Lisbonita III

The direct approach works!

This is how someone can spend 24 hours in Lisbon... (or how someone, getting older, can also cheat and put the activities of two days into one).

• Wake up around 5am because of the heat, and then drift in and out till 8am as you realize, "Hey, I'm in Lisbon - I can chill."

• Eat pasteis in the morning, small delicious pastries that you can find everywhere in Lisbon, and especially at the Pasteis de Belem, where lineups occur out the door every day.

(Not an original photo - I ate mine too fast)

• Take a morning tram ride on the ubiquitous Tram 28, with all open windows and streets so narrow and winding that you get the sense you're on a slow-moving roller coaster. Tourists and local alike are here. In fact, most places in Lisbon seem to retain their authenticity by not being solely tourist-populated.

• Make a trip to the Panteao Nacional, for some history lessons, spectacular rooftop views, culture, and cool respite from the mid-day heat.

Panteao Nacional

• Go for a mid-afternoon stroll through the streets of Alfama, all winding and twisting with elderly ladies debating issues across the street from their neighbours, looking a little like happy prisoners taking to their cellmates.

An inmate at Alfama, making a point

• Wade over to Oceanario, the sleek and impressive aquarium of Lisbon, with a big-time message of conservation that seems to have a little more weight behind it with the recent disaster in the Gulf of Mexico. Hundreds of fish and types of sea life here, including some impressive sharks and freaky-looking sea dragons.

Oceanario

Oceanario

• Spend early evening at Miradorou do Adamastor, with families, friends, couples, classy older ladies and raving drunks all sitting atop a lookout over the city and the river. Here you can buy beer and other drinks and soak in the views.

Miradorou do Adamastor

• Dinner follows in Bairro Alto, where it is about as touristy as Lisbon gets - that is to say, you'll see more foreigners here but it's not an over-the-top trap. Grilled sardines, the first non-meat meal I've had in 10 days. It was in Portugal that I was introduced to picanha by a friend - essentially four slabs of salty meat. On more than one occasion in recent weeks I happily had the meat sweats, barely discernible from the heat sweats.

• At night you can stop at the Miradorou de Sao Pedro de Alcantara, with amazing views over the city amid statues and fountains. You could easily spend the whole evening here, drinking porto and watching the sunset. It's in the Bairro Alto area, a happening area with hundreds of restaurants and bars along twisting, hilly, narrow cobblestone streets.

From Miradorou de Sao Pedro de Alcantara

• Late at night, it's off to Lux, a massive waterfront bar with a rooftop patio that overlooks the river, and two more levels including a thumping basement dancefloor. It's apparently partly-owned by John Malkovich, which for some reason made me feel cooler. But not younger.

• Grab a cheap (and refreshingly scam-free) taxi back to Belem at 5am.

Lisbonita II

Images from Lisbon above and below, with the warmth and kind spirit of the Portuguese people (new friends, restaurant owners, businesspeople, old folks and little kids) making it a great 12 days.

But as some important choices loom in my own life and in the lives of a few good friends who have contacted me in recent weeks to express their own restlessness and angst despite being very comfortable materially, here are some wise words I came across from Paulo Coelho's blog. On a Sunday afternoon, no less.

A reminder, a warning, a salvation, a meaningless ramble, an overly morbid outlook on things? Depends on your current state of mind:

The first symptom of the process of our killing our dreams is the lack of time. The busiest people I have known in my life always have time enough to do everything. Those who do nothing are always tired and pay no attention to the little amount of work they are required to do. They complain constantly that the day is too short. The truth is, they are afraid to fight the Good Fight.

The second symptom of the death of our dreams lies in our certainties. Because we don’t want to see life as a grand adventure, we begin to think of ourselves as wise and fair and correct in asking so little of life. We look beyond the walls of our day-to-day existence, and we hear the sound of lances breaking, we smell the dust and the sweat, and we see the great defeats and the fire in the eyes of the warriors. But we never see the delight, the immense delight in the hearts of those who are engaged in the battle. For them, neither victory nor defeat is important; what’s important is only that they are fighting the Good Fight.

And, finally, the third symptom of the passing of our dreams is peace. Life becomes a Sunday afternoon; we ask for nothing grand, and we cease to demand anything more than we are willing to give. In that state, we think of ourselves as being mature; we put aside the fantasies of our youth, and we seek personal and professional achievement. We are surprised when people our age say that they still want this or that out of life. But really, deep in our hearts, we know that what has happened is that we have renounced the battle for our dreams – we have refused to fight the Good Fight.

