Food in Iceland: Weird? Yes! Disgusting? Neigh!

In front of Joel was a small cup of cubed flesh, a small cup of dried fish strips, and a shot of clear liquor. Behind him, from a wall-length mural, Loki looked out at us, the stupid tourists who ordered "The Icelandic Braveheart" at his namesake cafe.

Joel took a sip of the clear liquor: brennivín, a potato-mash and caraway schnapps. A strong burn followed each sip, but not an unpleasant one. This was not the type of drink to lose track of.

"Ready?" I said, phone camera rolling, as Joel picked up one of the cubes of flesh with a toothpick.

He smiled, popped it in his mouth, and chewed. I braced for gagging, hacking, choking, and maybe even vomit. But instead he made a weird face, chewed some more, took another sip of brennivín, chewed some more, and swallowed. I stopped filming.

"What did it taste like?"

"Rotten ammonia." He took a longer sip of schnapps this time. A true Icelandic Braveheart.

Since there wasn't a recurrence of Joel's lunch spewed all over the table, I picked up my own cube, popped it in my mouth, and forced the rubbery piece of hakarl - rotten shark - down my throat. I downed the rest of the brennivín and thought about how I would tell everyone I had eaten one of the world's most disgusting foods, and the rest of the food in my stomach survived. But I wasn't an Icelandic Braveheart: I'd held my breath.

Though most famous for its less appealing foods - ram's testicles, fermented shark, whale (which is less appealing for reasons other than its taste) - Reykjavík pleasantly surprised me in terms of their other offerings. Our first time at Café Loki, before the shark visit, we'd had lamb soup and mashed fish, which is just mashed potatoes, vegetables, white fish and cheese, in kind of a shepherd's-pie-of-the-sea crock. This was also the first time I had Icelandic rye bread, which is much different from what we serve a reuben on. It's more of a sweet, soft loaf, almost like banana bread, and is the perfect pillow for Iceland's delicious butter to lay its creamy head. We also treated ourselves to rye ice cream, which was a rich vanilla with the bread laced throughout.

The "unofficial" favorite food of Iceland is actually one also quite familiar to us: the hot dog, or pylsur, which, according to Trip Advisor, is commonly served with "ketchup, sweet mustard, fried onion, raw onion, and remoladi, a mayonnaise-based sauce with sweet relish." The most famous place to get one in Reykjavík is the aptly named Baejarins beztu pylsur, which literally translates to "the best hot dog in town." We stopped by on a drizzly day (which could have been any of them, to be honest) and ate in the rain, sharing a bit of bun with a little speckled bird who wouldn't leave the picnic area. Joel's first pylsur didn't impress him a great deal, although what could you expect when you don't like onions and most of the deliciousness is onion-based? However, we stopped by another stand after a dip in the thermal pools at the Laugardalslaug, and Joel's faith was restored. Hallelujah!

Another treat after slogging around in the drizzle and wind was a bread bowl, which also seems to be extremely popular in Iceland. I suppose they don't have Panera, but they do know how to make better soup. While touring the Golden Circle with Gateway to Iceland touring company, our stopover at Gullfoss waterfall included a bowl of lamb soup, which was - our guide Gunnar didn't lie - the best bowl of soup I'd ever had. I suppose for a country that has pretty much only raised one animal ever since it was colonized (around 850), they've had time to perfect cooking it.

Also brought to the island by settlers were horses - sturdy, small horses that are shaggy and hearty year round. They were not only essential for farming, but essential for eating, as the island's climate did not support cattle or much agriculture. After the forced adoption of Christianity in 1000, eating horse meat was forbidden, but the ban had to be lifted soon after due to starvation. Though we skipped trying whale for ethical reasons - and by extension puffin, since the only restaurants that served it also served whale - we did try horse. I'm only a little sheepish to admit that I would hoof it back to Vegamont for another helping.*

We also ate salmon smorgasbord at Jomfruin, drank Czech Budvar (the only acceptible thing Budweiser makes), gorged ourselves on salted licorice, marveled at how delicious and filling a roll with butter, ham, and cheese can be (especially when drunk), discovered how disgusting salted licorice gum is, tried crowberry jam on everything, and made glasses out of pistachio buns.

Overall, we were sad to leave the culinary treasures Iceland had to offer, especially the bread. Like most of Europe, the bread in Iceland was baked daily, crusty, soft, and perfect. I couldn't pass up one more baguette on the plane on the way home, even if it did cost me 900 ISK (about $7). After all, as the menu said, "Long bread is more fun than shortbread. you can use it in many fun ways if you want. You could try balancing it on your nose or head, or even use it to poke your neighbor (only if you know them!) Or you can just eat it."

