Avilas in Paris

Paris is a place steeped in mystery and romance, rightly so, depending on the day.  As long as I can remember, my sister has had an obsession with the city going as far as decorating her room in Parisian theme.  So when my sister, mom and dad booked their flights to come visit me in London, I introduced the mystique of Eurostar--a two point five hour city centre to city centre train service ferrying tourists between the alternate universes of London and Paris.  

I've been to Paris quite a few times now and am a bit cynical.  It's beautiful, don't get me wrong.  But my inner city dweller needs a bit more to be impressed by than national monuments swarming with tourists in trainers videoing their every step.  Alas, watching my sister's face light up at the Eiffel Tower, my mom practically running to see Notre Dame and having to drag my dad out of the Louvre was an altogether worthwhile experience.  

Notre Dame in sepia tones 

 

Locks on the chain bridge 

 

On the metro, as I kneed a small Indian man with dry, cracked hands who'd rubbed his groin area up against Jaclyn's leg, I quickly learned that my sister attracts more than her fair share of creepers.  And there's a lot of creepers in Paris.  In fact, and I say this with experience, we were overcome with rude Parisians who pushed, jostled and yelled at their fellow man.  

 

 Onwards we went.  We sort of stopped at Sainte Chappelle, a beautiful chapel just a stone's throw from Notre Dame.  I say we sort of stopped because none of us wanted to pay the 8 euro entrance fee to see a church 1/10th the size of Notre Dame, which was free to get into.  So Paul, wielding his youthful age and EU passport accessed the chapel for free and snapped a load of photos.  The rest of us sat on a bench wondering why eight vans of riot police were assembling just in front of us.  We never really found out.

 Instead we made our way slowly to the Eiffel Tower where my mom snapped roughly 300 photos and my sister tried to position both herself and the tower into a range of selfies--an arduous task.  We opted not to wait in the 2-hour-long queue and made the slow walk away from the tower when it spontaneously burst into twinkly fairy lights.  Jac was underwhelmed: 'it cheapens it, don't you think?'

This is when my dad saved the day with this:

We headed back to our hotel in probably-convenient-if-you've-flown Montparnasse, right next to the catacombs, a series of underground vaults with the skeletons of millions of ancient Parisians.  It's been on my list of venues to see for some time and, yet again, we missed it.  Alas, Hotel du Midi Montparnasse was a welcome home away from home.  It probably wasn't best for a short weekend hop due to its location far away from Eurostar but we had a balcony overlooking some part of the city and the surrounding area was delightful.  I introduced my family to the boulangerie, fromagerie, poissonerie.  Everything sounds cuter in French.

Our day two was much of the same.  I walked my parents to exhaustion, fended off the creepers and found a boulangerie to end all boulangeries.  We also took the boat before ending up in Montmartre, the little artisty enclave that provides all kinds of delights:

 

All in all, I'm certain my family enjoyed Paris but I'm not sure if was what they expected.  As for me, I'll go back but who needs the tourist spots when you can wander an antiques market, people watch whilst same-side-sitting and eat all the cheese your stomach will allow.

Porto--What Remains

On our last day, with a few hours left to aimlessly wander, the sun decided to come out.  We discovered a few quirky places that would make for a good start of the next trip to Porto exploration.  

I'm always partial to a market and Porto didn't disappoint: 

And God is everywhere.  Everywhere: 

 

The postbox was located right by the central train station, a place I took photos of, but seem to have lost.  If a train station were ever worth visiting, Porto's should win awards.  From floor to ceiling, the building was filled with tiled murals of the history of the city.  We may have laid on the floor looking up for a while whilst the perturbed native stepped over and around us. 

 Thus, we hopped on a tram and made our way to the airport, back to London and our daily lives.  To Portugal--you're lovely.

Port Tasting

On day two of our Porto adventure, we got our port shoes on and crossed the bridge to discover various caves filled with alcoholic delight.  To be more precise, there are at least 50 port houses on the Gaia side of the river.  Not all of these houses are open to the public but the big distilleries all do tastings and some are free.  

Crossing the upper part of the bridge proved rather dramatic for me.  Two pedestrian pavements lined the edge whilst the middle of the bridge was made for passing rail trains.  When a train crossed it gave the effect of being in a wind tunnel, only 100 meters up. I gripped the side and willed myself not to vomit.  

