by Layla
With the sun still shining, we returned to the miradour of the glorious mohitos and ordered some, as a pre-dinner aperitif. The dinner in question was at much-acclaimed stylish restaurant Bocca, known for its exciting starters. Having climbed up quite a lot of hills and just a tad tipsy on mohitos, we confirmed that they had recorded we were vegetarian when I called to book, and settled down for another excellent meal. Alas it was not to be. After much conferring, the waiter offered us... mushroom risotto. We've had this just one time too many in Portugal, and asked if they could think of something else. The manager then appeared, clutching a laminated advertisement for Terra, the restaurant we had lunch in a couple of days ago. He said that all their food was pre-prepared and the chef couldn't do anything for us except mushroom risotto... or perhaps pureed potato. He advised us to go to Terra instead. When we declined, he offered to go onto the internet to find us a vegetarian restaurant. We explained that in these modern times a restaurant should be able to accommodate special diets, and an innovative restaurant as his allegedly was ought to be able to think of something more innovative than the old mushroom risotto... He did not really agree with this perspective.
Ten minutes later, by chance we happened to find ourselves outside one of Lisbon's few vegetarian restaurants; indeed a vegetarian Tibetan restaurant called Os Tibetanos. Despite being vegetarian, we are far keener to go to acclaimed restaurants than vegetarian restaurants, especially those attached to temples... but in this case, we were peckish and decided to give it a go. The ambience was cheery, filled with happy vegetarian refugees from Bocca-like establishments, and the food was, well, not desperately impressive. After a shared starter of cheese balls the microwave hadn't quite managed to fully penetrate, Roz had a spaghetti type thing with bits of tofu; I had dumplings, and we shared some rather mediocre wine. Not our finest meal, but at least the people were nice, the decor and ambience pleasant, and it was a mere 10 minute walk back to the miradour for a final mohito before bed.
Today the weather forecast started to catch up with us. We woke up late, to a grey sky, and Roz announced an enthusiasm for watching the royal wedding. We settled down for a historic experience over toast and juice, and felt that on the whole, we preferred our own wedding, though did feel sorry that our aisle didn't have trees along it as Will and Kate had...
After the wedding, we walked to Chiado and tried out the metro (underground) for the first time. Quite speedy and unalarming, it whisked us to Oriente, which was at Parque das Nacoes, a large riverside park which housed one of the world's largest aquaria. But first, I was tempted by the cable car which ran alongside the river, and easily persuaded Roz to have a pre-lunch spin, followed by cheese sandwiches, beer and books in a riverside cafe in what was to be the last of the sun, though we soaked it in with happy ignorance of this fact.
After lunch we proceeded to the aquarium, or Oceanarium as it's called. It's a nice one - one massive tank, and lots of little ones, and it's fantastic to go to things like that with Roz, who didn't go to such things in her childhood and had all the wonder and excitement of a five year old at seeing penguins and sea otters. Unfortunately, she also had the attention span of a grown up, and after 20 minutes of watching said creatures cavort in the water, I felt a beast for gently moving her on...
Alas, when we stepped out of the aquarium, it seemed an entirely different world to the sunny day we'd left only an hour or so ago. Torrential rain, thunder, lightening, and a girl who felt very annoyed with herself for deciding not to bother bringing an umbrella today... We made a run for it and arrived back at the metro rather damp and chilly. But by the time we'd ridden back to Chiado, and had drinks and cake (bolo de arroz) in a traditional old fashioned cafe, we'd dried out, the rain had stopped, and we pottered up the hill to our apartment, where Roz is devouring the book that kept me up til the small hours last night to finish (Chocky by John Wyndham) and I am writing before we attempt another nice restaurant tonight. We are praying for a non-mushroom risotto dinner option!
Friday 29 April 2011
Thursday 28 April 2011
In which Layla and Roz return to unpredicted Lisbon sun, walk up and down lots of hills, and explore new areas
by Layla
Our last morning in Sintra was beautifully sunny, and after a lovely breakfast on the hotel's patio, we meandered down the road in the opposite direction of the touristy historical centre, to find a pretty pedestrianised street where Sintra locals clearly go about their business. We walked down to a huge, impressive building which was playing host to the World Press Cartoons Awards, and whiled away a happy hour wandering through rooms of press cartoons from a huge range of countries (in some cases, the language proving something of a barrier to grasping the joke, but in many cases demonstrating a rather shared language).
We checked out, popped to an outdoor cafe for a final custard tart and a coffee, and then caught the train back to Lisbon. By this point it really felt as though our holiday had been several weeks long, but disconcertingly it still wasn't over. We caught a funicular train up the hill from Rossio station, then wound our way round a hilly maze of tiny cobbled streets where old ladies and tiny, fashionable bars merged into the quirky, trendy, traditional and intriguing area of Bairro Alto, our home for the next five nights. We'd rented an apartment, but not due to check in til later, we located it and left our bags with the concierge, and headed off, map in hand, to one of Portugal's only vegetarian restaurants, Terra. It turned out to be really lovely - a buffet with an irresistible array of vegetarian options, and seating in a pretty, shady garden. Relaxing and a delightful way to spend the early afternoon.
Eventually we had to concede we'd eaten our fill and proceeded to an area known as Lisbon's gay area, Principe Real. This is the area immediately west of Bairro Alto, and its centrepiece is an attractive park. We wandered through it, then up the street to Lisbon University's botanical gardens, where we paid a small fee and spent more time pottering along little lanes. Perhaps not the best botanical garden in the world, but shady and sweet, and we had a very cheery afternoon there. Until we realised it was time to return to our apartment to check in.
Our apartment is in a very cool and glamorous old convent building, all marble and Portuguese tiling, and when we stepped into our studio flat, we turned quite green with envy of the owners, and both started imagining a life where we lived here. The flat is beautiful - open plan, very tasteful modern decor, bright, airy, and with a glorious big patio. As we gazed longingly at its deckchairs, the sky started to darken and - mindful of the weather forecast (the sun was to go and not return for the duration of our stay), we wanted to dash straight out to read in the remaining sun. Alas it was not to be - the woman organising the rental insisted on spending almost an hour explaining things to us (and bonding with Roz over yoga) - but eventually she closed the door and Roz and I ignored the first few spits of rain and raced outside to claim our waiting deckchairs (and our first taste of the adjacent music school, whose students are not as advanced as one might hope for a neighbouring establishment without sound insulation...).
Delightfully, the sun reappeared and we reluctantly extracted ourselves and glammed up for a quintessential Lisbon dining experience, Tavares. Down the road in Chiado district, this is a delight of olde world decor ostentation - all gold and mirrors and silver service. The food was fantastic - thanks to us pre-warning them of our vegetarianism. In fact, the three courses they brought us were the best we've had in Portugal (though with Roz booking an array of fancy restaurants, it may face competition in the coming days...). After dinner we walked home past many bars filled with obsessive football fans - clearly there was an important match on - and spent the remainder of the night in our glamorous living room with wine and playing cards.
When we woke this morning, we braced ourselves for the promised rain... only to be met with glorious sunshine! We leapt out of bed and headed for Principe Real park, where we found a cute little bakery with excellent fresh orange juice and pastries to power us on a Time Out magazine walking tour of the area. Power was required as the up-and-down-the-cobbled-hills theme continued. We saw lots of very lovely streets and squares, went to a random art exhibition by a local artist, and then to a really beautiful miradour aka look-out point with an all-too-tempting little cafe where I failed to resist either the mohito (the best I've possibly ever had) or the custard tart and Roz a comparatively abstemious G&T... while we looked out over the roofs of Lisbon to the castle on the hill beyond.
After the delights of the 'miradour', we headed down to Chiado for Time Out's second walking tour. Again, up and down the hills, and Roz's fear about my still-dodgy ankle was so great that we popped into a shop and bought some flat shoes for me. After that it was off to a reportedly must-see gay cafe for lunch. There was no particular evidence from decor or clientele that it was gay, but the sandwiches were pleasant enough. And then to FNAC for some more books, before hiking back up all the hills to our beautiful apartment. With the sun still gloriously shining, we have now installed ourselves in our patio with wine, melon, and discordant trumpet music from the music school, and pray for the weather to continue (despite what the cruel forecast insistently predicts)...
Our last morning in Sintra was beautifully sunny, and after a lovely breakfast on the hotel's patio, we meandered down the road in the opposite direction of the touristy historical centre, to find a pretty pedestrianised street where Sintra locals clearly go about their business. We walked down to a huge, impressive building which was playing host to the World Press Cartoons Awards, and whiled away a happy hour wandering through rooms of press cartoons from a huge range of countries (in some cases, the language proving something of a barrier to grasping the joke, but in many cases demonstrating a rather shared language).
We checked out, popped to an outdoor cafe for a final custard tart and a coffee, and then caught the train back to Lisbon. By this point it really felt as though our holiday had been several weeks long, but disconcertingly it still wasn't over. We caught a funicular train up the hill from Rossio station, then wound our way round a hilly maze of tiny cobbled streets where old ladies and tiny, fashionable bars merged into the quirky, trendy, traditional and intriguing area of Bairro Alto, our home for the next five nights. We'd rented an apartment, but not due to check in til later, we located it and left our bags with the concierge, and headed off, map in hand, to one of Portugal's only vegetarian restaurants, Terra. It turned out to be really lovely - a buffet with an irresistible array of vegetarian options, and seating in a pretty, shady garden. Relaxing and a delightful way to spend the early afternoon.
Eventually we had to concede we'd eaten our fill and proceeded to an area known as Lisbon's gay area, Principe Real. This is the area immediately west of Bairro Alto, and its centrepiece is an attractive park. We wandered through it, then up the street to Lisbon University's botanical gardens, where we paid a small fee and spent more time pottering along little lanes. Perhaps not the best botanical garden in the world, but shady and sweet, and we had a very cheery afternoon there. Until we realised it was time to return to our apartment to check in.
