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[whatsjenniupto]

A Parisian Dawning

There is nothing better than meeting a city at sunrise as it wakes up for the day. If there was a time I was going to fall in love with Paris, I figured it was going to be at sunrise.

My first morning in Paris found me at the Louvre just as the sun was rising. And opposite the Louvre?

One incredibly unique Olympic/Paralympic cauldron in Tuileries Garden which was the highlight of the morning.

The remainder of my morning walk stops were. They occurred. As I crossed off each one, I wondered why they were even on my list in the first place. To take up time until the bakery where I was planning on grabbing a morning pastry and a sandwich for lunch during my wheelchair basketball game opened? And then I learned that apparently opening times at bakeries are a suggestion and not a fact. After additional loops around the area wasting time, I quit, looked up a different location, and walked there. (Yes, that bakery was opening that day. On my last loop, 30min after supposed opening time, a staff member was finally loading the shelves with baked goods. I wasn't waiting until he finally finished.)

My second morning in Paris found me wandering streets adjacent to the Eiffel Tower.

One of my big question marks prior to arrival in Paris was whether or not the Olympic Rings were still going to be displayed during the Paralympics. I couldn't find an answer anywhere, only confirmation that other cities had removed their rings to display the Paralympic Agitos on the same landmark. Paris had broken tradition, though, and displayed the Agitos on the Arc de Triomphe during the Olympics. Maybe they would also break tradition and keep the Rings on the Eiffel Tower.

My first day in the city, I didn't get close enough to the Eiffel Tower to truly see if they were there or not. When I climbed the dome of Sacré-Cœur, I couldn't see the rings, though, so I accepted that they were gone.

As I walked closer to the tower, that understanding didn't change. I was a bit bummed, but I got it. The Olympics were over. I didn't come for the Olympics, I came for the Paralympics. And then I got to the park under the tower, and thought I might see rings on one side. Did I?!

There they were!

I excitedly wrapped my way around the tower over to Pont d'Iéna. I might not be particularly enamored with the city, but at least I was getting the experience I wanted with the rings.

Because this, this was the Eiffel Tower I wanted to see. As much as I had tried to accept that the Olympic Rings might have been gone, they were a huge part of what I wanted to see. I loved seeing Tower Bridge in London with the rings hanging off it. I wanted to see the Eiffel Tower with the rings as well. These extra embellishments were why I couldn't not come to Paris during the Paralympics. These were the memories I wanted. I didn't go just to explore Paris. I wanted Olympic/Paralympic Paris. And I have zero regrets about that.

From the Olympic Rings to the Paralympic Agitos, my bedecked Parisian monuments were located and off I went to my next arrondissement.

[whatsjenniupto]

Dear Paris, I'm Trying Very Hard to Like You. Honest.

At no point have I ever wanted to go to Paris. Ever.

To be fair, I am one who tends to see what everyone else wants to do and go the opposite direction. Crowds? Bandwagons? Popular Opinions? Nah. Not for me.

I'm sure this attitude has played into my lack of desire for Paris. That, and the fact that French refuses to stick in my head.

But then I saw the hand-off from Tokyo to Paris at the end of the 2020 Olympics. I have never wanted to see Paris so much.

Fast forward to pre-Paris 2024. I was all signed up for the early ticket release. This was going to happen. I was going to the Olympics in Paris.

And then I couldn't get my log in to work and forgot to try again before my window closed.

And then my reason for being in Europe into July got cancelled.

My dreams of Paris 2024 were dying. I tried to accept this. I don't really care if I see Paris. It's fine. I can watch way more Olympic coverage from my house.

This lasted for two days of the Olympics.

I had been in London during the Olympics and knew how different the city was during the Games. I knew that if I was ever going to do Paris, it needed to be now during the Games. It was also at this point that I learned I was getting reimbursed for a trip I took a group of high schoolers on earlier in the summer. All of a sudden, I went from having already purchased a trip to Europe, I cannot purchase two -- SERIOUSLY, JENNIFER. YOU MAY NOT BUY TWO TRIPS TO EUROPE THIS SUMMER. To wait...could I get to the Paralympics?

AIRFARE IS $600?! Lodging for $340?! As in, most of this trip is less than that other trip's reimbursement?!

We're going to Paris!

Still unmotivated by basically all of Paris, I planned for a Paralympic event every day and filled in the remainder of my time with Parisian sights. The goal was to one and done Paris. Up first, I was going to put every single travel experience of my life to good use and beat jet leg into non-existence so I could land in Paris, drop my backpack at my flat, and head to a Fan Zone to watch the Opening Ceremony.

I searched for a fan zone that was close to a metro and a grocery store so I could grab dinner. The winning location was the Mairie du 11e arrondissement. After delays due to baggage, flat access, and dinner purchase, I finally got to the fan zone after the ceremony had started. The fan zone was pretty busy with all the seating already in use, so I opted for sitting on a fence right outside the fan zone, joining a group of others who had the same idea.

