Lisbon started off my sabbatical in February and is now my first stop abroad. Instead of taking the a night train (read Pascal Mercier's beautiful novel!), I let Swiss pilot Ernst Rufener (a name sake of my highly respected and influential high school math teacher), fly me past Mont Blanc and over cloud-covered France and Spain to Lisbon, where the 25th April Bridge sits softly on a thin layer of fog that covers the Tejo. The picture is in my head only, as the camera was stowed away in the overhead locker... When we leave the plane, the young lady next to me says "e gueti Zyt" (have a good time), though we did not talk before, only laugh together at the impossibility to open the new sandwich bags of Swiss, and she does not know how meaningful her wish is.
Indeed, the days in this great city turn out wonderful, benefiting from beautiful late summer weather. Paulo takes me to the beaches south of the Tejo and cooks a superb dinner for us (his partner Pedro, plus Daniele, a friend): Watermelon with fresh cheese, ginger, and Oreo cookie crumble, then a huge slab of fresh salmon in Port wine sauce. Delicious, especially with a fine Drouro white wine, and enjoyable conversation and music.
The following day, Fernando and I lunch at the docks, directly under the rumbling bridge, exchanging thoughts on science and life, as usual, but taking some new directions. The afternoon passes quickly with my first blogging attempts, a pot of tea, and Pastel de Belem, in that old fashioned café, Pastelaria S. Rogue, where the owner sits at the entrance in front of the cashier registry, almost like Papa Schober used to do in his café in Zurich.
After a long stroll from Santa Catharina to Al Fama and back through Baixa, taking lots of
pictures in the beautiful evening light, the last dinner is simply a glass of Alentejo wine with Portuguese cheeses, in a new wine bar in the Bairro Alto. What a coincidence: Since my former favorite restaurant down the road seems to have different owners and food of lesser quality, I wander around, find the wine bar, and entering it, I recognize the owner as the former one from that other restaurant. We spend a pleasant evening chatting, while he offers some Port to go with the cheese. This is how I had imagined our own wine bar to be, but it takes a different latitude to create such an atmosphere.
Lisbon started off my sabbatical in February and is now my first stop abroad. Instead of taking the a night train (read Pascal Mercier's beautiful novel!), I let Swiss pilot Ernst Rufener (a name sake of my highly respected and influential high school math teacher), fly me past Mont Blanc and over cloud-covered France and Spain to Lisbon, where the 25th April Bridge sits softly on a thin layer of fog that covers the Tejo. The picture is in my head only, as the camera was stowed away in the overhead locker... When we leave the plane, the young lady next to me says "e gueti Zyt" (have a good time), though we did not talk before, only laugh together at the impossibility to open the new sandwich bags of Swiss, and she does not know how meaningful her wish is.
Indeed, the days in this great city turn out wonderful, benefiting from beautiful late summer weather. Paulo takes me to the beaches south of the Tejo and cooks a superb dinner for us (his partner Pedro, plus Daniele, a friend): Watermelon with fresh cheese, ginger, and Oreo cookie crumble, then a huge slab of fresh salmon in Port wine sauce. Delicious, especially with a fine Drouro white wine, and enjoyable conversation and music.
The following day, Fernando and I lunch at the docks, directly under the rumbling bridge, exchanging thoughts on science and life, as usual, but taking some new directions. The afternoon passes quickly with my first blogging attempts, a pot of tea, and Pastel de Belem, in that old fashioned café, Pastelaria S. Rogue, where the owner sits at the entrance in front of the cashier registry, almost like Papa Schober used to do in his café in Zurich.
After a long stroll from Santa Catharina to Al Fama and back through Baixa, taking lots of pictures in the beautiful evening light, the last dinner is simply a glass of Alentejo wine with Portuguese cheeses, in a new wine bar in the Bairro Alto. What a coincidence: Since my former favorite restaurant down the road seems to have different owners and food of lesser quality, I wander around, find the wine bar, and entering it, I recognize the owner as the former one from that other restaurant. We spend a pleasant evening chatting, while he offers some Port to go with the cheese. This is how I had imagined our own wine bar to be, but it takes a different latitude to create such an atmosphere.