*You equine lovers might be delighted to know that the next day, when we stopped on the side of the road to say hi to some of the shaggy beasts, one of them obviously could tell that Joel was a traitor to its kind and bit him.

Where We Stayed: Cottage of the Dead Goose

The day before we arrived in Iceland, we received a message from our AirBnB host, Káritas, wondering if our flight that evening had been canceled. Canceled? We hadn't heard of anything, but our antenna were up for the rest of the day. As I packed and Joel worked, we obsessively refreshed the flight tracker, hoping the status would stay "Scheduled." A canceled flight would mean losing a whole day, as Icelandic Air only travels overnight from Boston.

Luckily, we were spared a cancelation, and arrived at the Keflavik Airport at 7:30am the next morning after a relatively easy flight, despite neither of us sleeping very much. After a lengthy FlyBus ride into Reykjavik through lava fields dotted with occasional, small huts near the angry ocean, we arrived on Óðinsgata - Odin's Gate - in the Neighborhood of the Gods. Our hostess Káritas's mother, Anna Maria, greeted us and took our luggage, apologizing for the dead goose in the back yard.

"We just found it an hour ago," she said, "in the middle of the road. I think it had a heart attack."Joel and I looked down at the wing protruding from the mound of snow. It was already almost totally buried.

"Worst winter we've had," she continued, leading us into the small cottage at the back of the house, where we would store our luggage until our apartment was ready. Lucky us.

When we came back a few hours later, we walked into a cozy, three-room ground-floor apartment, with the tiniest shower I'd ever seen, though I fit just fine. One thing I didn't notice when reading about Iceland is that their hot water is heated by geothermal activity, which means our showers were A. Heated by VOLCANOS, B. Always hot, and C. Smelled like rotten eggs. The third fact made us so nervous we went out and bought a bunch of bottled water, before we read in a cartoon book down the street at our local landmark bookstore (or "bookmark," obvs) that it's only the hot water that contains sulfur. (A quick check that night confirmed that the cold water is delicious and, to Joel's delight, egg-free.)

Our apartment was much like many of the others in the neighborhood. All the windows seem to have wide sills, and many residents decorate them with knick-knacks, lamps, and in some cases, pets. These decorations were fun to look at while walking around and in some cases, provided us with familiar landmarks.

We also had windows that flipped open from the bottom, to let fresh air in but not precipitation. We saw a lot of these windows cracked as we walked around and wondered why this was necessary, until the overactive radiators (also powered by geothermal activity!) had us cracking some of ours. However, we did not crack the one in the back, which is close to the ground - Anna Maria warned us that if we did, we'd have visiting cats for sure.

Cats are everywhere here, and we've seen some beautiful ones. Most are friendly and come up for a pet. Their presence is well-known and celebrated with t-shirts and postcards proclaiming, "Cats rule this town." Seeing them helped stave off the homesickness for our hairy babies back home.

Overall, we were very happy with where we stayed. The kitchen was stocked not only with tea and coffee, but also with butter (oh god the butter), bread and jam. But the best part of all was the bed: memory foam with a cushy comforter on top. We both had trouble leaving it every morning. It was like sleeping on a cloud, if a cloud felt more like it looked and not like cold water vapor. If I remember literally nothing else from this trip (which is impossible), I will always remember how it felt to sink into that bed.

If the dead goose was a bad omen of something, it must have been so subtle we missed it.

Thibaulstrop's Saga

I will begin this tale with three facts:

1. The Icelandic sagas (often called the first novels) are legends of the first people who lived during the Settlement Era.
2. The Saga Museum of Reykjavik is not in Perlan. 
3. The speed, in miles per hour, of a sneeze is approximately 55.

And so it dawned on the third morning in Reykjavik a promise of a day with less-than-perfect weather – even less perfect than the two days before. So less-than-perfect, in fact, that our travelers’ tour had been canceled. When our wary travelers awoke, they saw a deceptively calm, ice-colored sky, only to find their wireless Internet was no longer operational. The first few drops of frigid rain fell as they made their way to the C is for Cookie Café, where they dined on rye toast with butter, ham, cheese, and hummus while sending vital messages to friends, family, and the keepers of their inn’s wireless Internet. 

As they made their way into the world again, a cold rain had started to fall. A slight wind blew, though nothing, noted the travelers, tour-cancelation worthy. But the sidewalks – no less cleared than they had been the days before – had frozen overnight and were now slicked with a layer of rain, making their walk to the city center slow going.

