Portugal - Another Look

Colorful tiled buildings, cable cars, narrow cobblestone streets, elaborate sidewalks, graffiti, hilltop castles and ornate palaces. Thank goodness I took photos, otherwise my memories of Portugal would have been of tour buses, dead pigeons, laundry hanging out of windows, graffiti, over-zealous security at the airport and the “iPod incident.” Fortunately, my selective memory and love for travel will prevail.

Portugal is a hilly country, which means that there are many scenic panoramas in Lisbon, Sintra and Porto. Lisbon has an amazing public transit system with a metro, buses, trams, and even cable cars which remind me of San Francisco.


Lisbon is so hilly, that street “elevadors” (vertical lifts) are part of the public transit network. San Francisco is steep, but not like this.


If you look closer (double click to enlarge photo) you’ll wonder if that is the Golden Gate Bridge nestled behind all of the sailboats.


Like any tourist, I feel the magnetic pull of the main attractions. After lunch in a small cafeteria frequented by locals, and eating “alheira do minho” (a shredded pork thing which is shaped like a sausage, coated and fried – and actually quite tasty) I climbed the winding streets and wandered around the abandoned Castelo do Sao Jorge.



Sintra, a thirty minute train ride from Lisbon, was definitely the highlight for me. The maze-like National Palace of Sintra, a World Heritage Site that is remarkable for its meandering architecture, themed rooms (swans, magpies and mermaids,) amazing tile work and its enormous conical kitchen chimneys.



But even more impressive, the Palacio de la Pena. “Wow. THIS is royalty,” I thought as I approached the hilltop palace. A mix of Moorish, Disney and romantic architectural styles (obviously my terms), the final home of the Portuguese monarchy until 1910, offers a stunning view of the Atlantic Ocean and the town of Sintra in the valley below. Converted to a museum, the furnishings are over the top. Unfortunately no photos are permitted, but I walked away with a clear understanding of why people revolt against the uneven distribution of wealth and monarchies.




While in Sintra, my fascination with tiles continued to grow. I was particularly enthralled with the three-dimensional tiles.



In the previous blog, when I was particularly irritated and pissy, I mentioned the graffiti and “artwork” of Bairro Alto. Here’s a flavor of what can be seen outside of small boutiques and trendy restaurants.



Despite being a pain in the ass to drag suitcases over, some of the sidewalks in Lisbon are actually in good condition and are works of art.




I did get to see the Tower of Belem but was not able to visit the Monastery of the Geronimoes, a World Heritage Site, as it was closing that afternoon for a special event. Harumph.


Porto, is a relatively poor city, and it was not uncommon to see burned-out or abandoned buildings. “How do the clothes dry in the rain?” I wondered as I passed a lot of laundry hanging outside on this rainy day. The top attraction, in my opinion, was the “Veneraval Ordem Terceira de Sao Francisco,” a World Heritage Site that I stumbled upon. Again, no photos permitted. With it’s gold-gilded wood carvings, this Baroque style church founded by the Franciscan monks was typical of what I noticed about Portuguese churches – simpler architecture but more elaborate decoration and furnishings. And of course there were the creepy Jesus in his glass tomb that I saw in a few churches.





Okay, okay. Despite being annoyed on several occasions, and despite my own stupid mistakes, maybe Portugal does have a lot to offer. But a word of advice, passed on to me by Fabrizio the flight attendant. When travelling, be sure to finish with the more impressive destination. In other words, go to Lisbon before Paris. The reality is… no city can compete with Paris which is truly the most amazing city in the world. Biased? Maybe, but there is a reason that Paris is the most frequently-visited city in the world. And, that is not just my selective memory playing tricks on me.

Fast forward a few days. I'm in Portugal. 21 September, 2008 is the actual date this was written.
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This morning, I woke up early before my alarm clock began beeping. Out late the night before exploring a little of the Lisbon night life, I didn’t climb into bed until 4:30. Not being able to fall back asleep after a mere three and a half hours, I had a little extra time to pack my suitcase and prepare for my train ride to Porto.

