams, trolleys, funiculars, ferries and ride inexpensively wherever I want to go. Even cabs are cheaper than in the U.S., although gas is more expensive abroad. I can fly between cities for less than I can take a cab from downtown Chicago to the zoo. It is puzzling why Americans are so resistant to public transportation.
Perhaps because of our hard core self reliance and love of automobiles, Americans are blessed with an abundance of way finding tools that are noticeably absent in other parts of the world. Road signs, maps, and general directions are hard to come by. Street signs, if they exist at all, may be faded or on the side of a building at an angle that can’t be read, or so small it can’t be seen from a vehicle. Maps are hard to come by and may not include the many side roads and dead ends you are likely to encounter. Thank goodness for google maps.
Travel can be confusing, confounding, and glorious. I may get tired of eating salty pork and wish I could find more “American” cuisine, but then I find a banafee pie or a “bunny chow”. Finding vegetables can be as challenging as finding a good cup of coffee. But it is really just a question of what you have gotten used to. Later when I am back in the land of meat and potatoes, I will think fondly of my culinary adventures. I will find myself missing soda bread or wishing I had a bottle of H&P sauce.
At home in the Mid-west, I will drive to the grocery store to do the weekend shopping and fill my large refrigerator. I will do my laundry with ease within a few hours and a few loads. I will be a little more thankful for the normalcy and comforts I enjoy that aren’t the norm elsewhere in the world. I will also look at some framed photos of our travels and dream about the next adventure. I wonder where we will have our next “Not in Kansas anymore” moment? The anticipation is half the fun.
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Half time
I was resting in my hotel room and I ran across an obscure program hosted by a singer that I remembered from the 1980’s. The conversation was about women and how easy it is for them to feel invisible in the second half of their life. Transitions such as children growing up, retirement, divorce, widowhood all leave women feeling as if their purpose is behind them. With the media encouraging an endless chasing of youth, women often feel pressure to defy nature and feel loss when they no longer look thirty.
I listened half heartedly at first, but found myself drawn into the conversation. Who do I want to be in this second half of my life? What are my dreams and goals? Do I realize that I am perfectly loved just the way I am? Do I fully appreciate the wisdom and power that come with age.
Our society, unfortunately, is hyper focused on youth. Sometimes I am frustrated when my teenage waiter wants to take my phone and find the menu for me. I want to scream that I have been using a cell phone longer than they have been alive and that I just a want a menu I can scan quickly without having to flip and enlarge tiny screens only to find out that the dessert menu is not on the QR code menu anyway…. but I digress.
Who do I want to be in my second half? I have lived my life in service to others. Schools were a place where I could give back to society, where I found community, and where I could do my part to ensure the common good. I find no value in watching the news or social media and getting upset that people seemingly do not understand the concept of common good. I don’t find other people the enemy and I refuse to live my life in fear. The only way I know to change the world is to love the world and serve others. So now, I have to dig deep and figure out what that means for me in this season of my life.
It is a daunting thought. I have had a steady avenue of goals and an endless stream of service opportunities since I was a child. I’ve never really gone looking for “things to do” in order to serve, they have just been lined up. In actuality, I have lots of things that need to be done right now, several with a wonderful non-profit that I work for part time. But, I need to center myself and remember my commitment to the common good. It turns out that I am not at all good at living my life with no other purpose than “what do I think will make me happy” today. I am much better with “what good can I accomplish” today.
To use the sports analogy of the program that started this train of thought, in the first half I was a starter. I was in the thick of the action, called a number of the plays, and did some good. Half-time is a time to rest, to regroup, to rethink. If I am honest, I am unsure what needs to happen in the second half. It is as if I am now playing an entirely different game. I don’t know what needs I can meet or how I can continue to serve in a meaningful way. That is a little scary. My 32 year career in education has ended. I have started a new venture with a non-profit that supports character development. My children are grown and my husband and I have the freedom to choose how we spend our days. I have faith that if I am aware and diligent about noticing, avenues of service will continue to open. The second half will not be like the first. It may not have a road map, but it will be an adventure. I may not be sure how, but I will continue to serve the common good as long as I have breath. It is my purpose.
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Prisoner of Hopes 