 Once I was safely on the other side, I snapped a series of stunning photos.  Port boats waited patiently to haul their wares to Port's various bars and restaurants.  You could almost imagine the thriving trade in the 1800s.

 

We wound down the hill and past the various distilleries--Sandeman, Graham, Taylor's, Cockburn, all household names to the 18th and 19th century Brits who gave the port trade such robust business.  Because, as it turns out, port thrived with the well-to-do gentlemen of colonial London.  So much so that today, only two distilleries are 100% Portuguese owned.  

 

We made our way to one of them, the Ferreira Port Cellars located near the end of half-mile-long strip of cellars.  There, we were introduced to the history of Dona Antonia and her matriarchy that turned her family recipe into a big business.  For 12 euros, we were whisked away into the underground caverns of the distillery and given a tour by the charming half-French, half-Portuguese wife of one of the descendants of the Ferreira dynasty.  She knew enough English to joke distastefully about the British which was a welcome laugh away from the scorn I normally hear because I speak a little bit American.  

 

We learned all about the port trade, its colours, ages, prices before downing three smallish glasses of the viscous fortified wine.  That's all it took for us; we swayed down the street back to the lower deck of the bridge before splitting off.  Chuck went back to the room for a little nap and Rosa and I tried to walk it off.  We ended up switching the powerful port for more palatable wine which had the effect of getting us terribly pissed.  No bother. We made friends with various Portuguese and German quaffers feeling rather convivial.

Porto

From Lisbon, we took a four-hour train north to Porto, Portugal's second city.  It's known for its port, a sweet fortified wine that'll get you drunker faster than you can imagine.  The city is cut in half by the Douro River that bisects the old town from the Port distilleries and their trade. A beautiful bridge, Ponte D. Luis, built by one of Gustave Eiffel's proteges connects the two sides of the river at both slightly above water level and again at a nauseatingly high vantage point.  Porto's another city of hills.

After checking into our hotel, we made for a wander around the surrounding area.  The old part of town, Ribeira, is home to an intricate maze of well-worn and tricky-on-the-feet cobbled streets that lead up, up, up to a series of local churches that are beautiful enough to be cathedrals. It's also the Portuguese starting point for the Camino de Santiago and signs for pilgrims pointed them in the direction of a journey spanning two countries, 1800 historical churches and, for some, the way to religious truth.

All roads eventually lead down to the riverfront where a series of bars dot the view.  Unfortunately, we timed our arrival for a big international match between Porto and Bayern Munich and loud, drunk German football louts monopolised the drinking establishments.  With their singing and germanic revelry, it was hard to find peace.  But we did eventually find a place, Wine Quay, a tiny wine bar on an upstairs terrace owned by a lovely Portuguese man who knew a thing or three about wine.  We donned blankets and took to sitting on the terrace whilst we got slowly tipsy.

If you look closely a red awning adorns a building on the left side of this photo.  That's Wine Quay:

In the older part of the city, historic buildings dot the landscape.  Some of these buildings have been standing since the 1600s and like any old city, are now home to H&M, Zara and the like.  Regardless, Porto had me charmed.  

 

Lovely people, inexpensive but delicious food and gorgeous views were just icing on the cake. 

Lisbon--Central

Beyond its immediate sense of faded glamour, Central Lisbon had its charms.  We discovered these charms by foot and, our personal favourite, the tram car.  Tracks crisscrossed various neighborhoods, up hills and exposing delicious views.  At euro 1.40, it's a bargain way to see the place without navigating hills.  

Our first stop was in the Alfama neighborhood, which we're not even sure we managed to properly find.  But views, winding cobbles and a tram-themed and shaped restaurant were on the cards so no complaints here: 

Restaurant, if you look closely: 

Between the weather playing games with us, we managed to find lots of charm.  I don't remember names of things or places so photos will have to suffice: 

 Beautiful, beautiful tiles adorned the fronts of houses, shops, garages.  It must be hard to maintain but it looked gorgeous.  Chuck even made his way to the Tile Museum, a feat not for the faint of heart.  Happy to know it exists though.

The Funicular near Bairro Alto, the party district.  We did too much walking to enjoy the latter and opted for later evening wine instead.  

Stairs! 

In one of the oldest parts of the city, Chuck decided his Portuguese was good (it's not) and stopped here for a sandwich and a natter with the barman.  The conversation made it off the ground when another local stopped by--this local had a working knowledge of French (as does Chuck) and the rest of us played lexical ping pong between the French to Portuguese to English translation that took place.  Truly memorable. 