Their first stop, the Settlement Expedition, pleased our travelers. Afterwards, they wished to learn more about these early settlers and their stories at the Saga Museum, so they caught a bus to Perlan. However, even though the buses were clean, fast, and many of them mustachioed (for men’s cancer awareness), the stop names were less than clear. While the timetable clearly stated a stop for Perlan, the stops announced on board did not, and thusly our travelers got off a full stop ahead of where they were to be.

Now, in normal weather, this would not be such a problem. Our travelers merely had to walk an extra ten minutes or so to reach the top of a hill where the museum sat within a glass dome with a blinking light on top. But the moment they got off the bus they understood why their aforementioned tour had been canceled.

In America, the travelers had heard stories of the rain being God’s tears, or God’s spit, or other bodily fluids of God’s. But on this day, in this Nordic land of ice, the rain that stung their cheeks and wind that shoved them along the path to the Perlan was nothing short of sneezes coming from the great nose of Odin himself. It was as if Odin had the worst cold in all of Valhala, and no one was safe from his torment. 

So the travelers leaned against the wind and icy mucous of the gods, trudging through slushy snow and wet ice to the top of the hill, that ten minutes feeling more like ten days. When, at last, they reached the top, the welcoming warmth and dryness of the Perlan – and the promise of the Saga Museum - was as comforting as a mother’s hug.

Except this was less like the comfort of a mother’s hug and more like the disorienting realization that this strange woman is not your mother, and your mother moved downtown last May, and how strange that it still says this address in all the guidebooks and websites. Pity. Care to see our cafeteria?

Our travelers sat next to one of the windows of the glass dome, listening to the wind whip over the building, watching the rain pelt the glass and the surface of the closed observation deck. It really was beautiful, this not-Saga Museum. There were lovely views of Reykjavik and the surrounding land, and a geyser-like fountain on the ground floor that erupted every ten minutes. Our travelers might have been more excited to be there were they not soaked, cold, and wondering how they were ever going to find the strength to walk back down to the bus stop.

They packed and bundled, ready to face the gods’ wrath, but got barely feet from the front door before turning back. The way was too treacherous – the wind too strong, the rain too sharp. Our travelers, heads hung in defeat, entered the Perlan again, greeted by the confused steward who, just moments before, wrested the door open for them to the harsh outside world. Embarrassed, they admitted their weakness. The bus stop was too far. They would need to call a taxi. 

The steward, our travelers’ hero, hailed a car that appeared in mere moments, which whisked them back to their inn in under twenty minutes and twenty dollars. Our travelers hung up their clothes on the radiators, settled down to relax, and celebrated the return of the internet…only to find out their tour for the next day, too, was canceled.

And so ends this story.

New Joel Journey (Plus Kate!)

Greetings from Iceland! Kate here. Joel has tasked me with keeping the records for our journey to the land of ice and fire. We just arrived this morning, and I'm excited to share our day with you -- as soon as I have a full night's sleep! Red-eyes flights are brutal.

Check back, faithful JJ readers! Until then I leave you with a tidbit from our long day's wanderings. 

YES, WOMEN! WELCOME TO ICELAND!
BATHROOM HERE!

Home Without Pants But With Love

About a week before heading home, the zipper on my only pair of pants broke. This wasn't such a tragedy because it was generally warm enough for shorts, and I had several pairs of these surviving.  However, a problem loomed on the horizon: what to do when I landed in a Boston November?

Skirt by Lufthansa

While I had an amazing journey (and look forward to my next!) I got rather lonely at times, and missed everyone I left behind.  I was so happy to see Kate at the airport to welcome her monkey home.  <3

Trick or Treat: You Can't Go Home Yet

My five hostel roommates in Porto were all French women.  Not all part of the same group, as I eventually pieced together.  We started chatting a bit after I revealed that I could understand *some* of what they were saying.  :)  One in particular, Jennifer, really enjoyed practicing her English with me and asked me all sorts of silly questions about America.  Four of us were in the room without dinner plans, so we decided to go out in our neighborhood.  It was an area with lots of bars and restaurants, but so far a more laid-back vibe than Lisboa's Bairro Alto.  Vaguely reminiscent of Camberville back home.  But would this change, for it was both Friday and Halloween?