There was plenty of police presence within the fan zone, keeping tabs on what was happening in the area around them. I kept tabs on my surroundings and my main discovery was that Paris smokes everything they possibly can. As we neared 11pm and the lighting of the cauldron seemed quite a ways off, I started weighing my options. I had sunrise plans in the morning. How late did I want to stay out?

Looking around as I debated, I saw a man surrounded by police, getting a full body search on the other side of the very small corner park. The man who had been sitting next to me for the last 2+ hours.

Huh. Welcome to Paris.

Cauldron has been lit. I do not even care if I only have to wait 5 more minutes to get fireworks. I'm out.

[whatsjenniupto]

The Best Laid Plans

I have been preparing for international trips for more years than I care to math out, 17ish? My first big trip was to Malawi. Never out of the country other than a few trips to Canada while growing up in Michigan, and I dove into a third world country -- and never looked back.

For years, I lived abroad in countries on different continents, eventually racking up travel experiences on five. The initial feelings associated with knowing that I was about to go from my known surroundings to ones I've never experienced before went from stress to exhilaration. Even with COVID and the lost years of travel, this exhilaration hasn't left. One of my favorite feelings in the world is waking up in a new city and exploring it just as it too is waking up. The deliveries being made, the stores opening, the joking tones heard amongst staff down tiny alleys between restaurants.

I've gotten used to my life taking place in multiple places. Traveling is what I do. It's like breathing. I require being shoved out of my comfort zone, being dropped into a completely new place where my Duolingo language skills are only going to take me so far, and embracing the world around me.

And then I booked a last minute trip to Paris to experience the Paralympics. And while all my travel knowledge had me pretty convinced of a minimal budget for my time there, I kept running across articles about how first time Paris travels during the Olympics were running people $4000, $5000. Oh, how they regretted all their choices of going to Paris.

Um. WHAT? Are you even doing?! And please tell me this isn't going to be my experience as well.

Now, the Olympic ticket price tag is bonkers if you didn't plan ahead. I get if your goal was the Olympics, you wanted good seats, and you went to multiple events. That adds up quickly.

And ok, yes, these crazies might have been huge shoppers and I doubt their growing souvenir list was 90% from a supermarket like mine was. But can you truly blame Paris because you're a shopohaulic?

I suppose museums are another large expense, but you know what? I have zero desire to stand behind a ton of people -- who are likely all taller than me -- and squint at the Mona Lisa. If I only have a few days to explore a city, being inside a museum in general is not at the top of my "to do" list. I want the sights, the sounds, the dog poop that nearly brings me to my knees. (Ok, maybe not that last one, but that legit happened to me while in Paris.)

Now, onto the food front. I 100% agree, we should be eating all the French food. But, um... if you are truly on a budget and going to complain about costs, maybe you should only be going to GoogleMaps 5★ restaurants. Forget about the Michelin. Delicious, dancing in your seat French food does not have to come with a breaking your budget price tag. Trust me. I absolutely mmm-mmm-mmmed to my own beat multiple times for under €25.

So, how'd my weeklong Parisian Paralympic adventure stack up to those aforementioned Olympic ones? Total: $1280.

Airfare: $600

Transportation: $80

Lodging: $340

Food: $160

Paralympic Event Tickets: $70

Souvenirs/Entrance Tickets: $30 (half of which was cheese and butter 😂)

I honestly don't know what it would take for me to spend $4-5K on a trip. If I was actively trying to spend more money on this trip, I would have purchased a suitcase and filled it with cheese, butter, and Noglu gluten free baguettes. Still would have been under $2K.

[whatsjenniupto]

An Unexpected Portuguese Side Effect

I have a gigantic love/hate relationship with shrimp. For the majority of my life, it's been on the hate side. This likely stems from the fact that growing up, the only shrimp I ever saw was creepily identically smooth and hanging off a bowl of ketchup. Blah, blah cocktail sauce. It's still gross.

It wasn't until China that I actually started eating shrimp. The texture still occasionally got me though. Then I lived in Central Europe where I rarely saw shrimp outside of frozen sushi boxes. When I moved back to the states, I occasionally would make them for dinner or grill nights, but still, not a protein I particularly enjoyed.

Then I went to Belize and had bad shrimp. After digestive pyrotechnics through the Guatemalan jungle and staying on an island that didn't have running water, I was anti-shrimp for years. I just couldn't. I tried a number of years later and....the smell. I tossed all of them. I couldn't convince myself to get them close to my face.

But I am one who dislikes disliking food. Unless it's a pointless food (iceberg lettuce, water chestnuts, melons -- if I wanted crunchy water, I'd eat an ice cube). I wandered around Lisbon's Time Out Market, looking for a price tag attached to a meal that included something I hadn't had before. I found it in a saffron and shrimp risotto with avruga. (Avruga: fake caviar made out of herring.) Head on shrimp still in the shell. Fresh, ok texture. I was ok with this.

I had more shrimp on a squid ink paella in Nazare. Granted, I was more obsessed with the cuttlefish, but the giant, head on, split tiger prawn was totally worth eating.

