Lisbon: A Walking Tour to Eat, Drink and Wax Nostalgic

New York City and I have an open-relationship, but it's fair to say Lisbon is my side piece. The fantastic, cheap wine, neighborhoods beckoning for a stroll, a burgeoning indie arts scene, locals who embrace diversity, music that ignites passion, food that sweetens the tongue: Lisbon is everything I love about life, and you will covet my side piece!

This walking tour itinerary is one of two I'll be posting. It's a lot to do in one day, so I recommend prioritizing your interests. For your convenience, I've sequenced it so the next site is nearby. This isn't The Amazing Race, and travel that stresses you out by making you feel like you have to tick items off a list under a time crunch is no way to vacation.

If you're doing it for the gram, make sure you wear comfortable walking shoes and bring a bottle of water because Lisbon's got curves and will wear you out. The hilly cobblestone streets are literally, and figuratively, breathtaking.


Bom dia!

Start your day off with an inexpensive, hearty breakfast at Café do Monte in the São Vicente – Graça neighborhood. It's got a funky, 1960's San Francisco vibe, so don't be surprised if you hear some Hendrix while you slurp your chai or sip your cocktail. From there, it's a 6 minute walk to Igreja e Convento da Graça, a church with a spectacular miradouro, one of Lisbon's many lookout points. You can even see Castelo de Sao Jorge, a medieval castle that traded hands between the Moors and Christians during the Siege of Lisbon in 1147. If you want to see the castle up close and personal, you're in luck: it's only a 10 minute walk, 15 if you factor in the hills. If an adrenaline shot is in order, walk along the high walls of the castle and look down at the expansive ancient city below.

For me, the most vibrant part of the castle is the confluence of cultures outside the wall. African men sell selfie sticks to tourists and play the balafon, a painter wearing a fedora and a bowtie dips his paintbrush in coffee to paint portraits, colorful tuks tuks toil up the steep cobblestone hills, and souvenir shops selling azulejos (tiles), cork purses and dishrags embroidered with roosters line the path to the entrance, interspersed with cafes where you can grab a bica (espresso) and rest your feet.

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Boa tarde!

From the castle, a 15 minute walk will bring you to Figueira Square, a transit hub alongside a grocery store where the locals shop. If the grocery store isn't your thing, I hope it's the weekend: food vendors cover the square offering all the pork you can dream of, gourmet cheese, luscious pastries and refreshing sangria. It's a terrific place to linger for a light lunch and al fresco imbibing, a luxury we Americans are too often denied (unless you're in New Orleans.)

From Figueira Square, you're perfectly positioned to take the number 15 or 27 tram to Torre de Belem, about a 35 minute ride. The Belem Tower was built along the Tagus River in 1515 as a defense system against invaders and was additionally used as a customs check point to partially fund the kingdom's extensive maritime explorations (and subsequent invasions). Both the invasions and excursions are what make Portuguese architecture, food and culture so diverse; still it's necessary to recognize the brutality behind the beauty.

The exterior of the tower is more impressive than the interior, and even if you buy a ticket in advance, you could wait in line for over an hour to enter, so skip it. Rather, head on over to Pastéis de Belem, the home of the best pastel de nata in Portugal. There you can have the sweet egg custard on the very grounds where nuns invented them 200 years ago inside the Jeronimos Monastery next door.

For a peaceful reprieve from the hot sun, pop into the monastery for 10 Euro. It's a peaceful reprieve from the bright sun, and the cue is likely shorter than the one at Belem Tower, though the architecture is much more impressive. Vasco de Gama is buried inside. A quick visit (under an hour) should do ya.

From there, the Museu dos Coches (the National Coach Museum) is only 7 minutes away. Built for Portuguese royalty during the 16th to 19th centuries, the world's most valuable collection of horse drawn carriages now sits in a former horse riding arena. Coming from Amish country myself, a carriage museum seems quite provincial; however, this museum is unlike any I've ever seen. Too regal for princesses even, it's like the Disney princesses' moms parked their carriages for a "how to kill the evil witch" convention, and we get too ogle the red velvet and gold silk interiors, gilded cherubs, and hand-carved 400-year-old wheels while they plot and plan.

I'd venture to guess you're tired and need some down time. These next two places are not must dos, so if you're pressed for time, or just need a quick rest and recuperation, don't feel the pressure to squeeze them in. The evening plans are musts while in Lisbon, so prioritize them.

