Day 3: Tiles and Castles.
We woke up today with a clear plan in mind, at least the start.  We were splitting off from the group and heading out for the tile museum of Lisbon.  Portugal, but Lisbon in particular is famous for beautifully tiled facades of the buildings in town.  I can't tell you that ceramic tiles were invented in Portugal, maybe they were, but if you've been to an Ann Sacks, it exists because of the artistry invented by the Portuguese.  Even the Tuk Tuk's honor this heritage.

The museum takes you through the history of the development of the tile, from the most basic painted tiles to 3 dimensional tiles with multiple textures and glazes to add reflectivity and matte surfaces, grain, and depth.

After the museum we stopped at the cafe for a quick lunch and then headed off to the Castelo de Sao Jorge (pronounced George).

I guess if you live in Europe its not that exciting that there is a medieval castle in the middle of town but I dont think I'd ever get tired of it.  Moats! Ramparts!  Arrow Slits!

Its remarkable how much is still standing despite how old it is (you could say this about much of Portugal!), replace the rotten wood and you'd have a pretty functional castle.  Separatists take note.  We ran into the other half of our septet and so the girls ran around and Helene kept insisting that after this we go find the princess's castle.
After the castle we headed back to the apartment for a rest but came across Lisbon's large pedestrian promenade which provided some interesting street performances and lots of crowd watching.

Day 1

Saturday, 6/20 -- We all sleep in to the shockingly late hour of 11.  Jet lag keeps you up until an ungodly hour of the morning and then when you at last fall asleep, it is like the dead.  Without any real plan for the day we just set out for a couple nearby destinations just to familiarize ourselves with the neighborhood and what is right around us.  We set off down the hill toward the water and then over toward a large square that is nearby.  The city feels old, but its gritty and alive at the same time.  Ornate tiles cover many of the old buildings we pass and the sidewalks are black and white marble diamonds polished smooth over the years.  Along the way we come across a store that specializes in the sale of Portuguese sardines and other tinned seafood.  Its not so much that people are in search of high quality tinned fish (though if you've seen me eat lunch sometime over the last year, you know this is what i do eat), but rather for the beautiful, vintage but yet still relevant packaging.  The store is hipster heaven, as is much of Lisbon, but not in a Portlandia parody, rather its authentic Portuguese heritage brands -- what you would have grown up with were you a 30-50 something Lisboan in search of your version of Qwisp, Laugh-a-lympics, or Nehi.

This same nostalgia is seen throughout the city, as shown in the second image above.

We find the square, which is lined with touristic restaurants, as are all squares in Europe.  There are fun water fountains that shoot the drinking water into the air and there is space for the girls to run (apparently tinned seafood shops don't appeal to little ones).  Its hot already so we get them some ice cream and we head down along the promenade that follows the waterfront.  Dead fish, and street musicians keep everyone entertained but we end up splitting up and the three of us head off for the Time Out restored mercado to find lunch and whatever else is to be seen.  The market is beautifully restored, one half still an active meat and produce market, the other half a beautiful galleria filled with food stalls around the perimeter and tables all through the middle packed with tourists and Lisboans alike.  In the midst of making the most difficult of all travel decisions -- what to eat -- we run into our partner quartet and rejoin for lunch.  Of the dishes we selected a simple sardine bruscetta and fresh gazspacho is the clear winner (its purchased twice) but the black risotto with seared scallops is equally compelling.

After lunch we stagger off back to our apartment, its hot and late and everyone is still feeling a bit off kilter from the jet lag.  

We come back to some of the most awful music ever to grace a stage.  We later find out its the "Amateur" music festival, but in the moment we all start developing flashbacks to another trip we took together to Sayulita Mexico, where the carnival music kept us up until 4am.  Its interrupted by an impressively large pride parade, but apparently this fervent Catholic country is actually fairly tolerant.

To escape the noise, we took a walk up the hill to a park to check out the view, found more music (better this time) and Harvest discovered the wonder of amazingly cheap, public alcohol consumption in Europe -- 1 euro beers and sangria.

After whetting our appetites we walk back down the hill to Cafe India, a restaurant Sara found on the way to the grocery.   To say that it live up to the hype is an understatement.  To put things in context, we walked into a shoulder to shoulder packed neighborhood joint, paper lined tables, a place unchanged since it opened in the 50's, 60's or 70s.  After we ordered we asked the waiter if we ordered enough and   while he didn't want to dissuade us from ordering that much food, he also hinted that it might be on the generous side of excessive.  Fear not, he does not know of whom he speaks.

Day 0
This year Portugal.  Eat our weight in seafood, see the old world, visit Rosemary's ancestral homeland.  Just a quick hop to Heathrow and then an agonizing long flight from there to Lisbon.  We are going with our friends Matt and Sara, their daughter Helene, and nephew Harvest, our au pair for the trip.

The trip started out well.  Both Ruby and Rosemary slept almost 6 of the 9 hours to London.  One the flight from London to Lisbon I feel this elbow in my side.  I look over at  Ruby and she's jabbing her thumb toward Ro who is,  again, completely sacked.  Ruby's eyes say it all: "Can you f-ing believe this lady?!?"

We land.  For one of the oldest countries in Europe the airport does not speak to this at all.  Its a stark modern building, an abandoned modern-furniture showroom.  The place smells faintly of a carpet showroom but is beautiful in its simplicity.

We breeze through customs and baggage claim, and step out into a beautiful 85 degree evening.  Thank god for taxi drivers, without our grouchy silent guide, our entire trip would have been spent negotiating the winding 15 mile drive to our apartment.

Even on the taxi ride, Lisbon seems older, less touched by progress than anywhere else I've been.  There are certainly lots of modern buildings, but at the same time everything seems older, graffitied up but not polished into a European theme park.

We pull into the square where our apartment is and it looks exactly like the photos on the website.  Generally that doesn't happen but things seem promising, and when we go up to the apartment the foreshadowed promise is not lost on the inside.  Huge living room.  Huge bedrooms, three of them.  Nice kitchen.  Fold-out couch for the girls.

We dump our stuff and head out to find food.  Its been a couple of hours since any of us have eaten and even longer since any of us have eaten something that was not served from either an airport or an airplane.  We wander out in search of a burger place that was recommended, not ideal but perfect for the girls.   A few blocks later, after winding through streets pleasantly crowded, though nowhere near the intensity of Rome or Paris, we find gourmet hamburgers and decide on liquids on for all but the girls.  I'm surprised that the place seems full of Lisbons, and I'm reminded that while we all want to eat the local cuisine, the locals probably want something different than what their mammas made for them.  The restaurant is focused on gin drinks and burgers, an odd combo, but it fills a niche I'm sure.  After we've whetted ourselves and the girls have mowed down the burgers and fries we head back and are lured to the Bifana stall literally next door to our apartment.  3,5euro gets you a small steak sandwichon a chewy white roll  (no cheese, no garnish, just white bread and meat, though a squirt of yellow mustard and a splash of chile oil makes it better) and a beer.  I forget about dietary restrictions and shovel down two of each and it is, in the moment, the best thing I'll ever eat in Portugal.  I'm reminded of the small Cuban restaurant that used to be down the street from Matt &Sara's apartment in South Beach.  A grubby tiled floor strewn with greasy paper napkins, glass sneeze guards, rickety cafe tables and cheap chairs, food cooked any way you like it as long as you like it the way they cook it, and an amazing stream of locals stopping for provisions in between bar stops.  In its simplicity the food is perfect, the beer and the sandwich as good a pair as you find in the world.  There will certainly be better eats on the trip, but for the overall raw experience, this may be the star.

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