When we renounce our dreams and find peace, we go through a short period of tranquility. But the dead dreams begin to rot within us and to infect our entire being. We become cruel to those around us, and then we begin to direct this cruelty against ourselves. That’s when illnesses and psychoses arise. What we sought to avoid in combat – disappointment and defeat – come upon us because of our cowardice.

And one day, the dead, spoiled dreams make it difficult to breathe, and we actually seek death. It’s death that frees us from our certainties, from our work, and from that terrible peace of our Sunday afternoons.

A quick detour to Africa in the midst of the trip...

...or was it? do-do do-do, do-do do-do (Twilight Zone music).

This appeared in the tropical gardens of Belem, a suburb of Lisbon

More from the tropical garden in Belem

The 25 de Abril Bridge, connecting Lisbon to Almada. Built by the same company that built the Bay Bridge (not the Golden Gate) in San Francisco

Vasco, from Oceanario (Lisbon's aquarium, the second largest in Europe)

Lisbonita

Walking along Lisbon's tree-and-poo-lined streets, in deliciously sweltering days that make you sweat when you think, with warm nights, stunning sights, carnivourous meals, sangria and incredibly hospitable hosts... I am reminded again why I travel.

And in my first experience as a Couchsurfer - I have hosted a few times, never before guested - I can certainly recommend it. For those who aren't familiar, www.couchsurfing.org is an international site where users can either stay or host for free in their own homes. Of course, a bottle of wine or a dinner or a gift is a basic courtesy to extend to the host.

The daunting idea of having a complete stranger in your home (or you in theirs) is made much less daunting by having users complete extensive profiles of themselves, along with references from people they've met via their travels.

You can also filter your preferences when searching for a place to stay (i.e. age range, gender, etc) and make explicit guidelines for people looking to surf at your place (i.e. no smokers, female/male only, no Republicans, etc.). It's also a great way to see a city outside of the normal tourist-greased conveyor belts.

And so it is that I have to mention Rita and Raquel, two Portuguese sisters who are my first ever hosts (and I am their first guest).

I normally have a strict rule to not mention details of my personal encounters on this blog, but these girls deserve special mention. I didn't know people like this still existed. Sweet, polite, charming, fun, incredibly helpful... If all couchsurfing experiences are like this, hotels will go out of business.

They have quickly helped make Lisbon one of my favourite cities. More as the week progresses...

More Peniche

"Surfing's the source, man... swear to God" - Point Break, 1991

Images and impressions from the past week as 7 straight days of surfing comes to an end, both mercifully (for the old body) and unfortunately (for everything else).

• Sitting at Bar do Bruno, the perfectly situated beach bar and restaurant that sits overlooking Baleal Beach at 4:30 on a Friday afternoon, overlooking stunning waves under a massive and cloudless sky.

• The sun is warm but the constant breeze keeps things cool. The coffee is a mellow roast, and my skin is roasting mellowly.

• The iPod is paused occasionally to hear the sound of the waves; in-between, "Cuatro" by Cafe Fuego, "Release the Pressure" by Leftfield, "Goodbye" by Junior Boys, "Straight to the Bank" by 50 Cent and 20 more tracks shuffle me into the weekend.

• Across the deck, a girl of about 5 years old raises her Princess Barbie camera (yes, I have nieces) and takes pictures of her parents, quickly showing them her handiwork afterwards.

• Next to me, a group of four late teenage girls chatter on happily in Portuguese, which to me still sounds like drunk Russian.

• The beach is very busy, but not overcrowded. People and shapes are easily identifiable nearby, and further out they are moving silhouettes with the sun behind them.

• Surfers of all levels are tackling waves of all sizes. The good ones make it look so easy; my body screams that it is not.

It's easy to see the romanticism of the surfing lifestyle - wake up, wetsuit, waves, eat, repeat.

The week was excellent; come here if you want to learn to surf and learn to chill out. The service in the cafes and at the camp could not have been friendlier; the level of instruction (as mentioned in a previous post) is very high. So am I (naturally, of course) as I'm off to Lisbon for the week.

From bed to beach - could get used to this...

Instructors Gabi and Turko - beautiful people who teach by season in Argentina, Brazil, and Portugal

Bar do Bruno; it is also the surf camp base, where you wetsuit up and wax (eloquently)

Video review and a lesson on the history of surfing

Peniche for Your Thoughts

A quick apology for the lack of posts this past week. Apparently it's important to be able to move muscles in order to type, and after three days of intense surf camp, this has not been possible until now.

