Day Four – And Then Came the Rains

Day Four – And Then Came the Rains (December 30, 2010)

This morning after a nice lie-in, we made our way eventually to the riverfront at the Praça do Comércio, having stopped briefly for a coffee and pastry for breakfast. We spent some quality time taking photographs of random people as well as the old trams which are still in use before jumping on the only new one around for our ride to Belém to visit the tower and monastery as well as have lunch.

The tram was incredibly crowded; it seemed that we weren’t the only ones planning on touring the monastery today. After a slightly uncomfortable half hour trip, we made it to Belém and piled out of the tram. As we were walking across the road towards the giant building of the monastery, I felt the first few droplets of rain on my face. These turned out to be the outriders of one of the largest downpours I’ve ever seen – by the time we made it to the safety of one of the giant doors; both Jamie and I were completely drenched.

We got our umbrellas out of my backpack and went to look at the queue to get into the monastery proper – it was huge, even with the rain. We decided that discretion was the better part of valour and went to find a restaurant for an early lunch. We stopped at the first one we came across that looked half decent and went in – we were the only ones there.

We avoided the salt cod, having had our fill yesterday, and chose the oven roasted chicken and veal, with a bottle of red wine to share. Both turned out to be quite tasty, and the wine as always was excellent for the price. By the time we were finished, the place was absolutely heaving with not a spare seat to be had and a queue out the door.

From there we walked along the riverfront to the Torre de Belém, getting only slightly lost on the way (why they decided to put a break in the river frontage is beyond me...they’ll probably say something about having to be able to get to the docks on the other side, but that just sounds like excuses to me).

As we are very cheap sometimes, we decided not to pay to go into the tower, as it is just a tower. I know that many people will disagree with this, and argue that it is so much more, and has historical significance and a depth of meaning and history, but I argue that I only have so many euros to spend on this trip, and I’d rather spend them on wine than going into towers that I don’t really know much about to start with. We did, however, take many photos of the outside, entirely for free.

Photos taken, hair appropriately wind-swept (it was still very windy, although no longer raining), we walked over the pedestrian overpass to look for the tram back to either the Monastery or Lisbon, depending on the queue at the Monastery.

Unfortunately, some poor idiots had managed to have an accident on the tram tracks and everything was shut down. We managed to find a tram sitting on the track just before the accident site with its doors open, and being very clever, we jumped on board (after first checking with the somewhat bemused conductor, who couldn’t understand why we’d want to sit on a tram that wasn’t moving – he hadn’t checked the accident site as we had, and didn’t know that they were about to tow away the second of the two offending cars, thus clearing the track. Beyond that, if we went to the next stop, everyone who had been waiting at that stop would be waiting to get on and it would be chaos, whereas we would ALREADY BE ON, and have seats).

All our cleverness was for nought, however, as the tram stopped at the very next stop (as they do) and conductor announced that this particular tram was in fact terminating right there. Damnit! We had to get off the tram and stand with the rest of the non-clever plebs and wait for the next tram, on which we didn’t even immediately get a seat. So annoying. Plus, the queue at the Monastery was actually longer than earlier, so we didn’t even want to do that. We decided to go back to Lisbon central to calm our shattered nerves with a medicinal glass of wine or port.

We managed to get to the big pedestrian street in the Chiado before we felt those few fateful and portentous drops of rain that seem to presage a deluge here in Lisbon. Fortunately for us, we happened to be standing directly beside an outdoor yet covered cafe, which was convenient. We commandeered a table for four which one lone guy was sitting at (it was raining, desperate times and all) and ordered two glasses of wine, just for something different. We spent an enjoyable half hour or so watching people and enjoying our very tasty yet reasonably priced beverages before deciding that the rain, which had been so furious, had abated to a degree that would allow us to continue our walk up the road.

It turns out that the pedestrian street that runs on the middle of Chiado is excellent for window shopping and photography. We did quite a bit of both before feeling a few more sprinkles and diving into the first likely looking covered outdoor bar that would could find. We shared another half-bottle of somewhat decent vinho tinto (red wine, I’m almost fluent at this point). This particular location was somewhat less advantageous for people-watching, being located just behind the very busy Restauradores, so after our drink(s) we left, heading back to the hotel to refresh ourselves before our massive dinner which had been planned for the evening.
Dinner was at the oddly named 100 Maneires (or something very similar), the restaurant I’d had the extended and repeated conversations with the previous night.

