Félicette

Posted on June 10, 2024 by admin

Another gabfest has come and gone: the 10th anniversary event, since the first one was held on June 14, 2014. This should have been the actual 11th event, but it was only the 10th, since we skipped 2020. Or maybe I should consider it the 11th event anyway, like how the Olympics still regard the canceled Games (1916, 1940, 1944) as numbered Olympiads (VI, XII and XIII, respectively).

This year, rain came on Saturday afternoon, so for the first time, we stayed indoors, and I cooked the hamburgers and sausages inside, though I cooked inside in ’17 because of high winds. We had the same good old time, with old friends eating and drinking and talking, without reference to any hand-held electronic communications gizmos.

The main beer drinker didn’t come this year, as he was ill, so what little alcohol we drank consisted of white wine. With cat astronauts on the label. Today the weather was better, so I posed the bottle outside on the deck table.

The wine, which is French, is called Félicette. After a cat that the French shot into space in 1963.

We all know about Laika and Ham and Enos, and even Pigs in Space, but not Félicette. Could be she’s more famed in the French-speaking world. Good to know. Might even be a Trivial Pursuit answer. When was the last time I played that? Not since sometime in the 20th century, I think.

Portuguese Mix

Posted on June 6, 2024 by admin

Early last year, I ordered a number of 4″ x 6″ tabletop flags from an online vendor that doesn’t happen to be Amazon. I have pocket change and postcards and tourist spoons and all kinds of bric-a-brac from the places I’ve been, so why not flags? One for each nation I’ve visited.

So I ordered a Portuguese flag last week, to add to the collection. While Macao was still administrated by Portugal when I visited in 1990, it was too much of a stretch to say I’d been to Portugal, until last month.

Something I never noticed on the flag – behind the shield of Portugal, which has a lore of its own – is an armillary sphere, a model of objects in the sky. A navigators’ tool, among other things, which fits Portuguese history nicely. A cool design element.

We saw other representations of the globe — terrestrial or celestial — at Pena Palace in Sintra.

This one at Jerónimos Monastery.

For sale at the Cod Museum, canned fish. At fancy prices.

For sale at a Portuguese grocery store, canned fish. At everyday prices.

In case you didn’t buy enough canned fish in the city, at the airport there’s a branch of Mundo Fantástico Da Sardinha Portuguesa, a sardine store on the Praça do Rossio.

For once, the Google Maps description is accurate: “Souvenir shop showcasing fancy tins of Portuguese sardines in a wacky, circuslike atmosphere.” You can even sit on a sardine throne.

The “Beer Museum” off Praça do Comércio seemed more like a restaurant and bar, but anyway you have to have a beer at a place like that, and I did. A Portuguese brew whose name I was too much on vacation to remember.

I wasn’t awed by the beer, which was good enough, but I was awed by this display. That’s one artful wall of beer.

We didn’t make it to the castle overlooking Lisbon (Castelo de São Jorge), so I can’t comment on the view from there. I will say that the roof of our hotel offered a pretty good one.

Looking up at the city is another kind of vista. There’s a ferry port (and subway station) on the Tagus near Praça do Comércio. Step outside there, and some of the city is visible. The stone tower is part of Lisbon Cathedral.

We emerged from the subway one morning and spotted this.

Monumento aos Mortos da Grande Guerra. I had to check, and found out that about 12,000 Portuguese soldiers died in WWI, including in France but also fighting the Germans in Africa. The memorial is on Av. Da Liberdade.

Europe, in my experience, is pretty good at putting together leafy boulevards.

That’s a tall order for a sandwich shop. We didn’t investigate the claim, either the number of steps, nor the state of mind.

At Basílica de Nossa Senhora dos Mártires, we encountered this fellow.

Rather Roman looking, and I mean the ancient Roman army, not “prays like a Roman with her eyes on fire.” At first I thought he might be Cornelius the Centurion, but the key clue is HODIE (“today”) written on the cross, meaning he’s Expeditus. I don’t ever remember seeing him depicted in a church. The patron of urgent causes, among other things.

We saw a flamenco show in Barcelona last year, but no fado in Lisbon. We did see a fado truck, however.