Bairro Alto, the neighborhood I stayed in, is very quiet on this Sunday morning. It turns out this is the center of Lisbon madness. Within a few blocks of my hotel, there are dozens and dozens of bars, trendy restaurants and little boutique stores. Strangely, they are all covered in graffitti. Lots and lots of graffiti, some passing as artwork, During the day, the neighborhood seems rather sketchy. But by night, it’s wild. At 10:00 the restaurants are busy. Then people head to the bars and by 1:00 in the morning, the narrow cobblestone streets are filled with locals and tourists doing two things: drinking and talking. It’s difficult to navigate through the crowds and reminiscent of Mardi Gras, only there are no beads and it happens on a daily basis. Between 2:00 and 4:00 there is a migration toward smaller clubs with DJs, and between 3:00 and 8:00 the large clubs and discos are popular. I wonder to myself, “When do the people sleep?”

During the evening, I hung out with an American guy (from Boston, but he used to live half a mile from where I lived in San Diego) that I met at dinner. He took off after one beer and orienting me to the bar scene. Finally, I spoke with a Portuguese guy, in English of course. He persuaded me to go to a small club with him and his friends, but later disappeared. So, for the evening, I managed dinner, a bar and a small club. But at 4:00, I was all alone with no one to talk to (wahhhhh) and decided to head back to the hotel.

This morning, dragging my suitcase down the cobblestone streets of Lisbon, I realize it’s easier to carry it, causes less damage and avoids the annoying clakkety clackety clakety clack of the wheels bouncing off the stones. A quick two stops on Lisbon’s modern metro and I’m at the train station. Good timing, I hop on the train and take off, as I eat a very tasty little Portuguese pastry which is like a mini flan. By the second stop a family gets on with five children, whining and crying. I decide it’s time to settle in with my iPod. Shit, It’s not in my backpack. Damn. It’s in the safe at the hotel. Do I go to Porto and call the hotel and ask them to mail it to me? But where? Paris? San Francisco? Damn, damn, damn. No, I’ll be anxious all day. Just go back and get it now. My ticket has already been punched, and I can not use it for the next train. There goes $60 down the drain. Crap. Damn. (Actually, the word I was using started with an “F”.)

Back on the Metro, up four long escalators (about three stories each), I reach the surface. Lisbon is built on seven hills, which I learned upon arriving and dragging my suitcase for 20 minutes up the other side of this damn hill which now seems like a mountain. I’m NOT carrying the suitcase like I did this morning, so it’s Clackety, clackety, clack up the street with my suitcase. I arrive, someone has just checked into my room. I go to the safe. It’s empty. My heart sinks.

The most important thing to pack, when travelling, is your brain. Apparently, in my sleep deprived state, I forgot something. My iPod is safely tucked in my backpack in Paris at Ariel’s apartment. I decided not to bring it with me so that I would actually read, “The Messenger,” a book given to me by C.

Going back down the street, clackety clack clack, fuming about how I just lost an afternoon of visiting Porto, pissed that I paid $60 for a second train ticket, thinking about how I had no meaningful conversations and met only one local in Lisbon, fretting about the numerous tour buses full of Germans, French and Italians that descended upon all of the major attractions, remembering the screaming kids on the train who inspired me to reach for my iPod, I was thinking ”I hate Lisbon. This has been the worst travel experience I have ever had, or at least in a long time.”

But now, I’m listening to chckkty chckk chckk of the train rumbling down the tracks and watching the rain fall as the Portuguese country side passes by. Michael’s voice pops into my head and he is reminding me how lucky I am to have this opportunity to travel. My rational side kicks in and I remember that travel has its ups and downs. Despite today’s hassles, despite my own foolishness and mistakes, I know that soon I will be planning another trip. Thank goodness for my selective memory. And Lisbon’s not really so bad.