From the Coach Museum, take a tram or walk to LX Factory. The former industrial factory is an artist haven and houses vintage shops, a rooftop bar, restaurants, and a bookstore. You could spend a whole afternoon here, especially if an exhibit or concert is on the agenda. The bookstore, Ler Devagar, is a bookworm's dream come true; an books from floor to ceiling. It's a place meant for lingering, embodying that authentic Lisboan attribute of slowing down and eating the pastries. Speaking of which, the chocolate cake at Landeau will change your life.

As an alternative, I recommend taking the tram from Torre de Belem back toward Cais Do Sodre, and getting off at Corpo Santo. Walk 2 blocks to the Tagus River (Rio Tejo) and you'll bump into Pitcher Cocktails, one of Lisbon's quiosques de refresco (refreshment kiosks). Sip and stroll, or sit and soak up some vitamin D.


Boa noite!  

Bairro Alto is the nocturnal neighborhood of Lisbon; it comes alive at night. Revelers spill out of bars and onto the narrow cobblestone streets. There's a joie de vivre in their chatter, both from their lips and their shoes striking the cobblestones.

After you're refreshed and rejuvenated, head on over to Taberna Portuguesa in Bairro Alto for dinner, where you'll find Portuguese comfort food at its finest. Plates of cheese, bread, jam and olives await you, though they're not free like the breadsticks at Olive Garden, because this is real food! Order yourself a 2€ glass of wine, and consider the 30€ tasting menu; it'll give you a good sense of Portuguese homecooking and won't break the bank. Bom apetite!

After you've had your fill at Taberna Portuguesa, head to Tasca Do Chico, an intimate, cozy fado bar popular with locals and tourists alike. Fado is Portuguese blues, and it will rip your heart out. Accompanied by a guitar, a fado singer will pour her yearning, regret, hope, and eternal sadness into each word. You'll understand, even if you don't speak Portuguese.

Make your way through the swinging Western saloon doors of Tasca do Chico and you'll be hit with a double dose of nostalgia and romanticism, for which there is no cure. Fado singers begin around 8:30pm and will instantaneously enrapture you. The dim light and the wine will lull you into a state of tranquility, only for the regretful tones of fado to make you wince in empathy.


Up soon: another walking tour that takes you through Lisbon's most diverse neighborhood to its most lavish district, to a food market straight from Anthony Bourdain's wet dream, and into Lisbon's indie art scene. Stay tuned!

 

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Azores: Exploring Sao Miguel

The streets of Ponta Delgada in Sao Miguel are lively, but I suspect most people come to Sao Miguel for the natural beauty, plenty of which you’ll find below.

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I’ve written on what to eat and what you need to know about renting and driving a car because duh, food is good, and driving is the most efficient way to get to all the otherworldly places in Sao Miguel, from the hot springs to the hilltop church to the hiking trails and back into town to sing along with traditional dancers.


Caldeira Velha

Between Ribeira Grande and Lagoa do Fogo (the Lake of Fire) sits Caldeira Velha, naturally heated hot springs in the middle of a tropical forest. It’s a img_0295 visual feast for the eyes: rich green plants and rust colored boulders span the hot springs, while birdsong echoes throughout the jungle. Absorbing this surreal scene from a pool of hot thermal water is curative for body and soul.

Tips:

  • The official parking lot is small, so use your parallel parking skills, and finagle a spot along the steep switchback curve of the mountain.
  • Entry is super cheap: only 2 Euros. It’s worth much more.
  • Changing rooms and showers are available, but there aren’t any lockers. They provide a basket to carry your items between the two springs. I had to remind my NYC state of mind that I was in the Azores, and it was highly unlikely someone would steal my stuff while I soaked.
  • There are two pools-one hot, one warm (and more photogenic because it has waterfalls, but I preferred the hot one).
  • Wear a dark colored bathing suit. The water’s minerals stain light colored suits.
  • Take a waterproof camera.
  • Caldeira Velha is very touristy, but it’s unlike any place I’ve every visited, a tropical rendition of Myvatn hot springs in Iceland.

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Vila Franca Do Campo

Vila Franca Do Campo was the most developed town on the island until the 1522 earthquake destroyed it and buried thousands of locals alive in a landslide. The rebuilding efforts were slow to advance, so the capital was transferred to the current seat in Ponta Delgada. Today, Vila Franca Do Campo is known for two incredible landmarks: a hilltop church, and a surreal volcanic islet just off the town’s shore.

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Ilheu do Vila Franca

The islet was immediately visible when I pulled up along the waterfront. I’d never seen such a magical landmass, and have never had occasion to use the word “islet.” It’s fitting. The islet is a tiny volcanic island off the coast of Sao Miguel Island, centered around a crater lagoon where a volcano imploded and collapsed in on itself. Radical!