We ate at the Time Out Market Lisboa twice.

There was a reason it was crowded. Everything was a little expensive, but really good. Such as this place, whose grub was like Shake Shack.

The last meal of the trip wasn’t at Time Out Lisboa, but a Vietnamese restaurant with room enough for about 20 people. It too was full.

Spotted at one of the subway stations we passed through more than once. Alice in Wonderland‘s fans are international in scope.

On the whole, the Lisbon subways are efficient and inexpensive, and the lines go a lot of places. Even so, elevator maintenance did seem to be an issue. There were times when our tired feet would have appreciated an elevator, but no go.

Scenes from Parc Eduardo VII, which includes green space and gardens but also elegant buildings.

There was an event there that day, at least according to those blue signs, that had something to do with the Portuguese Space Agency. I didn’t know there was such a thing. I’d have assumed Portugal would participate in the ESA, and leave it at that. But no, the Agência Espacial Portuguesa was founded in 2019, and is looking to create a space port in the Azores.

We didn’t investigate the event any further, but we did look at the tiles on the building. Nice.

Among the kings of Portugal, there was no Edward VII – only one Edward, who reigned from 1433 to 1438 – so when I saw it on the map, I figured it was for the British monarch of that regnal name. Yes, according to Wiki: “The park is named for King Edward VII of the United Kingdom, who visited Portugal in 1903 to strengthen relations between the two countries and reaffirm the Anglo-Portuguese Alliance.”

Lisbon manhole covers. Maybe not as artful as some of the other street details on Lisbon, but not bad.

I saw S.L.A.T. a fair amount. Later, I looked it up: Sinalização Luminosa Automática de Trânsito – Automatic Traffic Light Signaling.

Museu Calouste Gulbenkian

Posted on June 5, 2024 by admin

On the day after much climbing around the Sintra hills, that is, Friday, May 17, the idea of visiting the Calouste Gulbenkian Museum and the surrounding Calouste Gulbenkian Garden had a lot going for it. A reportedly great collection of art, for one thing, in a vivid green park. Just as important, it was walking distance from our hotel. A fairly short walking distance, with the interlude of a leisurely brunch on the way. Our last full day in Portugal was going to be leisurely.

The brunch. Mine anyway.

There are pancakes, as you might find in North America, but under the meat and eggs, a position that’s less common over here. Good pancakes too. Considering the cost of living in Portugal and the relatively strong dollar vs. the euro, we enjoyed high-quality breakfast food at IHOP prices.

Much has been written about the oilman Calouste Gulbenkian (d. 1955) elsewhere, for feats of industrialism and a colossal amount of philanthropy. Then there was the matter of collecting art, which he did with both hands.

Apparently he liked Lisbon a great deal, and who wouldn’t, especially after Paris got too hot in 1940. Much earlier, he and his family escaped Ottoman persecution, so while you can’t call such a wealthy fellow a refuge, he did feel the need to flee occasionally, along the way evolving into a shadowy British-Armenian billionaire with a massive art collection. These days, his artwork is in the museum named for him in Lisbon, developed by his posthumous foundation.

“When it comes to sheer diversity enhanced by the highest of standards, then the Gulbenkian Museum in Lisbon is in a category of its own,” the NYT reported in 1984. “Its collections range from art of the ancient Greeks to the Impressionists, from Iznik faience to Jacob armchairs made for Marie Antoinette, with a goodly complement of carpets, coins, tapestries, ivories and illuminated manuscripts thrown in…

“Unlike most other museums (the Frick is a significant exception), the physical plant has been designed to fit the collection, rather than the other way around. There are vast halls for carpets, and small rooms for silver, vitrines designed so that objects can be seen from every side, and all in such a way that nothing ever looks crowded. The light, too, is unusually good.”

The description is still accurate. The variety doesn’t hit you until you’re past a half-dozen galleries, but then it hits all at once. The aesthetic appetite of this oilman emulator of Le goût Rothschild spanned centuries and continents, and he had the means to act on it.

Among other things, I spent quality time with his ancient coin collection. Gulbenkian had examples from all around the Greek world in the first few centuries after the invention of coinage in Lydia. He had some from Lydia itself; some of the first coins ever.

