Sat 13 June - Lisbon

As a break, we decided to don city wear and head for Lisbon, 45km to the south, to take advantage of a free wine tasting at the Sala da Vinhas in the city centre. We chose the slow route in and ended up chasing our tail around some of the outskirts when searching for the airport which seemed like a good place to park as well as recce for our planned flight out on the following Tuesday. We made it eventually, took a taxi into town (18 rather than the 5 euros expected for the fare) and turned up expectantly at the appointed place. Despite all the published info, it was shut for two days! Apparently, the two Portugese public holidays of the previous week had not been sufficient to give these good people their due rest.

Disappointed, we lumbered around the tourist area and the steep, narrow streets of the old town below the Castela without seeing much to interest us. We headed back toward the Centro de Commerce in search of a late lunch. Down a side road, there were plenty of tables set out and as we ambled down we were persuaded to take our seats by a young man who spoke good english. Although we assumed him to be a local, he in fact came from the Punjab and was serving in an Italian Restaurant that served Portugese food! As we ate, we were entertained by a talented street busker from Brazil. A thoroughly cosmopolitan experience for our meal of grilled sardines (M2) and boiled salt cod with chick peas (M1). Partly mollified but with the knowledge that we hadn’t done justice to this fine city, we boarded a bus back to the airport to recover to the Santa Cruz ghetto. But not without another high level brush between the van and a sun awning on the way out of the car park. Fortunately, no damage to either!

To avoid the depression of the camp site, we biked down to the sea front again as the wind picked up, the temperature dropped and the skies darkened. Cafe Bernard, although empty, beckoned to us mostly to get warm again. We received a bright welcome, a young waiter, Michael, of Portugese descent but who had lived in Switzerland for may years, scurried around and practised his English on us in a good hearted way. He was replaced by a more mature, ebullient Jose who worked hard for his tip but he faded away when we added this to the Visa card payment to the management. Nevertheless, the speciality Sopa de Marisco was excellent to finish the day better than it had started. A dash back up the hill without lights on the bikes fuelled with a little alcohol made the final night in Belsen just about bearable.