Mixing It Up in Istanbul

A fascinating mélange of history, geography, religion, architecture, customs and people. Istanbul really knows how to “mix it up.”

Former home to Byzantine, Roman and Ottoman empires, Istanbul literally bridges the divide between Europe and Asia. Or, rather than taking a bridge, you can take a ferry.

Crossing the Bosphorus, the mix of old and new left me feeling sad and optimistic at the same time. Why are there old neglected buildings alongside newly renovated homes? Is a glass high-rise office building suitable for the same skyline as the mosque along the waterfont?



Head into Aya Sofia, following the Muslim women wearing head scarves as a symbol of their religious devotion, and look up and see an orthodox Christian cross on the arched ceiling above.

Though showers are not taken as frequently, and though the streets can be rather dirty, I found that it’s quite easy to wash your feet or your ass. (First photo - foot baths outside of Mosque. Second photo - notice the little spigot that sprays water right where it’s needed - hotels, public restrooms - all the toilets have this clever little device.)

The streets are crowded with tourists from all over the world. And during Ramazan (with a “z” in Turkey) you’ll even find the local men praying as they flow over onto the courtyards and sidewalks outside the mosques.

Istanbul is an ancient city, with a modern tram system.

Some of the mosques even have “night lights.”

In Istanbul, you can watch the sun rise over Asia and set in the west over Europe. And with a short ferry ride, you can see each across the waters of the Bosphorus.

I truly enjoyed my visit to Istanbul and hope to return someday.

Istanbul and 999 Places To See Before You Die.

[Remember - you can click on photos to see larger view.]

Istanbul's most famous monument is Aya Sofya which in Latin is Sancta Sophia, and in Greek is Haghia Sofia. The English translation would be "Church of the Divine Wisdom." Orignally built to bring back prestige to a diminishing Roman Empire, it was completed in 537 AD, and remained the the greatest Christian church for over 900 years. Impressive considering the United States is just a little over 200 years old. It was converted to a mosque by Mehmet the conqueror in 1453, and then in 1935 it was proclaimed a museum. I was fascinated by the evolution of this magnificent structure, from an Orthodox Christian church to a Mosque to a museum. Arabic scipt and mosaics of Jesus Christ can be found side-by-side in this display of religious and architectural adaptation. I eavesdropped on a tour guide as she explained that the Christian art was not destroyed, just plastered over, as the Muslims were not religious fanatics. Surely there are some lessons here about religious tolerance as well as "plastering" over our history.

With six minarets and a curvaceous figure for men to enter and pray (yeah, that sounds a bit suggestive,) the Blue Mosque is the largest of all the Ottoman mosques. It's cavernous to say the least, and with lots and lots of pretty blue tile, hence, the "Blue Mosque."

Being the first mosque I ever visited I learned something... take off your shoes. Though tempted to wash my feet afterwards, I left that to the local men who were lined up several deep.

And then there is Topkapi Palace, whose entrance looks like the gates to a Disney theme park.

Have you ever visited a harem? Admittedly, I think of harems as something to be found only in the movies or a novel. While visiting Topkapi Palace, I had to make a special visit to the "harem," which actually translates as "private" and was the family residence of the sultan. Apparently, the sultan's mother was very influential and essentially was in charge of all things harem, including whom her son would choose as one of his wives. And since the first born was not entitled to become the next sultan, you can imagine the family dynamics as mothers jockeyed to promote their own interests.

Getting lots of nervous giggles from visitors, the "Circumcision Room" with its beautiful stained glass windows. Good light is essential when cutting something so delicate.

Beneath the streets of Istanbul, the Basilica Cistern, used to store water when it was built in 532 AD. Recently restored, warm orange lighting, little fish swimming around and cool - it's a great place to spend a little time on a warm afternoon.

