LISBON

Early morning, Rossio Square. The black and white tiles, or Calçada Portuguesa are wave-patterned in a nod to the country’s seafaring history and the Atlantic Ocean.

Lisbon is all about yellow. The buildings, the trams, even dirty washing lines in the Alfama district all seem to be some shade of yellow.

It’s also all about tiles. I spent one of my rainy days in the Museum of Azulejos, the tile museum situated in an old convent. There were many different examples of beautiful tile arrangements including a map of Lisbon, but my favourite were the ones facing me in the restaurant as I ate Arroz de Pato and drank vinho verde.

The fabulous Rossio station.

I love a good food tour. The one I did in Lisbon, with Célia Pedroso, was one of the best. The tour was supposed to be around the Belém area and combine lunch with the famous Pastéis de Belém. It was just me and a very lovely Irish couple and we started in a small restaurant where we had the most delicious fish stew, and some apple-crisp vinho verde. Afterwards we did a little tour backstage at the Pastéis de Belém café followed by the tarts themselves with cups of strong black coffee.

I was having a very good time but Célia was upset that it was too rainy to do the normal walk around the area. So, as there were only three of us, she drove us back into central Lisbon and we spent the next few hours being shown the best shops and delis the city has to offer. It was fascinating. We even stopped for ginjiha at one of those ‘hole in the wall’ gin joints dotted around the centre. At this point we were all a little squiffy, so had no problem copying the old men who knock back small glasses of the liqueur and then staining the pavement purple by spitting out the berry pips. She also showed us a small, unassuming sandwich shop which she said made the best ‘sandes de leitão’ – suckling pig sandwich. I did go back the next day to buy one and, using a series of hand actions and mime, I managed to get the gravy just as Celia had advised. It was one of the most amazing things I have eaten.

At the end of the tour, I was sorry to say ‘goodbye’ to all of them but particularly Célia who had been so generous with her time and made an extremely wet day very special. A few years later, I was in Porto doing a food tour with André Apolinario (who later took Anthony Bourdain round). I told him I had done a tour in Lisbon, and he asked who with. As soon as I said ‘Célia’ his face lit up. ‘We love Celia, she’s a goddess’ he said. Stranger still, I was in Yosemite doing a photography workshop at the Ansel Adams centre. There was a young boy there who was telling me how he had just been to Europe for the first time as his best friend was Portuguese. I told him about the food tour in Lisbon. It turned out Célia was his best friend’s auntie, and she had taken them round too. One day, I would really like to go back and do another tour with her, and tell her all about her global fan club. Saúde Célia!

Yes, the tarts from Belém are very good, but my favourites were the pastéis de nata from here - Confeitaria Nacional in central Lisbon. I personally prefer the custard/pastry ratio of these little beauties.

I spent the last two days in Sintra, just outside Lisbon where the royal family and other wealthy notables had built quirky palaces and tunnels and fairy grottoes. This was taken at the bottom of the Initiation Well at Quinta de la Regaleira.

Despite it’s eccentricity, I was very unmoved by the ‘quinta’, and I really didn’t like the suffocating Pena National Palace, but the National Palace was lovely inside and out.

I have such a great story of my time in Sintra, but it’s so long and ridiculous and unlikely I find it hard to write it all down. In summary: I got very lost; the rain was incessant; I had stupidly booked accommodation that claimed it was ‘a museum of Portuguese life’ but was nothing more than a cabinet full of creepy dolls and no hot water; the landlord was a chain-smoking cadaver who lived in his filthy bath robe; I got drunk to distract myself and ended up locked in a park where I’d nipped in to use the loo; I knocked myself unconscious while I tried to climb over the wall; I had to run through the grounds of what was probably someone’s garden; I spent the rest of my trip covered in mud; the plane nearly crashed on the way home and I ended up in Manchester.

Needless to say I learnt a few lessons on this trip including the simple beauty of doing research beforehand. I’d love to be the kind of traveller who just turns up and makes it work, but I think that skill is acquired through experience rather than intuition. I recommend the wine bar Saudade where I took refuge. The pitying staff brought out a big platter of local cheeses and cold meats, and a bottle of Portuguese wine all of which was delicious (as is everything I have ever eaten in Portugal then and since). Obviously I drank the whole bottle to steel myself for a night with Uncle Fester and his cabinet of dolls. But it was quality stuff – anything less could have been far more catastrophic.