I had a round of seafood rice with shrimp in Aveiro, head and shell on and devourable. I was amazed. I've heard that head on shrimp have more flavor, but the texture of the shrimp was completely different as well. Was this a result of the cooking style? Or...was it leaving the shell on until after they are cooked that was revolutionizing my shrimp experience?

Since returning stateside, I've mastered poop shooting shrimp through the joints of their shells and discovering that the texture of the shrimp is perfect, every time. I get excited to eat the shrimp. I make sure to portion out my bites so I can have shrimp at the end.

Have I finally crossed into a long-term love of shrimp?

And just a little foreshadowing for my next trip: I focused my Duolingo time on Portuguese quite heavily prior to my time in Portugal. Amazingly, it helped me order food so easily in restaurants. I have played all sorts of Duolingo and never felt like it helped my speaking as much as it did for this trip. Somehow, spending so much time in Portuguese was finally the connection I needed to get French to stick in my head. After years of trying to make any sort of French stick and come back out of my face, the link was Portuguese.

Adeus, Portugal. Bonjour la France!

[whatsjenniupto]

For the Love of Azulejos

azulejo, from Arabic for "little stone" - a type of hand-painted ceramic tile common in Spainish and Portuguese architecture.

The designs and colors are endless. It doesn't matter if you are up close or far away, these tiles are everything. Covering buildings, benches, churches, ruins, quite like snowflakes where no two patterns are the same.

Lisbon

Sintra

Nazaré

Leiria

Coimbra

Aveiro

Porto

[whatsjenniupto]

The Pour of Portugal

My goal in Portugal was to eat all the seafood. This is a very common goal of mine when I'm traveling anywhere near water. I blame living in the desert (although, we actually have pretty decent seafood in Phoenix because of how close we are to the Pacific, but it's still got nothing on Portugal.) And well, why must wine pair so well with seafood? And why must Portuguese house wine be as cheap as water and yet so delicious?  

Alentejo pork with clams. Large glass of white wine. 

Grilled sea bass. Large glass of white wine.  Squid ink paella with tiger prawns and cuttlefish. Large glass of white wine.

Rice and Octopus. Gigantic, how is this a single pour, that is legit up to the rim, glass of red wine. It was cold. I needed the warmth. Have you met the insane wind off the Atlantic in Ericeira?  

Grilled sardines with an entire bottle of Vinho Verde -- which I did not finish in one sitting, but that I did take the bottle of to finish later on from a yogurt bottle while on the beach.

Unfortunately, there's this little technicality. When traveling I usually only eat out for one big meal a day because I 1) am a disaster at locating a restaurant, 2) can't always fit in an hour or more long meal multiple times a day, and 3) try to keep costs down. Therefore, this eating plan resulted in me meeting gigantic Portuguese pours on empty stomachs.  

Good night. These people are trying to do me in. Can I pay half the very small price and get half the amount of wine and therefore be twice as functioning after every meal?  

[whatsjenniupto]

Vila Nova de Gaia, the home of Port Wine

Looking across the Douro River from Porto, you see buildings with names blazed above or across. If you aren't a port connoisseur, the names might not mean very much, but once you start researching your port wine tasting, you'll be glad for the easy display.

Prior to my arrival in Porto, I had tasted exactly one type of port from Pahrump, NV, and thought all ports were red. Once I started researching port tours, I learned just how very much I had to learn about this fortified wine. I didn't have any idea which tour would be best, so I decided to start with the best priced tour with the maximum numbers of tastings. I quickly learned there are three different colors of port: ruby, tawny, and white. My mind was blown.

Sandeman Cellars won the best priced, three types battle, and I'm incredibly glad it did. Sandeman actually tours you through their cellars. The smell, the darkness, the temperature/humidity, the casks -- it was incredible.

When the tasting came around, I was placed at a table of random Europeans and we ended up discussing working hours, vacations, naps, and ways to cool houses. But the real takeaway was how amazing tawny port is. I hadn't committed to more than one tasting, but I knew when I left Sandeman that I was going to hunt for a tawny tasting. I really wanted to dive into this type of port and based on my tour, I now knew there were types of tawnies.

I found a Tawny Experience at Burmester Lodge that I quickly booked for the following day. The tour at Burmester paired perfectly with that of Sandeman. While Sandeman was an incredible experience walking through the cellars, I learned a lot more about the history and production of port on the Burmester tour. Randomly combining these tours gave me a full picture of the port process.

And the tasting at Burmester? Other than the fact that the "dried fruits" that came with the tasting, the dried fruits that I ran through my fruit allergies and determined likely wouldn't be ones that would be an issue prior to booking the ticket, were instead nuts that definitely were an issue? Move to the side tiny death bombs, let's port it up. Two bottles of these came home with me at a very high price tag. Zero regrets. Tawny port is life changing.

[whatsjenniupto]

Wandering Porto

By the time I made it to Porto, the concrete plans had ended. Other than my tile painting session upon arrival in the city, I only had a list of things I could do (basically port wine tasting and hunting down churches covered in azulejos) in the four days I was going to be in the city.

