Finding Bryan Adams in Portugal

I’d like to know why I’ve already heard four Bryan Adams songs on the radio as we’ve been driving around in Portugal. The radio disc jockey, also known as “The Computer”, even decided to queue up a Nickelback song right after “Summer of 69”. How appropriate. But it makes me wonder why on earth they are playing this stuff in Portugal when I am quite sure they do not have any Canadian content rules like the ones we are stuck with back home. Perhaps there just aren’t enough old crappy Portuguese pop songs to fill the daily setlist on the FM nostalgia stations?

It was another massive sleep-in day as I didn’t get up until 8 and we didn’t leave the house until close to 10 as Ana burst into a round of laundry right after she woke up. I didn’t think we’d have much for clothes to wash by this point in the trip, but I am a grub and rarely change my clothes on holidays whereas Ana changes her clothes daily and Stella multiple times a day as she considers herself to be some sort of fashionista. Magnus lands somewhere in the middle.

We returned to Peniche to see it in the daylight and to visit the waterfront military fort (Peniche Fortress) that had been used as a prison for many years. Magnus said this would be an easy place to escape from, and I told him no way. Then one of the displays had details of the half dozen successful prison escapes that had happened over the years, both with and without subversive prison guard assistance. These kids have been proving me wrong way too often recently.

The old town centre of Peniche was nice, but a little gritty. Magnus and I looked around for a barber, as we’d done in every town in Portugal so far, finding either no shops, shops closed for siesta, shops that didn’t chop dudes, or shops with no available spots. We were starting to look like Shaggy and Scooby. Ana was busy trying to find some gold bling bling for her goddaughter Nina, but she struck out too. We left with not a great impression of Peniche, especially after Horacio told us last night that the local marina where he used to moor his sailboat is falling apart from disrepair. And Olivia told us that it has become overrun with foreigner surfers who are squeezing out the locals. So our vote for best local seaside hang-out definitely goes to Areia Branca which is such a lovely place. Saying that, we did drive out on the Peniche peninsula and found some spectacular rock formations and ocean views.

Our next destination for the day was Foz Do Arelho, which is further north up the coast from Peniche, and a place we thought would make for a nice lunch spot. After driving around for a bit through the town we eventually found the massive, and I mean massive beach, with a river running through it terminating in the ocean. The beach was so big it looked like a desert and was growing by the minute because of the falling tide. After a pretty terrible lunch (imagine eating a poor quality beef steak with veins of tough fat and gristle that you need to saw through with a knife…and then imagine trying to chew through that same piece of meat in a sandwich) at one of the many restaurants overlooking the beach desert, I slipped into my swimmers and went for a fast dip in the salty river water. The rest of the gang opted not for a swim, but Ana and I did go for a long walk along the river all the way out to the ocean, which was probably over a kilometre. I was kicking myself at the end for not bringing a camera along, because when we looked back over the river towards the shore, it could have been the Whitsundays in Australia, as the draining water had created sandbanks throughout the river with blue patches of clear water surrounding them. Many people were swimming in the water, or just wading across it, while others were scattered about the sand sunbathing, but the area was so huge that it still felt empty.

Caldas Da Rainha was the next town on our itinerary, mainly because Magnus’s internet travels discovered a Magic The Gathering card shop that opened at 4pm so we drove directly there for him to buy a package of cards. The town had also been recommended to Ana by compadre Rosa as a good place to shop. Well, we had trouble finding the old town centre so instead parked near a giant central park and shopping mall so the ladies went shopping while Magnus and I walked the park. Both were a little underwhelming, but we still enjoyed the stop.

The waterfront of Areia Branca is where we ended up for dinner snacks at Solmar restaurant and to once again enjoy the amazing ocean views. Today the water was far too rough for surfers, so all the young dudes we saw surfing the other day were instead working at the bar! The Solmar menu was fantastic as they had all sorts of cool seafood options like clams, mussels, octopus, and fish, but also tremendously good chicken wings. We latched into some food and I had my first caneca of the trip, which is a giant mug of beer, half a litre in size, and man was it good. Because I’m the only driver listed for the car insurance, I’ve had to mostly behave myself during the day, and I’ve been too beat at night to enjoy much of the cheap Portuguese wine and beer. There is a strong likelihood I could make it to the end of the trip without even a mild hangover…which is probably a good thing for this aging body.

A few shops down from the restaurant was a nightclub that, for some reason, also sold ice cream and something called “bubble waffles” which the kids coerced us into buying for them. Because it was still early there were no customers so the server had plenty of time to make this huge bubble waffle for the kids to share. They inhaled it like homeless kids with a sweet tooth, and there was not a piece of waffle, ice cream, fruit, or M&Ms by the time they were done. I’m surprised they didn’t eat the paper bowl it was served in.

Tomorrow, we move from Paco (and this amazing region!) to our next destination - Aveiro.