Our apartment is in a very cool and glamorous old convent building, all marble and Portuguese tiling, and when we stepped into our studio flat, we turned quite green with envy of the owners, and both started imagining a life where we lived here. The flat is beautiful - open plan, very tasteful modern decor, bright, airy, and with a glorious big patio. As we gazed longingly at its deckchairs, the sky started to darken and - mindful of the weather forecast (the sun was to go and not return for the duration of our stay), we wanted to dash straight out to read in the remaining sun. Alas it was not to be - the woman organising the rental insisted on spending almost an hour explaining things to us (and bonding with Roz over yoga) - but eventually she closed the door and Roz and I ignored the first few spits of rain and raced outside to claim our waiting deckchairs (and our first taste of the adjacent music school, whose students are not as advanced as one might hope for a neighbouring establishment without sound insulation...).
Delightfully, the sun reappeared and we reluctantly extracted ourselves and glammed up for a quintessential Lisbon dining experience, Tavares. Down the road in Chiado district, this is a delight of olde world decor ostentation - all gold and mirrors and silver service. The food was fantastic - thanks to us pre-warning them of our vegetarianism. In fact, the three courses they brought us were the best we've had in Portugal (though with Roz booking an array of fancy restaurants, it may face competition in the coming days...). After dinner we walked home past many bars filled with obsessive football fans - clearly there was an important match on - and spent the remainder of the night in our glamorous living room with wine and playing cards.
When we woke this morning, we braced ourselves for the promised rain... only to be met with glorious sunshine! We leapt out of bed and headed for Principe Real park, where we found a cute little bakery with excellent fresh orange juice and pastries to power us on a Time Out magazine walking tour of the area. Power was required as the up-and-down-the-cobbled-hills theme continued. We saw lots of very lovely streets and squares, went to a random art exhibition by a local artist, and then to a really beautiful miradour aka look-out point with an all-too-tempting little cafe where I failed to resist either the mohito (the best I've possibly ever had) or the custard tart and Roz a comparatively abstemious G&T... while we looked out over the roofs of Lisbon to the castle on the hill beyond.
After the delights of the 'miradour', we headed down to Chiado for Time Out's second walking tour. Again, up and down the hills, and Roz's fear about my still-dodgy ankle was so great that we popped into a shop and bought some flat shoes for me. After that it was off to a reportedly must-see gay cafe for lunch. There was no particular evidence from decor or clientele that it was gay, but the sandwiches were pleasant enough. And then to FNAC for some more books, before hiking back up all the hills to our beautiful apartment. With the sun still gloriously shining, we have now installed ourselves in our patio with wine, melon, and discordant trumpet music from the music school, and pray for the weather to continue (despite what the cruel forecast insistently predicts)...
Tuesday 26 April 2011
In which Layla and Roz explore fairytale palaces, consume many custard tarts, and start to tire of mushroom-based dinners
by Layla
We started the day pleasingly today with breakfast on the hotel's very pretty, sunny patio, overlooking Sintra, and the fairytale style castle on the hill beyond. Having stuffed ourselves with excellent bread rolls and the like, we wandered cheerily down the road and into Sintra village, past the brilliant and random sculptures, and ended up in the bike hire shop where we were frustratingly told that their electric bikes were sadly not available. Our plans momentarily flummoxed, we quickly regrouped and decided to travel by bus instead.
The main draw of Sintra is fabulous palaces and castles situated on the surrounding hills. We randomly opted to visit Pena Palace, followed by the ruins of a Moorish castle. We clung on for dear life as the bus wound round and round the steep hill til it deposited us at the gates of Pena Palace. Before exploring, we settled down with drinks at a pretty little cafe surrounded by forest and attractive garden scenery, and then we braced ourselves and ascended. Soon the palace came into sight and made us grin with delight. Apparently it's the best example of Portugese romantic architecture, and it is gloriously mad. All pinks and yellows, it has turrets aplenty, crocodile gargoyles, and beautiful Moroccan-style patios. The views were stunning. I've never fallen in love with a building as I did with this one. Of course it was touristy, but we did marvel at how somewhere like the Alhambra in Spain is so absolutely mobbed, with huge queues, timed entry, and crammed spaces, while this wonderful palace was relatively quiet. We had lunch in their restaurant, reasonably priced, entirely serene, beautiful and delicious. And then, with a blue sky above us and a very attractive forest around us, we decided to follow a marked walking route through the palace gardens. Very few others followed suit so we had the joy of a beautiful forest walk to ourselves, and an explanation of why people refer to Sintra as Portugal's Eden. As we finally descended, past pretty ponds complete with castle-shaped duck houses, we emerged blinking onto the main road as though we'd just been awoken from a dream.
The fun wasn't over. We kept walking and found ourselves at the Moorish castle, which looked just as one would draw a castle in a primary school art class. Most satisfying, and more brilliant views. We walked around the castle wall before conceding exhaustion and heading for the bus. After some more winding, it deposited us at the train station and we walked to a very lovely little cafe I'd had my eye on. We had drinks and cake and I certainly did not have four little Portugese custard tarts. That would have been reprehensibly greedy...
After a pleasant time in the cafe, we returned to our hotel and established ourselves in a sunny spot on a swing chair on the patio with beers and books and a brilliant view of the castle we'd just climbed on. And then to dinner. We learned that Sintra village isn't the best place to dine; all the best restaurants are nearer our hotel. We deliberated and picked one with the unfortunate moniker of 'G Spot' (G stands for gastronomy, it seems). Despite no vegetarian items on the menu, a very sweet chef whipped us up some carrot soup and some mushroom risotto. We did feel a bit over-mushroomed, following a several day mushroom dinner stretch, but all in all, the ambience was cheery and cool, and the food nicely prepared, so we had a lovely time, polished off with a very large pot of fresh peppermint tea.
Yet again, we started feeling disinclined to go home tomorrow, but then remembered we're not going home, but to an apartment we've rented in Lisbon's Bairro Alto area for the next five nights. This really is a mad and excellent holiday of many acts...
We started the day pleasingly today with breakfast on the hotel's very pretty, sunny patio, overlooking Sintra, and the fairytale style castle on the hill beyond. Having stuffed ourselves with excellent bread rolls and the like, we wandered cheerily down the road and into Sintra village, past the brilliant and random sculptures, and ended up in the bike hire shop where we were frustratingly told that their electric bikes were sadly not available. Our plans momentarily flummoxed, we quickly regrouped and decided to travel by bus instead.
The main draw of Sintra is fabulous palaces and castles situated on the surrounding hills. We randomly opted to visit Pena Palace, followed by the ruins of a Moorish castle. We clung on for dear life as the bus wound round and round the steep hill til it deposited us at the gates of Pena Palace. Before exploring, we settled down with drinks at a pretty little cafe surrounded by forest and attractive garden scenery, and then we braced ourselves and ascended. Soon the palace came into sight and made us grin with delight. Apparently it's the best example of Portugese romantic architecture, and it is gloriously mad. All pinks and yellows, it has turrets aplenty, crocodile gargoyles, and beautiful Moroccan-style patios. The views were stunning. I've never fallen in love with a building as I did with this one. Of course it was touristy, but we did marvel at how somewhere like the Alhambra in Spain is so absolutely mobbed, with huge queues, timed entry, and crammed spaces, while this wonderful palace was relatively quiet. We had lunch in their restaurant, reasonably priced, entirely serene, beautiful and delicious. And then, with a blue sky above us and a very attractive forest around us, we decided to follow a marked walking route through the palace gardens. Very few others followed suit so we had the joy of a beautiful forest walk to ourselves, and an explanation of why people refer to Sintra as Portugal's Eden. As we finally descended, past pretty ponds complete with castle-shaped duck houses, we emerged blinking onto the main road as though we'd just been awoken from a dream.
The fun wasn't over. We kept walking and found ourselves at the Moorish castle, which looked just as one would draw a castle in a primary school art class. Most satisfying, and more brilliant views. We walked around the castle wall before conceding exhaustion and heading for the bus. After some more winding, it deposited us at the train station and we walked to a very lovely little cafe I'd had my eye on. We had drinks and cake and I certainly did not have four little Portugese custard tarts. That would have been reprehensibly greedy...
After a pleasant time in the cafe, we returned to our hotel and established ourselves in a sunny spot on a swing chair on the patio with beers and books and a brilliant view of the castle we'd just climbed on. And then to dinner. We learned that Sintra village isn't the best place to dine; all the best restaurants are nearer our hotel. We deliberated and picked one with the unfortunate moniker of 'G Spot' (G stands for gastronomy, it seems). Despite no vegetarian items on the menu, a very sweet chef whipped us up some carrot soup and some mushroom risotto. We did feel a bit over-mushroomed, following a several day mushroom dinner stretch, but all in all, the ambience was cheery and cool, and the food nicely prepared, so we had a lovely time, polished off with a very large pot of fresh peppermint tea.
Yet again, we started feeling disinclined to go home tomorrow, but then remembered we're not going home, but to an apartment we've rented in Lisbon's Bairro Alto area for the next five nights. This really is a mad and excellent holiday of many acts...