Do the Portuguese even celebrate Halloween?  We saw many costumed revelers, but were they locals or visitors like us?  At any rate, the party in the streets seemed to go all night.  This was mainly observed from the bedroom, as I had had a long day and needed to get up in the morning to fly home.  Leaving the hostel at 9, the area was filthy.  In addition to the bottles and other detritus, I saw early morning shamblers still in costume.  The gaits of these zombies seemed much less affected than earlier.  After breakfast and a minor hassle involving my Andante card, I was on the way to the airport (which is sadly not named the Airporto) with exactly zero euros in pocket.  I'm strangely proud of this.  Jennifer and Estelle were with me in order to catch their flight back to France.

Ah.  But.  It was not to be.

I'd been hearing rumors about a strike for a few days.  Nothing specific, and I'd also been hearing reassurances that it would be over by my flight, or wouldn't affect me for other reasons.  Doing my own research to back this up wasn't fruitful, and I received no communications from my airlines about this either.  What I did receive was the standard nag email about early check-in, however, so I assumed it must be fine.  Even in the departures hall, there was no indication that anything was amiss.  I had to check in at the counter before I heard the news that my flight was cancelled due to a strike.  Sigh.

The next available flight was early the next morning, so they set me up in a hotel room with meal vouchers.  It was easily the nicest room of my trip, because it wasn't like anything I would have chosen: a business hotel by the airport, far from downtown.  The location was initially disappointing, as I was hoping to use my extra day to see a few things I'd missed.  But then I realized I was close to the coast, which totally counted.

My first stop: Castelo Queijo.  Cheese Castle.  How could I pass that up?  It's an old fort on the coast that's fun to poke around in for a bit but it's thoroughly overshadowed by the might of the sea.  Waves are fierce here on the semi-rocky shore.  A fair number of surfers at the beachy parts.  Very interesting rocks here, and a helpful geology boardwalk to educate!  A little further down, I walked out onto a breakwater where I learned another lesson: a refresher on the purpose of a breakwater.  Thankfully my clothes dried quickly in the sun.

It turns out there's a very convenient bus downtown, so I headed back that way soon after getting friendly with the wave.  I finally took the Gaia gondola down to the river side and then I walked back up the hill to another port house: Croft this time.  The experience is remarkably similar to Taylor (which I would later discover is actually the same company) and I finished the evening at a cozy fado/port bar for additional tastings.

Off-Season Misadventures do Douro

Don't visit the Douro valley in the post-harvest off-season, at least without both a car and an international roaming plan.  They're clearly not expecting visitors.  I had some lovely walks, but I had the hardest time finding information, and I couldn't book a cruise at all.  I decided to go by train instead, as there is year-round frequent service.  It was to be primarily a scenic journey, without too much thought as to what I'd do in the destination town(s).  Maybe tour a vineyard or do a tasting?

A common destination for the cruise/train combo trip I'd hoped for is Peso da Régua, but I'd heard Pinhão upriver was nicer.  My ticket was flexible enough for me to visit both.  It amused me to notice that we went by a factory that processed wood, rock, and brick.  I realized that I'd lose my undeclared game of Settlers of Catan against them and was about to give up until I spotted fields of sheep and wheat for me to claim.  Otherwise I was disappointed with the journey: not nearly as scenic as I'd hoped.  It could have been the hazy morning light, perhaps due to the smoke from the many fires we passed (??) or the simple fact that the grapes were no longer on the vines.

Arriving at Pinhão, I was one of the many disembarking with a clueless look.  After a brief fruitless search for tourist information up and down the deserted main street, a fellow train passenger spotted me and asked if I knew where to go.  Nope!  No plan at all.  (My research the previous night turned up nothing.  I now understood why.)  She at least had a printout of destinations and notes, and graciously allowed me to tag along.  I wasn't entirely sure whether we were aiming for a vineyard, winery, viewpoint, or some combination of these.  We asked for directions and got the answer "that way, 4 kilometers, uphill."  Hm.  Farther than we'd hoped but we had no better plan.

As we climbed, the valley opened up beneath us.  This really was a beautiful place.  Terraced vineyards in every direction, the Douro below.  Soon, far below.  Faraway signs touting Quintas (vineyards/wineries) or the port houses they supplied.  My favorites advertized the ubiquitous Sandeman, usually accompanied by their logo, a vaguely menacing cloaked figure holding a glass.  I wonder what the workers think with that image constantly looming over them.

About halfway to Quinta Godot our mysterious destination, my companion announces that the views we've already seen are quite excellent enough, and she's heading back to town.  I consider it, but I've still got a minimum of two hours before my first train option arrives, so why not keep going?  Before long, it gets considerably steeper in the hot sun, and I realize the wisdom of her choice.  Fine.  Back to town.