Let’s Go To Horacio’s For A BBQ

I dragged myself out of bed at 8 and the rest of them slept for at least another hour. Because we kept the window shutters closed at night, the bedrooms were completely dark in the morning, making it more difficult than normal to get up and going. Our compadres’ house is fantastic and seems to be stocked just as well as their normal home with everything you could possibly need, so my solo morning routine was great - boil water in the kettle, make some tea, grab a seat in the comfy couch and then start typing. One of the things I love about the concrete construction of the homes here is that everything is so solid and rigid. The doors open and close perfectly, the windows have a tight, perfect seal, and there’s no creaking of loose nails on any of the stairs when you walk up and down them, so when I’m creeping around in the morning I don’t disturb anybody. The water heating systems are all the on-demand variety so there is no need for hot water heaters, and there is also no need for furnaces with the temperate climate. It is a shame that Artur and Rosa get to spend so little time here, but I bet their trips will get longer and more frequent in the coming years.

Today’s first destination was Obidos, an ancient walled city located on a hilltop, less then 20 minutes from home base. We’ve been using Ana’s phone for navigation, but the computer generated voice has been having more than a little difficulty with pronouncing the street names and they usually come out as an unrecognizable, scrambled mess. It doesn’t help much when the street names are so bloody long - how about “Rua Padre Jose Rodrigo Paula do Rossio” or “Rua Joaquim Dos Santos Borda D’Agua” or “Avenida Doctor Francisco Vale Guimaraes"? Of course, there are hardly any street signs showing the names, as the street names are usually painted on tiles on the nearest house to the corner. But when the odd street sign appears, there’s no way to fit the full name on the sign so they they have to abbreviate it to the point of comedy. What do you make of “Av. Dr. F V Gu”? It’s no wonder the artificial intelligence voice stumbles. But at least they add a few gaps into the street names - its much worse in Iceland where they wallop you with street names like Svalbarosstrandarhreppur. Good luck Siri.

Because of our later start we arrived in Obidos at prime tourist time and the busses were already releasing their payloads of snap-happy passengers through the main city gate. From afar, the city looks big, and almost dreamlike and unreal, but when you get up close and into the city, its size diminishes and you can walk straight across from wall to wall in just a few minutes. Ana found a local woman and struck up a conversation and discovered there are only about 50 people who actually live in the city and, up until about 15 years ago, there were no tourists here, so she didn’t mind having all the visitors as it livened things up a bit.

The walls were high, and had a nice walking path on top, but were closed because of work being one on them, which was too bad as I would have liked to do a full loop and imagined myself with a crossbow taking pot shots at the tourists below, both inside and outside the protective walls. Ana was completely mesmerized with the city, and was able to look beyond the throes of tourists better than me, but I did find it fascinating imagining what it must have been like living here hundreds of years ago when the walls were probably the difference between life and death. It was impossible to not compare this place to Game of Thrones or any of the other movies about life during the medieval times. It really put me in the mood for skewering an enemy.

Our next destination was the seaside town of Nazare, famous for the enormous surfing waves that appear here during the winter months. Ana’s been particularly fascinated with this town after seeing images like the one attached here, of a guy named Garrett McNamara surfing a hundred foot wave in 2013, thereby opening it up to the international surfing scene. We drove into the town centre and it was a madhouse of congestion - people and cars everywhere, and we had to circle for a long time to find a parking spot. Once a quaint little fishing village, Nazare bears no resemblance to its past and is a clusterfrick of cheesy tourist seaside drivel. For example beach activities included bumper cars, bumper boats, real life Angry Birds catapulting, bubble soccer, go-karts, and of course dozens of bars and restaurants. The only genuine thing I saw were racks of drying fish, and three old ladies trying to sell these leather fish snacks to tourists. Saying all that, the beach itself was expansive and beautiful, and the area was rimmed by an impressively high cliff that nestled in the town and made it feel a bit homey. There was a lovely boardwalk and a wide bike lane for moving up and down the beach. We did a short drive to the north of the town where the big wave surfing happens, but the ocean was calm so there were no waves to be seen, although there were still thousands of tourists there and plenty of infrastructure to serve them.

For what it is, I think Nazare is a pretty cool place if that’s what you are looking for. We were just a little surprised as we honestly didn’t do a lot of research on the town beforehand so were expecting something completely different.

We returned home for a short chill out session then went back out for a dinner date at our friend Horacio’s house in Areia Branca. Horacio’s brother Cesar is a long time friend of ours who passed away just a few weeks ago, and we had hosted the entire family at our house for dinner the year before, so Horacio had insisted we give him a call if we were ever in Portugal, so that’s exactly what we did!

