PORTUGAL PARIS DAY 4 - Pasteis Powered Down The Coast

We’re out of Lisbon early, but still have one important Lisbon thing to do.  Just outside of town is the little village of Belem, pronounced be-LING for some reason.  Belem is known for exactly two things.  The second is the massive Monument of the Discoveries, towering 170’ over the banks of the Tagus River.  The shape suggests a sailing ship with Henry the Navigator at the bow accompanied by 32 of his historical fellow Portuguese explorers.  The courtyard floor depicts the sailing adventures that resulted in Portugal’s global influence.  As far as monuments go, it’s very well done and very well presented.

The first most important thing about Belem, especially to a man of my appetites, is the legendary pasteis, that 3” cup of flaky pastry filled with a just-right-sweet custard that’s caramelized to perfection.  Yes, we had them at least twice a day while in Lisbon, but this town is supposed to be the mecca of pasteis, with Pasteis de Belem being the high holy place.  We walk into the tiny storefront, see a few tables behind the counter area and ask if there is seating available.  The host says there is no wait and we follow through not fewer than five rooms of full tables.  This maze just keeps going and going.  We come out into the biggest space of all, a dining room with at least 40 more tables, almost all full, and we are seated.  Besides their namesake treat, Pasteis de Belem is thankfully a full-service bakery and restaurant, because we can only do so much sugar at breakfast.  We pick tuna-and-hard-egg and ham-and-cheese sandwiches, plus a few pastries back.  The sambos are comically large so we only finish half of them before we get to the main event.  They are right.  It’s the little differences that make de Belem king.  The crunch of the pastry is pleasantly audible from the table behind us.  The custard is just a little more flowing.  The caramelized top just a bit more… carameley. 

Between the carb loading and the sugar crash, this is going to be a challenging drive.  We head out on the highway for the 90-minute blast to our first beach stop of the day.  The highways are well designed and well maintained, and our little Renault is up to the task, even if I have to shift down to 4^th in the steeper slopes.  My fellow drivers are a good reflection of Portuguese values.  Orderly, respecting the rules and each other, always sliding right for the faster car.  By 10:45 we arrive in Sines, a quaint, quiet beachside village in the center of Portugal’s west coast.  At least that’s what we think until we get there.  The bitty little berg is just dominated by the battle scars of the oil industry.  Our first stop is beautiful swatch of beach whose ocean is dotted with oil tankers.  We drive the half mile to the lighthouse only to find it’s in the middle of a huge tank field and captive behind high fence topped with concertina wire.  The last mile or two into the center of town shows us a few beaches that would be nice except for the fact that they’re surrounded by oil docks, massive pipelines and more tank fields.  The middle of the town is quaint, but smells like raw crude.  Among the industrial, we do find the cutest, most feminine little café to caffeine up, but after that, straight to the car.

Back on the coast road, south for another hour to Obeceixe (pronounced we-DON’T-know).  This is way more what we are expecting… a tiny coastal village with a vibrant arts scene… but definitely with its own personality.  We stop in a few of the local artist gallery shops before parking near the old original village.  Mandy picked this town mostly because of Bar de Praia, the 6-table surfside café overlooking the beach and their legendary Portuguese clams.  We open with a fresh tomato and goat cheese salad and a bottle of the cool, refreshing house white.  The tide is out so the beach is nothing more than wide banks on either side of a shallow tidal pool, perfect for the families with young children splashing around.  One such British family, or at least the mom and dad, pull up into the table behind us.  10 minutes later, their slightly panicky kids find them asking “where were youuuuuu?”  and received the parent of the year reply “mummy needed a little drink”.  Our clams definitely lived up to their reputation, tiny, tender and bursting with flavor, and are adorned simply with a toast heart.  We linger a little longer enjoying the fine weather and last drops of wine. 

Walking down, we realize there is a lot more to this beach.  It’s wide and beautiful, surrounded by rock cliffs.

Continuing south, We make a brief stop at Bordeira, a popular surf beach.  The parking lot is filled with ubiquitous surfer vans, a cross section of cargo vans, camper vans and RVs, all in various states of decay from too many months of being lived in.  It’s a good sign that this place is legit.  The long boardwalk lands us on a outcrop where we spend a bit of time watching the surfers ride the consistent supply of 10’ breakers.

