After my long morning and afternoon walks, I spent the rest of the day rather lazily splitting my time between reading one of the books I’d brought and surfing the web – mainly watching YouTube videos – until I decided it was time to make dinner.
Wine with Dinner.
Even after a few days, I’d already come to appreciate the location of the flat I’d rented but when I set about prepping my dinner, I came to appreciate a subtler aspect. Sérgio provided very sharp knives. Anyone who cooks knows that sharp knives, if not essential, certainly make life in the kitchen significantly easier. So, thank you Sérgio.
I’d initially planned to make some version of Bacalhoada – Portugal’s famous salted cod stew. However, the market on Rua Franqueiros had only canned and packaged fish and I found Pingo Doce a day too late because the cod needs to be soaked for at least 24 hours to remove the salt.
I had to improvise so I collected cans of calvala, bacalhau, and sardinhas. And I’d add the cockles I bought at Sol y Pesca and, with some vegetables, create a sort of fish stew. As I typically do at home, I made enough to provide several meals. In this case, I sautéed onions, red bell pepper, mushrooms, and garlic, cut up some canned Roma tomatoes, and filled it out with some tomato sauce before adding the fish and some additional seasoning. At the end I tossed in some baby spinach to wilt and served it over rice. The final complement was a bottle (okay, half a bottle) of vinho verde – Portugal’s famous green wine.
I finished dinner at about 20:00 – almost unfathomably early for most Portuguese – but this left me enough time to stretch out and allow the buzz from the wine to mellow before I’d shuffle down to the Praça do Comércio for the evening’s festivities. These would include fireworks on both sides of the river preceded by a performance I assumed would be a concert of some sort because a stage had been constructed in the square and I’d heard sound checks at various times when I was near the plaza. Now it’s time to step out for the New Year’s Eve celebration and
Oh, What a Night.
I did have to pass through some minimal security to enter the square which I did at about 21:00. It was early enough that there were only a few thousand people milling about so I was able to take this rather uncrowded photo
that I used to text numerous people back in the States and in other locations around the world with the greeting, “Feliz ano novo desde Lisboa” or “Happy New Year from Lisbon.” That was followed shortly by the, “I don’t like taking selfies,” selfie.
(By the way, the advent of the selfie {which still sounds to me like something you do when your Saturday night date has fallen through} has complicated any effort at being polite and trying to stay out of someone’s picture. In the days of cameras, you simply had to see where the lens was pointing and step behind or to the side of the photographer to avoid spoiling their shot. Now, you have to read body language. The camera is on one side of the phone but the technology allows the camera to look in either direction. So, in the photo above, I could have been taking a picture of the Ministerium Club across from where I was standing or, as it turns out, a picture of myself meaning a well-intentioned person who stepped behind me to allow me a less obstructed view of the club would now make an unintended appearance in my photo.)
One element you can’t see in any of these photos is the trailers lining the perimeter of the square from which cheap and abundant Sagres flowed. And in which I indulged.
When I’m consuming any alcohol, I’m generally quite cognizant of the limits of both my taste preferences and my capacity. I generally view alcohol as empty calories and frankly, if I’m going the route of forgoing nutrition I’d rather it be along the lines of a pastel de nata as opposed to a Bloody Mary. I generally drink beer but rarely more than say two 12 ounce cans or bottles (a little more than 330 ml) in a 24 hour period. But, on this night, it was New Year’s Eve and I was in Lisboa – a confluence the recurrence of which was indeterminate at that moment.
Thus it was that, after drinking about half a 750 ml bottle of vinho verde with dinner, I negotiated the line to refill my Sagres cup more than once. Suffice it to say that even by the second beer I had exceeded my usual limit so when the entertainment started and Paulo Gonzo and his band hit the stage,
I was pleasantly buzzed and bopping around the Praça do Comércio in a way that might have reminded some people of Elaine Benes.
(This is the first paragraph of his bio from www.last.fm:
Paulo Gonzo, (b. 1 November 1956 as Paulo Alberto Ferreira), is a Portuguese singer and songwriter. He has made various albums throughout his career, including the album Jardins Proibidos. Many of his musical compositions have been used as theme songs for Portuguese soap operas.)
I’d finished my last beer for the night by the time I negotiated my way to the fence at the edge of the square for what I hoped would be the best view of the fireworks over the river. While there, I began chatting with the young woman standing to my left. We talked about our backgrounds and I learned she wasn’t a native Lisboeta and had been in the country for just over two years. I was also reasonably certain that she and her friend who was busily chatting with another nearby chap had imbibed considerably more than I had.
Still, I was happy to accept when she reached in her purse and offered me raisins to eat at midnight as is a Portuguese tradition. However, the tradition calls for 12 and she only gave me six while suggesting a somewhat more intimate way of sharing the remainder and, since I was already behaving uncharacteristically, I accepted that offer, too.
The fireworks were ongoing when we finished our raisin exchange. She and her friend faded into the crowd and, now on my own, I managed to snap a few photos like this one.
A first step in learning to Let It Be.
The spot I’d chosen to watch the fireworks was close to the southwestern corner of the square and my best exit would have been in the south eastern corner. However, as the crowd began to move in a westward direction I let myself go with that flow thinking it would eventually open up enough for me to swing north for a block or so and then head east along Rua do Arsenal. Recall that most of Baixa is a grid so finding my way back to the apartment should have been relatively easy.
It should have been except for the fact that the police were funneling everyone toward the west and Cais do Sodré. My frustration grew with each step that took me in the direction opposite the one I wanted to travel. Although I was now quite sober, I was also tired. Having walked more than 13 km on the last day of the year, I wasn’t in the mood to start the new year with a just past midnight walk that not only exceeded 3 km but forced me up the hill into Chiado before I could circle back to Baixa. But that’s precisely what I had to do.
However, the circumstances laid a basis for a lesson that an incident Wednesday reinforced. For now, I’ll leave you with the report that I reached the apartment sometime around 01:30 and, although I fell quickly into bed, it was the only time during my two week stay that the sounds of late night or more precisely, early morning revelry, intruded on my sleep.
And now that I’ve reached the end of the day’s narrative, all the photos are here.