A good number of Near Eastern carpets were on display, some near the floor lying flat and lightly roped off. To my eye, flawless works. They gave me the opportunity to pass along the idea (to Ann) that certain carpet markers of yore, perhaps Persians, deliberately included a small imperfection in their work because only God is perfect. Something I heard years ago, I don’t know where, and I can’t vouch for its accuracy, caveats that I also passed along. I’m not the only one to wonder.

The Gulbenkian Foundation complex, including the museum, didn’t open until until more than a decade after his death, and pretty much screams 1969.

The garden, lush in an Iberian May, takes some of the edge off the brutalism.

We visited the museum first, then strolled the garden afterward.

The museum includes an indoor-outdoor cafe, where we stopped for pastries late in mid-afternoon, sitting outside.

Note the birds. They were not afraid of people.

Not at all.

Sintra: The Moorish Castle

Posted on June 4, 2024 by admin

Pena Palace and the Moorish Castle (Castelo dos Mouros) aren’t very far from each other up in hilly Sintra. So close you can walk the narrow road for a few minutes to get from one to the other. Even if it starts to rain on you. We visited in the drizzle after our tour of Pena Palace.

Both sites were inspired by Romanticism, they say. But different takes on the ideal.

Pena Palace: Fancy Colorful Halls, The Romanticism of Kings.

Moorish Castle: Stony Ruins on High Hills, the Romanticism of Abandonment.

Romanticism guided the 19th-century quasi-redevelopment of the Moorish Castle, a ruin from Islamic times, modified after the Reconquista, abandoned and decaying by the time King Fernando II took an interest in 1840.

From the Sistema de Informação para o Património Arquitetónico on the Moorish Castle, machine translated:

“Military, medieval and romantic architecture. Castle with an irregular plan located on high ground, formed by two belts of walls, with the interior reinforced by five towers and several cubes with a quadrangular and circular plan and vertical elevations. The list includes a Visigothic chapel, rebuilt in the Romanesque period…

“The Moorish Castle, due to its geographical situation and robustness, was considered, together with that of Santarém, one of the main points of the military structure of Belata – a Muslim province that more or less corresponds to Ribatejo and Estremadura. The property underwent extensive renovations over time, with the character of a romantic ruin predominating…”

The rain added to the Moorish Castle’s romantic appeal, both in the poetic sense, and the sense that stirs amorous couples. If there were any couples around, that is; there weren’t many, or anyone else. Off the beaten path in this case turned out to be stony and steep and wet. Even so, worth the effort.

On the way up, we passed a mossy tomb.

Its sign said (in English, below the Portuguese): “The works promoted by King Ferdinand II damaged part of the Christian necropolis located around the church. A small tomb was thus built to lay the remains that been unearthed. The head stone bore the engraving of a crescent and a cross with the following epitaph: ‘What man has assembled only God can set apart,’ alluding to the fact that it was impossible to distinguish whether the human remains were Christian or Muslim.”

The climb continued. Where were those hiking poles when I needed them? At least one. Back in Illinois, that’s where. But we made it to one of the hilltops, with me trailing about five minutes behind.

That flag was one of a number flying over the ruins, and I believe it was the 19th-century flag of the kingdom, possibly as a tribute to Ferdinand II. The flag over the highest peak — we didn’t make it all the way up there — seemed to be the first banner of the kingdom, associated with the first king of Portugal, Afonso Henriques, who also happened to take the castle from the Moors.

We were tired on the return from the castle, but I have to say that even the stone path and the forest below had its romantic charms, even in the rain. King Fernando was on to something.

More of a light drizzle most of the time, except for the downpour waiting for the bus back out near the road. The various tuk-tuks and other for-rent vehicles that came by looking for business were tempting, but in the end the bus didn’t take that long. That was the only rain we had during our Portuguese days.

Sintra: Pena Palace

Posted on June 3, 2024 by admin

Sizable rain and cool air to welcome June on the first day of the month. But June in northern Illinois isn’t one for too much cool air, and temps came in very pleasant today. That means deck time.

I’m glad we saw the interior of Pena Palace (Palácio da Pena), up in the hills of Sintra. Otherwise I wouldn’t have made the acquaintance of this fellow.