The coast drive is everything we had hoped for, sometimes right along the water, other times a bit inland through everyday rural Portugal.  We pull into Sagres, the southwest tip of Portugal (and continental Europe for that matter) around 4pm.  We park at the town’s famous fortress and make our way inside.  We pass the modern lighthouse and make our way to the point itself, the place where Peter the Navigator launched his expeditions.  The emotions of the explorer’s families who stood here waiting for their loved ones return – hope, fear, anticipation, excitement – still hang heavy in this place.  Their spirits wash over us as the sun gets close to the ocean’s surface and the salty afternoon breezes blow through our hair. 

Dinner tonight is in Portimao.  Near the marina, on the other side of the beach road, just off Rue de Barca is a tiny little enclave of half a dozen restaurants all featuring the traditional coastal fare of the country.  The place we had originally planned seemed a bit dark and serious inside, so, at the encouragement of a helpful barker, we end up across the way at Restaurante Peixarada.  The outside walls are all sliding glass panels so we can sit inside and still feel like we’re outside on this cool, misty night.  We’re at the very end of the tourist season and there is just one other table seated in the big space.  Like all restaurants here, as soon as you sit down the bus person comes over and asks if you want bread, cheese, and olives.  You learn pretty quickly that these accoutrements are not included “free” like in ‘Merica, but they are inexpensive and indispensable.  Portuguese bread is among the finest in the world, and the cheese they serve (like we would expect butter) is absolutely fantastic.  Our mixed fish platter, selected from the fresh fish case, of course, included bass, sea bream, tuna steaks and, of course, sardines, and was simply and expertly prepared.  Like most restaurants we have encountered, there are only Portuguese wines on the menu and you really don’t want anything else.  Tonight we are offered a bottle called Silk and Spice, a white blend of the 2023 vintage with a whopping 14€ price tag.  The more we drink Portuguese wine, the more we like Portuguese wine.  And Portuguese people.  And people in general.

(ahhh, the romance of working boats...)

It's been a very full day of exploring and we finally make our way to the Lagos Avenida Hotel in Lagos for our final resting place.  It’s a swank place in a hip town.  We’re greeted very warmly by a friendly desk clerk and we’re asleep before our heads hit the pillows. 

PARIS PORTUGAL DAY 3 - THE SUMMER PALACE

 

It’s a short walk to the train station.  Like most public buildings here, it’s ornate, adorned with intricate tile mosaics and showing signs of deferred maintenance.  It’s early, and the incoming cars are packed to bursting.  Fortunately, we’re swimming against the tide, and our train leaving Lisbon is lightly populated.  We ride for about 45 minutes to the line’s terminus at Sintra, today’s destination.

Signage in Portugal, as will become a recurring theme of this trip, is somewhere between perplexing and nonexistent, so there’s a bit of confusion for transportation to the top of the hill.  We’re about to board a public bus but a smooth talking south Asian cabbie convinces us that for the same price we can ride in his Mercedes van.  On the 10 minute ride up, he gives us a brief history of Pena Palace and the dozens of surrounding mansions.  It seems that in 1838, King Ferdinand II wanted a party pad for the warmer months.  His solution was to build a summer castle modeled after the Neuschwanstein castle in Germany (the same one Walt Disney would use to model the Cinderella Castle in the 1960s) at the top of the mountain here in Sintra with views all the way to the nearby sea.  His huge, weeks-long  summer ragers quickly became the place to be seen, so Dukes, Vicounts, courtesans and anyone else who could afford it started building their own summer estates down and around the mountain in order to secure their spot at the soirees.  The aristocracy long gone, Sintra has become a beautiful spot for us commoners to wander the manors, take in the views and listen for the reverberations of revelries long past.   

Dropped off at the entrance, it’s another steep 10 minute trek to the doors of Pena Palace.  Right away, the whimsy of the architecture is evident – brightly colored walls, playful spaces, fantastic lookouts.  We’re among the first in the gates and spend an hour or so wandering, photographing, playing while we have the place mostly to ourselves.

Next we set out on the steep, well marked hike to Cruz Alta, a large cross set atop the very highest rock on the mountain, symbolizing that even Kings have to answer to somebody.  It’s a good spot to take in the scenery and mug for some pix.

Third stop is a 20 minute, blessedly downhill hike to the Moorish Castle.  Built a few hundred years before the Pena Palace, this structure shows the stark contrast between the Moors and King Ferdy Deux.  The Moors were conquerors, not frat boys, and this castle is a fortress purpose built to keep what they rightfully stole.  Fortunately, this example of Brutalist architecture also offers sweeping views, vantage points to check out the other estates and great Insta-selfie opportunities.

From here, we do our last hike of the day, a surprisingly difficult 1-mile downhill into the village of Sintra.  Along the way we pass Vila Sesseti, a remarkably tasteful mansion with well-designed gardens and lots of fun water elements integrated beautifully into the hillside.  I’d like to think that if I was in the Keep Up With The Prince Joneses game back in the day, that this would be my entry. 