Horacio’s partner Ana greeted us and introduced us to their longtime German friend Olivia, who was living in Areia Branca for the summer attending surfing school. They cooked up an amazing dinner of various cuts of pork (seemed like half a pig) cooked over their charcoal grill, chicken, salads, rice and bread and we enjoyed such a lovely evening getting to know each other over glasses of wine and great conversation. It is always such a treat when you have the opportunity to visit a local’s house when you are traveling, as you get a short glimpse into what life is like. I only wish we had more time together to visit, but hopefully we will see them again sometime soon.

It was just after 11 when we returned back to the house, exhausted yet again after another big day in Portugal.

I’m getting tired of all these UNESCO World Heritage sites

Yes, Paco is a tiny little village, with not much to do, but its location is perfect for day trips as there are so many places to see within a 90 minute drive. After an amazing sleep and hearty breakfast of fresh buns, Azorean cheese, eggs, bananas, and granola, we set off for Tomar, which is the location of the original headquarters of the Knights Templar, or at least the headquarters they built after becoming a fabulously wealthy organization. The driving in Portugal is easy and fun and there are virtually no traffic lights as practically all intersections are handled with roundabouts and the odd stop sign, making me wonder how we cocked our traffic handling up so completely in Canada. But that is a topic for a future post.

The reason we wanted to visit Tomar is my dad and stepmom had visited it last year and Dad said is was one of the most amazing things he’d ever seen. We didn’t arrive until about one hour after opening time, so I was getting a little nervous after yesterday’s human congestion at Sintra, but as we drove up we found the parking lot to be mostly empty, and after walking in the main gate found ourselves to be virtually alone, and feeling very small next to the giant ramparts, stone steps, and massive wooden doors of the front of the structure. Above the doors was a limestone facade, reaching up at least thirty feet, that was carved with elaborate designs and human figures that reminded me a bit of the Sagrada Familia cathedral in Barcelona. The main entrance was actually through a small side door, and we paid our entry fee which was only nine euro for all of us - a pleasant surprise after paying 49 euro for the same privilege at Sintra.

The building was simply massive, but also elaborately designed. The building has a long and fascinating history as it was repurposed many times and added onto or renovated by a succession of Portuguese kings. We kept reading the word “cloister” in the guidebook we have with us, which is a cool word and fun to say, but had no idea what it meant. Well, this building had a series of seven or eight cloisters, which are basically a part of the building that is open to the sky in the middle but is surrounded by a covered pathway. The word also has a religious connotation and usually refers to a holy building where you may find a monk or two.

One of these cloisters lead to the main chapel, which was simply unbelievable as it was a domed, octagonal room that stretched up so high you could barely make out the elaborate carvings and painting on the ceiling. There were life sized (or maybe larger?) carved figures imbedded into the walls, and Christian paintings of vibrant colour throughout. Images of the Templar cross (which is thick and red and always appeared on the chest of the uniforms and armour worn by the Templar Knights) appeared in a few areas.

What else did we see? A room filled with massive jugs for olive oil storage, expansive gardens, spiral stone staircases, fountains, limestone latticework on the ceilings, thick engraved stone columns holding everything up, and a four mile long aqueduct built to supply water to the building were just a few of the highlights. The building was simply amazing, and on the same scale as the largest temples in Angkor Wat in Cambodia, except better preserved. It was also such a great example of how fabulously rich Portugal was during the Age of Discovery when their ships were racing out across the globe, bringing back riches that were used primarily to build glorious religious structures. I’m reading a book about the history of Portugal, and one of the overarching themes is how the Portuguese were so good at these daring, bombastic exploits that demanded courage, ingenuity, risk-taking and a real sense of adventure, and these traits allowed them to conquer the world. Unfortunately, what they were not so good at was the boring stuff - long term planning, prudent financial management, and administration, which led to their country’s downfall when the spoils of colonialism dried up to a trickle as they were surpassed by England, Spain, France, and the Dutch. It was a good run.

After the visit to the Templars we wandered into Tomar’s town centre and found a lovely area of cobblestoned streets, shops and restaurants and sat down for lunch, where I had the “special hot dog”; special because the wiener was wrapped in cheese and ham before being placed in the bun and then topped with lettuce and crunchy, dried onions - delicious. There was a hipster barber on one of the main streets where Magnus and I tried to get a cut, but they were all booked up. The ladies did some shopping and found a few items of interest before we returned to the car and drove to our next stop - Fatima, the most important religious site in Portugal, and the second most important Catholic pilgrimage site in the world after Lourdes in France.

I knew that Fatima was a place where the Virgin Mary appeared to three young children back at the turn of the 20th century, but I was not prepared for the scale of the site, as I had never seen photos of it. We first walked through the main pedestrian area that was packed with nothing but shops selling religious stuff, and let me tell you, there were more Virgin Mary statuettes there then you could shake a holy septor at. The site itself is a massive open tiled area that can hold hundreds of thousands of people, who religiously arrive twice a year during pilgrimage times. There was a steady stream of people walking on their knees across this area, as part of the final rituals that you perform on a pilgrimage, another of which involves throwing wax candles into a hot oven that creates a waxy odour, pervading the entire area. Through a loudspeaker came the sounds of a woman saying the prayers of the rosary as hundreds of people were packed around, joining in. We walked up the steps to the main cathedral that houses the remains of the three children and was built on the very site where the apparitions occurred.

