The Hills of Belem

The hotel offers a pretty extensive breakfast, both self-serve (for breads, cheeses, some meats like Iberian ham, fruits, and cereals) and prepared for you (like omelets and other egg dishes).

When I sauntered down the stairs around 9, I took advantage of the self-serve portion, consumed cups of coffee and glasses of orange juice, and generally felt human again. Ah, what glorious sleep can do!

Last night I had originally planned to go uphill to the Principe Real (where there are shops, restaurants, and bars), so this morning I decided to do a bit of a spazierengang around the area. The morning was cool and delicious, and the light was again just absolutely gorgeous.

I don’t think I talked yet about the light here. It’s as if the sun decided to be objectively honest, but instead found itself moved by the beauty of the city, and so casts a warm, steady glow. It’s as if the sun appreciates the land, the colors of the buildings, and the quality of the air. Some parts of California have this light, though I’ve yet to see it in a city. It isn’t the orangey color of sunset, but there’s none of the cool light of the North. I suspect I’ll see this light in Spain, too. This explains so much about the people here.

For instance, when I stumble about their language, sometimes conflate Spanish and Portuguese, I can tell that they’d like to snicker and I see a smile take root on their face, but they always blossom with kindness and patience, and they support me so that I don’t fall. I like them.

But I digress. I went from the relative stillness of the warren of streets to the bustle of the streets. What is odd is that the walkers, strollers, and idlers were few, but the cars were hurtling along at full pace. It felt like a Sunday on a Tuesday. I took photos of couples on a bench as the light flowed over them. I walked around the Botanical Garden, with its cool green stillness.

When it was time to check out, I saddled up and rode towards Belem. Belem is where the Tagus river meets the Atlantic. It’s the point where the Portuguese explorers of the 15th century departed and returned. Where their plundered wealth of gold and people arrived. And where I had booked a room at an AirBnB.

The ride was easy at first and then became super sketchy and I had to ride the sidewalk. It turns out that I missed a turn which would have taken me to the beautiful, wide bike path along the river. Instead, I was getting further into the rush of vehicles queueing up to go across the bridge.

I should have received the message from the Universe that going here was a bad idea. Whenever the going is unnecessarily difficult—when life is throwing up multiple obstacles—it is a good time to reassess whatever you’re thinking. I had booked my second night in Lisbon in Belem, thinking that it would be great to see another side of the big city (and be closer to the originators of the Pastel de Nata!). What I wasn’t prepared for was the hill. I think it was just one, but wow.

It took maybe 40 minutes to ride from Lisbon to Belem. It took a full hour to go the last mile or so uphill. And I rode (or pushed at a few points when the sidewalk thinned to where I had to walk in the road with my bike on the narrow, raised ledge that pretended to be a sidewalk. When cars and buses came up the hill I jumped up onto the ledge and turned my handlebars so that they wouldn’t stick out into the road. I’m not exaggerating.

It was past noon now, and the heat was coming on. I was drenched in sweat, very tired, and a bit pissed that the beautiful calm of the morning was exchanged for a totally unnecessary and unrewarding effort. When I finally arrived at the AirBnB, I knew I wouldn’t stay. Staying would complicate things. If I wanted to go anywhere, I’d have to come back up the hill. Sure, I could leave the bike and take the bus, but then I’d have to negotiate schedules, payments, and the like, and at the time I didn’t have the energy.

I found a place on booking.com, near the waterfront in Lisbon’s old town. I hoped it wouldn’t be up too many hills, and if so, it was only five blocks away, so I knew I could manage.

The AirBnB host wasn’t happy when I told her that I wouldn’t be staying. I assured her she could keep the fee and endured her many attempts to convince me to stay. It smelled like smoke, though she tried otherwise, and the barking dog next door, well, they were both deterrents. It probably would have been fine, of course, just different than I wanted. But to get to a restaurant would mean going halfway down that hill and then back up. So I left.

The way back was a breeze. Literally! It was so cool near the river, though it was getting on to 3 PM. I stayed on the path to Lisbon’s center and it was effortless and lovely. The flat was a few level blocks, though they were as congested with traffic as the average American’s arteries.

Check in was simple. The shower was welcome, and when I went out to buy some coffee for the morning, I could easily come back to the flat to drop it off and then head back out again.

I ate a lovely grilled salmon dinner that was among the best I’ve had.

It’s the freshness of the fish, the waiter said. He spoke no less than 5 languages, easily switching among Portuguese, English, French, German, and Italian—those were the ones I heard at nearby tables. I watched the light linger and then suddenly leave the pedestrian street, like concert-goers streaming out of a venue. I tried a glass of Ginja, their local cherry liqueur. (Delicious! Not cloying but light and bright with cherries.)

And then I walked back to the flat, among the strollers and groups where were finishing up their dinners or drinking and laughing at tables outside the bars. I listened for a while to a busker who played klesmer music followed by Volaré. I repeatedly turned down one guy’s offer to buy hashish (Really good price. Just one gram?) I was happy with my decision to stay in the new flat rather than Belem.

This was just the experience I was hoping to have.

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