Monday 25 April 2011
In which Layla and Roz admire glorious views, have waterside bike fun, and visit a fairytale village
by Layla
When we pulled back the curtains yesterday we were dazzled and delighted by the sight of a glorious blue sky. We wolfed down our breakfast and ran out into the warm, sunny day with bare legs and joy in our hearts (and a better understanding of the importance of weather for an excellent holiday). We walked down Avenue de Liberdade, a wide avenue lined by posh hotels and some shops, to the main square at Rossio. Fountains, cobblestones and general prettiness abounded and we both felt absolutely in love with Lisbon. We walked down through pedestrianised streets to the spot where one catches the 28 tram. This is a very famous route, a 45 minute meander though the steep, narrow, picturesque streets of Graca and Alfama, on hills east of the centre, aboard a delightful old wooden tram. Though in fact I put us on the direct tram by mistake and after a very pretty 15 minutes, we were unceremoniously asked to disembark.
And so to our first lookout point, aka miradour, a popular concept that involves a beautiful view over Lisbon and the river, preferably accompanied by drinks. We duly ordered beers and sat with our books, gazing out over the fantastic vista in the blazing sunlight. After our drinks, and a little read, Lonely Planet walking tour in hand, we followed the winding roads past tiny, Moorish streets of quite glorious charm, til we hit our lunch spot, Chapito, a lovely little restaurant with the obligatory excellent view, attached randomly to a circus school. Roz and I enquired about their vegetarian options, then in a moment of confusion ordered them all. Soon we were facing an absolutely enormous plate of potatoes, two large mozzarella and tomato toasties, and a frankly massive salad that involved ricotta, the first time I'd eaten this since I was sick in New York. I was almost sick again at the memory it brought back... Roz soldiered on masterfully...
After lunch, we continued our walk, which led to the pretty Sao Jorge castle. We didn't go in (horrible queue for tickets), but walked around the outside, and up and down the adjacent pretty streets, with ice cream. All was quite lovely til a combination of new shoes and dodgy ankles and vertical cobbled slopes sent me sprawling to the ground with a sprained ankle. Alas right in front of the giant queue for the castle. As I sat on the ground clutching my leg, Roz ran back up the hill to a nearby cafe and persuaded them to give her a bag of ice. The queue watched with interest as I applied this to my ankle before eventually getting up inelegantly and limping pathetically towards the exit. Alas the Alfama was not a place where one grabs a taxi, so we sat in the patio of the extremely posh hotel Palacio Belmonte and while I sipped an odd drink that tasted like melted vanilla ice cream, Roz had a quick beer and went in search of an open pharmacy for an ankle bandage. Alas the Alfama on Easter Sunday is not the place to find such a thing, but the elevation and ice persuaded me to be well, and we slowly made our way to another fantastic viewpoint, and then slowly down the hill past cafes and quaint little shops back to Rossio. Which thankfully had a pharmacy with a plethora of ankle bandage options. Ah, we never feel it's really a holiday til we've been to a pharmacy... (a tradition started when Roz and I fell down the big hole in Cambodia...).
Our next mission was to hunt down an English Language bookshop for Roz, whose Kindle has randomly died. We located one called FNAC in Chiado, a few minutes' walk away, and whiled away a pleasant half hour browsing and buying. Then we walked down the hill, past a mad street elevator designed by the protegee of the Eiffel Tower architect, apparently, and into a taxi home.
Being that most restaurants in Lisbon are closed on a Sunday, and in fact this was Easter Sunday, it seemed fairly likely that we were going to have a dining challenge. However, I was foolishly undeterred by the lack of phone answering from either our chosen restaurant or chosen bar, so we glammed up and marched with confidence, only to find that - not surprisingly - both were firmly closed. We started walking towards the centre, wishing we'd worn cardigans as the night became cool and everyone else was clad in warm jackets... We veered up a side street in search of another restaurant listed in our book. Weirdly it was a scary side street of alarming people shouting things at us so, having spotted that the restaurant in question was closed, we retreated and commenced an hour-long wander around town, fruitlessly searching for a restaurant that was a) open, b) had a vegetarian option on its menu, c) had an indoor seating option, and d) had more than one person in it. Cold, tired and hungry, we were beginning to give up hope, when we popped into the Altis Hotel at Rossio. Hooray - success! By now 9pm, we wearily zoomed up to the 7th floor, to find an attractive restaurant randomly filled with gay boys, and offering a range of vegetarian food. The joy!
Alas the joy was not to last - despite a practically full restaurant, the manager had invested in a mere two waiters. As such, the service was shockingly slow. But the food was tasty, and a glass of champagne later, we were feeling in fine humour. By the time a taxi delivered us back to the hotel, it was quite a civilised bedtime.
Which alas did not save us from the jetlag! Up as usual by 7:30am, we decided to get up, have breakfast and - having checked out from our hotel - take a taxi down to the waterfront to hire bikes. Alas the taxi refused to understand where we wanted to go, so yet again it was a stroll down the Avenue. Iberia Bikes were fantastic - friendly, efficient, and enthusiastic. We were furnished with two bicycles, and pointed in the direction of Belem, a suburb of Lisbon containing UNESCO world heritage sites, art, parks, and world-famous custard pastries (Lisbon's specialty). The route was a really lovely 8km cycle path along the waterfront. With the sun sparkling off the water and singing our newly suntan lotioned skin, we zoomed along past yachts and cruise ships and attractive restaurants and quirky museums, to the tower of Belem, a sandcastle-like structure in the water, and stopped for drinks and a large crepe at a waterside cafe before pushing our bikes down an underpass and emerging in Belem itself.
Belem is a pretty place and we may have to return sans bike to explore it further. Lots of lovely parks, fountains, and amazing buildings. Of course I made a beeline for the famous pastry place. Roz craftily directed us to a table, thus avoiding massive queues for take-away tarts, and the pastries were everything one could hope of a custard tart (and a delightful waiter). After the tart action, we cycled to the ferry terminal and took a commuter ferry - just for the fun of it - to the south side of the river, pretty little beachy villages, it seemed. And back again in time for a return to the previous cafe for mozzarella and tomato sandwiches and lots of lemonade.
By the time we cycled back to the cycle hire place, our skin was pink and our legs were weary. We were greeted warmly by the bike hire girls, and grabbed a taxi back to our hotel. We wondered at the odd route the taxi driver was taking, but soon all became clear - there was a huge march happening, right outside our hotel and all the way down the Avenue! It turns out 25th April is the Carnation Revolution, celebrating the coup that ended Portugal's dictatorship regime. Bags in hand, and taxis looking unlikely, we set off yet again down the Avenue, alongside the parade. Random.
We got to the train station in Rossio, which is oddly unmarked, though for the past couple of days we'd been wondering what the fancy building was... and hopped on a 45 minute train to Sintra, described as a fairytale Eden by the guidebooks, and our base for the next two days. I probably should have scrutinised the map before we arrived and I led Roz on a wild goose chase in several wrong directions... but eventually we arrived at the Nova Sintra Hotel, climbed up many, many steps, and were established in a cute little attic room by a very sweet hotelier.
Sintra village itself is 1.5km away from our hotel, so after a quick shower, we set out to explore. It does indeed seem to be a fairytale type of place, with thick forests, fabulous cartoon-like castles, turrets, and quirky sculptures, and a town square right out of a book. We had a quick drink, a quick explore, and settled down to an extensive dinner of vegetable soup, mushroom tortellini, goat's cheese, berry and endive salad, ice cream and chocolate cake at Cafe de Paris before taking a taxi back up the hill to our little hotel room where we are drinking wine and feeling rather tired after a very satisfactory day.
When we pulled back the curtains yesterday we were dazzled and delighted by the sight of a glorious blue sky. We wolfed down our breakfast and ran out into the warm, sunny day with bare legs and joy in our hearts (and a better understanding of the importance of weather for an excellent holiday). We walked down Avenue de Liberdade, a wide avenue lined by posh hotels and some shops, to the main square at Rossio. Fountains, cobblestones and general prettiness abounded and we both felt absolutely in love with Lisbon. We walked down through pedestrianised streets to the spot where one catches the 28 tram. This is a very famous route, a 45 minute meander though the steep, narrow, picturesque streets of Graca and Alfama, on hills east of the centre, aboard a delightful old wooden tram. Though in fact I put us on the direct tram by mistake and after a very pretty 15 minutes, we were unceremoniously asked to disembark.
And so to our first lookout point, aka miradour, a popular concept that involves a beautiful view over Lisbon and the river, preferably accompanied by drinks. We duly ordered beers and sat with our books, gazing out over the fantastic vista in the blazing sunlight. After our drinks, and a little read, Lonely Planet walking tour in hand, we followed the winding roads past tiny, Moorish streets of quite glorious charm, til we hit our lunch spot, Chapito, a lovely little restaurant with the obligatory excellent view, attached randomly to a circus school. Roz and I enquired about their vegetarian options, then in a moment of confusion ordered them all. Soon we were facing an absolutely enormous plate of potatoes, two large mozzarella and tomato toasties, and a frankly massive salad that involved ricotta, the first time I'd eaten this since I was sick in New York. I was almost sick again at the memory it brought back... Roz soldiered on masterfully...
After lunch, we continued our walk, which led to the pretty Sao Jorge castle. We didn't go in (horrible queue for tickets), but walked around the outside, and up and down the adjacent pretty streets, with ice cream. All was quite lovely til a combination of new shoes and dodgy ankles and vertical cobbled slopes sent me sprawling to the ground with a sprained ankle. Alas right in front of the giant queue for the castle. As I sat on the ground clutching my leg, Roz ran back up the hill to a nearby cafe and persuaded them to give her a bag of ice. The queue watched with interest as I applied this to my ankle before eventually getting up inelegantly and limping pathetically towards the exit. Alas the Alfama was not a place where one grabs a taxi, so we sat in the patio of the extremely posh hotel Palacio Belmonte and while I sipped an odd drink that tasted like melted vanilla ice cream, Roz had a quick beer and went in search of an open pharmacy for an ankle bandage. Alas the Alfama on Easter Sunday is not the place to find such a thing, but the elevation and ice persuaded me to be well, and we slowly made our way to another fantastic viewpoint, and then slowly down the hill past cafes and quaint little shops back to Rossio. Which thankfully had a pharmacy with a plethora of ankle bandage options. Ah, we never feel it's really a holiday til we've been to a pharmacy... (a tradition started when Roz and I fell down the big hole in Cambodia...).