A little context.

It isn’t too often you see grotesques that are that grotesque. Looks like that tree growing from his head gave him a screaming headache, and those fish tails for legs couldn’t be that comfortable, either.

He’s just a cast member at Pena Palace, which is an eclectic riot, a hilltop thrust of colors and fanciful towers. There are more than a few visitors on any given weekday in the spring.

Looks like a crunch, but it was anything but an ugly crowd. They were in a good mood. They’d come because they heard this is a place worth going to see. It is? Yes. Yes it is. They knew they wouldn’t be disappointed, except for those (few?) who are disappointed in everything.

It’s best, I think, to start by looking up at the palace, which luckily is how all visitors approach the architectural extravaganza.

The palace was built on the site of a ruined monastery, abandoned since – you guessed it, the 1755 earthquake. Surviving elements of the monastery were incorporated into the palace design, especially the cloister.

In other parts of the palace, you see kingly things. Such as the king’s office.

The king’s dishes.

The king’s state-of-the-art telephone.

The king being Carlos, sometimes styled Carlos I, though he was the only one of that name in Portugal. Carlos came to the throne in the late 19th century. His grandfather Ferdinand II got the ball rolling on development of the palace earlier in the century, tapping mining engineer, explorer of Brazil, and amateur architect Wilhelm Ludwig von Eschwege to design it, but Carlos was the last king to spend much time there.

Wiki lists Carlos’ cognomens as The Diplomat; The Martyr; The Martyred; The Oceanographer; The Hunter; The Painter King; The Obese. Quite a selection. Martyr points to Carlos’ fate, gunned down in Lisbon by anti-monarchists in 1908, along with his son and heir-apparent, Luís Filipe. It was a dangerous time for monarchs. And, as it turned out, a dangerous time for monarchy itself in Portugal.

The king might have had all those things above, but the queen – Queen Amelia, Carlos’ wife – had a terrace built for her. It probably got as crowded on the terrace during occasional events at the palace as it does now, but everyone would have been more formally dressed at those long-ago, long-forgotten gatherings.

When you take in the view, you forget about the crowds.

The monastery chapel also survived to be incorporated into the palace.

Inside are marble and alabaster works attributed to one Nicolas Chantereine, a French artist who did well for himself in 16th century Iberia.

There’s always more detail, especially in stone — more exuberant detail, wherever you look.

Wonder how often or whether Carlos wandered around the palace, with no crowds around, pondering the detail. Maybe as a way not to think about affairs of state or what to do about the rising tide of republicanism. Was there so much even he would discover bits he hadn’t noticed before? I can’t say for sure, but that’s entirely possible.

Sintra: Parque de Pena

Posted on June 2, 2024 by admin

Forty minutes west by train from the sweeping 19th-century Rossio Railway Station, formerly Lisbon’s main train station, is the municipality of Sintra, which is at the end of one of the lines from Rossio. The cost to get there is modest, €2.30 each way, plus €0.50 one-time for a magnetic card, and the trains come often, since it counts as a commuter line.

Like any modern city, Lisbon sprawls out from its center, including in the direction of Sintra, and people used a number of the intermediate stops. But maybe nine out of ten riders on the mostly full train to Sintra were tourists going to the end of the line. Or at least that happened mid-morning on May 16, a Thursday, when we joined them.

Besides suburban-ish districts – which in a Euro-context means apartment blocks and small shops close to stations – we passed an inordinate amount of graffiti on the way. Every manmade surface you could see from the train window seemed to be covered with it – concrete walls, signs, small towers and other fixtures. Mostly tedious signature-style graffiti, not depictions of any kind, though if you spend enough time in greater Lisbon, you can find enough of that. Either a few Portuguese graffiti makers have a lot of time on their hands, or many young (I assume) Portuguese try their hand at it. Or, for all I know, Portugal attracts taggers from around the EU.

As a settlement, Sintra isn’t a function of modern sprawl. People have been in the Sintra hills since Paleolithic times. More recently (on a scale that includes the Paleolithic), members of the Portuguese upper class, whatever the form they’ve taken over the centuries, made the place their own. That includes, most importantly for the purposes of attracting travelers, Portuguese royalty. The kings are gone, but their visible legacy lives on in the form of palaces and other structures, which packs ’em in, in our time.