I was going to need more to do.

I looked into nearby day trips. I thought about going back to Aveiro solely to buy more ovos moles. In the end, I opted to wander.

And wander.

And wander.

As early as possible in hunt of quiet, empty streets because I might have been slightly traumatized by my arrival to hoards of JMJ youth.

Porto has epic small streets that make it one of the best wandering cities I've ever met.

All the twists and turns and layers of varying elevation, oh it's incredible.

And the ever changing architectural style gems? Yes, please.

But those azulejo covered buildings are great too. If you could find them behind the hoards of people.

[whatsjenniupto]

The Transition to Big Town Portugal

Portugal was my first attempt at high season Western European tourist exploration. I prefer to avoid heavily touristed areas because, let's face it, people are annoying. Unfortunately, Portugal was at the top of my "Go To" list and had been for years. In addition to the summer heat, I had concerns about the amount of people who might be joining me on my adventure.

In Lisbon, I quickly picked up on avoiding the main tourist spots: no lines, no entrance fees, no quickly annoyed and frustrated me.

In Sintra, I listened to the advice of my guesthouse owner and skipped Pena Palace.

And then I went on a long string of small town visits that weren't overrun by people. Other than the festival situation in Óbidos which didn't actually effect me all that much after my initial panic, I wasn't overwhelmed.

Until I got to Porto.

And I learned what JMJ meant.

On the train from Aveiro to Porto, a large group of Polish students joined my car. The adults with them had JMJ Lisboa 2023 badges and t-shirts in addition to carrying Polish flags.

As I exited the train in Porto and went to line up to buy a metro pass, additional contingencies of youth from various countries marched by, chanting and singing. Um...what is happening? Clearly, I wasn't in small town Portugal any longer.

Metro pass in hand, I went to the platform for the metro, wondering just how many trains it was going to take for me to get on one. Thankfully, large groups of youths aren't great at paying attention, and I was able to sneak on the next train before their leaders could get them to focus.

Crammed into a corner seat, the train filled up in true Chinese sardine fashion -- and then started singing. At the top of their lungs. And the adults leading their youths in the chants seemed to be upset that I wasn't joining. I'm sorry -- you don't actually think I'm apart of this, do you? I am not wearing any country's colors, nor am I carrying a flag, nor am I a youth.

Finally, I squirmed my way off the train, transferred, and got to the station I needed to drop my bags before my azulejo painting extravaganza. The second my bags were stowed, I started researching JMJ Lisboa 2023 on my endlessly slow, but unlimited!, Portuguese data.

Catholic World Youth Day. And it was kicking off that day and clearly involved Porto. Again with the hindsight of why don't you research festivals before you go places?

Nothing against Catholic World Youth Day, it's just not something I had any intention of accidentally being a part of.

Side note: highly recommend taking a tile painting workshop.

[whatsjenniupto]

Morning in Costa Nova

After a quick bus ride to the coast, you will find yourself surrounded by candy-stripped houses. For those who are on the hunt for the perfect selfie, look no further. For those who are slightly more grounded, take into consideration that every home owner in Costa Nova has to repaint their stripes every year for people to get their perfect selfie. Every. Single. Year.

However, that's not how my Costa Nova experience started. Oh, no. At the last possible second, I opted to try out my itinerary backwards. And let me tell you, had I done my itinerary forwards as planned, I wouldn't have done all of it.

I had timed out how long it should take me to walk from Costa Nova up to the lighthouse in Barra, but there was one tiny detail that I was forgetting as I dashed off the bus: the amount of time you have is less than originally planned.

I was going to come to Costa Nova after dropping bags at the hostel. Since I couldn't drop bags, I had to push the trip to the following morning before checking out of my hostel. TIME. CRUNCH. Jen. Whatcha doing strolling along the beach?

It did not take long for me to go, oh, you messed this up. DOUBLE TIME. It wasn't just my checkout time at the hostel that I was crunching. I had an expensive tile painting workshop deadline to get myself to up in Porto. I also still needed to buy ovos moles and locate a pot holder (Nazaré had all sorts of table cloths, towels, and pot holders around town, and I hadn't been able to decide if I required one or not. There was one fabric that I couldn't get out of my head though, and I had seen it in shops as I walked around Aveiro. While I am outstandingly good at killing potholders (frequently, death by charring), they were also the smallest option to get a bit of the fabric home.)

After my expected 40min of walking (just like I'd timed out, written in OneNote, and should really have looked at prior to dashing off the bus), I finally made it to Costa Nova and the beautiful striped houses. I was early. Streets were empty. This was working out quite well -- even with that 40min walk that maybe I could have done without. (PS, that's almost 3km. DON'T GET OFF BUSES WITHOUT THINKING!)

Costa Nova is an incredibly cute spot to visit. The streets are adorable, the beach looks amazing. I even managed to locate a free bathroom -- likely just because it had been opened for cleaning and an attendant wasn't there yet. Perks of visiting places prior to 10am when things are actually open.