It was an intensive, spiritual experience, that we’ve seen and felt before in other religious sites, such as the Hindu and Buddhist temples we visited in Asia, but I think it was especially strong for Ana, who grew up with the Portuguese catholic tradition in her home. We were wishing Ana’s mom could have been here with us, as this is a place we know she has always wanted to visit.

On the way out we stopped in a market area where they sold a huge variety of religious artifacts (Magnus has never met a market he didn’t like, but I would have thought a self-declared atheist like him would have been less interested in a religious market. I was wrong.) Ana found a few items of interest and we asked one of the vendors to explain the reason for these strange candles that were for sale, in the shape of arms, legs, heads, babies, and so on. She explained that people come here with very specific requests, such as to heal a particular body part, or to have a baby, or even to bless their house or car, so they will buy a candle in the shape of whatever they need, and then burn that candle in the ovens as part of the ritual. I asked Ana to look for a catamaran candle that would increase the likelihood of us owning one soon, but she said it didn’t really work like that. It was worth a try.

The next once in a lifetime stop (or three in one day, in our case) was the monastery in the town of Alcobaca. It was getting later in the day, but because we were getting a little worn out we stopped for coffee and an ice cream at a cafe just outside the main square. There, Magnus started lobbying to be left out of the monastery visit.

“Dad, I’ve had enough. I don’t even like European history,” Magnus said.

“What do you mean? You love history and ancient stuff,” I countered.

“Well maybe, but I’ve had enough”

“You just need to soak up the culture. In fact, you should snort up the culture. Snort it right up your nose, it’s good for you,” I added.

“Fine, I’ll snort up a bit of culture, but if we get bored then Stella and I are leaving and coming outside to goof around.”

We approached the expansive area leading up to the monastery and found something unique in all of Portugal - a surface they have not tiled or cobblestoned. It was a field of packed sand that was strangely appropriate, and visually stunning.

The monastery was overwhelming, from the life-sized carved wooden images of all the kings of Portugal, to the soaring ceilings, to the giant cooking ovens, to the burial chamber for all past rectors, to the fact that all monks here lived by a vow of silence their entire lives, and were only allowed to speak occasionally in a single room, as long as it dealt with the administration of the monastery, like complimenting the chef on the quality of the breakfast oatmeal, or requesting a multi-ply toilet paper upgrade. They weren’t allowed to talk about European football, pop culture, interesting nuns they had met, or anything else of much interest.

The kids made it through the entire visit without complaining, then we let them rip around outside for a while and visit a few shops before we jumped back in the car and headed to home base. But we weren’t quite done yet. After a short break, we packed back into the car and drove to Peniche, a seaside fishing town just 20 minutes away. And after a drive around the peninsula where we saw dozens of caravans and motorhomes with surfboards strapped everywhere, we were surprised to find a major festival happening in the port side area with thousands of people and a big carnival with rides, a market, games, and legions of black-bearded Portuguese carnies, smoking and huckstering.

We waited for quite some time to get a table at one of the many seafood restaurants overlooking the fishing port, then once we were seated we ordered up drinks and food. The place was heaving and despite the servers racing back and forth, working as fast as possible, it took forever to finally get our meals, but we weren’t in a rush. My grilled sardines and Ana’s mackerel were just ok, and the kids’ meals were adequate, but the atmosphere was pretty cool with so many people passing back and forth outside and the sounds of the nearby carnival ringing out. We didn’t finish up until after 11 then the kids went on a couple of rides and we wandered around the carnival\. It was well after 1am when we arrived home, so we all collapsed into bed after an unusually full day.

Monday night is a beautiful time to surf

The Uber arrived at 8:30 and we were soon winding and twisting our way through impossibly narrow streets in Monday morning traffic which was practically non-existent, but our driver explained that nearly everybody in Portugal takes their holidays in August so there’s really not much in the way of business going on.

The Sixt car rental experience was a real pain in the ass. First the check-in lady told us we should upgrade to one of the three higher insurance packages, so we fought with her for a while on that. Then she told us the vehicle we had rented was too small for our luggage and if we had to put a suitcase in the back seat, and got stopped by the police, we’d get a 300 euro fine. She also told us that adding a second driver was going to cost us another hundred euro. We said no, no, no to everything, packed the luggage in the trunk of the car just fine and got the hell out of there. I wasn’t really looking forward to driving after two days of invigorating foot powered transpo, but once I got into the five speed manual, brand new Clio, and started taking those tight turns, upshifting and downshifting, narrowly avoiding cars on the puny streets, and whipping around those roundabouts at high speed, I was loving it!