One in particular is an enormous draw: Pena Palace.

“Around 1840, Ferdinand II turned a ruined monastery into a castle in which Gothic, Egyptian, Moorish and Renaissance elements were displayed,” UNESCO gushes just a bit about the palace, since the district is another of Portugal’s World Heritage Sites.

“He surrounded the palace with a vast Romantic park, unparalleled elsewhere planted with rare and exotic trees, decorated with fountains, watercourses and series of ponds, cottages, chapels and mock ruins, and traversed by magical paths. He also restored the forests of the Serra, where thousands of trees were planted to supplement the oaks and umbrella pines which made a perfect contribution to the romantic character of the Cultural Landscape of Sintra.”

Pena Palace is quite the sight, even from below.

We got to that view via a municipal bus that circles the hills, stopping at the train station and then a number of sights, and which comes every few minutes; and then a small bus belonging to the palace for a few euro more, to climb up the steep hill toward the palace. There were lines for each of these modes, but not a lot of waiting, so efficient is modern Sintra at shuffling around tourists.

One thing we’d been warned to do – I had been warned, via online guide sights – was reserve a time for the palace. I made no attempt to do so until the evening before, when the only tours available online were the last ones of the day. We weren’t sure we’d still be in Sintra then, so we didn’t book for then. A tramp around the grounds and a look at some of the other sights ought to be enough, we figured. But we did ask at the palace ticket counter around 11 if anything was available that day. Yes, 2:30, she said.

So we got to see the palace. But not before we had time to visit the garden – forest – Romantic greenery around the palace. The Parque de Pena. Which meant going down, since the palace is on a hilltop. Down lush hillsides.

But not always down.

Note the handful of people. This was in great contrast to the crowds waiting to get into the palace. Later, we also waited to get into the palace, so I don’t begrudge their massing at that place. Just pointing out that not far away, the crowds are gone.

Signs pointed to a number of features and how many meters you had to walk to reach them. We picked the High Cross. That name might have been a hint of the climbing that was to come. Admiring natural beauty might be a precept of the Romantic movement, but none of the Romantic poets (that I know of) dwelled much on how accessing said beauty might involve a tiring walk. Unless the original title was “Lines Written a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, and Boy Am I Tired.”

The climb was entirely worth it, I have to add. Eventually the path narrows and you reach the cross.

Later, when we had a view from the palace, we saw that the cross is at the highest point in these hills. As such it offers good views, though partly obscured by foliage and that day by haze.

Looking back at Lisbon.

The Atlantic Ocean’s out that way, I think.

Returning meant going down hill from the cross but eventually uphill again, to reach the palace. The visitor center cafeteria was open, and we had time to eat and especially drink before our mid-afternoon tour. It was a satisfying repast. We had no bad meals in Portugal, not even at a tourist cafeteria.

It was cool and cloudy the day we visited Sintra, but climbing the hills was still thirsty work.

The Jerónimos Monastery

Posted on May 30, 2024 by admin

If the Belém Tower and the Monument of the Discoveries were about Portuguese ventures into the world, the nearby Jerónimos Monastery shows one thing they brought back: immense wealth. Taxes needed to be paid on the incoming wealth, of course, and a certain large part of those levies went to build Mosteiro dos Jerónimos. The Hieronymite monks who lived there for a few centuries were tasked to pray for the souls of successive kings of Portugal and to minister to those leaving on ocean-spanning voyages.

Money well spent, I’d say. The monastery is the extraordinary work of a number of hands, beginning with architect Diogo de Boitaca and including a succession of other architects, designers and sculptors. Together with Belém Tower, it is a World Heritage Site.

The outside of the monastery church, Santa Maria.

The monastery grounds include other large museums, such as ones devoted to Portuguese naval history, and an archaeological museum, both of which would surely be worth the time. But we focused, as most visitors do, on the monastery church and the cloister next to it.

These structures are considered class-A examples of Manueline, a style particular to Portugal during the Age of Discovery and with an emphasis on elaborate stonework. Sturdy work, too: the earthquake of ’55 didn’t do a lot of damage to the monastery.