As we are not so good with the weather, we had decided not to bring our umbrellas with us, thinking that the worst of the rain must be behind us. We were wrong. It was torrential. As if the heavens themselves had opened and those who had not the foresight to build large boats would find themselves in serious difficulties. Despite this, we arrived at the door of the restaurant at 7:40 for our 8pm reservation. This, apparently, is not the done thing.

We pressed what appeared to be a buzzer at the unlit and vastly not-open front door, and waited under the overhand of the balcony above the door, wondering what to do next. The rain continued. A man on a motorcycle arrived with plastic carrier bags tied over his shoes, parked next to us, removed said carrier bags, and then went into the front door of the restaurant, closing it firmly behind him. We were astounded by his audacity, as he’d even commented on the terrible weather before sliding past us and through the portal to warmth and light. I was not impressed, and was seriously thinking of leaving for the restaurant around the corner that I’d read about in a magazine the previous day. Instead, I knocked loudly on the door, waited a few minutes, then knocked again, even more insistently.

The door was opened by a chef-looking guy who seemed startled to see us. I explained that we had reservations for 8pm that night, but that we were a bit early by 10 minutes but could we come inside as we were getting drenched in the rain. He was clearly taken aback by this request, and said quite shortly that no, they open at 8pm and we must wait. In this rain, I asked? He merely shrugged and repeated that they opened at 8pm, and then closed the door firmly. I started walking up the road, away from the restaurant.

Jamie called me back, wanting to give them another chance. A few angry and very damp minutes later, the door opened and Mr. Motorcycle Man invited us in, saying that they don’t open until 8, and were still cleaning, but they’d rather have us wait inside in the dry than stand outside in the cold and rain. By this time, unfortunately, the crowd had grown to about 9 of us, all of whom were wet and a bit annoyed. Jamie and I went in and stood awkwardly in the doorway as the woman who had come in behind us asked why she was made to wait in the rain when she clearly had reservations at 7:45 that evening?

This was the beginning of rather a theme for the rest of the evening. It seems that the owners of the restaurant had actually opened two restaurants with THE SAME NAME, a few blocks away from each other. There is no indication on the website that this is the case; they share the same business card, the same email address, and the same reservations phone number. Apparently the owners don’t feel that this could be confusing, however the general public does. While we were there, no fewer than 7 groups discovered that they’d made reservations at the other branch and were turned away. One very angry woman even went through the trouble of filling out a form in The Complaints Book – a book of complaints that as far as we can tell every business in Portugal has to have, with forms in triplicate, and far-reaching and severe implications. On the plus side for us, we were given a free glass of champers to apologise for losing our reservations from the previous night and making us wait in the rain.

Fortunately, the quality of dinner made up for the annoyances encountered in getting in. At this particular branch of the restaurant, they only offer a 10 course tasting menu, with no options (other than for children or allergies). It was bloody fantastic. We’ve eaten at some of the best restaurants in the world, from Michelin Three Stars to rural bistros in France run by people who simply love food, to my dad’s barbequed salmon (caught fresh in the Pacific earlier that day...not by my dad but close enough). This was up there with the best that we’d had. I could get very pretentious and comment on the finer points of the balance of flavours on some of the dishes, or plating, but that would miss the point (other than the reservation process – that was atrocious). This meal cost €35 each, but would have been at least double if not triple in London or Paris. I would come back to Lisbon simply to eat there again.

After dinner, we stumbled down the side-streets in Bairro Alto, discovering yet another side of Lisbon – the back alley bars which only seem to open after the sun has gone down. I can imagine that in the heat of the summer, this is the absolute place to be in Lisbon. Even in the drizzle and relative chill of late December, there were loads of people about having a good time (including one insistent young man who seemed to be convinced that my lifelong desire was to buy some hash from him). We bar-hopped down the alley, enjoying some very tasty beverages as we went, before finally making our way to the metro station at Baixa-Chiado and heading for home.