Our next mission was to hunt down an English Language bookshop for Roz, whose Kindle has randomly died. We located one called FNAC in Chiado, a few minutes' walk away, and whiled away a pleasant half hour browsing and buying. Then we walked down the hill, past a mad street elevator designed by the protegee of the Eiffel Tower architect, apparently, and into a taxi home.
Being that most restaurants in Lisbon are closed on a Sunday, and in fact this was Easter Sunday, it seemed fairly likely that we were going to have a dining challenge. However, I was foolishly undeterred by the lack of phone answering from either our chosen restaurant or chosen bar, so we glammed up and marched with confidence, only to find that - not surprisingly - both were firmly closed. We started walking towards the centre, wishing we'd worn cardigans as the night became cool and everyone else was clad in warm jackets... We veered up a side street in search of another restaurant listed in our book. Weirdly it was a scary side street of alarming people shouting things at us so, having spotted that the restaurant in question was closed, we retreated and commenced an hour-long wander around town, fruitlessly searching for a restaurant that was a) open, b) had a vegetarian option on its menu, c) had an indoor seating option, and d) had more than one person in it. Cold, tired and hungry, we were beginning to give up hope, when we popped into the Altis Hotel at Rossio. Hooray - success! By now 9pm, we wearily zoomed up to the 7th floor, to find an attractive restaurant randomly filled with gay boys, and offering a range of vegetarian food. The joy!
Alas the joy was not to last - despite a practically full restaurant, the manager had invested in a mere two waiters. As such, the service was shockingly slow. But the food was tasty, and a glass of champagne later, we were feeling in fine humour. By the time a taxi delivered us back to the hotel, it was quite a civilised bedtime.
Which alas did not save us from the jetlag! Up as usual by 7:30am, we decided to get up, have breakfast and - having checked out from our hotel - take a taxi down to the waterfront to hire bikes. Alas the taxi refused to understand where we wanted to go, so yet again it was a stroll down the Avenue. Iberia Bikes were fantastic - friendly, efficient, and enthusiastic. We were furnished with two bicycles, and pointed in the direction of Belem, a suburb of Lisbon containing UNESCO world heritage sites, art, parks, and world-famous custard pastries (Lisbon's specialty). The route was a really lovely 8km cycle path along the waterfront. With the sun sparkling off the water and singing our newly suntan lotioned skin, we zoomed along past yachts and cruise ships and attractive restaurants and quirky museums, to the tower of Belem, a sandcastle-like structure in the water, and stopped for drinks and a large crepe at a waterside cafe before pushing our bikes down an underpass and emerging in Belem itself.
Belem is a pretty place and we may have to return sans bike to explore it further. Lots of lovely parks, fountains, and amazing buildings. Of course I made a beeline for the famous pastry place. Roz craftily directed us to a table, thus avoiding massive queues for take-away tarts, and the pastries were everything one could hope of a custard tart (and a delightful waiter). After the tart action, we cycled to the ferry terminal and took a commuter ferry - just for the fun of it - to the south side of the river, pretty little beachy villages, it seemed. And back again in time for a return to the previous cafe for mozzarella and tomato sandwiches and lots of lemonade.
By the time we cycled back to the cycle hire place, our skin was pink and our legs were weary. We were greeted warmly by the bike hire girls, and grabbed a taxi back to our hotel. We wondered at the odd route the taxi driver was taking, but soon all became clear - there was a huge march happening, right outside our hotel and all the way down the Avenue! It turns out 25th April is the Carnation Revolution, celebrating the coup that ended Portugal's dictatorship regime. Bags in hand, and taxis looking unlikely, we set off yet again down the Avenue, alongside the parade. Random.
We got to the train station in Rossio, which is oddly unmarked, though for the past couple of days we'd been wondering what the fancy building was... and hopped on a 45 minute train to Sintra, described as a fairytale Eden by the guidebooks, and our base for the next two days. I probably should have scrutinised the map before we arrived and I led Roz on a wild goose chase in several wrong directions... but eventually we arrived at the Nova Sintra Hotel, climbed up many, many steps, and were established in a cute little attic room by a very sweet hotelier.
Sintra village itself is 1.5km away from our hotel, so after a quick shower, we set out to explore. It does indeed seem to be a fairytale type of place, with thick forests, fabulous cartoon-like castles, turrets, and quirky sculptures, and a town square right out of a book. We had a quick drink, a quick explore, and settled down to an extensive dinner of vegetable soup, mushroom tortellini, goat's cheese, berry and endive salad, ice cream and chocolate cake at Cafe de Paris before taking a taxi back up the hill to our little hotel room where we are drinking wine and feeling rather tired after a very satisfactory day.
Sunday 24 April 2011
In which Layla and Roz start feeling like Lisbon locals
by Layla
Having enjoyed a hotel buffet breakfast, Roz and I sauntered out onto the street in our sandals and bare legs, only to retreat on a gust of wind and rain to our room, to increase our layers and pick up an umbrella. Back out again, we walked up the hill to the Museu Calouste Gulbenkian, where we looked at a couple of modern art exhibitions and wandered round a large collection of art items from around the world - think Roman vases, etc. And found ourselves in the cafe, having rather a pleasant lunch of pastries and salads. We'd really been aiming for the modern art museum but missed it in the profusion of museums, and instead headed back up another hill (Lisbon is rather hilly, it seems) to a local cinema, where we joined the queues of enthusiastic cinema-goers, delighted in the revelation that most films originally in English are subtitled in Portugese, rather than dubbed, and settled down to a most enjoyable screening of Jane Eyre.
After the film we emerged to unexpected sunshine. After a speedy bit of impromptu clothes shopping inspired by Roz spotting a yoga place and wanting the appropriate garb, should she choose to take a lesson, we walked up the hill to Parque Eduardo VII where we were delighted to find a pretty little cafe by a duck pond. We sat down in the sun and drank beer and contemplated dining options for the rest of the holiday. And started to feel hungry.
After our drinks, and a return to the hotel for me to make lots of Skype-based restaurant reservations, and both of us to glam up a tad, we walked to our chosen restaurant of the evening, Mezza Luna. This rather nice Italian had the merit of being near our hotel, and it had a lovely bustling vibe of locals enjoying themselves. A tomato soup for me, and spinach and goat's cheese salad fpr Roz, followed by an aubergine/spaghetti thing for Roz and a vegetable pasta thing for me. Amusingly, as I pulled out something that might have been a hair or might just as well have been part of a vegetable from my plate, it was whisked away from under my eyes without explanation. Eventually a second one was brought, as I sat, non-plussed. Clearly they took hair-in-the-food possibility very seriously indeed! Surprisingly for me, I couldn't face a pudding, so after lingering over a nice Portugese wine, we strolled back to the hotel. We'd contemplated going to a bar. By 10pm the jet lag refused to consider such a thing, so we succumbed to bed.
Having enjoyed a hotel buffet breakfast, Roz and I sauntered out onto the street in our sandals and bare legs, only to retreat on a gust of wind and rain to our room, to increase our layers and pick up an umbrella. Back out again, we walked up the hill to the Museu Calouste Gulbenkian, where we looked at a couple of modern art exhibitions and wandered round a large collection of art items from around the world - think Roman vases, etc. And found ourselves in the cafe, having rather a pleasant lunch of pastries and salads. We'd really been aiming for the modern art museum but missed it in the profusion of museums, and instead headed back up another hill (Lisbon is rather hilly, it seems) to a local cinema, where we joined the queues of enthusiastic cinema-goers, delighted in the revelation that most films originally in English are subtitled in Portugese, rather than dubbed, and settled down to a most enjoyable screening of Jane Eyre.
After the film we emerged to unexpected sunshine. After a speedy bit of impromptu clothes shopping inspired by Roz spotting a yoga place and wanting the appropriate garb, should she choose to take a lesson, we walked up the hill to Parque Eduardo VII where we were delighted to find a pretty little cafe by a duck pond. We sat down in the sun and drank beer and contemplated dining options for the rest of the holiday. And started to feel hungry.
After our drinks, and a return to the hotel for me to make lots of Skype-based restaurant reservations, and both of us to glam up a tad, we walked to our chosen restaurant of the evening, Mezza Luna. This rather nice Italian had the merit of being near our hotel, and it had a lovely bustling vibe of locals enjoying themselves. A tomato soup for me, and spinach and goat's cheese salad fpr Roz, followed by an aubergine/spaghetti thing for Roz and a vegetable pasta thing for me. Amusingly, as I pulled out something that might have been a hair or might just as well have been part of a vegetable from my plate, it was whisked away from under my eyes without explanation. Eventually a second one was brought, as I sat, non-plussed. Clearly they took hair-in-the-food possibility very seriously indeed! Surprisingly for me, I couldn't face a pudding, so after lingering over a nice Portugese wine, we strolled back to the hotel. We'd contemplated going to a bar. By 10pm the jet lag refused to consider such a thing, so we succumbed to bed.