Some Portuguese royals, namely the go-getters of the Aviz dynasty who oversaw worldwide Portuguese expansion, are entombed in both transept chapels. Note the elephants supporting the tombs.

Quite the ceiling.

Vasco da Gama, as mentioned previously, has a tomb near the church’s entrance. Across from him is the Portuguese epic poet Luís Vaz de Camões (d. 1580), whose best known work celebrates the voyages of da Gama.

The poet might not actually be in the tomb. His original resting place was disturbed by the 1755 earthquake, and by the time of his entombment in Santa Maria in the 19th century, finding his remains was a matter of guesswork.

Santa Maria church, I’m glad to say, charged no admission, though I was happy to donate a few euros to its upkeep. All you have to do is wait in line, which took about 20 minutes.

The cloister, on the other hand, sold admissions, though at a fairly reasonable 10 euros. It was busy, but not so crowded that we couldn’t buy admission right then. Anyway, it was entirely worth it.

One is allowed to peer into the courtyard, but not enter it. I believe that that’s actual grass, not Astroturf.

Endless details carved all around.

A large refectory includes the sort of tilework that Portugal is famous for.

Including a depiction of an emotionally distressed horse.

That’s what it looks like to me, at least. Some of the tile artists apparently appreciated the fact that such a horse’s lot is little but work, work, work.

Down in Belém, On the Shores of the Tagus

Posted on May 29, 2024 by admin

Even as the longest river on the Iberian Peninsula, the Tagus doesn’t come with much in the way of associations, at least in the English-speaking world, unlike the Thames or the Rhine or the Danube or even the Vistula or the quiet-flowing Don.

Still, when the River Tagus reaches Lisbon, and reaches the ocean, it has an impressive width. But there’s more to it than that. This was a disembarkation point for the wider world for the seafaring Portuguese, and did they ever disembark.

The view is from the Belém district of Lisbon, at the western edge of the city. The Metro doesn’t go out that way; the mass transit option is a streetcar (tram), which we took early in the afternoon of May 15, riding out first to see Belém Tower (Torre de Belém).

A sturdy relic of the time when Portugal was out remaking the world, and from a time (the 16th century) when stone fortresses offered some protection against invasion by sea. An impressive work, and impressively popular.

So popular that we decided to take a stroll by the river rather than wait in that line.

Vendors set up shop near the tower, even if that only meant putting down a rug and one’s wares. If I’d been in the market for a hat, I might have bought one from her. The sun that might have inspired business for her was mostly behind clouds that day.

Other, more formally organized vendors, had vehicles or carts.

A few minutes’ walk east of the tower is the Monument of the Discoveries (Padrão dos Descobrimentos), which is a lot newer than the tower. In fact I’m almost as old as the monument, which was erected in 1960. So more a relic of the Salazar dictatorship than the far-flung Portuguese maritime empire. Still, as concrete (and rose-color stone) goes, it’s an impressive bit of work.

Two rows of Portuguese notables from the Age of Discovery line either side of the monument, including some well-known figures, such as Afonso de Albuquerque, Bartolomeu Dias, Francis Xavier, Vasco da Gama, Ferdinand Magellan and Pedro Alvares Cabral. Others I had to look up: Pedro Nunes, for instance, a mathematician who worked on navigation, and who sounds like he ought to be better known outside the world of mathematics.

Who leads the line of statues looking out to sea? At 26 feet tall, Prince Henry the Navigator, of course.

Museu Arqueológico do Carmo

Posted on May 28, 2024 by admin

The cat at Museu Arqueológico do Carmo in Lisbon wasn’t shy. This was his territory, after all. Tourists, such as ourselves, were just passing through.

A descendant of cats who did mousing duties at the Convent of Our Lady of Mount Carmel (Convento da Ordem do Carmo) centuries ago, including the sizable Gothic church associated with that long-gone convent? I like to think so, but in any case the cat seems to have the run of the place, a museum formed from the stabilized ruins of that church.

The green strips running the length of the nave-shell aren’t covered with grass. It’s something like Astroturf, if not that brand itself. For some reason, I found that amusing.