Greetings from Baleal Surf Camp in the sunny hamlet of Peniche, one of the westernmost points of Europe. Peniche is about a 90-minute drive from Lisbon and has some of the best surfing on the continent, and is loaded with top surf areas all only a few kms away from each other.

The routine is one that one could get used to - wake up early, hit the camp and get wetsuited-up by 9, exercise for a good 10 minutes for warm-up, hit the waves for 60-90 minutes, stretch. Repeat around 1pm. Crumple into a ball of fatigue by 4 for a siesta, and try your luck in the waves with some friends on your own around 7pm.

As for progress, we'll use percentages. Day 1, the waves win a good 90% of the time; Day 2, you shrink that down to maybe 60%. By Day 3, you are winning the majority of the battles and getting up more often than Hugh Hefner.

This is likely due to the level of instruction, which is fantastic. Turko (a long-time pro on the world tour) and Gaby are a surfing couple from Argentina who make it all easy for us, despite the pain from using muscles that haven't used since, well, ever.

More on the camp and the experience later in the week... now back to the ibuprofen injections.

Right Said Ted

After the month-long bender known as the World Cup, I figured it was time to feed my brain rather than my liver.

Enter TED. Specifically, TEDx Amsterdam, a combo live event and video screening of the TED main event in Oxford.

TED stands for Technology, Entertainment, and Design and has attracted a considerable global following from its website at www.ted.com. Covering big-picture issues like climate change, human interactions, charity and crowdfunding, this recent event was a meeting of the minds. And I'm of two minds when it comes to the whole thing.

I sincerely appreciate TED's aspirational aspects, its desire to inspire. Speakers from all walks of life who aim to rise above the fray of YouTube videos and inane, illiterate pop culture and really make a difference.

At the same time, I can't help feeling 75% of it is straight from the pages Stuff White People Like, full of quasi-interesting nuggets that people consume to feel and sound smarter for a week. (The same way Malcolm Gladwell aficianados sound at parties - the next time someone uses the vacuous term "tipping point", you are free to laugh at them).

The Amsterdam event was held at Boom Chicago, a theatre/comedy club venue. It opened with - and mark this name down - Noam Vazana. She's tough to categorize as she went from jazz to classical to pop on multiple instruments, but she had a voice that had most people turning their heads to each other and say "whoa". Here is a sample. The rest of the four days covered a ton of material and can be seen on the TED website now and in the coming months.

Overall, once again, virtue triumphs over cynicism though, and there some great ideas on this planet. Despite all the problems happening right now around the world, there are some exceedingly bright and well-intentioned people working on the solutions.

Some quotes, insights, and other items of interest from the event:

• Costa Rica is apparently the happiest place on earth.
• "Chance favours the connected mind".
• TED speakers love them some graphs - parabolas, reverse parabolas, pie charts, bar charts, delicious pie-on-the-bar charts.
• "Sustainable development in the Anthropocene is not Utopia". A) I concur or B) Oh no he dih-int!
• Irony: the gentleman who spoke so eloquently about the challenges our planet faces in terms of over-consumption was considerably overweight.
• Fun speaker: Ze Frank. Google this guy.
• Interesting: the Harvard Origins of Life Initiative.
• "Incremental change is no longer an option". Except perhaps at toll booths and peep shows.
• "You can't wake a person who's pretending to sleep". This is actually quite profound when you think about it, and it refers to many people exercising willful ignorance towards tough problems.

We Like to Party. We like. To party.

Nike's last Write the Future spots here say: Als je alles geeft, verlees je niet. (If you give it everything, you don't lose). It's pretty safe to say people here gave everything, and then some.

I'm sorry I lied in my previous post - the party was apparently not over.

Organizers decided to go ahead with the full celebrations to welcome home the Dutch World Cup team on Tuesday, with a 2-hour canal parade and a big celebration at Museumplein.

Depending on what you read, anywhere from 500,000 to 1 million people filled the streets and canals to say thank you for a thrilling four weeks to Bert and his boys.

The result was really all things Amsterdam - alternately chaotic, cheesy, charming, cool, crazy, and canal-filled. And confusing (we did lose, right?).

From the impossibly schmaltzy Guus Meeuwis - whose melancholic traditional songs are popular with millions of Hollanders but make some of us want to make a van Gogh of it and cut off our ears - to world-class DJ Armin van Buuren, it was a massive love-in, sing-along and dance party. The players were visibly moved. The refrain most often heard from them and from commentators was "Can you imagine if we had actually won?"