Saturday 23 April 2011
In which Roz and Layla say farewell to Georgia and visit three countries in one day
by Roz
We decided to follow a tip of the tour guide from the day before for dinner, and thus hopped into a taxi over the river to a restaurant called “In the Shadow of Memphis”. Stepping inside, it was soon very clear that this was a much fancier place than we’d been to before and we sat down with enthusiasm to discover what fancy cheese pies taste like. The restaurant was huge but – despite the early-ish hour (we were both conscious that the next day would bring us a very early start indeed) – there were already enough people to make it feel bustling. Layla nabbed the good view, looking over the river, whilst I took the noble seat (the one which makes me responsible for signalling to waiters and which also means I cannot avoid making eye contact with musicians). We ordered a fairly wide selection (from bean pie, to beans in a pot to grilled vegetables) together with some lovely local red wine. And, though none of the dishes were novel to us, all were exceptionally delicious. It proved to be a very pleasant evening, with musicians and a lovely atmosphere. It was therefore without enthusiasm that we returned to the hotel early to attempt to get some sleep before our 4am start.
It’s best to pass over the early taxi ride, followed by the early flight and skip to landing in Kiev at 8ish in the morning. It was brilliant sunshine and Layla had told me that the airport was a mere 8km away from the city and thus our best option would be a cab. We thus hoped into a metered cab and sped off. 20 minutes later we were stopped in hideous traffic, the meter was reading a high price and we entirely uncertain as to whether the taxi was taking us somewhere mad or whether we were both just unable to guess what 8km feels like in a car. Given our taxi driver’s lack of English (and our own lack of Russian and Ukrainian) we were somewhat stumped, until I took the plunge, turned on data roaming and started googling. I established that, in fact, we had arrived in an airport some 40km from the city centre, and that the worst thing one could do on arrival was to pick up a metered cab. I informed Layla of just one of these pieces of information…
Having finally arrived in the main square, handed over pretty much all our cash (with considerable bitterness), we gazed around us at what was clearly a huge, pretty city with some trepidation (for which read sleepiness). We thus made our way to a café, where we hung out for a couple of hours, making good use of our books, the wifi, whilst also sampling (repeatedly) delicious curd pancakes. Feeling somewhat restored we were then ready to go on a (free) three hour walking tour. And what a brilliant tour it was! Our guide was a sweet guy, though somewhat overwhelmed by the numbers that had turned up for the tour that day. We saw amazing churches with fab golden onion domes, learnt about how the design of a hotel demonstrated the differences between Stalin and Krushchev, walked down cobbled streets and generally fell in love with Kiev. We muttered to each other as we staggered after the guide in beautiful sunshine that we should have definitely come on holiday to the Ukraine – a thought that was only appeased by the recollection that we have thousands of holidays to take in the rest of our lives, and we’ll probably manage to fit Ukraine in! I think the thing we both liked most were the statutes. Unlike the UK (where the focus is on war memorials), Kiev is populated with lots of lovely little fun statues. Of lamppost lovers, of trees with chairs, of cats, of cartoon characters and many more. Truly fab.
Which is not to say that by hour 2, I wasn’t fading and feeling in great need of a sit down, a cup of tea and some chocolate. Alas these things were not forthcoming (other than a Bounty which Layla managed to nab from a kiosk in passing) and so I wasn’t entirely sorry when the tour drew to a close. Before staggering to a café, we had spoken to the tour guide who had promised to sort out a cab for us back to the airport (at a third of the price it had cost on the way there) and we thus tucked into beers, and late lunch items (omelette for Layla, mozzarella and tomato salad for me) at an outdoor cafe with enthusiasm and considerable admiration of Kiev.
Back at the airport, we planned a sneaky helping of potato skins and cheese in TGI Fridays (the vegetarian food on Ukrainian Airlines being somewhat disappointing and consisting, consistently, of rice with either sultanas or mushrooms). Alas in this we were frustrated, and our potato skins were brought with cheese and bacon (and then brought back twice more, with increasing amounts of bacon having been picked off) and so we staggered, slightly resentfully, onto the plane, to eat…rice and mushrooms. We landed in Lisbon and I persuaded Layla that we should go straight to bed (she was up for a wander, but I felt 21 hours of being awake was more than enough for me). Which may explain why I am awake at an early hour this morning…
We decided to follow a tip of the tour guide from the day before for dinner, and thus hopped into a taxi over the river to a restaurant called “In the Shadow of Memphis”. Stepping inside, it was soon very clear that this was a much fancier place than we’d been to before and we sat down with enthusiasm to discover what fancy cheese pies taste like. The restaurant was huge but – despite the early-ish hour (we were both conscious that the next day would bring us a very early start indeed) – there were already enough people to make it feel bustling. Layla nabbed the good view, looking over the river, whilst I took the noble seat (the one which makes me responsible for signalling to waiters and which also means I cannot avoid making eye contact with musicians). We ordered a fairly wide selection (from bean pie, to beans in a pot to grilled vegetables) together with some lovely local red wine. And, though none of the dishes were novel to us, all were exceptionally delicious. It proved to be a very pleasant evening, with musicians and a lovely atmosphere. It was therefore without enthusiasm that we returned to the hotel early to attempt to get some sleep before our 4am start.
It’s best to pass over the early taxi ride, followed by the early flight and skip to landing in Kiev at 8ish in the morning. It was brilliant sunshine and Layla had told me that the airport was a mere 8km away from the city and thus our best option would be a cab. We thus hoped into a metered cab and sped off. 20 minutes later we were stopped in hideous traffic, the meter was reading a high price and we entirely uncertain as to whether the taxi was taking us somewhere mad or whether we were both just unable to guess what 8km feels like in a car. Given our taxi driver’s lack of English (and our own lack of Russian and Ukrainian) we were somewhat stumped, until I took the plunge, turned on data roaming and started googling. I established that, in fact, we had arrived in an airport some 40km from the city centre, and that the worst thing one could do on arrival was to pick up a metered cab. I informed Layla of just one of these pieces of information…
Having finally arrived in the main square, handed over pretty much all our cash (with considerable bitterness), we gazed around us at what was clearly a huge, pretty city with some trepidation (for which read sleepiness). We thus made our way to a café, where we hung out for a couple of hours, making good use of our books, the wifi, whilst also sampling (repeatedly) delicious curd pancakes. Feeling somewhat restored we were then ready to go on a (free) three hour walking tour. And what a brilliant tour it was! Our guide was a sweet guy, though somewhat overwhelmed by the numbers that had turned up for the tour that day. We saw amazing churches with fab golden onion domes, learnt about how the design of a hotel demonstrated the differences between Stalin and Krushchev, walked down cobbled streets and generally fell in love with Kiev. We muttered to each other as we staggered after the guide in beautiful sunshine that we should have definitely come on holiday to the Ukraine – a thought that was only appeased by the recollection that we have thousands of holidays to take in the rest of our lives, and we’ll probably manage to fit Ukraine in! I think the thing we both liked most were the statutes. Unlike the UK (where the focus is on war memorials), Kiev is populated with lots of lovely little fun statues. Of lamppost lovers, of trees with chairs, of cats, of cartoon characters and many more. Truly fab.
Which is not to say that by hour 2, I wasn’t fading and feeling in great need of a sit down, a cup of tea and some chocolate. Alas these things were not forthcoming (other than a Bounty which Layla managed to nab from a kiosk in passing) and so I wasn’t entirely sorry when the tour drew to a close. Before staggering to a café, we had spoken to the tour guide who had promised to sort out a cab for us back to the airport (at a third of the price it had cost on the way there) and we thus tucked into beers, and late lunch items (omelette for Layla, mozzarella and tomato salad for me) at an outdoor cafe with enthusiasm and considerable admiration of Kiev.
Back at the airport, we planned a sneaky helping of potato skins and cheese in TGI Fridays (the vegetarian food on Ukrainian Airlines being somewhat disappointing and consisting, consistently, of rice with either sultanas or mushrooms). Alas in this we were frustrated, and our potato skins were brought with cheese and bacon (and then brought back twice more, with increasing amounts of bacon having been picked off) and so we staggered, slightly resentfully, onto the plane, to eat…rice and mushrooms. We landed in Lisbon and I persuaded Layla that we should go straight to bed (she was up for a wander, but I felt 21 hours of being awake was more than enough for me). Which may explain why I am awake at an early hour this morning…
Thursday 21 April 2011
In which Roz and Layla explore cave monasteries, eat more cheese pies, and have the top layers of their skin removed by enthusiastic old ladies
by Roz
We left you as we were about to wander out of our studio flat in search of dinner. This sounds quite a peaceful activity, but in fact is terrifying, since Freedom Square is huge, with a fair numbers of cars hurtling towards you in a way that does not encourage crossing the road. But we finally dashed across and made our way into the Old Town, to go to the highly recommended restaurant Teremok. It's been designed to look like a Russian cottage (to the extent of having a witch on broomstick perched in a corner) and is supposed to be famous for it's blinis (little round pancakes of which I am particularly fond). Alas, I failed to find this on the menu (probably due to my own inadequacies rather than them not being there) and my order of a cheese pancake produced...a very English cheese pancake. Which was nevertheless nice, and I felt encouraged to move outside the box and onto a cheese and mushroom pancake thereafter. Neither of us are able to remember what Layla had - she suggests it was a bean pie, but I think that it was something a little more exciting than that. But it was all perfectly pleasant and washed down with local beer.
From there we wandered down to a very sweet street full of pavement cafes, bars and restaurants (having dodged the road works) to Cafe Kala. It's allegedly a gay-friendly bar (and there certainly seemed to be a lot of men in parties of 2), and we drank local wine, and Layla ate a giant dessert. Life music started after awhile, which made the whole atmosphere even more jolly and we stayed til late. And certainly didn't pick up an ice cream on the way home: that would have been greedy.
The next day brought with it the horror of a comparatively early start (7.30 - long after we are usually up in the UK!). We dashed down to Entree (creatures of habit / respite from the cheese pies) for a quick breakfast prior to our guide's arrival at the cafe. We were heading out to Davit Gareja, described by Lonely Planet as "the most remarkable of all Georgia's ancient sites". It was a fairly long drive.