Surviving bits are on display under the roofless nave.

Including St. John Nepomucene, a sculpture by created in 1743, back when the 14th-century Czech martyr had recently become a saint (1729). Was getting a trending new saint a consideration for the Carmelites as they decided which saint statue to commission?

Looks like the sculpture survived the 1755 earthquake, which not only destroyed the church, it ended the site as a monastic community. The museum dates from the 19th century, through the efforts of the Association of Portuguese Archaeologists. But history wasn’t done with the site, museum or not: the former convent was a brief focus of activity during the Carnation Revolution.

The roof remains, or was restored to, the transept and the sanctuary, which now house other artifacts.

Such as a number of elaborate tombs original to the church, or relocated from other places where they were being neglected. This is the 14th-century tomb of King Ferdinand I (d. 1383). Apparently his remains got lost along the way, or at least are not in the tomb any more.

More tombs.

Or more likely, former tombs, now exhibits illustrating status, even in death. As if we needed even more reminders of impermanence in the ruins of an enormous church.

A Lisbon Ramble

Posted on May 24, 2024 by admin

Rain and wind sometimes but sun and warmth other times this week here in northern Illinois. Had breakfast on the deck most of the days since we returned. Lisbon wasn’t quite as warm as expected, with cool evenings – a little below 20° C. – evolving into warmish days, maybe 25° C. or so, followed again by cool evenings. We were rained on only once, more about which later.

Back to posting on Tuesday, in honor of Decoration Day, even though that’s next Thursday. I’m all for three-day weekends, or four or five, but we ought to acknowledge the heart of the occasion.

We arrived tired in the early afternoon of May 14 at the smallish but popular Praça Luís de Camões, emerging from the artificial lighting of the Metro into broad sunlight on the warmest day during our near-week in southern Portugal, just shy of about 30° C as they reckon things.

At once the dulcet sounds of these three gentlemen captured our attention, and we joined the loose ring of those listening. A good thing to do while sitting around getting ready to catch your second wind.

They played their versions of jazz standards and more recent songs. Sweet versions, each of the musicians taking the tunes aloft in distinctive ways. I didn’t see their names posted, even when I got close enough to drop in one euro each, so they’ll just have to be the Musicians of Praça Luís de Camões.

They had an enthusiastic audience member. He danced around on his feet for a while, the lay on the plaza tiles and “danced” around in that position.

We’d have listened longer, but we needed to obey our thirst, to use the ad phase that’s too good just to be that. Facing the square: McDonald’s. We each had a cold drink.

That’s my idea of a good souvenir, and I took it as such.

We headed down a busy retail street, R. Garrett, a thoroughfare with the likes of Ale-Hop Rua Garrett, Stradivarius women’s clothing, Gardenia shoe store, bbnails, Happy Socks, Livraria & Cafe, a book store, and the Percassipt quilt shop. A handsome street at spots. And under development.

Basílica de Nossa Senhora dos Mártires, the Basilica of Our Lady of the Martyrs, also rises on the street.

Before 1755 there was a different church on this site. As a Christian site, its roots stem back before Moorish domination of the Iberian peninsula.

Reinaldo Manuel dos Santos designed the current church, and of him Portuguese Wiki says: “Reinaldo Manuel dos Santos (1731-1791). Arquiteto e engenheiro militar português, foi um dos maiores expoentes da arquitetura e do urbanismo pombalinos,” which I believe is clear enough except for that business about pombalinos, a building and design style distinctive to Lisbon after the earthquake.

Now that’s a ceiling for the ages.

At R. do Carmo, a pedestrian street, Yuriko and Ann went to examine a particular clothing and other item store, while I took a wander.

People seemed to be paying attention to something.

They were right to take pictures. Stand just off the street was Elevador de Santa Justa, a Machine Age lift connecting two parts of the city, each at a different elevation.

I’d read about it, but didn’t make a particular plan to see it. But there it was. The work of one Raoul Mesnier du Ponsard, who is known for this structure and others like it. We didn’t get around to taking a ride, since time is short and Lisbon’s destination list is long, whoever compiles it.

Been There, Seen That

By Dees Stribling

Category Archives: History