Our first mission for the day was to visit Sintra, the hilltop castle retreat of Portuguese royalty, and about 50,000 other people had the exact same idea as us, so after a greater than two hour queue in three different lines, we finally got into the castle, and proceeded through it, sardined in with all the other touristos. It was, of course, a beautiful and decadent place, but that sort of congestions is exactly what I feared visiting Europe during the summer, so was desperately hoping this was not an indication of things to come. After leaving the castle, we found a nice quiet path to explore a small bit of the expansive forest area around the palace, which brought my irritation level down substantially. Fortunately, the kids and Ana really loved the castle, and weren’t bothered nearly as much as me by the crowds. Deep down, I must be a loner.

Next, we continued driving our way up the coast to the town of Ericeira, which we knew nothing about, except that it had been named a world surf reserve city for its pervasive surf culture, quality waves, and scads of long haired, chisel abbed, unshaven surfer dudes. We zeroed in on a small, but busy restaurant that served up the best meal of the trip so far for half the price of Lisbon lunch spots. Ericeira is one groovy little town with its surf shops, cobbled pedestrian streets, bars, and, especially, a long row of permanently installed signs featuring images of all the other locations in the world that have been similarly named as worldwide surf reserves. Sadly, we didn’t have our swimming gear with us, but we did wander down to the beach and dip our toes, ankles and calves into the chilly, but refreshing Atlantic water. The temperature had climbed into the high 20’s, which made the two Jehovah’s Witness dudes on the beach with their table full of pamphlets and total absence of prospects, look exceedingly desperate. Hey, come join our church so you too can wear a suit and tie to the beach and be totally ignored by everybody! Man those folks must have some rock solid faith to put themselves through that day after day. But then again, if you have to do it, it’s probably better to do it on a nice beach where you can at least eyeball all the bootylicious babes instead of canvassing in Saskatchewan in February wearing your parka and grippy boots, getting the door slammed in your face before you even have a chance to hand them a flyer.

Our final destination for the day was not here, so we hopped back in the car and continued north, stopping once at a grocery store to pick up some supplies. Because the trunk was full of luggage we piled the bags of groceries up on the kids in the backseat, which was pretty funny, especially when Magnus used a watermelon for a pillow and fell asleep leaning up against the door. Stella too fell asleep, but I think she used the loaf of bread for a pillow because it got completely mangled.

It was not long before we reached the area of Lourinha, but the exact town we were looking for was called Paco (pronounced “Passo”) but we couldn’t remember exactly where it was because hadn’t been here for nearly 20 years and it wasn’t appearing on Google maps anywhere. We stopped and Ana got directions from one old fellah who did know where Paco was, but said we were on the wrong side of Lourinha. His directions got us as far as a gas station in Lourinha, where we stopped and Ana managed to find a guy who was actually driving there, so we followed him all the way, and once we arrived it was not hard to find the house, because there’s only like 20 houses in the entire village.

The house belongs to our compadres Artur and Rosa, who have been friends of the Borges family for many, many years. “Compadre” in Portuguese means that they are our children’s god parents and have been wonderful god parents for Magnus and Stella indeed. They only spend about five weeks a year here - usually in the winter - so were kind enough to let us use it during our summer trip. It is a beautiful, three bedroom house, completely furnished and kitted out with everything one might need, including a entire row of cold Sagres beer that Artur in the fridge - oh, my compadre takes such good care of me.

We unloaded all of our stuff, put the groceries and hot beer in the fridge, kids chose their rooms, and then we sat down for a short breather and a drink, before heading outside for a game of soccer, but it wasn’t long before the soccer ball ended up in the neighbour’s derelict, crumbling property with no easy way to get in and retrieve it. I came up with a great idea to get it, but it did mean taking on a substantial risk of injury (scale a concrete wall, walk across a crumbling tile roof, slide through an open hole, land in a huge pile of broken up concrete and rebar, cross a thistle covered yard with scatterings of broken glass, retrieve ball and then repeat in reverse), that nobody was willing to take, so instead Magnus said he’s come up with a better plan later.

After a short walk around Paco, we drove to the nearby Town of Areia Branca and enjoyed a lovely sundowner from a cool seaside cafe from where we could see half a dozen surfers catching the final waves of the day. We sat there for a good long while as the surfers surfed and all the teenagers walked back and forth, strutting their stuff, enjoying life on a beautiful Monday evening in Portugal.