And now by Layla (Roz got distracted by her book!)
Indeed, the drive to Davit Gareja involved going out into the countryside, past farms and tiny villages and into an odd landscape described by our guide as 'semi-desert', and by Lonely Planet as 'a lunar landscape'. In fact the description that seemed most accurate was our guide's 'this used to be the sea bed'. Far out in the middle of this surreal scene is a monastery, built in the 4th Century and carved into hills and caves. We had never seen a cave monastery - for which Georgia is rather famous - so it was with much interest that we explored, finding it is a working monastery, complete with monks who were dressed curiously like, well, chavs (neds). It was a fascinating, isolated spot and after touring the main monastery (we were the only tourist other than a man who looked as though he was on a solo church tour) our guide, clad in city shoes and not in any way resembling a hardened climber, pranced up into the hills behind the monastery like a mountain goat, leaving Roz and me wheezing in her wake. But a lovely opportunity to walk in the Georgian countryside.
Next up was lunch, in a random isolated roadside restaurant, where our guide and driver ordered an array of vegetarian Georgian food and we ascertained that we've successfully pretty much tasted everything Georgian. We wolfed down another cheese pie, and an array of vegetables and bread, washed down with luminous green lemonade, before hopping back into the car and driving through Kacheti, also known as wine country. According to our guide, almost everyone in Georgia knows someone with a vineyard, from whom they get their wine. And each village has different grapes. They stopped the car at the roadside for us to buy a weird long thing that looked like a sausage but was in fact walnuts in some kind of wine product. Odd but tasty.
Onwards to Bodbe Convent (alas we were not holy enough to be allowed down to the holy spring, but the murals on the walls were fab) and then to Sighnaghi. When we'd planned to stay longer in Georgia I'd planned three nights in this mountain wine town. Three minutes were enough to make me feel relieved that we hadn't done so. The ambience wasn't helped by the chill and gales blasting us as we walked through the town, but clearly there wasn't a great deal going on. We went to a winemaker, of the label Pheasant's Tears, for a wine tasting. We tried four wines and a very strong spirit, accompanied by some cheese and bread, while the very enthusiastic owner showed us round his little place, being done up for the summer tourists into a cafe. And we visited Georgia's version of the Las Vegas chapel of love. Indeed, one only need turn up there, and pay one's money to the adjoining bank, and one can be immediately married. Presumably this is why Sighnaghi is known as the city of love... We also climbed up into the city walls and towers and were almost blown off by the violent gusts of wind. We retreated to the car just as the first raindrops fell, and settled down to listen to our audiobooks and watch the countryside go by til we arrived back at our apartment.
We relaxed with beer and chocolate before heading out for dinner, to another Georgian restaurant where I managed to order mushroom dumplings. Despite all her best efforts, Roz found herself with yet another cheese pie. But the ambience was cheery, and we enjoyed it all. We grabbed some more beers and chocolate from a corner shop and headed home to watch a rather rubbish DVD I'd bought, before it was off to bed.
Today we reveled in our last long lie (tomorrow we get up at 4am) and then got up and went to Entree for another predictable but satisfying breakfast. Then Roz wanted to go to an art exhibition we'd seen advertised all over town - Vestiaires and the fashion scene by Lappartient. It was at the top of Rustaveli, in a spectacular round glass building, with a wonderful winding ramp going up to the top, with pictures displayed on the walls between the windows, and then it opened to the air at the top, at which point one crossed the roof, and went down the other ramp, to see the other half of the exhibition, plus the somber security guards led us to two little rooms where there were very effective and atmospheric projections of fashion slides and music. A rather beautiful experience, in a wonderfully 'shabby chic' and impressively designed building. Rather like being in the Guggenheim... only better.
After the art, we headed to the old town where we wandered around the art galleries and little shops, and ate soup in the Grand Cafe, where Roz found that - disaster - her Kindle (e-book device) had died. That's the last time we rely on electronic books on holiday! We'd planned a wander in the botanical gardens, but as the blue sky gave way to ominous grey, we decided to proceed straight to our other destination: the sulphur baths. However, instead of getting a private room, this time we were going to understand what the locals found so compulsive about the baths and go communal!
We were told that the bath itself wasn't open, but that we could have a shower and sauna. This sounded inoffensive, if rather an anti-climax. Soon we were to learn that this wasn't so. We mounted the stairs and found ourselves in a women's changing room, presided over by a large woman and her sweet little daughter. Women of all shapes and sizes sat on the benches, either fully clothed or entirely stark naked. They gestured for Roz and me to sit. We sat. And waited... It was soon clear that we had no idea what was going on. Luckily, eventually one of the women took us under her wing. It seemed to operate on a one-in-one-out system, and soon, amid the fully clothed old ladies, we were being instructed to strip by charade. Our belongings trapped in a locker, we crept with terror through the door indicated. And found ourselves in a big shower room. There was someone in each cubicle, washing themselves (clearly having brought soap and shampoo for the purpose) in the sulphur water. We stood, perplexed. Until two large ladies wearing small pants sidled up on either side...
Before long Roz and I were both lying on a ceramic ledge having most of our skin removed by said ladies brandishing violent loofah gloves. We were scrubbed and pummeled and every so often a boiling bucket of water was suddenly sloshed over us. We emerged, missing the top layer of our skin, and regrouped under a sulphur shower. We then popped upstairs and used the sauna, before heading back to the gauntlet of the changing room where our belongings were liberated. Shiningly soft-skinned, we fled back to our apartment via the ice cream shop, and packed our bags in anticipation of tomorrow's flight to Kiev. At a disgustingly early hour.
We left you as we were about to wander out of our studio flat in search of dinner. This sounds quite a peaceful activity, but in fact is terrifying, since Freedom Square is huge, with a fair numbers of cars hurtling towards you in a way that does not encourage crossing the road. But we finally dashed across and made our way into the Old Town, to go to the highly recommended restaurant Teremok. It's been designed to look like a Russian cottage (to the extent of having a witch on broomstick perched in a corner) and is supposed to be famous for it's blinis (little round pancakes of which I am particularly fond). Alas, I failed to find this on the menu (probably due to my own inadequacies rather than them not being there) and my order of a cheese pancake produced...a very English cheese pancake. Which was nevertheless nice, and I felt encouraged to move outside the box and onto a cheese and mushroom pancake thereafter. Neither of us are able to remember what Layla had - she suggests it was a bean pie, but I think that it was something a little more exciting than that. But it was all perfectly pleasant and washed down with local beer.
From there we wandered down to a very sweet street full of pavement cafes, bars and restaurants (having dodged the road works) to Cafe Kala. It's allegedly a gay-friendly bar (and there certainly seemed to be a lot of men in parties of 2), and we drank local wine, and Layla ate a giant dessert. Life music started after awhile, which made the whole atmosphere even more jolly and we stayed til late. And certainly didn't pick up an ice cream on the way home: that would have been greedy.
The next day brought with it the horror of a comparatively early start (7.30 - long after we are usually up in the UK!). We dashed down to Entree (creatures of habit / respite from the cheese pies) for a quick breakfast prior to our guide's arrival at the cafe. We were heading out to Davit Gareja, described by Lonely Planet as "the most remarkable of all Georgia's ancient sites". It was a fairly long drive.
And now by Layla (Roz got distracted by her book!)
Indeed, the drive to Davit Gareja involved going out into the countryside, past farms and tiny villages and into an odd landscape described by our guide as 'semi-desert', and by Lonely Planet as 'a lunar landscape'. In fact the description that seemed most accurate was our guide's 'this used to be the sea bed'. Far out in the middle of this surreal scene is a monastery, built in the 4th Century and carved into hills and caves. We had never seen a cave monastery - for which Georgia is rather famous - so it was with much interest that we explored, finding it is a working monastery, complete with monks who were dressed curiously like, well, chavs (neds). It was a fascinating, isolated spot and after touring the main monastery (we were the only tourist other than a man who looked as though he was on a solo church tour) our guide, clad in city shoes and not in any way resembling a hardened climber, pranced up into the hills behind the monastery like a mountain goat, leaving Roz and me wheezing in her wake. But a lovely opportunity to walk in the Georgian countryside.
Next up was lunch, in a random isolated roadside restaurant, where our guide and driver ordered an array of vegetarian Georgian food and we ascertained that we've successfully pretty much tasted everything Georgian. We wolfed down another cheese pie, and an array of vegetables and bread, washed down with luminous green lemonade, before hopping back into the car and driving through Kacheti, also known as wine country. According to our guide, almost everyone in Georgia knows someone with a vineyard, from whom they get their wine. And each village has different grapes. They stopped the car at the roadside for us to buy a weird long thing that looked like a sausage but was in fact walnuts in some kind of wine product. Odd but tasty.
Onwards to Bodbe Convent (alas we were not holy enough to be allowed down to the holy spring, but the murals on the walls were fab) and then to Sighnaghi. When we'd planned to stay longer in Georgia I'd planned three nights in this mountain wine town. Three minutes were enough to make me feel relieved that we hadn't done so. The ambience wasn't helped by the chill and gales blasting us as we walked through the town, but clearly there wasn't a great deal going on. We went to a winemaker, of the label Pheasant's Tears, for a wine tasting. We tried four wines and a very strong spirit, accompanied by some cheese and bread, while the very enthusiastic owner showed us round his little place, being done up for the summer tourists into a cafe. And we visited Georgia's version of the Las Vegas chapel of love. Indeed, one only need turn up there, and pay one's money to the adjoining bank, and one can be immediately married. Presumably this is why Sighnaghi is known as the city of love... We also climbed up into the city walls and towers and were almost blown off by the violent gusts of wind. We retreated to the car just as the first raindrops fell, and settled down to listen to our audiobooks and watch the countryside go by til we arrived back at our apartment.