An additional win from going backwards ended up being the option to grab an express bus back to Aveiro. Had I walked up to Barra as planned, my return would have taken quite a bit longer. So, I guess it was a good idea -- or I just would have not gotten an extra 3km walk in and gotten back to Aveiro even earlier. I'm also quite certain that pushing the visit into the early morning rather than the late afternoon resulted in me enjoying the city more. Only a handful of people were up roaming the streets, making it easy for me to photograph whatever I wanted without people being in my way. Places are just always better early in the morning.

[whatsjenniupto]

Arta Nova Aveiro

It's dubbed the Venice of Portugal, and you could truly live out your cruising of the canal in a moliceiro dreams.

Originally used for pulling algae out of the lagoon, these colorfully painted boats, called moliceiro, now line canals waiting to be filled with tourists. My hostel even offered a steeply discounted ride in one, but 1) I had flamingoes to stalk down, 2) I had an art nouveau scavenger hunt to do, and 3) I still had a whole 'nother city to explore which meant extra time for boat riding didn't exist. Plus...I feel I don't appreciate the river cruise properly when I'm just quickly visiting a city. I'd much rather hit the streets and explore the little corners than sit on a boat and see it from afar.

An art nouveau scavenger hunt for example. That wins over a boat trip any day.

Restaurante Ferro R. do Ten. Rezende 30

Like many buildings on my tour, Restaurante Ferro is the work of Francisco Augusto da Silva Rocha. Da Silva Rocha was never trained as an architect; he was a professor at a design school, but he is known for his contributions to the art nouveau movement in the early 20th century. The façade of the Restaurant Ferro is adorned with intricate wrought ironwork, floral motifs, and asymmetrical designs, characteristic of the movement.

Museu de Arte Nova R. Dr. Barbosa de Magalhães 9-11

Boasting a front and back façade, the Museum de Arte Nova was originally designed for businessman Major Pessoa. Many of the art nouveau buildings in Aveiro were created for the rich to flaunt their wealth. Today, the museum stands as a testament to da Silva Rocha's commitment to the innovative and ornamental aspects of the movement, featuring intricate detailing, organic forms, and the signature sinuous lines associated with art nouveau.

Aveiro City Museum (left), Turismo Centro de Portugal (center), and the Former Cooperativa Agrícola (right) R. João Mendonça 6-9

Unfortunately the Rossio Waterfront was under construction during my visit, inhibiting my viewing abilities of this art nouveau trifecta along the river. With its red accents, the City Museum boasts palm fronds in the ironwork on the first floor balcony as well as detailed motifs on the façade. The former Agricultural Cooperative in contrast has a façade almost entirely covered with coral-hued, hand-painted azulejos of lilies. Closer inspection of all three would have been ideal, but the tiny sidewalk did not allow for pausing which meant the only good angle was from all the way across the river.

Casa dos Ovos Moles R. João Mendonça 25

Continuing along Aveiro’s main waterfront, a pink façade comes into view. Attributed to José de Pinho, the architecture has several nods to trends of the times: an arched gable window at the top referencing the Japanese influence on art nouveau; “Mackintosh style” windows on the first floor, consisting of different sized rectangles throughout the panes; and floral ironwork on the balcony and windows. The best part: you can stop inside to try out ovos moles, the famous Aveiro egg sweet treat.

Ergovisão Aveiro R. de Coimbra 1

This corner storefront has two unique façades for passerby to enjoy. The side I captured has the more voluminous decorations around the windows. Those on the other side are still detailed floral motifs, but are flush on the wall. Even the street name (left, under the first floor window) is a relief rather than tile added to the façade at a later date.

Parque Infante Dom Pedro

The largest green space in the city, Parque Infante Dom Pedro was renovated in the early 20th century at the height of the art nouveau movement. The gazebo has intricate, musically inspired ironwork and has held many concerts throughout its history.

Cais À Porta Cais das Falcoeiras 6

This gorgeous tiled house was not on my original list. I just happened upon it while walking along the canals on the way back from the lagoon. The azulejos have a nautical theme complete with stylized seaweed while the windows are various anchor shapes: the top center is an upside down anchor while the middle side windows are square anchor shapes.

These are just a small example of the art nouveau influence on Aveiro. The Museu de Arte Nova has a list of 28 different buildings around the city that all boast various art nouveau elements. Once again, I just did not plan enough time for a visit to Aveiro to find them all.

[whatsjenniupto]

Sneaking through the Salt Flats

Aveiro has been known for its salt production throughout history. While there are many ways to separate the salt from the sea water, the salt extraction in Aveiro is 100% natural, without any industrialization process apart from the sun and wind evaporating the water from the salt.

The Salinas de Aveiro are an open air museum encompassing the flats as well as all the wildlife that makes their homes in the warm beds, namely birds. So many birds.

While I had come to the lagoon and the salt flats for the flamingoes, I forgot about the slight fact that where there is one bird, there will be many birds.

The muddy paths between the beds bring you up close and personal with the salt making process. A glimpse that made me go, a tour with more information would be nice because this looks gross. How does it go from green slime to on my table?