Europe is all about the churches and museums

After a slightly fitful, but not entirely bad sleep, I was up at 6:30 and out the door for an early morning walk to try and get a better feel for our local neighbourhood. I looked at a map yesterday and the Alfama area is a twisted labyrinth of curvy streets and cobblestoned pathways, and to make it worse the entire area is situated on a steep hill so it’s practically impossible to relate a map to what you are actually seeing on the ground. So I headed out blind and started walking, down the electric trolley tracks, past a restauranteur just opening up his shop and setting up tables for the morning coffee crowd, down a skinny staircase, past a gigantic and ancient iron gate, through what looked to be somebody’s back patio, then down a very long staircase that eventually popped out in front of the Fado Museum (dedicated to the unmistakable style of Portuguese melancholic folk/blues music which originated in the Alfama neighbourhood), which I did remember seeing on the map, so had a good idea of where I was. I continued south towards the ocean and came to a wide, double lane roadway, which I crossed and then walked along the ocean eastward, passing an enormous ferry and cruise ship terminal to my right and a huge train station to my left, and a military museum. I also passed a young couple, wearing fancy evening clothes, smoking, looking worse for wear, with smeared lipstick and rooster tails, then I came across another couple making out, and then a group of young Portuguese sitting on the curb laughing and smoking, and it finally dawned on me that I was passing through the remnants of the Saturday night clubbing scene. It reminded me of the few times in my 20’s and 30’s that I pulled all nighters, but I’ve always been more of a morning person. In fact, there is nothing I like better than walking through a big city, just after dawn, when she is just beginning to wake up for the day, but the aftermath from the previous evening is still present. This morning I saw empty beer bottles, abandoned bikes and electric scooters, pigeons eating up scraps of discarded bread, soggy cigarette butts wedged between the cobblestones, as if placed there artistically, a partially squashed yellow party hat, a few food wrappers, a vomit splatter, a pile of dog turds mashed into the street by an unsuspecting shoe. There was also the overwhelming stench of stale piss anytime I passed by an obscured corner, so I guessed that it hadn’t rained in Lisbon for a few days. She was due for a douche.

By the time I arrived home the troops were not exactly ready to go, but at least were not still sleeping, so I hurried them along, we had breakfast, and were soon out the door. We walked back along the route we had taken the previous night, to better explore it in the daylight, and daylight there was, with not a cloud in the sky and the temperature rising rapidly. We stopped for a coffee at a cafe overlooking the ocean, then walked up a staircase, which lead to a pathway, which lead to a street, which lead to the entrance of the famous Sao Jorge castle. The entrance price, at 10 euro each, was deemed not worth it, as we didn’t want to spend a long time here, so instead we browse through one of the gift shops and I bought a lovely sardine bookmark, which will be a classy replacement for the scruffy, unfashionable bits of toilet paper I have been using for markers in my books.

Between us and the city centre was the Cathedral of St. Mary, so we stopped in for a look around. There was a set of wall displays explaining the ongoing archaeological work happening on the grounds that that had unearthed layers of civilization dating back to the Roman ages to the Islamic age to the Medieval times to the eventual Christian capture of the site around the year 1147 if I got the facts right. I imagine digging up ground for a new shopping mall anywhere in this country is tricky business as you have thousands of years of potential relics to scuttle your project.

Because we were still pretty fresh into the trip, and didn’t yet have internet on Ana’s phone, we hadn’t figured out the best transport options - bus, tram, train, electric scooter, bikes - so we went with the transport option we know best - our feet. And as I like to say to the kids when they ask me if a particular destination is walkable, “Any destination is walkable if you have the time.” And we had the time.

The hour long walk got a bit hot and spicy as the sun rose into the sky, but not so bad that Stella didn’t challenge me to a race up the long flight of stairs that led to the national gallery. And, of course she won like she always does unless I cheat a bit and get a bunch of steps in before she starts. It’s hard to compete with a young, healthy body that has not yet been subjected to years of late nights, beer drinking and cigar smoking…but I like to try. We paid the entrance fee and walked into the nicely air conditioned building. Now here’s the deal with Olson family visits to art galleries. Ana and the kids love nothing better than browsing through shops in busy commercial areas or markets. They love looking for deals, sorting through tourist trinkets, finding presents for friends, picking through discount bins, and otherwise taking in the full retail experience. I don’t like any of that. Entering a shop of any kind (unless it sells alcohol, books or cigars) makes my arm hairs stand on end, and if it’s a shop that sells tourist kitsch or ridiculously gifty type crap I suffer a full-on knick knack attack that brings on heart palpitations, heavy sweating, and utterances of severe profanity. So I usually just stand in the street, leaning against a wall, watching the people passing by, and I’m perfectly okay with that, but even happier if I can find a pub and spend some time meeting new beers. But in exchange, I do require the rest of them to either join me on at least one gallery excursion, or excuse me while I go by myself. In this case, they joined me, and I think they all enjoyed it, at least up until we reached the third floor which featured Portuguese religious sculpture and paintings and exceptionally comfortable couches. Ana fell asleep on a black leather sectional while the kids propped her up and firmly glued their attention to their devices. By the end, I was happy, they were happy, and we all walked joyfully back towards the centre until we reached our lunch spot - the Time Out food emporium.