Of the "1,000 Places To See Before You Die," I can now check off Cagaloglu hammam, a Turkish bath that is nearly 300 years old and has 96 little windows in the main ceiling dome. (Yes, I'm a bit OCD and had to count them.) Apparently, Monday mornings are not peak business hours and I was the only customer for about 40 minutes. Kinda cool, kinda creepy. For $25 more I could get a body scrub and a 10 minute massage. But since I was not in the mood for an old, fat, hairy Turkish man to provide this service, I opted for just the steam bath. Photos were not allowed inside, but they sure know how to promote the hell out of their "1,000 Places" listing. Oy!


Okay, those are the highlights. But let me leave you with one thing to ponder, especially if you're an American. Is the U.S. an empire in its own special way? And if so, knowing that cities like Istanbul have seen the Roman Empire and the Ottoman Empire come and go, then what is the future of the "American Empire"? As I read news of the economic crisis in the United States and government bailouts of financial institutions, it makes me wonder: "Have we have peaked and don't yet know it?" Maybe in another 20-30 years, which is short in terms of history, the answer will be clear. I have faith that the U.S can recover some of the integrity that has been lost during the "Bush Regime." I am optimistic that we will not continue down the path of diminished world power. I hope that we will not be "plastered over" so that I can continue to see some of the other 999 places before I die. Long live the American Empire.

Istan-Bull and Tourist Traps

Yeaaah, I'l get to the tourist sites soon. I visited several, but first I thought I would share some experiences about the hustle and bustle that every tourist will encounter in Istanbul.

"Hello. Where you from?" is how it starts. First: engage tourist in conversation. Second: establish connection. Basically, everyone has something to sell to you, well almost everyone. Mention where you're from and wham... "Ohhhh, I was just in California," or "My uncle has a rug store in San Francisco" or "I went to university in Seattle." No matter where you're from, the man you are speaking with has either been there, or has a brother, cousin or uncle who lives there. This held true even when I claimed to be from England. And third? Third: persuade tourist to buy something, preferably a rug. Not to worry - they ship to the U.S. As a tourist, I learned quickly not to make eye contact with anyone. But there's still no way to avoid being dragged into a rug shop and offered some apple tea. I did it twice, just for fun.

Of course, as a tourist, the real trap is food. Okay, as Rick, the real trap is food. There's something about eating food that is being cooked by a street vendor in front of my eyes that is just so enticing. Istanbul is the home of kebaps (not kebabs,) corn that has the texture of rubber (at least the one I tried) and sweets like baklava (yummmm) and even cotton candy. Close your eyes and imagine the corn vendors rhythmically drumming with their metal tongs and calling out "misir, misir."

The Spice Bazaar, though not as crazy as the enormous Grand Bazaar with it's 4,000 shops, is a sight to be seen and smelled. Be prepared to be jostled about, engage in lively banter with the shopkeepers and tempted by the wide array of nuts, honey, olive oil and soaps, Turkish Delights and dried fruits.

Then there are the a million (and I'm not sure if that is an exaggeration) street and "mini-mall" vendors who sell crap. A lot of crap. Remote controls, spirographs, meowing kitten toys, faux-rolex watches and things that make me wonder "who buys this shit?" I took several photos, as I was intrigued, but I will spare you from looking at fishing poles, screw drivers, batteries and pens. But I guarantee you, these are all items that can be found on the streets of Istanbul.

Then there is the trendy Istiklal Cadessi (street) near my hotel. At the top end, near Taksim Square, there are six - 1,2,3,4,5,6, conjoined kebap stands. How does a national economy surive on "independent business owners" (aka steet vendors), high levels of competition and crap? That's Turkey!

Then, there are exceptions. I found a few streets with high end jewelry and art. And, though most everyone was trying to sell me something, it was nice to just chat with "my cousins" for a bit before they went to dinner to break their day long Ramazan fast. "Where you from?" "Oh, I have some cousins in Istanbul." Here's the photo to prove it.