We relaxed with beer and chocolate before heading out for dinner, to another Georgian restaurant where I managed to order mushroom dumplings. Despite all her best efforts, Roz found herself with yet another cheese pie. But the ambience was cheery, and we enjoyed it all. We grabbed some more beers and chocolate from a corner shop and headed home to watch a rather rubbish DVD I'd bought, before it was off to bed.
Today we reveled in our last long lie (tomorrow we get up at 4am) and then got up and went to Entree for another predictable but satisfying breakfast. Then Roz wanted to go to an art exhibition we'd seen advertised all over town - Vestiaires and the fashion scene by Lappartient. It was at the top of Rustaveli, in a spectacular round glass building, with a wonderful winding ramp going up to the top, with pictures displayed on the walls between the windows, and then it opened to the air at the top, at which point one crossed the roof, and went down the other ramp, to see the other half of the exhibition, plus the somber security guards led us to two little rooms where there were very effective and atmospheric projections of fashion slides and music. A rather beautiful experience, in a wonderfully 'shabby chic' and impressively designed building. Rather like being in the Guggenheim... only better.
After the art, we headed to the old town where we wandered around the art galleries and little shops, and ate soup in the Grand Cafe, where Roz found that - disaster - her Kindle (e-book device) had died. That's the last time we rely on electronic books on holiday! We'd planned a wander in the botanical gardens, but as the blue sky gave way to ominous grey, we decided to proceed straight to our other destination: the sulphur baths. However, instead of getting a private room, this time we were going to understand what the locals found so compulsive about the baths and go communal!
We were told that the bath itself wasn't open, but that we could have a shower and sauna. This sounded inoffensive, if rather an anti-climax. Soon we were to learn that this wasn't so. We mounted the stairs and found ourselves in a women's changing room, presided over by a large woman and her sweet little daughter. Women of all shapes and sizes sat on the benches, either fully clothed or entirely stark naked. They gestured for Roz and me to sit. We sat. And waited... It was soon clear that we had no idea what was going on. Luckily, eventually one of the women took us under her wing. It seemed to operate on a one-in-one-out system, and soon, amid the fully clothed old ladies, we were being instructed to strip by charade. Our belongings trapped in a locker, we crept with terror through the door indicated. And found ourselves in a big shower room. There was someone in each cubicle, washing themselves (clearly having brought soap and shampoo for the purpose) in the sulphur water. We stood, perplexed. Until two large ladies wearing small pants sidled up on either side...
Before long Roz and I were both lying on a ceramic ledge having most of our skin removed by said ladies brandishing violent loofah gloves. We were scrubbed and pummeled and every so often a boiling bucket of water was suddenly sloshed over us. We emerged, missing the top layer of our skin, and regrouped under a sulphur shower. We then popped upstairs and used the sauna, before heading back to the gauntlet of the changing room where our belongings were liberated. Shiningly soft-skinned, we fled back to our apartment via the ice cream shop, and packed our bags in anticipation of tomorrow's flight to Kiev. At a disgustingly early hour.
Tuesday 19 April 2011
In which Layla and Roz embark upon a Georgia/Ukraine/Portugal holiday and see many sophisticated views...
by Layla
The decision of where to go on holiday has been rather... frustrating. We started off with Japan. But, having bought the tickets and started to get very excited, the earthquake, tsunami and nuclear dramas meant that would not have been a great plan. So we managed to cancel our tickets and get our money back. For hours we scrutinised our travel books: where would the perfect place be to go on holiday at the end of April? We almost chose Uzbekistan but then, at the last minute decided on Armenia. Until our friend told us that Georgia was a cooler place, and sure enough the travel books did seem to say it was excellent. Much musing later, we booked a flight in to Tbilisi, Georgia, and out of Yerevan, Armenia, two weeks later. And then we realised that April is the month of rain in the Caucusus, and furthermore most entertainments were of the outdoorsy walking variety. The thought of two weeks huddled in the rain made us feel miserable as we watched raindrops dominate the weather forecasts of both capitals, til we could bear it no more. We cancelled the flight home from Yerevan and, since we couldn't cancel the Tbilisi flight, planned a deranged combination of flying in to Tbilisi, staying for 5 nights, flying to Kiev for the day, then flying to Lisbon (which had lots of big suns on its weather forecast) for ten nights, before flying back to London. Simple!
And so on Sunday (me having been to a wedding in Glasgow the night before), I met Roz at Gatwick airport and we boarded a flight to Tbilisi. We arrived after 11pm and noted that it was in fact not raining. Having taken a taxi to our hotel, Citadines Apartments, just on Freedom Square, a handy location halfway between the old and new town, we dumped our suitcases and headed out. We walked along Rustaveli, the Champs Elysee of Tbilisi, with its wide streets and beautiful parliament and theatre buildings, in search of a late night drink. We ended up in 'Cafe Near Opera' which was very attractive, but somewhat deserted - which was perhaps unsurprising for 1am on a Sunday night... but they served us G&Ts and we settled down to read the very informative Georgian newspaper cheerily before I started to yawn and we headed for home.
The next day we awoke in dismay to the sight of raindrops, all too similar to those promised on the weather forecast. Donning our coats and clutching a black and pink spotty umbrella, we braved the deluge. By the time we reached Entree - an upscale Georgian chain bakery, we were wet and hungry. Fortunately, a pain au chocolat, a pain aux raisins, and some coffee and juice later, the rain had stopped, we were cheerily sated, and we ventured out into the now-dry street. We decided to follow the Lonely Planet's city walking tour, and set off back down Rustaveli, around Freedom Square and into the Old Town. We walked through streets of very ramshackle homes, and popped out near the river on a pretty pedestrianised street where we spotted a cafe and decided it was high time for lunch! The restaurant, which was probably Sans Souci, was rather sweet, with the bonus of a menu translated into English, and the flaw of having three English men at the table next to us. We contemplated what their relationship might be, while picking our food - assorted Georgian cheeses and bread for Roz, and a sort of kidney bean stew type item for me. Both options were delicious, particularly washed down with local beer as we watched the Georgian locals go by.
After lunch, the walking tour route was disturbed by the whole road being dug up, so we took a detour along by the river, stopped for drinks at another little random cafe where we whipped out our Kindles and had a little read, marvelled at a second batch of three male tourists, then continued the tour, got a little lost, and a random Georgian man came to our rescue, though it turned out we had two quite different destinations in mind. Roz and I were aiming for the famous Tbilisi sulphur baths; this man assumed we were going to Narikala Fortress. By the time he had walked us part of the way up the hill, pointed to a near-vertical road disappearing into the clouds and insisted 'there is a most sophisticated view', there was no polite way to extricate ourselves... so we decided to go in search of the promised sophisticated view. Up and up we climbed til we were at the fortress, which was fun and allowed us to climb right along the walls with a beautiful view of Tbilisi and, one imagines, of the Caucasus mountains if there was less mist.
Having taken in what was we could not deny was indeed a sophisticated view, we descended and found the Orbeliani Baths, a beautiful Portugese-style tiled building with both communal and private baths. In our confusion about what to do and our lack of Georgian language skills, we found ourselves in a private bath. Essentially this meant a little room in which to get changed, a bathroom, and a large, steamy room with a very hot, deep sulphur water bath at one end. We sank into this bath which was quite pleasant, though rather toasty, and soon I was feeling dizzy from the heat. We weren't quite sure what to do, but we stayed a while, and then got out, at which point I realised the folly of wearing a silver ring in a sulphur bath - the silver had turned completely... well, sort of purpley-gold. And not in a good way! Alas... Luckily our wedding rings emerged unscathed!
We were exhausted and wanted to take a taxi home, but failed to explain where we wanted to go, so found ourselves walking home past big old churches and a tempting ice cream shop (where I possibly had an ice cream cone... and Roz had a coffee). And then collapsed exhausted on the bed. At which point I decided to be a hero and go out in search of plug adapters. We'd foolishly only brought American adapters and as girls trialling a Kindle-dependent holiday, a lack of charger (and thus a lack of reading materials) was a fate worse than death! Thank goodness, having crossed the giant road by way of an underpass filled with people selling random stuff and a heavy metal band, I eventually located a shop and invested in two chargers. Back at the hotel, Roz's phone spluttered gratefully back into life, and we gasped in relief as our book life seemed now assured.
We settled down to watch one of the many DVDs we'd bought in case of non-stop rain - on this occasion I Do, which was a very charming and appealing French romcom, and scrutinised our guidebooks for dinner options. We settled on Dzveli Sakhli, down by the river and just one terrifying multi-lane motorway to dash across. One alarming thing about Tbilisi is its massive roads, with only an occasional underpass to enable crossing them. No such luck last night! We eventually reached the restaurant, gasping with relief, and were placed directly in front of a little band playing and singing Georgian music at quite a volume. Luckily my back was to them - Roz spent much of our dinner having to make eye contact with the clarinet player... And we marveled at our third batch of three male tourists that day.
Our hopes of delicious Georgian food have not yet absolutely lived up to expectations, but we are managing to find plenty to eat. We ordered a Georgian classic, khachapuri, essentially a big cheese pie with cheese on top. Also lobiani, which was a pie with beans in it, pkhali, which involved vegetables and walnuts in some sort of dip, and tasty corn bread. Tasty. If excessive... After dinner we walked home via Caravan, a nice little quirky bar/restaurant with a literary theme, where Roz had some local beer and I had some local wine... and a large plate of pancakes and cream. Ahem. Followed by a stroll home through the pretty streets of Tbilisi, feeling very fond of the city.