I'm in luck!  Lunch is good, filling, and cheap, even in this ghost town.  Some time remains, so I wander down to the river to find ... people!  Restaurants!  Even the damn tourist information booth.  I guess they're expecting everyone to come by boat.  Oh well.  I find my new friend again and we compare notes on what to do next.  Two basic options: directly back to Porto, or take another stab at this day by visiting Régua on the way back.  We both pick Régua, her choice for a cathedral, and mine for wandering off at random again.  Régua's a good deal bigger, so this idea seems vaguely plausible to me.

Lesson learned from Pinhão, I walk directly to the docks.  A cruise director points me to tourist info across town.  They are open!  And have map handouts!  With wineries on them!  However, most are many km away.  One that looks walkable is back by the train station, where I need to get to anyway, so my choice is made.  Ah, but it seems to be deserted as well.  I can just walk right in to a room full of vats.  Olá?  No response.  I finally find human contact at the shop.  There's no tour available, which I didn't understand at first, but I did stick around for a super-cheesy short film and a tasting.

...and then I missed my train.  Curses!  There was even a shortcut back from the winery that would have saved me, but it only became apparent once I was already in the station.  But you know what?  The sun was setting and there's an infinite number of less beautiful places I could have been.  My unintended extra hour went to good use by buying a snack for a walk across a few bridges, including the wonderfully named Ponte Metálica.  From there I saw that the Sandeman casts his shadow over Régua too.

The Sandeman Can

Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Sandeman_Port_2.jpg

Who can take a sunrise
Sprinkle it with dew
Plant upon a hillside
With a rustic river view
 

The Sandeman
The Sandeman can
Cause he mixes it with brandy
To stop the fermentation 

Who can take a grapevine
And harvest it by hand
Who's that mysterious figure 
Watching over this land?

The Sandeman
The Sandeman can
Cause he mixes it with brandy
To stop the fermentation

And it's aged in wood
Cause the Sandeman thinks it should

Porto, Portugal, Home of Port

Porto is a beautiful city, and hilly, like most cities I've visited on this trip.  I had difficulty figuring how the hills related to the street pattern, so I did a lot of unnecessary ups and downs on my first day and a half.  Porto is across the Rio Douro from Vila Nova da Gaia, home of the port wine cellars.  The Ponte Luís I connects the cities via two decks: one nearly at river level, and one far above.  Navigation became much easier once I figured out the best routes to the bridge landings, and I crossed many times.  Views from the upper deck are outstanding.

On arrival I ate a Francesinha, which has got to be the local answer to poutine.  A sandwich made of meat, meat, and meat, covered in cheese and a heavy sauce.  I decided that one was enough for the weekend, but it was highly appreciated after that initial walking around.

The next day I went to a few ticket booths to find a long cruise up the Douro but nothing was available, which in retrospect should have been a hint.  Instead I booked a short one for later that day, and took a walking tour in the meantime.  That was a lot of fun, and took us to places I wouldn't have found on my own, like the stairs to the top of the city walls, the market, and the cafe where Harry Potter was allegedly written.  A good way to meet other travelers too.  I declined the tour guide's suggestion of another Francesinha for lunch.

The mini-cruise was refreshing on that hot day, and it took us to the mouth of the Douro as well as a little bit upstream, under several of Porto's bridges.  I also saw catacombs under a church museum, and then it was time for some port.  Ample signage on the VNdG side of the river points the way to the many port houses, which typically have English names, due to the heavy involvement of the English in developing the port industry.  The general rule is: the harder it is to get to, the better the port.  Taylor was the hardest climb, so that's where I went.  Giant barrels, a (corporate-approved) history, and tastings were my reward.  Thanks to taking the last tour of the day on the offseason, I was treated to sunset views from their famous terrace across the Douro.

What I Learned at the University of Coimbra

Was there anything to do between Lisboa and Porto?  Plenty, of course, but what was feasible?  I had the dumb idea (or good idea, poorly executed) to spend a 4-hour train layover in Coimbra.  Surely that would be plenty of time to see the highlights of this small city, right?