My uncle Michael had told us about this place as he and his wife Anna had recently visited Portugal, and said this was a great place to find a lot of different types of food under one roof. We arrived right around 1:30 to find a huge complex with at least 50 food vendors, serving everything from sardines to oysters to steak to fancy tacos. We prowled the rows and rows of tables until we pounced upon a spot some people were vacating and then we took turns getting food. Ana had a steak sandwich, Stella had salmon salad, I had a cod sandwich and Magnus had a plate of gyoza. Honestly, the food was ok, but the prices were crazy, and we left a little disappointed. Plus it seemed like the vast majority of the crowd were foreigners, so it was definitely not a value lunch spot - which my uncle had fairly warned us about. But if you didn’t mind the prices, you could easily eat here every day of your trip.

It was time for some retail therapy so we walked into the Chiado area where Ana picked up a SIM card for her phone and then her and the kids browsed a bunch of shops while I took refuge first in a bookstore, then on the steps of the nearby church and watched the fine people of Lisbon (and visitors) wander up and down the promenade. We soon reunited and started walking but were stopped dead in our tracks by an amazing band called Os Camelos (The Camels) playing in the middle of one of the pedestrian streets drawing a much smaller crowd than they deserved. It was a three piece featuring a drummer with a single bongo type drum, a tenor sax player, and a lead guy playing a ukulele bass, and let me tell you - these guys were no strangers to Morphine, Primus, Rush, and Gogol Bordello - a few of my favourite bands. We stood and listened for a good while then tossed a few euros into the open guitar case.

With our newly acquired internet connectivity, we pulled up the Uber app and found that a ride back to home base was only 4 euro so we gave our legs a break and zipped back to the apartment, but not before stopping at the corner store to pick up a bit of food for a “backpacker dinner”. It was time for a chill out session so everyone did their own thing for a couple of hours, we ate dinner, then went back out into the night and got lost wandering around Alfama, but our wanderings took us right to a bar with live Fado music. It was too full to get in, so we stood outside and listened to a few songs, and then went for a drink while Magnus used his mom’s phone app to rent an electric Bird scooter and zip around the cobblestoned surfaces for a while.

It was somewhere past midnight when we arrived home, did a quick wash up, and passed out, exhausted from a very busy day, but happy with the short time we spent in Lisbon, reacquainting ourselves with this amazing city.

Let’s all go to Portugal and start necking!

You know what the best thing is about going to Europe? It is the step back in time and being surrounded, at all times, by ancient history - but history that is still relevant today and shapes happenings in Europe and the entire world. It is returning to one’s homeland, or near to ones’s homeland as the majority of Canadians are still of European descent and the continent of Europe is truly not that large geographically; especially for European Canadians so no matter where in Europe you visit, it’s likely not far from where your family originally came from.

My first trip to Europe was at the age of 23 and since then - and especially since meeting Ana - a second generation Portuguese, I have never felt completely comfortable in Canada again. I write this not to sound arrogant or unappreciative of my home country, because I love being from Canada and I love living there (well, maybe not during the winter so much..), and I love the incredible natural landscapes and the well-ordered and safe society, and even those loony Quebeccers. But after spending time in Europe, I learned that many of the values that were instilled in me growing up in Saskatchewan, such as the importance of family, working and living in a harsh climate, and striving for humility are true European values, and these were passed onto me, my brothers, and my cousins by Swedish grandparents on one side and Icelandic grandparents on the other. And then I met Ana, and the Portuguese culture became part of my own culture, and our family’s culture, and brought with it a whole new angle - honour, tradition, and love and respect of the sea and its incredible bounty, especially whaling. Well, maybe not whaling, but definitely everything else. So every time I visit Europe I really feel at home.

Today, we arrived in Lisbon Portugal, and although we have been to the Azores several times, we have not visited continental Europe for many years, probably more than 15 by my count. So we were long overdue for a trip, and so incredibly excited for this one that the only thing that saved us from total agony were the busy weeks at work leading up to our departure.

We arrived at 11:30 am after an overnight flight from Toronto, that was especially good, starting with the check-in staff pulling us up to the front of the line because we have “kids”, although I hardly consider these two teenagers as kids anymore, but in Portugal it’s always families first. We left on time, landed on time, and everything in between was peachy.

The first taxi ride in any country nearly always hits you with what I call the “tourist tax” because they inevitably rip you off, or at least try to rip you off, knowing you are a foreigner and probably aren’t familiar with transport prices. After confirming with our taxi man that the meter was king, we arrived at our Air B&B in the Alfama district with a 10 Euro charge showing on the machine but were told about the “weekend premium” that jacked the price up to 30 Euro.

“What, didn’t the airport staff tell you about the weekend premium?” the driver asks.

Our Air B&B host had told Ana the taxi ride should be 20 Euro or less so she threw him a 20 and said, “Sorry, that’s all we’re paying.” Judging by his lack of aggression, he did just fine on that transaction and we considered our tourist tax paid in full.