Concluding my salt flat adventure was a couples' photoshoot. It was intriguing, going to the salt beds for a photoshoot. I enjoyed my photoshoot of their photoshoot, so I can only imagine that their actual photos are unique.

It took an extra 10,000 steps, but I had accomplished my Aveiro goal of finding flamingoes in the lagoon and it came with the additional perk of a couples' photoshoot for me to shoot. I was back to my happy, adventuring self, but I was real done walking by the time I got back into Aveiro. I grabbed a seat at the restaurant next to my hostel, next to the one I had already eaten lunch at, as I was going for "as close to my bed as possible." Unfortunately, I was also going for seafood. Because I'm on the coast. Where the fish are.

"Sorry, we're out of that too." So, you're out of everything that came from the sea? "Yes, we have mushroom risotto. It's very good. Or chicken pasta." Sorry, I'm going to leave. I am really looking for seafood tonight.

I eyed the menus for the other restaurants in the area, but ended up plopped back down in that square that I had read in for 3 hours earlier in the day, hunting for restaurants. I found one option that was just behind the hostel. If I didn't get "eat here" vibes from it, I was going to have to back to the restaurant where I had lunch.

Restaurant Zico is small, a few 4-person tables up front, a few 2-person tables along the wall opposite the bar, seemingly more geared towards locals. I was gestured forward when I asked for a table, either to a 2 person table or to the bar. I could hear more customers coming in after me, so I climbed up to the bar where I was quickly greeted by an amazing waiter who would spend the remainder of my time there chatting with me and giving me Portuguese lessons. Now this was a restaurant I would choose to come back to and try more things. One block off from the busy walking street, and such a more delicious and less expensive option. Aveiro, I think I like it here. Why aren't I spending more time with you?

[whatsjenniupto]

Flamingoes in the Lagoon

Nothing had really gone correctly. I had adjusted and tweaked and ended up sitting in a square reading a book for 3 hours until my hostel officially opened, adjusting and tweaking in my head the whole time about how I was going to fit everything in. I did not plan on observing pigeons with janky foot diseases hobbling around within my bird boundaries because the hostel wasn't accessible like it was supposed to be.  

But I knew one thing. The big thing I did not want to miss was the chance to see flamingoes in the Aveiro Lagoon. I didn’t know Aveiro Lagoon flamingoes were a thing, but once I discovered the possibility, I wanted to find them. So, after dropping off my bags, off I went on my flamingo hunt through the lagoon.

Where I was going to walk.  

And walk. 

And walk until I found flamingoes.  

I wasn't really sure how far the path I was on went, so I gave myself a timeframe. I would walk until 7PM at which point, I would turn around regardless of whether or not I found flamingoes.  

I stomped along. Annoyed that I had failed at listening to fado in Coimbra for dumb reasons (I didn't want to order anything at the café at 6pm when the fado concert was happening.) I had failed at really doing anything in Coimbra (I'm sorry, you want me to pay 17.50e to walk around a university? That's like a dinner. I'd way rather eat Portuguese food for 17.50e than walk around a university.) I couldn't eat barnacles because they're all busy spawning and I was going to have to come back to Portugal in the winter when they are free game. And no, no flamingoes.  

I whined in my head.  

I was coming up to an area that looked like my epic lagoon bike/walk path was coming to an end and I still hadn't found flamingoes. There were a number of people chatting on the far side and one man sitting a little closer in a small cut out along the path. Figuring it was going to be the end of my fruitless flamingo adventure, I stormed ahead to my self-imposed finish line and looked to the little bed to my left.  

WAIT. THERE THEY ARE!!!! 

My lagoon flamingoes. The highlight that was only a chance. I had actually found my lagoon flamingoes. Now, I could calmly return to Aveiro, exploring the salt flats on my way.

[whatsjenniupto]

Can I Get a Redo?

The walk along Avenida Sá da Bandeira toward Praça da República involved an interesting assortment of architecture styles and street art. Art deco, strange bird, baroque, renaissance, tree. It also proved to me that I didn't hate Coimbra, we just were having a few failed interactions.

All too soon, I was back at Santa Cruz Café, still slightly before the fado concert. As I looked over the cafe menu, I stumbled in my plan. It was just before 6pm. I didn't want coffee. But I also didn't want to buy an overpriced drink without consuming more food. So... Hmm..

I hung around the fountain in front of the cafe -- maybe the sound would escape. Not really. I looked at the menu again. I still couldn't convince myself to buy something that I didn't really want --- even when trying to tell myself to think of it as an entrance ticket. So what if you don't consume it. But you will because it's in front of you and it's weird to just let it sit there and you want none of these things and ugh.

I quit.

I walked into the market on the square, grabbed a few things, and went back to the hotel. I quit today. I promise to try again tomorrow.

Of course, trying again tomorrow involved trying in the early morning liquid air. Liquid air where you start to crazy cackle at the ridiculous fact that you are using an umbrella when you are walking into liquid air and there is literally no point. You are wet. All over. Just because -- air.