Things I know now that I did not upon entering Coimbra:

• Trains between the long-distance "B" train station and the downtown "A" station follow a specific timetable, because they are normal regional trains, not a special intracity shuttle
• Station B is close enough to downtown that you shouldn't bother going to Station A
• The other reason to go to Station A - bag storage - is also irrelevant because the Cafe Cristal has closed
• Taxis are hard to find
• Admission to the Coimbra University Library requires a timed ticket

Incorrect information for all of these added up to a time crunch that I compounded by having an extravagant lunch.  For some reason there's a locally-famous chef's restaurant at the University swimming complex.  That's not especially close to the train station, either.  But it was a beautiful walk and an excellent meal.  I was hoping a taxi would solve my time problem, but no.  I had to walk all the way up the hill with a full belly and backpack.  But eventually I did reach the hilltop plaza at the heart of the venerable University of Coimbra.  Mostly young folk were about, but a few tourists (or parents?) too.  I tried to get into the library (my main goal for this city!) but my cumulative bad decisions prevented me from doing so in the time I had remaining before my train departed.  Traveling the way I do, I have to be ready for failures like these, and so I have learned to accept them and try to enjoy the day anyway.  So I wandered around campus where I saw many students in academic capes.  The effect was adorably Harry Potter.  Oh, and I also had some ice cream while waiting for my train.

I'd recommend a trip to Coimbra.  It's a lovely place.  And now that I've been there once, I know the correct way to visit should I ever attempt it again.

Lisboa Endnotes

I ended my Lisboa trip with another tourist day.  This one was more successful.

I started in the Alfama, the original settlement on a hill.  I was in line at the Castelo São Jorge when it opened - a very good thing considering the crowds I saw later.  This offers scampering opportunities similar to Sintra's Moorish Castle, with city views instead of forest.  After that I walked back downhill to the cathedral (Sé) and returned to the metro system.

Later that day I visited the wonderful Gulbankian museum.  An extensive collection of antiquities, as well as an exhibit on artist René Lalique, whom I had not heard of before.  I really enjoyed how he combined different materials like metals and glass in his works.  I also continued my aqueduct studies by visiting its terminus, at the Mãe d’Àgua (Mother of Water) building, a beautiful indoor reservoir now used as a function space.  There's a walkway to the roof that allows you to look through the (unused) aqueduct itself.

Not a whole lot more to say about this day.  OK, on to Coimbra and Porto.

The Magical Wonderland of Sintra

I had made a note to visit Sintra, but I could not remember what there was to do (palaces?  churches?) so I read about it while on the train there, choosing a few promising sights.  I saw that it was near the Cabo da Roca (the westernmost point in Europe) but I didn't see a practical way to get there.  Oh well.

When the train arrived at Sintra station, I saw the same kinds of hop-on/off tourist buses I'd seen in many cities on my trip.  Didn't expect it here: wasn't Sintra too small?  I hadn't taken any because I didn't see the point.  Everywhere I wanted to go was accessible by foot, bus, taxi, or train, and I'd rather not have my hands tied by their schedule.  But I didn't know how to get around Sintra and attractions are far apart, so maybe it finally did make sense.  Oh, hold on a sec - this one goes all the way to Cabo da Roca?  Sold!

Off we go through the countryside.  For the first time, it feels a little like home.  A leafy, hilly forest where some of the leaves actually change color.  Cooler at this altitude, too.  Maybe I wouldn't completely miss the fall!  Relaxing, rather more pleasant than the average bus ride, and I suppose I learned a little something too.  Then we hit the coast and I was amazed by beauty once again.  Every visit to the Portuguese coast was incredible.  (This will remain true in Porto!)  Really I could have just spent my whole trip there.  Cliffs and waves impressed again, as we passed a few gorgeous yet empty beaches, and I got off the bus at Cabo da Roca.  This completed my collection of all four contenders for the southwesternmost point of Europe, but it's worth visiting even for non-dorks.  Mindful that the bus schedule only allowed for pickups once an hour, I set off on a hike along the clifftops.  I wasn't really dressed for it (recall that I didn't actually know what was in/near Sintra) but I had such joy climbing up and down ridges, with every bend providing a new (private!) view of the sea far below.  I considered adding an hour by climbing down to the Atlantic, but I recalled reading something about how that was "not allowed" and "not safe" and other silly things, so I got back on the bus.

Back inland, my next destination was the Moorish Castle.  There were several castles to choose from, and this sounded the most interesting.  Also, the Pena Palace was nearby so maybe that would make a good combo, depending on time constraints.  I loved it so much!  The platonic ideal of a medieval fortress, grey stone battlements everywhere.  You can climb all over it too.  Lots of kids, and I like to think my inner-kid was having just as much fun as they were.  I overheard a British mom cautioning her children "back home we would have a railing here - or any sort of safety precaution at all, really."  Amazing views from the top of this hill, down to the town of Sintra and up to Pena Palace.

