As you may remember, Ryan and I have actually been home from Europe for over a month. These posts were written on the road in my journal, but posted upon my return. Now that the stories from our adventure have come to a close (well, I didn’t tell you about our last day in Brussels when I got sick and had to eat powdered tomato soup, but some details do not need to be shared.), I’m taking a moment to reflect on our experiences. Though I could go on for hours reminiscing about the beautiful time we had on this trip, I’ll spare you and list the top five (my favorite number) memories/ thoughts that jump into my mind:
1. The Portuguese love their port. They are very proud of their port. But they don’t drink it as often as I would have thought. In simple work-a-day restaurants the Portuguese clientele drink beer or table wine with their meals and an espresso afterwards. If they do have a digestive, port is just one choice on the menu. Regional brandies were also very popular. While they are very proud port makers, they let the rest of the world do a lot of the drinking.
2. You don’t know the true meaning of life (or the meaning of a proper hangover) until you’ve gotten drunk with close friends and family on Belgian beer in Brussels .
3. Europeans care about the environment. Ryan and I enjoyed a lovely drink with friends over candle light one night in Brussels – not because the restaurant wanted to create a romantic ambience, but rather because all the lights were switched off in solidarity with other businesses in the city for the environment. They were making a point that we don’t need to use as much energy as we think. We stayed longer because the mood among the happy drinkers was so very charming in candle light.
4. I like octopus. Chop it up. Steam it. Drizzle with fine olive oil, salt, and lemon juice. Done. Yum (once you get over the sensation of chewing on little suckers)!
5. You really don’t know the true meaning of life until you’ve drunk white port from 1954 served from a Frenchman in his port bar in Porto , Portugal .
I said it then, and I’ll say it now. If I could, I would dye my hair black and become Portuguese. Not because I don’t love my home country or my blond hair, but because that country really is that beautiful. I guess that the next best thing is to bring home some of our amazing finds to share!
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
My Random European Memories
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Wandering in Happiness -- Lisbon
Aahh Lisbon. What a spectacular city. Ryan and I are wrapping up our Portugal adventure with a trip to its crown jewel, and we get to know it by walking…and walking…and walking. On the first day we encounter this piece of graffiti:
It translates roughly, “There is no road that leads to happiness. Happiness is the road.”
In a city where each road and passageway is more beautiful than the next, I believe this statement is oh so very true. Here is just a few of the perfect pieces of happiness we found in the streets of Lisbon.
Growing Fat and Happy on Custard
Ryan and I have begun a little game. On practically every street corner lie small bakeries
selling an abundance of delectable treats. Of all we’ve tried (and we’ve tried a lot) we love the pastel de nata the most. Imagine a cupcake sized dense crème brule surrounded by a flaky, buttery crust. Ryan and I get ours to go, and in three glorious bites, we gobble them down as we walk. Each bakery boasts their family recipe is “the best” and “most authentic,” so we’ve decided to find our favorite. After eating lots and lots of them, we’ve found small differences. Some are sweeter. Some are eggy-er. Some include nutmeg and cinnamon. Some have a smaller filling to crust ratio…suffice to say we can’t decide on a favorite, and despite the miles we’re walking, we’ve gained a few pounds just on custard…sweet, sweet custard.
Sipping Shots with Berries in the Street with Locals
On the small Largo de Sao Domingos one will find a small walk up counter sandwich between a hat store and a small café. From it, two guys serve up shots of ginjiha in little plastic cups. Made from sugar, grappa and the cherry-like ginja berry, locals stand around the little plaza slowly getting tipsy as they play cards and talk to neighbors. How could we not stop! I hope ginjiha and egg custard mixes well in my stomach.
Impromptu Antique Buying from a Giggly Old Man
Buildings in Portugal are routinely decorated with brightly colored, hand pained tiles. Kitschy tourist shops sell replicas that are expensive and machine made. Being a lover of all things tile, I’ve been on the look out for the real thing, but you can’t find them anywhere…until today.
Wandering in the old sailors’ quarter, The Alfama, we found a tiny antique shop. Unceremoniously tossed into a wooden crate next to the entrance sat dozens of the antique hand painted tiles obviously scavenged from a dilapidated building. One man’s trash is certainly another man’s treasure. It was sad to see these glorious pieces of history thrown in a big pile, but given their very reasonable price, Ryan and I start digging. Like lions ripping at the body of its prey, we worked with a rather ridiculous zeal. Hearing our work, the owner of the shop stepped outside to giggle at our frenzy. With a twinkle in his eye and a deep belly chuckle, he led us to the back of his shop where we found crates upon crates of more tiles! For over an hour the three of us worked to find the perfect set. Being enveloped by such an infectious laugh for so long, Ryan and I couldn’t help but giggle at our good luck as we walked out of the stop with our newly found treasures.
It translates roughly, “There is no road that leads to happiness. Happiness is the road.”
In a city where each road and passageway is more beautiful than the next, I believe this statement is oh so very true. Here is just a few of the perfect pieces of happiness we found in the streets of Lisbon.
Growing Fat and Happy on Custard
Ryan and I have begun a little game. On practically every street corner lie small bakeries
selling an abundance of delectable treats. Of all we’ve tried (and we’ve tried a lot) we love the pastel de nata the most. Imagine a cupcake sized dense crème brule surrounded by a flaky, buttery crust. Ryan and I get ours to go, and in three glorious bites, we gobble them down as we walk. Each bakery boasts their family recipe is “the best” and “most authentic,” so we’ve decided to find our favorite. After eating lots and lots of them, we’ve found small differences. Some are sweeter. Some are eggy-er. Some include nutmeg and cinnamon. Some have a smaller filling to crust ratio…suffice to say we can’t decide on a favorite, and despite the miles we’re walking, we’ve gained a few pounds just on custard…sweet, sweet custard.Sipping Shots with Berries in the Street with Locals
On the small Largo de Sao Domingos one will find a small walk up counter sandwich between a hat store and a small café. From it, two guys serve up shots of ginjiha in little plastic cups. Made from sugar, grappa and the cherry-like ginja berry, locals stand around the little plaza slowly getting tipsy as they play cards and talk to neighbors. How could we not stop! I hope ginjiha and egg custard mixes well in my stomach.
Impromptu Antique Buying from a Giggly Old Man
Buildings in Portugal are routinely decorated with brightly colored, hand pained tiles. Kitschy tourist shops sell replicas that are expensive and machine made. Being a lover of all things tile, I’ve been on the look out for the real thing, but you can’t find them anywhere…until today.
Wandering in the old sailors’ quarter, The Alfama, we found a tiny antique shop. Unceremoniously tossed into a wooden crate next to the entrance sat dozens of the antique hand painted tiles obviously scavenged from a dilapidated building. One man’s trash is certainly another man’s treasure. It was sad to see these glorious pieces of history thrown in a big pile, but given their very reasonable price, Ryan and I start digging. Like lions ripping at the body of its prey, we worked with a rather ridiculous zeal. Hearing our work, the owner of the shop stepped outside to giggle at our frenzy. With a twinkle in his eye and a deep belly chuckle, he led us to the back of his shop where we found crates upon crates of more tiles! For over an hour the three of us worked to find the perfect set. Being enveloped by such an infectious laugh for so long, Ryan and I couldn’t help but giggle at our good luck as we walked out of the stop with our newly found treasures.
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