I wandered around the same areas as the day before, this time without crowds or a blazing hot sun.

I ducked into a cafe and navigated my way through ordering breakfast and a coffee. I was almost off to my next city. I sort of wanted a redo on Coimbra, but other than my fado fail, I couldn't really say I'd do anything different. I tried an epic new dish and ate way too much gelato. I explored ruins and wandered a city still mostly asleep.

But still the feeling of "I just don't think I did Coimbra well" has stuck with me.

[whatsjenniupto]

The Drooping Effect

My AC break was over. I had collapsed, I had hung up my semi-dry, hand washed in Nazaré clothes in hopes they'd actually dry in Coimbra, I had changed into lighter clothes. It was time. Get back out there. You can do this.

The main attraction in Coimbra is likely the university. It's the school that JK Rowling modeled a number of Harry Potter details after. It was my next stop, although I had reservations about the large entrance fee and if I really was interested enough to spend it. But off to the my destination I went, climbing up the mountain.

I quickly cleared the congested turns, determined to beat the Google Maps ETA. One of the comments I read prior to Portugal was how Google Maps times were always off because of the hills, especially in Coimbra. I (for some unknown, incredibly painful, and absolutely inexplicable reason) took this as a challenge. Six minutes? I got this. As I stare up a hill of torture stairs. Must. Beat. Google. Maps. I'm competitive never -- unless Google Maps or Duolingo are involved and then I will take you out. Can't. Breathe. Legs. FIRE. GO, GO, GO!

I slowly crossed off each previously noted spot on my itinerary, growing more and more underwhelmed. The numerous types of church architecture were interesting, but the price tags attached to every entry way and the lack luster (or overly gaudy) interiors that are frequently waiting kept me outside in the sun. Finally, I arrived at the university ticket office and found all the prices raised. Like a lot. Like almost 20 euros. To wander a university. None of the options seemed to match anything I found online and the price tag sure didn't. Did I want to wander a university for 20 euros worth? That was more than my life-changing goat dish. Would I value this university more than that goat? No, I really didn't think so.

So I turned left, looked up a place for gelato, and started walking back down the mountain. I determined that gelato would reset the day and all would be well again.

As I savored the cold gelato perched on a plastic stool on a step, I sorted through options for the remainder of my day. After the monastery, the second goal was to catch a Fado show at Santa Cruz Cafe. I decided to head in that direction, starting with a visit to Igreja de Santa Cruz.

Unfortunately, they cut off entry to the cloisters earlier than expected. I was about three people short of making the cut. Should have savored that gelato a little less. I now had an awkward break until the Fado concert. I could climb back up the mountain and visit a museum for some AC. I could walk out to a park. Or I could continue sitting on the far side of this fountain while pretending not to listen to the guy playing some pretty epic piano and stink eyeing this dude who thinks he's going to be getting into my bag. I'm sorry, do you think you're being stealthy?

UGH. What do I want to do?!

[whatsjenniupto]

A Warm Welcome to Coimbra

If there is a city that I would say I did not do well, this would be it. I think Coimbra and I were a fail. Not entirely. We had a pretty good start....but then....

Then I started to droop.

It was a bajillion degrees after all. Ok, 36C under a blazing, cloudless sky and so humid there should have been rain rather than just liquid air. Coimbra did offer a newly remodeled hotel that allowed me to drop my bags early and cool off with AC. Yes, an actual air conditioning unit in Europe. I nearly cried. Actually, I'm pretty sure a tear squeaked out. Ok, maybe two.

But back to the amazing start. The reason I was so excited to drop off my backpack was because my main attraction in Coimbra was the ruins of a monastery that had been moved to a new location due to flooding: Mosteiro de Santa Clara-a-Velha. The ruins were across the river, so while I dumped my backpack in the unsecured hotel lobby to lighten my load, I kept my laptop/camera bag with me. As I walked toward the monastery, I eyeballed the clock, running monastery visit duration compared to restaurant hours and dripping a bit more with each step. I finally plopped down in the non-existent shade of a newly planted tree and looked at Google Maps for reviews on all nearby restaurants. No, no, maybe, no, no, ok, best option. Let's try there. NOPE. Across the street.

Where I met another roll-my-eyes-to-the-back-of-my-head amazing plate of food that I stuffed into me: chanfana, old style goat cooked in a clay pot in a wood fire oven. I've had goat before and I would categorize the meat as "I want to enjoy it more than I actually do." Since the chanfana was recommended to me as the specialty of the restaurant and it involved multiple cooking processes, a special pot, and a special oven, I determined if it's that complicated, it has to be good.

Beyond good. I started googling recipes immediately only to realize that my unlimited, backwards -- but free! data speed was going to result in cold chanfana -- or at least 36C chanfana, and I went back to moaning over my gigantic plate of goat, potatoes, and beans that should really have fed two people rather than ending up stuffed into me. But at no point was I leaving any of that (other than the clumps of fat, not my thing) on the plate. I also left the pile of bread the waiter felt I would need to soak up the sauce. Hmmm. Sauce covered bread v. another piece of melt in your mouth goat? Goat.