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Ilheu do Vila Franca is perfect for an afternoon of snorkeling in the crater lagoon and picnicking on the narrow beach. You can rent snorkel gear along the waterfront. A ferry leaves the pier every hour, though I was supremely unlucky: Hurricane Gaston was headed towards the Azores, making the water choppy and rough, and the ferry was cancelled. Enjoying the weather from under a tree near the pier, a tan, rotund, shirtless man wearing a gold chain offered his opinion that it would be at least two days until the sea would be calm enough for the ferry to cross. I’d be gone by then, having moved on to Graciosa Island. I was so disappointed, but that’s the thing about the Azores–the weather can dash your best laid plans.

Tips:

  • If you like to plan ahead, you can buy the ticket online for six Euros.
  • You’ll need to bring all your own food and beach supplies, as there are no amenities. Like much of the Azores, the charm can be found in the tranquility of nature.
  • Snorkel gear is for rent along the waterfront.
  • Check out videos of the Red Bull Cliff Diving Championships to virtually explore the majesty of the cliffs.

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Ermida de Nossa Senhora da Paz

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Visible from the center of town, Ermida de Nossa Senhora da Paz (the Chapel of Our Lady of Peace) sits on a mountaintop over looking Vila Franca. I set off to walk (the New Yorker in me wasn’t used to all this lazy driving), but I soon realized the sun was too hot and the road too steep to do so without a hat, sunscreen, or water, so I went back to the car and drove up. Good thing, because the road was steeper and longer than I suspected, perfectly designed to hermit religious scholars away from the villagers and temptations below.img_6670

The parking lot is bursting with hydrangeas, a bouquet of gratitude to the holy woman who exemplifies peace. Ten flights of stairs before the entrance to the church symbolize the Hail Mary prayer and the tilework (azulejos) depicts the mysteries of the rosary. The view is amazing, and so worth the pilgrimage up the mountain.

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Furnas

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Furnas is a town in the eastern section of Sao Miguel Island. The area boasts a chartreuse colored lake, an enchanting mossy forest, volcanic vents that shoot boiling water and mud to the surface of the earth, and a relaxing hot spring.

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The lake, Lagoa das Furnas, sits on the edge of the main attraction, the Caldeiras das Furnas. Steam emanates from cracks in the Earth’s surface and the bubbling mud, boiling water and smell of sulfur is a reminder that I’m walking on a volatile volcano. Why would people live here?! It’s fantastic and mind-boggling.

Thirty minutes at the caldeiras will do, and if you’re hungry afterwards, get yourself a plate of cozido das furnas, the local stew. Curious about the cooking process and ingredients? Check out my post here.


Poca de Dona Beija

The more hot springs, the better! Poca de Dona Beija hot springs aren’t as wild or natural as Caldeira Velha, but they’re still soothing after a day of hiking.img_0329 Amenities include a parking lot, changing rooms and lockers, and at 4 Euros for the entry fee, it’s a bargain spa experience. The sulfur will stain your bathing suit orange, so wear an old or dark one. Five different hot pots offer a range of temperatures, from hot to warm, while artificial waterfalls massage your aching neck. There’s also a gift shop with artsy jewelry, a rarity aside from the airport shops. They’re open until 11pm, and if you don’t have a towel, you can rent one there.

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I visited at night, after a day of hiking. I would have gotten better photos during the day, especially of the rust colored rocks, but bathing outdoors at night is so romantic, and I prefer romance to evidence.


Salto do Prego hiking trail

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Roca de Velha

If you’ve ever wished Avatar was real life, this trail is for you. Moss shrouds thick sinewy roots while leaves as large as my torso, thick and deep green, sway in the light breeze. I breathe in the unfamiliar perfume of Roca  de Velha. In yet another nod to Portuguese exploration, the flower is endemic to India. Since it’s arrival in the Azores, it’s become an invasive species. img_5730

Like a crescendo, the trail rose and the roaring, soothing sound of falling water became unmistakable. The forest opened up to spaciousness, to a jungle amphitheater, the star of the show a picturesque waterfall above a chilly rock bottom pond.img_5912

Point your GPS to the village of  Faial Da Terra. It’s a relatively easy hike, only 30 minutes to the waterfall, and under two hours roundtrip if you swim or have a picnic, though it is steep at sections and can be muddy.


Traditional dancing

After dinner one night, I heard music in the open air plaza of Igreja Matriz de Sao Sebastian, the Church of Saint Sebastian in the middle of town. Rows of locals sat in chairs facing a raised stage where traditional dancers in white shirts, the men in tweed pants, the women in bright pink and blue woven skirts, twirled in a complicated partner dance. The women’s hair was covered by blue woven fabric, looking very “Girl with the Pearl Earring.” Azoreans are incredibly ethnically mixed as roving bands of sailors stopped over in the islands, and these outfits were reminiscent of their Flemish heritage.