By the time we reach the village, we’re famished.  Our cabbie told us an out-of-the-beaten-tourist-path restaurant, but we don’t make it that far, picking a place smack dab in the middle of the crowded historic district.  We’re willing to concede some quality for expedicancy, and the smooth talking frontman of Restaurante Alcobaca seats us immediately in the cute, albit kitsch, space.  Alas, we should have learned our lesson about pre-judging by now. Our host is also our waiter, helps us with our selections and doesn’t even try to upsell the wine when I gave him the chance.  “We pick our house wine to go with all our food.  You don’t need anything else.”  He’s right of course, and the cool, local white is just dry enough, minerally but not overly acidic, to pair beautifully with Mandy’s dish of local sardines, proving once again that if it grows together, it goes together.  I’m presented with an entire octopus – that’s right, an entire octopus, not just a few octoparts – that fully covers the plate and is served with roasted potatoes and a blessed ton of fresh garlic.  It is expertly prepared, just-right tender, slightly salted, and pairs nicely with a couple of beers.  The total bill is under 60€ and I’m certain my entrée alone would have been more than that in the States.

Refreshed we set out for our last stop in Sintra, Quinta Da Regaleira.  This is a special place with a checkered history.  The original place was built in the 1700s but fell into disrepair over the centuries as such spaces have a tendency to do.  It was finally purchased by Antonio Augusto Carvalho Monteiro in the 1892 who restored and reimagined it to bring together the three passions of his life… His wife, his pursuit of alchemy and his participation in the secret societies of the Knights Templar and Free Masons.  For his wife, the main house was impeccably finished in exotic woods, the petite chapel lavishly gilded and the grounds beset with art.  For his scientific pursuits, plenty of out buildings and open spaces of toxic chemical interactions and no small number of accidental explosions.  But he saved the most remarkable feature for his secret brethren.  For their hazing and other rituals, he built the Initiation Well, a 120 foot deep pit designed to suggest man’s decent into hell as you wind down the outer spiral to the bottom.  The entrance was concealed by a huge bolder which could be moved into place to keep people out or seal them in, and when the top was covered it became perfectly black.  Protruding from the bottom is a series of caves and chambers just to add a few more options for the ceremonial perversions.  I don’t think Ant'ny ever envisioned it as a major attraction, but here we are and it is a genuine marvel.

We’re trying to make the 4:10 train, so we hire an Ape (pronounced OP-Aay, referring to the 3 wheeled multiple passenger Vespas of the same name, but most commonly referred to by their Asian slang name tuk-tuk) to get us back to the station.  I’m sure it can’t be more then 20 horsepower, but our driver is throwing it around like a sprint car on a dirt track.  What we didn’t know is that it’s a very, very long ride back because the roads are all one way and he has to go all the way around the outskirts of the town to get there.  We miss the 4:10 train and barely catch the 4:40, but the Ape ride is a hoot.

Back in Lisbon, we indulge in a well-deserved afternoon nap before we head out to dinner at Kikos, a Japanese/Mexican fusion restaurant by one of the city’s hottest chefs.  The space was created for this purpose and this purpose only, the back wall being dominated by a lovely but massive Portuguese tile mural depicting and Mexican and Japanese woman (although we did question the artist’s depiction of the former with a mustache).  We sit at the chef’s counter and watch course after course being carefully prepared and artistically plated.  It’s nice contrast to the traditional Portuguese meals we have had and way to experience what the modern chefs are doing here.

We’re already at the top of the hill, so we decide to experience Bairro Alto at night.  The quiet café’s have turned into raucous bars of all genres – gaudy 5€ per-liter slushy drink joints blaring American 80s music, smoky jazz joints, TV laden sports bars flashing futbol and rugby matches from around Europe.  It’s everything you’d expect on Bourbon Street or Picadilly Circus, but with some local flavor.  We decide to grab the last table at an authentic looking Fada place and are shoehorned in a tiny 2-top, shoulder-to-shoulder with our fellow patrons.  The band, the frontman guitar player, the baritone mandolin player and the female vocalist, are all very good and the music is more upbeat then we had been expecting, but oddly fussy.  The place is packed, everyone is sitting, listening respectfully, enjoying, applauding at the end of each song, but even so the lead singer warns the crowd to be silent during the performance while thanking the crowd for their silence in the same sentence.  We laugh all the way home trying to imagine what Sunday dinner is like for his poor kids.