Finally, I cleared my plate and waddled my full belly over to the monastery. In the back of my head, I knew that while I had downed a bottle of water at the restaurant, the water bottle I had with me was running out. In 36C. I stayed to the shade as much as possible, but knew I was going to have to locate a water source that wasn't the flooded cloisters.

The museum staff was incredibly welcoming. The security guard immediately offered to put my camera/laptop bag into a locker while I was visiting. I confirmed it was ok to take photos and took a last swig of water. I wandered the museum, practicing my religious Portuguese while using Google Translate to help through confusing words. I did one loop through the ruins of the church and flooded cloisters, only to dash back up to the museum to have a private showing of a short documentary on the monastery history. I walked back towards the bathrooms searching for a water source -- hmmm, I could fill up the lid of my water bottle in the bathroom sink and pour it into my water bottle. That's a little too much desperation. Let's search out alternatives.

As I finished off the second floor of the church, I started looking for nearby stores. I was going to be out of water once I picked my bag up and downed the remaining swallows. There was no way I was making it back to the hotel without a refill. I found a petrol station just to the north of the monastery and determined it was the closest option for water. As I headed there, I prayed it had water in the tiny building I could see on Google Maps. If it didn't... I didn't know. I didn't have a plan.

I cut across the drive to the tiny shop, searching desperately for water. GOAL!!!!!!! I made a mad rush inside, found a gigantic bottle in a refrigerator that was twenty cents more than the room temperature version (DON'T CARE), paid, and cracked open the cap, immediately starting to down the water as I walked over to a shaded short wall. I gulped down a quarter of the bottle, regaining confidence that I wasn't about to die in Coimbra. I refilled the water bottle in my bag and kept the remaining amount of water out so I could continue to gulp it down as I set back across the unshaded bridge.

I could finally check in to the hotel where I would learn about the AC and weep from joy. I collapsed into the bed, stretched out under the AC trying to recover. I made grateful mental notes about my trip. I had been worried that the heat in Portugal was going to make this trip zero fun. I researched temperatures as I was booking things, and thought they were all pretty mild, but as an over-adapted Phoenician, my scale is a bit skewed and missing the humidity factor. Now in country, I realized that by sticking to the coast for most of my trip, I had managed to avoid the excessive heat that builds inland. Other than Lisbon and Évora, Coimbra was the furthest away from the coast I was going. All I had to do was survive my time in Coimbra, and I could get back to cooler temperatures in Aveiro. All would be fine.

Gelato. There's gotta be gelato here. Let's change into lighter clothes (Nazaré was downright frigid compared to Coimbra) and go find gelato.

[whatsjenniupto]

A Moment in Leiria

Leiria, the city that holds the highest number of itinerary changes on my trip without being crossed off. Actually, I crossed nothing off and only couldn't add one place. Forgetting about the existence of July 31 when booking my tickets helped me actually have time to add things in. (Seriously, 3x I forgot about that day, including when I dropped all the money on two sets of round trip tickets. This is what happens when you decide to randomly teach high school for a year. #braindead)

At first, I was going to stay in Leiria. Then I was going to stay an extra night in Nazaré and just do a day trip to Leiria. Then I was going to stay in Leiria. Then I was just going to do a connection trip because Leiria was on the way from Nazaré to Coimbra. Then I was going to stay, no day trip from Nazaré, no extra connection stop. Yes, final answer.

It only took running the numbers between all three options and weighing what I actually wanted to see in Leiria in order to make the decision. And yes, I 100% stopped looking up information on Leiria so I could keep the number of things I wanted to do to:

Take this photo.

This view was a quick walk from the bus station, the most haphazard bus station I would go through. There wasn't a screen displaying from which numbered spot buses were departing, but there was a man with a microphone speaking in too-rapid-for-me-to-confidently-grasp Portuguese. I was a little apprehensive about how smooth my exit from the city was going to be, but that was future Jenni's problem. Current Jenni had just under 90min to wander around Leiria.

I roamed through a barely awake Leiria, walking around street cleaners and listening to the sounds of cafes setting up.

I enjoyed squares decked with medieval flags and climbed up more of the hill to the castle with my 16kg pack than I can believe. I recovered on benches by churches and enjoyed unique street art and architecture. All of which made me go, shoulda stayed in Leiria. Oh well.

My 90min break came and went. Back at the bus station, I grabbed a bench and watched buses arrive and depart. Soon a well labeled "Coimbra" bus arrived with a garbled announcement from microphone man that I understood one word of: "Coimbra." Well, I got the important details. The driver scanned the QR code on my phone, I dumped by pack under the bus, and climbed back to my seat. A large Spanish tour group followed and naturally, my brain slipped into Spanish and I helped them locate their seats. Because I've been in the country for a few days and clearly am an expert.

Later I also realized I failed to try the local pastry: bolo de pinhão (pinenut cake). Guess I'll have to go back.