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Some songs were joyful, others measured and tempered. The song that resonated most deeply with me was full of saudade, a word that cannot be fully translated into English. It is simultaneously melancholy and nostalgic, somewhere between our romantic notions and salty reality. As thousands of immigrants, like my great-great-grandparents, left the nine volcanic islands in the Atlantic Ocean and made a home in the USA, they certainly must have felt saudade at the distance between homeland and adopted home, not just in geography, but in yearning for lush jungles, verdant vistas, fresh sardines for dinner, and a shared history and language.

116 years, 5 generations and 4 planes later, I was making my way to tiny, remote Graciosa, my ancestral homeland.


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Azores: Car Rental Quirks

A word on renting a car in the Azores. It’s necessary because public transportation is infrequent and won’t get you to the most remote, most stellar places without embezzling hours from your exploration time. If you’re in an AirBnb, your host will likely have a friend who is willing to “lend” you his car for $25/day, and in this case, there’s no need to book in advance.

If you survive the cliffs, hills, and careening drivers, you’ll be glad you didn’t waste your time on the sporadic and time consuming bus system. Read on for some Azorean driving lessons learned.


Hills + cliffs + stick shift = death trap

I rented in Sao Miguel and Graciosa, and took a taxi in Terceira because I was only there for a few hours. Graciosa is small enough that you can traverse the island, including it’s interior, in a few hours. There’s a smooth network of highways across Sao Miguel, but the beauty lies on the backroads, through green hilly hedged fields bursting with hydrangeas, cows living it up in farmers’ fields. In stark contrast, the streets in the city centers are alarmingly narrow, leaving you to hold your breath while you hope you don’t smash either sideview mirror into another car or someone’s house. Careening is the best way to describe the style of driving here; it’s like locals avoid slowing down so they don’t have to downshift for any reason, even a good one, like making a left turn. Not only that, but the ubiquitous San Franciscan-like hills are nerve-wracking to an American used to automatic drive.

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The most treacherous of these experiences occurred when I pulled down a lane to get a view of the waterfront, only to realize it was an insanely steep dead-end followed by a cliff leading down into the Atlantic Ocean. A bystander encouraged me to simply reverse back up the lane, but I couldn’t lift my foot from the brake to the gas quickly enough without the car sliding forward, edging closer and closer toward the cliff. A man leisurely smoking a cigarette stared at me blankly. In two minutes time, his entertainment had transformed from a serene sea view to witnessing a woman provoke a death trap. Hesitating to get involved, he eventually took a position behind the car, motioning for me to turn the wheel this way and that while shouting directions in Portuguese. So here I was, doing a 19 point turn in a street that couldn’t have been more than 7 feet wide, sweating profusely from the fear that I might end up trapped in a car under the sea like James Bond, except this was no Lotus Esprit. I cannot believe I, and the car, escaped unscathed.


The quirks of driving in the Azores:

Signs, signs, nowhere are the signs

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I prefer these over, “Rt.240E,” don’t you?

On both islands the signage confirming you’re on the right track is sparse, and in every case I had to drive much farther than I was comfortable without reassurance that I was headed in the right direction. Rely on your phone’s GPS. Or ask an Azorean farmer for directions.

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Blind turns, lane merges and roundabouts  img_0262

Slow down! And rely on these see-around-the-corner mirrors.

Parking

Not nearly as stressful as alternate side parking in img_0266Brooklyn, but, people park in the traffic lane, so swerving or slamming on the brake for oncoming traffic is the norm, as already narrow streets become one way.

When you park, hug the wall, and pull in your mirror so it doesn’t become a casualty for the cause.

 

Cows

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Cows in truck beds, cows blocking the roads (be careful!), cows in the fields making some delicious Sao Jorge cheese. They’re amusing.

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Views

They’re gorgeous and plentiful. I’m thankful for the independence a car provides, so I can ogle these vistas for as long as I like before moving on.

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The law

And finally, I was pulled over by a police officer who told me I had made an illegal left. I apologized, but he sighed as loud as a donkey and dramatically rolled his eyes. Whether he was more frustrated by my mistake or my English, I wasn’t sure. Thankfully, that was the extent of our interaction, and he waved me on. Phew.

 

Ancestral Soul Voyage

In 1900, Joze Machado da Silva emigrated from Graciosa, one of nine volcanic islands comprising the Azores, a bucolic autonomous region of Portugal. Settling in Lowell, Massachusetts, USA, he became Joseph Marshall. Five years later Maria Pereira made the same trip, from luscious Graciosa to frosty Lowell. She became Mary Perry, and together they became my great-great-grandparents.

