Filed under: Europe
Well definitely Porto- or Oporto in the north; the poorer cousin of Lisbon although, just as hilly and quaint with cobblestone streets and winding laneways leading to port cellar warehouses and abandoned or crumbling buildings. At sunset, nothing was better than grabbing a bottle of the sweet fortified drink reminiscent of a grandparent’s favourite tipple and gazing at the Atlantic wondering how the hell the explorers were able to sail off into the unknown.
when in Porto, one must drink port. cheerio
crumbling and colourful
The initial reason to see Portugal for us as a closure of our own global exploratory circle was because after having visited the former colonies of Goa, Malacca and Macau we felt we needed to see this magnificent mother country. After all, Portuguese flavours were reflected in each place’s ethnicity, the looks, and architecture, central church surrounded by the town square. Our conclusion was that the black and cream wavy patterned cobblestones we saw everywhere were incredibly slippery in dorky Birkenstock sandals in the wet.
it must good fun walking home drunk in Portugal
Portugal was a mark of our last days on the European continent and as we must say feeling a little jaded and museum-ed out we were content to sip coffees and for less than 50 cents standing at the bar (seating is a little more) and to sample custard tarts pasteis des nata, and fumble our way through the Portuguese menu rather than seeing the standard tourist must-sees. One of our highlights was a number randomly picked from the evening’s menu and hope for the best that no piggy entrails or hidden ingredients were unfamiliar with our palettes. Striking it lucky, Matti indulged in a dinner plate-sized cut of beef on our last night with chips and salad on separate plates much to the envy of fellow diners. I indulged in the national dish bacahlau: a flank of dried salted cod that is rehydrated in fresh water and cooked or grilled. It is an acquired taste for someone used to fresh seafood and seems ironic that the Portuguese hold bacahlau in such reverence, as they are so particular about the freshness and the quality of all their other seafood. Having overfished their own supplies of cod, the Portuguese even have to import the stuff from Scandinavian waters. So dried cod may be the way to go in all its guises for the locals but give me anything but eating mushy tasteless fish plain or if you’re fortunate covered in a sauce.
In Lisbon the hard hikes up the city’s hills were rewarded with spectacular urban views known as miradouros as well as sampling the different districts each with its own characteristics, but you can be assured to find countless lines of washing hanging from the balconies or near misses as washing water is thrown from upstairs apartments. Gravity-defying tram rides full of thrills, spills and near misses with tourists added to the fun being in Portugal but it wasn’t filled with the same colour and chaos of other places we’ve been to and along with the need to refresh our tastebuds with chilli. Before flying back to KL, we had a weekend in London seeing friends Taz and Dave the only people we know with a backyard in inner city and our relatives Peter and Alice was great for a catch up and to have a big breakfast cook up and a lunch down Brick Lane.
everyone's happy with the big fry-up.
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