 

  Further testament to the love of the sardine:

 

Our two-day stay in Lisbon ended rather unceremoniously and I don't think we got the best of the city.  I think this came down partially to the time of year and partially down to trying to organise four different agendas (and morning routines).  I can't quite put my finger on it but there's a lot of quirk here, a lot more to be discovered.

Lisbon--Belem

Our February half term trip to Lisbon and Porto was, to no surprise, hastily planned.  It started as a Rosa and Jen trip and became a Rosa, Jen and Chuck trip and finally morphed into a Rosa, Jen, Chuck and Sa'adah (Chuck's friend) trip.  The dynamic worked nicely but we honestly had no idea what to expect upon arrival in Portugal.

We were all exhausted as well.  Rosa flew from Latvia and met us at Stansted before boarding and we started having a think about what we might do when we arrived.  We didn't have any guide books or a map.  We knew two things--we needed to eat pastry, we had to get to Porto to fly home.

First looks of Lisbon were tricky.  We arrived late into the evening and went seeking a restaurant.  We found what appeared to be some kind of cafe that looked like a hole in the wall but served a range of fish, soup and Portuguese delicacies at cut rate.  I quickly learned two things: 1. the Portuguese have an obsession with sardines and soups (not necessarily together), particularly some cabbage-based stewy wonder; 2. nondescript restaurants are the norm here: minimal decor=excellent food.  Delicious. 

The next morning, well rested, we made a go at exploration. In a capital city of roughly half a million, it was hard not to feel like Lisbon had been somewhat neglected.  Lots of buildings needed a good scrub and there were lots of abandoned, derelict factories, apartment blocks, etc in the middle of the city.  

It didn't feel dangerous, just a bit sad.  We began our wanders ranging up and down the seven hills of the city.  Trams, funiculars and bikes dominated the transport from hill to hill and we started our wanderings at the furthest point from our accommodation, in Belem.  

Stop One: Belem 

Belem is famous for its gorgeous views and pastry--pasteis de nata--a custard-filled delight that you can opt to top with cinnamon and caster sugar.  We frequented the famous Casa Pasteis de Belem bakery and sat in the sun before heading to a little market selling antiques, crafts and handmade goods.

I fell in love with a 50-year-old man who carved ceramic boxes and waxed lyrical about the history of Lisbon.  Chuck also fell in love with him, thus validating the romance and delicacy this man put into his craft.  

From there we headed riverside where we discovered a group of men in intense remote-control-sailboat battle.  They tacked back and forth several times as I sat transfixed.  It reminded me of my NYC Boat basin days:   

 

 The Golden Gate Bridge (25 April Bridge) and Cristo Rei (Christ the Redeemer's smaller cousin) also made an appearance on the skyline as we climbed Belem Tower to get a better view.

 We spent the rest of the waning daylight wandering through various neighborhoods trying to get back to central Lisbon.  With varying degrees of success, we found some things we were looking for.  For Chuck--a geocache, for Sa'adah--a nap and for Rosa and I--the bus back to the centre.

Our day ended with a wander through the Alfama neighbourhood and a climb up a set of stairs attached to Santa Justa lift.  Hard to explain but hopefully I'll find some pictures at one point or another.

Lisbon

First glimpses of a city in beautiful decline (faded colonial glory?):

 Tiles on a house 

Colours on a door 

 

sardines

Sardines, colours, tiles--the quick summary of glorious Lisbon.  And only the start. 

The Spring Term

Something beautiful happened upon my return to the UK in January--I bought a used iPhone from a friend and when I attached it to my computer all but 5 of the photos on my previous phone reappeared. Not sure if it was iCloud, not sure if it the backup on my computer but all is well in the world of technology. Thus, i'll be going back through my Wales posts and adding appropriate photos.  Success.

As usual, school since January has been incredibly busy.  Exam season is upon us, and with 8 weeks until the first Year 11/post-16 exams, I find myself buried in a sea of marking.  Alas, I've managed a few mini-adventures, namely a five-day-jaunt through Lisbon and Porto in Portugal followed by a week in London and weekend in Paris with my mom, dad and sister.  We put them on a plane this morning after a week of social events, too much food and intense walking across all aspects of the metropolis.  Our flat suddenly seems empty; on the upside, I've slept more today than most of the last week combined.

Pictures soon!