My great-great-grandparents Maria Pereira and Joze Machado da Silva with their children; John Marshall, my great-grandfather at middle.

It is unclear why my great-great-grandparents changed their names. Maybe it was a point of pride, a trophy representing their successful journeys. Maybe they anticipated the positive results: the switch alleviated pronunciation challenges, and improved not only my family’s social standing, but also our earning ability. While this access to economic and social gains is a privilege darker-skinned people wouldn’t even have had as an option, for my family the change annulled my Latin ethnicity and allowed my ancestors, and by extension their descendants, to enter into the exclusive Anglo-Saxon country club called Whiteness.

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Maria and Joze had seven children, the first of whom was my Grandmother’s father, John Marshall. John was born in Lowell, but after the birth and death of Maria and Joze’s second child to measles, they moved back to the Azores for about 5 years. When John was 7, on the day they were supposed to board a ship returning to Lowell, John ran into the mountains to hide, refusing to return to cold, snowy winters. Sadly, I only know the beginning of that story, and the end…he ended up in Lowell…but I so wish I knew what that coaxing session in the volcanic mountains sounded like.

A decade later, Catholic John met Baptist Lillian, a Russian immigrant, in Lowell. They impatiently waited for her 16th birthday to tie the knot. It was considered a “mixed-marriage;” neighbors and family members warned their lives would be torn asunder by ostensibly dueling religious doctrines and cultural traditions.

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Connie

It was not so; no duels, no identity crises or mass hysteria, though my grandmother, John and Lillian’s oldest child, Constance, sure did cut her own path. Aspiring beyond a typical job in one of the leather factories for which her hometown was famous, my grandmother left at age 18 to join the army, and was sent off to Germany during the Korean War, eventually becoming a drill sergeant. To this day, 65 years later, she still stands like one, chest out, back straight, her hands in loose fists, thumbs aligned with the seam of her pants. She relished the sense of adventure, the self-sufficiency, and the weekend train trips to Germanic mountain towns.

Connie’s trip to Germany at 18 was her only physical connection to her father’s homeland, and it’s tenuous, at best: her plane stopped to refuel at Lajes airport on Terceira island, still a 30 minute plane ride away from Graciosa Island.

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Connie and Lillian, daughter and mother

She met my grandfather in the army base’s dining hall in Germany, and he pursued her with such vigor that she broke off her engagement to another man, choosing Grandpa instead. The second of their four children is my mother, who took a DNA ancestry test about a year ago. The test revealed the exact island, neighborhood and street Joze Machado lived on in Graciosa, as well as baptism and marriage records, which I used to create a travel agenda for my ancestral soul voyage to the Azores.

These days, Grandma Connie still carves her own path. She insists on her own unique pronunciation of certain words (“Well, I say hair say-lawn”), and feels no visible shame at the cornbread she consistently embezzles from ALL buffets, wrapping it in a napkin and saving it in her purse for later. She’ll even throw in a banana (also nabbed) to create a well-balanced snack for any grandchild who expresses the slightest hint of hunger.grandmas-majesty

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In chasing the stories of my ancestors I am conflicted. So often we look to the past to inform our present and inspire our future. We’re proud of our heritage, though we did nothing to create it. We have parades celebrating our people’s strengths and struggles, while we tend to ignore the brutality they perpetuated in becoming the victor, or how the spoils they gained in war protect and benefit us today.

The very things for which I admire the Portuguese–embracing uncertainty, taking calculated risks and bold, brave action–are the very tactics by which they dominated and plundered, whereas cooperation and equality could have just as easily been on their agenda. For example, the Portuguese were trailblazers in world exploration, developing new celestial mapping techniques and more effective sailboats to create the most expansive global trade network at that time, still in use today. Admirable, until we consider they dominated the transatlantic slave trade for 100 years, setting the foundations for 18th and 19th century iterations of a global slave trade along these same networks.

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It’s disturbing to see the sausage being made, to see our complicity in and deference to white supremacy, to see the process through which we become people who “believe ourselves to be white.”*

“Isn’t this a travel blog?” you ask. Yes, and this IS my brain in travel–it leads me to reconsider what I’ve been taught as true, right, and without alternative narratives. A few months after my mom took a DNA ancestry test, I went to the Azores in September 2016 on an odyssey to rediscover what my family lost and gained through our assimilation over the past 116 years. What I found was a wellspring of dueling dualities and uncertain conclusions.


*Ta-Nehisi Coates, Between the World and Me