The map vaguely hinted at a path connecting this castle to Pena, so I aimed in that direction.  The path itself was quite pretty, through thick forest reminiscent of Washington state.  Sweating my way to the top of the next hill, I reached the absurdity that is Pena Palace.  A ridiculous toy, impressive in its own way, but I had to laugh at the contrast between the candy-colored fairy tale and the barebones military installation I had just departed.  Fun, but this was a much shorter visit.  For one thing, much of the structure was a façade around a hollow core.

The bus and train did what buses and trains generally do, and back in Lisboa I paid a visit to the giant aqueduct I'd seen overhead earlier in my travels.  A fish dinner (not bacalhau) capped off an excellent day.

A Night on the Town, At My Own Pace

Recharged from my visit to Cascais, I headed back to Lisboa in a better mood.  I realized I hadn't actually been all the way downtown yet, so I stayed on the train to its terminus.  The Praça do Comércio / Terreiro do Paço is a wide open public square with one side open to the Tejo estuary.  There are steps allowing you to walk right in to the river.  I came as close as I dared, until it became too slippery!  Walkways were lit up, and music and a light breeze were in the air - perfect for a romantic evening with myself.

After a rest, I headed slightly uphill to see more of the Baixa (low city) until I came to the Santa Justa Elevator to take me back up.  Hilly as it is, Lisboa has a variety of interesting options for public transit: San-Francisco-style cable cars, funiculars, and the occasional elevator built into the side of the hill.  I made a point of taking one of these when I had the chance.  In this case, it's overrated.  Ugly, slow, expensive, and requiring a wait in line.  Very close by there's a department store with doors to the lower Baixa and upper Chiado neighborhoods, with free modern elevators.  Take these instead!

My hostel was nearby, so I stopped in for a shower before heading to dinner at a Fado house.  There was a reasonable prix fixe offer so I took that, immediately regretting it as I realized just how tired I was of bacalhau.  But the rest of the meal was good, and the music was beautiful.  Fado is a soulful crooning sort of music, full of longing.  We were treated to several short sets, each with a different singer.  Compared with my Flamenco experience, this felt much more conventional.  Still worth listening to, though!

Cascais: the Lovely Seaside Town Next Door

I'd just about had it with Lisboa/Belém: a change of pace was required.  There's regular train service to Cascais, so I thought I'd head out that way for late lunch / early dinner and a stroll along one of the beaches I'd heard about.  And what a lovely ride it was, a beautiful afternoon along the shore of the Rio Tejo, past picturesque towns and beaches.  At the last stop, I disembarked beachside and walked toward town.  It reminded me a bit of a little seaside resort in New England.  I had some wonderful rotisserie chicken.  Things were looking up!

At the restaurant I learned that the Boca do Inferno was about a km or two away.  Of course I wanted to see this "Mouth of Hell" on the rocky coast.  No more beaches, the landscape was rugged and beautiful, much like the Cabo de São Vicente, and the sun was setting as I approached the Boca.  It was far from hellish that day, with relatively calm seas, but the waves were still something to behold.  Recommended!  Also, ice cream.

Lisboa is Crowded

My initial impressions of Lisboa weren't very positive.  I suppose heavy traffic is inevitable in a major city when the only access from the south is by bridge, but this followed a long stressful day of the only driving I'd done in weeks.  The Metro ride to vaguely-near-my-hostel was fine, but the taxi after that was atrocious.  My driver was a comically grumpy old man who didn't speak a word of English.  As I didn't speak much more than a word of Portuguese, I showed him a printout of the hostel's address.  He didn't know where that was even though it was quite nearby and had to phone for help.  Once we got started, we spent most of the journey in heavy traffic.  I definitely picked the wrong neighborhood to stay in, too: the Bairro Alto.  It was Saturday night and my room was directly above one of the main rooms with a frat-party / spring-break atmosphere.  I just wanted to sleep!

The next day (mainly in the Belém neighborhood) was no better.  Many things are free on Sunday, which should have tipped me off that this would make them popular, but I figured: how bad could it be?  SO BAD.  I spent most of the day standing in line, even considering everything I simply gave up on.  My advice, if at all possible: don't visit Lisboa on a Sunday.  Also, many sights are closed Monday, so that's also a poor choice too.