This morning we awoke to blue skies (and a weather forecast for Lisbon of torrential rain). We hopped out of bed and back to Entree for breakfast, before setting off on a long walk up Rustaveli, with its glamorous shops, little metal figurine street art, beautiful buildings and at the top, a large McDonalds. Then we went through a poorer area where there were quite a few beggars (Roz admonished me for physically removing a little girl whose hands were going into her pocket in search of money), and onwards to the poshest area, Vake, home to the university and a few chain stores popular in the UK such as Next and Accessorize. We walked all the way to the park, where I'd hoped to take the cable car to the top. But alas the cable car was stationary and deserted, and so we retraced our steps to a random (and very popular with locals) cafe for some lobiani and bean stew based lunch, and then caught a taxi to halfway up the park's hill where we went into the outdoor ethnographic museum. After Borneo and Romania, we are getting familiar with these museums that essentially involve transplanting old houses from various parts of the country to an open air park, where signs are affixed to describe the sort of time they were built and who lived in them. This version was perhaps the shabbiest we've seen but still quite nice, with a 'sophisticated view' too. We went into a few of the houses, where unusually there was a person awaiting us to tell us about the history of the house and its contents. In one there was an odd man with a cat enthusiasm - he introduced us to his many cats. Random. But rather pleasing.
After viewing a sufficient number of houses, which were really quite interesting, we caught a taxi back into town, booked a tour out of the city for tomorrow, and settled down with coffee (Roz) and milkshake (the little girl Layla) in the courtyard of a lovely English-language bookstore (Prospero's Books) and cafe (Caliban's Coffee).
And now we are back in our hotel room having a pre-dinner siesta and wondering what version of cheese and beans we'll be eating tonight. And trying not to look at the Portugal weather forecast...
The decision of where to go on holiday has been rather... frustrating. We started off with Japan. But, having bought the tickets and started to get very excited, the earthquake, tsunami and nuclear dramas meant that would not have been a great plan. So we managed to cancel our tickets and get our money back. For hours we scrutinised our travel books: where would the perfect place be to go on holiday at the end of April? We almost chose Uzbekistan but then, at the last minute decided on Armenia. Until our friend told us that Georgia was a cooler place, and sure enough the travel books did seem to say it was excellent. Much musing later, we booked a flight in to Tbilisi, Georgia, and out of Yerevan, Armenia, two weeks later. And then we realised that April is the month of rain in the Caucusus, and furthermore most entertainments were of the outdoorsy walking variety. The thought of two weeks huddled in the rain made us feel miserable as we watched raindrops dominate the weather forecasts of both capitals, til we could bear it no more. We cancelled the flight home from Yerevan and, since we couldn't cancel the Tbilisi flight, planned a deranged combination of flying in to Tbilisi, staying for 5 nights, flying to Kiev for the day, then flying to Lisbon (which had lots of big suns on its weather forecast) for ten nights, before flying back to London. Simple!
And so on Sunday (me having been to a wedding in Glasgow the night before), I met Roz at Gatwick airport and we boarded a flight to Tbilisi. We arrived after 11pm and noted that it was in fact not raining. Having taken a taxi to our hotel, Citadines Apartments, just on Freedom Square, a handy location halfway between the old and new town, we dumped our suitcases and headed out. We walked along Rustaveli, the Champs Elysee of Tbilisi, with its wide streets and beautiful parliament and theatre buildings, in search of a late night drink. We ended up in 'Cafe Near Opera' which was very attractive, but somewhat deserted - which was perhaps unsurprising for 1am on a Sunday night... but they served us G&Ts and we settled down to read the very informative Georgian newspaper cheerily before I started to yawn and we headed for home.
The next day we awoke in dismay to the sight of raindrops, all too similar to those promised on the weather forecast. Donning our coats and clutching a black and pink spotty umbrella, we braved the deluge. By the time we reached Entree - an upscale Georgian chain bakery, we were wet and hungry. Fortunately, a pain au chocolat, a pain aux raisins, and some coffee and juice later, the rain had stopped, we were cheerily sated, and we ventured out into the now-dry street. We decided to follow the Lonely Planet's city walking tour, and set off back down Rustaveli, around Freedom Square and into the Old Town. We walked through streets of very ramshackle homes, and popped out near the river on a pretty pedestrianised street where we spotted a cafe and decided it was high time for lunch! The restaurant, which was probably Sans Souci, was rather sweet, with the bonus of a menu translated into English, and the flaw of having three English men at the table next to us. We contemplated what their relationship might be, while picking our food - assorted Georgian cheeses and bread for Roz, and a sort of kidney bean stew type item for me. Both options were delicious, particularly washed down with local beer as we watched the Georgian locals go by.
After lunch, the walking tour route was disturbed by the whole road being dug up, so we took a detour along by the river, stopped for drinks at another little random cafe where we whipped out our Kindles and had a little read, marvelled at a second batch of three male tourists, then continued the tour, got a little lost, and a random Georgian man came to our rescue, though it turned out we had two quite different destinations in mind. Roz and I were aiming for the famous Tbilisi sulphur baths; this man assumed we were going to Narikala Fortress. By the time he had walked us part of the way up the hill, pointed to a near-vertical road disappearing into the clouds and insisted 'there is a most sophisticated view', there was no polite way to extricate ourselves... so we decided to go in search of the promised sophisticated view. Up and up we climbed til we were at the fortress, which was fun and allowed us to climb right along the walls with a beautiful view of Tbilisi and, one imagines, of the Caucasus mountains if there was less mist.
Having taken in what was we could not deny was indeed a sophisticated view, we descended and found the Orbeliani Baths, a beautiful Portugese-style tiled building with both communal and private baths. In our confusion about what to do and our lack of Georgian language skills, we found ourselves in a private bath. Essentially this meant a little room in which to get changed, a bathroom, and a large, steamy room with a very hot, deep sulphur water bath at one end. We sank into this bath which was quite pleasant, though rather toasty, and soon I was feeling dizzy from the heat. We weren't quite sure what to do, but we stayed a while, and then got out, at which point I realised the folly of wearing a silver ring in a sulphur bath - the silver had turned completely... well, sort of purpley-gold. And not in a good way! Alas... Luckily our wedding rings emerged unscathed!
We were exhausted and wanted to take a taxi home, but failed to explain where we wanted to go, so found ourselves walking home past big old churches and a tempting ice cream shop (where I possibly had an ice cream cone... and Roz had a coffee). And then collapsed exhausted on the bed. At which point I decided to be a hero and go out in search of plug adapters. We'd foolishly only brought American adapters and as girls trialling a Kindle-dependent holiday, a lack of charger (and thus a lack of reading materials) was a fate worse than death! Thank goodness, having crossed the giant road by way of an underpass filled with people selling random stuff and a heavy metal band, I eventually located a shop and invested in two chargers. Back at the hotel, Roz's phone spluttered gratefully back into life, and we gasped in relief as our book life seemed now assured.
We settled down to watch one of the many DVDs we'd bought in case of non-stop rain - on this occasion I Do, which was a very charming and appealing French romcom, and scrutinised our guidebooks for dinner options. We settled on Dzveli Sakhli, down by the river and just one terrifying multi-lane motorway to dash across. One alarming thing about Tbilisi is its massive roads, with only an occasional underpass to enable crossing them. No such luck last night! We eventually reached the restaurant, gasping with relief, and were placed directly in front of a little band playing and singing Georgian music at quite a volume. Luckily my back was to them - Roz spent much of our dinner having to make eye contact with the clarinet player... And we marveled at our third batch of three male tourists that day.
Our hopes of delicious Georgian food have not yet absolutely lived up to expectations, but we are managing to find plenty to eat. We ordered a Georgian classic, khachapuri, essentially a big cheese pie with cheese on top. Also lobiani, which was a pie with beans in it, pkhali, which involved vegetables and walnuts in some sort of dip, and tasty corn bread. Tasty. If excessive... After dinner we walked home via Caravan, a nice little quirky bar/restaurant with a literary theme, where Roz had some local beer and I had some local wine... and a large plate of pancakes and cream. Ahem. Followed by a stroll home through the pretty streets of Tbilisi, feeling very fond of the city.
This morning we awoke to blue skies (and a weather forecast for Lisbon of torrential rain). We hopped out of bed and back to Entree for breakfast, before setting off on a long walk up Rustaveli, with its glamorous shops, little metal figurine street art, beautiful buildings and at the top, a large McDonalds. Then we went through a poorer area where there were quite a few beggars (Roz admonished me for physically removing a little girl whose hands were going into her pocket in search of money), and onwards to the poshest area, Vake, home to the university and a few chain stores popular in the UK such as Next and Accessorize. We walked all the way to the park, where I'd hoped to take the cable car to the top. But alas the cable car was stationary and deserted, and so we retraced our steps to a random (and very popular with locals) cafe for some lobiani and bean stew based lunch, and then caught a taxi to halfway up the park's hill where we went into the outdoor ethnographic museum. After Borneo and Romania, we are getting familiar with these museums that essentially involve transplanting old houses from various parts of the country to an open air park, where signs are affixed to describe the sort of time they were built and who lived in them. This version was perhaps the shabbiest we've seen but still quite nice, with a 'sophisticated view' too. We went into a few of the houses, where unusually there was a person awaiting us to tell us about the history of the house and its contents. In one there was an odd man with a cat enthusiasm - he introduced us to his many cats. Random. But rather pleasing.
After viewing a sufficient number of houses, which were really quite interesting, we caught a taxi back into town, booked a tour out of the city for tomorrow, and settled down with coffee (Roz) and milkshake (the little girl Layla) in the courtyard of a lovely English-language bookstore (Prospero's Books) and cafe (Caliban's Coffee).
And now we are back in our hotel room having a pre-dinner siesta and wondering what version of cheese and beans we'll be eating tonight. And trying not to look at the Portugal weather forecast...
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