We surveyed our cool, groovy little loft, got unpacked, had quick showers and were out the door, ready to explore. To rapidly acclimatized ourselves to the European big city prices, we stopped at the Copenhagen bakery just down the street and shelled out 12 Euro ($18 CDN) for a coffee and three small orange juices - ah, that feels better. Since we hadn’t yet picked up a SIM card for Ana’s phone, we were internet-less and had to navigate old school using our senses and guesswork, which really is the most exciting way to do it, and after asking around, found an amazing old church called the Monastery of Sao Vicente de Fora, and behind it, a local flea market, where they were selling all sorts of cool stuff - used screwdirvers, ladies dresses, LPs (I was tempted to buy my brother-in-law an old King Crimson album, but sadly our luggage capacity is severely limited), handicrafts, bootleg DVDs, handprinted Portuguese tiles, stuffed animals, and - my favourite - boxer shorts that had a monkey stamped on the front exclaiming “Say Hello To The Big Banana!”. You know, that kind of stuff. After perusing the junk piles we stopped at a small cafe for a round of Tosta Mistas (ham and cheese buns) and my first beer of the trip - a Super Bock that was Super Cold and Super Good.

We had all started to get a bit grumpy from the lack of sleep and the heat of the day, but that touch of food and drink fixed us right up, so we wandered around in search of the city centre, taking a few wrong turns, but eventually popping out right where we wanted to be, in the middle of the Baixa area, where all the action is. Surrounded by magnificent buildings on all sides, we wandered around, checked out a few shops (including a sardine shop that had thousands of tins of the smelly creatures, each stamped with a year so that you could get a can from your birth year), watched people, poked around, and made our way right to the shores of the Tagus river where we enjoyed an ice cream and I kicked off my flip flops to stand in the delightfully chilly, and suspiciously brown water for a spell.

Our wanderings then took us by an electronics shop, so we went in to see if they had cell phone packages, and they did, but not exactly what we were looking for. But they did have exactly what Magnus was looking for - fake Apple Air Pods, or as Stella calls them, Fair Pods (fake air pods) or Care Pods (counterfeit air pods). We had given the kids 30 Euro each for the trip and Magnus just cannot stand having money in his pocket so he had to get rid of it as soon as possible and new headphones were just the ticket. How long they will last, nobody knows.

Around 6pm we decided to head back to home base, so we went to take the famous #28 electric trolley, but the queue of tourists was a European kilometre long, so I checked with a tuk tuk driver (yes, they have tuk tuks in Lisbon - a relatively new option on the transportation scene) but instead of the two dollars they charge in Cambodia for a 60 mile journey, this dude was asking for 20 Euro for a five minute drive, which just shattered our minds, so we told the kids it would only be a short walk home - but didn’t mention it was a mostly vertical walk. We found a staircase that stretched as far as the eye could see and Stella nearly bailed out, which was bizarre, considering she has the strongest legs in the family by far, but once she got going she sprinted the stairs and dusted the rest of us. We arrived back at the loft, covered in sweat and big city grime, and then Ana and I were overcome by an accidental nap while the kids hooked up to the wifi and did their thing.

The nap was a highly risky move, but we woke up, splashed some water on our faces, and went back out for dinner. The temperature had cooled and it was a glorious, perfect evening. There were at least a dozen restaurant options near our pad and we finally settled on one outdoor patio after browsing though several menus and fighting off the restaurant prospectors who stand in front of their businesses, coercing you to come in as you walk by, which sort of gets on my nerves, so I decided right then and there that in the future I will place some bits of sardine spine right on my cheek, and a good number of sardine scales on my lips, so they think that we’ve already eaten. Yes, clever, I know - us veteran travellers know all the tricks, no matter how ridiculous they make us look.

Our meal of paella, bife da casa (french fries, salad and a thin sirloin steak with a runny fried egg flopped on top), cheese pizza, and bolognese pasta was ok - but what really impressed me was when I had sat down and noticed that a Justin Bieber song was playing, the waiter immediately caught my pained grimace, and said, “No problem sir, I will change it!” then axed the Biebs and cranked up some skanky reggaeton setlist that was just perfect.

During the walk back, we talked about the day’s events and Magnus mentioned seeing a couple making out in the airport, then we all admitted to seeing random acts of kissing throughout the day. The capitalist in me took the cue and said, “Well if the damn Portuguese spent more time working and less time necking then their country would’t be such a socialist economic basket case” but then the romantic in me punched that first guy in the face and said, “What they hell are you saying you moronic old crabby man,” and I kissed Ana right there and grossed out the kids. Canada could use a whole lot more public necking so we’re going to start practicing right now and bring the idea home for all of our friends.

Our flat (which was a loft right on the top floor) was still quite bit hot so we cranked open the windows and all hit the bed by 11:30. Despite the five hour time difference, we all managed to get to sleep after only a little bit of insomnia panic. With day one under my belt, I was feeling ready to really jump into the trip tomorrow and see what this place is all about.