Southwest Portugal By Car

My first time driving in Europe was a lot of fun.  Also very nerve-wracking.  I had intended to drive a bit in Spain but could not find a reasonable way to do so.  Seeing Cabo São Vicente would have been a real challenge on public transportation, so I'm glad I was able to make a semi-reasonable plan: one-way rental from Portimão to Lisboa, after taking a bus from Sevilla to Portimão.

Leaving Portimão was a challenge.  I stalled out the stick-shift on several occasions, and in-city navigation required basic familiarity with the city, which I lacked.  Once out of town, city destinations and route numbers were easy enough to follow, but I made a few loops and double-backs attempting to find the city limits.  Soon after I was in Sagres, the town at the end of the world.  The coast was spectacular, cliffs high above the fierce Atlantic, occasionally overlooking beaches and surfers.  Not too many, perhaps due to the remoteness of the area.

I was prepared for the worst based on the bad reputation of Portuguese drivers, but the only difference I saw from, say, Bostonians, was the higher number of speeding tailgaters.  Just let these guys pass and you're golden.  The roads were a more formidable opponent.  I hadn't realized just how hilly the Portuguese coast is, so the main road is a very twisty one.  My little car was nimble and up to the task, but doing this for hours on end was exhausting.  One final slog took me through heavy traffic across the Rio Tejo to Lisboa.

Everything is Beautiful in Sevilla

Back to Spain!  Sevilla is a beautiful city.  Gigantic historical buildings, a lovely waterfront, yet another mini maze old town, and plenty of night life.  I made sure to see a Flamenco show as well.  I certainly didn't understand the complexities of the intricate music and dance, but the skill of the performers was obvious and they created something beautiful.  Unlike many of my other destinations, Sevilla is flat, so I took a bike tour the next day.  It brought me to several locations I wouldn't have seen otherwise, like the Plaza de España and the World Expo sites upriver.

My last full day in town was basically a non-stop tour of the main tourist sites. Here's my itinerary:

• Laundry (closed, too early)
• Breakfast
• Laundry
• Real Alcazar
• Laundry (done)
• Iglesia del Salvador
• Lunch at Bodega Morales
• Cathedral
• Snack
• Bullring
• Hospital de la Caridad
• Antiquarium
• Metropol Parasol
• Guitar concert
• Tapas

A Rough Day in Morocco

Tangier, Morocco is just across the Straits of Gibraltar from Spain, so I took a ferry day trip. It was my first time on the African continent, in a an Arabic-speaking country, and in a Muslim country too. I was hoping that proximity to Europe would make for an easy intro to all of these, but this was by far the worst day of my trip.

I had read about the pushy "guides" looking for money, but I was unprepared for the reality of constant harassment. I never felt threatened, exactly, but I also couldn't find a moment of peace. Followed, more than once. No escape. Panic. Maybe this is a cultural thing but it's as if they were handed a script on "how to drive Joel completely insane". Certainly some people can handle this experience, and maybe even have a wonderful time. But that's not me. I won't be back.

Gibraltar: British Overseas Territory of the Apes

Ah, my first trip to the United Kingdom. It was a very typical one, entering the way most people do, walking from Spain across a live airport runway, then catching a right-side-driving bus downtown. Next I took a cable car up a giant Rock, with great views of the Mediterranean on the way. At the top, I continued sightseeing while dodging feral monkeys (500 pound fine for feeding) and feral scooters, eventually making my way back down along the zigzag roads. Back in Town (the flat part of the territory) I wandered south to Europa Point, the "southernmost point in Europe". This is an absurd claim because you can actually SEE more southerly European land from here, west across Bahía de Algeciras. I arrived at sunset, perfectly timed to hear the mosque's call to prayer and then see lights come on all over. I finished my trip in a pub with a steak and kidney pie and a pint of bitter. Man, I don't know why people complain about the weather in Britain. It was beautiful!

Ronda Is Gorges (Sorry, Ithaca)

Never figured out that photo thing, so this will be brief.

Ronda is a beautiful place worth a visit.  The main part of the city is on a plateau overlooking a gorge.  It's built up right to the edge, with a very impressive bridge spanning the heights, as well as a few lower bridges where the city follows the slope down.  You can take paths down into the gorge from all sides, so naturally I did.  There's a famous bullring and museum in town as well, but I didn't have time to see it when it was open.  Most of my exactly 24 hours (caught the same train out that I took in) in town were spent eating and climbing, and I have to say that it was one of my favorites of the whole trip!

Winding Down

I'm not going to complete the blog in the way I intended. Already I am many months overdue from the schedule I intended, due to the terrible procrastination I always get when writing is involved. Instead many of these will be abbreviated, based on my short notes.