That drink with each new place to level me & put me in touch with a new spot on the map
We find excuses to explore the many bairros of Lisbon—the city, much like Paris, is more a collection of villages than one monochromatic town. Perched on a hill overlooking the lower quarters on the river, Campo de Ourique survived the Read More …
Last year, the cold of early January struck us hard, but we warmed our hearts (if not our hands) by heading down to Marvila and wrapping those hands around a succession of beers. The Festa dos Reis put on by Read More …
Before launching into Tryanuary 2019, here are five of my favorite Portuguese craft beers from 2018: First up: the very local SIN Mag8 Setais NEIPA from Sintra. 6,3% abv; Meyer lemon peel nose; Tropical fruits on the palate; Creamy & Read More …
The only real joy to be found in an overly popular tourist attraction lies in squeezing something unexpected from the experience. I’d been several times to Cabo da Roca, the westernmost point in continental Europe, in Portugal, with visiting friends Read More …
Lisbon’s both a reminder to me of so many cities in Europe, but also like no other place I’ve known. It’s the first Paris of my memories, the Budapest of my dreams. Some liken it to Rome, for its supposed Read More …
We attack shopping at El Corte Inglês like it’s a major international expedition, which it is: We’re strangers in a strange land. It’s going into foreign territory to leave our quiet town and subject ourselves to the Mall. It takes Read More …
Nothing prepares you for the scale of the Açores islands. A short, two-hour flight from Lisbon (or twice that from Boston), and you’re there—this impossibly green flotilla of masted ships clinging loosely to each other in the midst of the Read More …
In Portugal you’re either a Sagres fan or a Super Bock one. But there’s no town called Super Bock. So, regardless of your heart’s affiliation (because there’s no accounting for any major taste difference), it seems a fitting rite of Read More …
I keep the balcony’s sliding glass door open to the breeze, which washes up from the Atlantic down the hill. Thank goodness they aren’t picking me up til 6 pm, I think, as I roll over again in the stiff Read More …