I caught part of it all live on a break from a TED conference (more on that in a subsequent post). Was it a little odd to be hearing "We Are the Champions" all over town when we were, er, not? Yes. But the overall spirit and outpouring of appreciation was enough to muzzle pretty much anyone's inner cynic.

Check out the full 4+ hours here. It does a far better job of capturing the images than the few photos I managed. I've outlined a few key timestamps below, but it's worth clicking on random spots as well. Another amazing day.

02:32:55 - pre-canals

02:40:00 - the canals

03:42:40 - intro to the players

04:00:00 - players get down

04:03:20 - amazing panoramas of the scene and the city

04:06:00 - Wesley Sneijder serving beers (let's see LeBron do that) + panoramas of the city

04:11:25 - a good minute-and-a-half montage of the entire day

Fans buying these obviously missed the first half where the Dutch could have gotten 2 reds

And Now...

The party is over. At least for today.

The collective mood in the hours leading up to the World Cup final on Sunday, July 11 2010 was so upbeat, so crackling with positive energy that it didn't seem possible that Holland could lose.

The streets and parks and bars were jammed, smiles everywhere, orange even more everywhere (sorry - my English also has a hangover).

Impromptu conga lines, the most amazing outfits ever conceived, and after a brief ominous grey lull, a sunny and clear late afternoon and evening - all this meant that some 2+ hours prior to kickoff, I already felt that I had experienced one of the greatest days of my life.

The day moved from cycling and soaking up the scene to meeting friends and witnessing Leidseplein's happy madness, moving through and boogying with the masses at Museumplein (singing K'naan's World Cup anthem with 100,000 = pretty awesome), and then settling in with friends at a packed neighbourhood pub for the game.

It all made the ending somewhat more bearable, really. It was like filling up the gas tank with so much enjoyment that there was still some left after it all. The loss was less crushing than it was deflating, numbing, like the air coming out of a big orange balloon.

And as much as people were hoping to share an all-inclusive party, there's some comfort in sharing a common sadness too.

Game notes:

• The two teams both had their chances - Robben with the two most glorious ones. Fitting that they played in South Africa - it's true that no man is an island, but I bet Robben wishes he were on one right now.

• For every complaint that Dutch fans may have about the number of yellow cards handed out, they're extremely lucky that de Jong's boot to Alonso's chest wasn't immediately a red.

• The Oranje had every chance to win this game and played very well against a more talented Spanish side. Let's hope that the next chance comes sooner than 32 years from now.

Everyone was primed for a party - and wow can the Dutch party. And they don't stay down for long - biking home through a peaceful Vondelpark after midnight, I came across a group of about 25 Oranje fans holding an impromptu dance party right there on the pathway.

You can feel the country's sadness today, and my heart goes out to lifelong Nederlanders and the players who did the country very proud.

But with a terrorist bomb killing over 70 people watching the same match in Uganda, perspective (and a reminder as to how lucky we are) is sadly always close at hand.

Museumplein 3:30pm

Leidseplein 4:30pm

Leidseplein 4:30pm

Museumplein 6:oopm

Gameday

The goosebumps have started early. Some 8 hours remain until kickoff.

Officials are expecting over 100, 000 on Museumplein tonight, and the masses are gathering already. The temperature is a deliciously muggy and sunny 28.

Tuesday, win or lose, there will be a massive celebration honouring the team. Win - and there's a long parade through the canals of Holland's capital city, culminating in a celebration on Museumplein; Lose - and the parade is not happening, but the celebration on the 'plein will go ahead as planned to welcome the team back.

This is a once-in-a-generation event - it's been 32 years since Holland last appeared in a World Cup final, and it could well be another 32 years until they do so again. Think of the odds: 180+ countries start the quest for the Cup every few years, and only 2 make the final.

Game-wise, it's a match-up of styles, somewhat similar in terms of ball control, somewhat different by virtue of upbringing - the Spanish, more emotional, fiery, dynamic; the Dutch, more stoic, measured, though no less passionate about the game.

My prediction? Dutch squads, long guilty of over-confidence (and losers as a result), have found the perfect opponent. Spain is so good, so deep, that you simply can't get over-confident. They are a natural humility pill.

But the Netherlands wins it, 3-2. Coolness reigns over fire (although you'd better watch your head, van Persie). Dirk Kuyt nets two goals for the Dutch as the Spaniards focus all their efforts on stopping Sneijder and Robben.

I feel very fortunate to be here for the experience.

Hup Holland Hup!!