Well I would like to say that I have fluttered down into, but more honestly, I have landed like a dollop, in Lisbon, Lisboa. My first impressions are extremely good. I say first impressions, but the taxi from the airport to my hotel cost Euro24, which I thought was a rip-off.
Lagos. Gallery
One has to remind oneself (and my brother!) that taxis are still one of the cheapest things about Dubai. I have paid about 50 quid a night to stay in Brown’s boutique hotel. This is money very well spent. When you think that all 50 quid will get you on the outskirts of London is a nasty little room in an institutionalised and “sanitised for your protection” Travelodge, chosen only for proximity to the airport, this is superb value in comparison. This small and centrally located hotel has been furnished by a serious design junkie. Helen and Russell, you would appreciate it. The reception is a desk at the edge of a bustling restaurant filled with comfy tan leather armchairs and busy munchers. My room (I booked a small internal room, as I am not in Lisbon to stay in my hotel room (and am also a cheapskate) but was told when I arrived that they had upgraded my room and I now have a view across the narrow street to a Zara store) is great. I have no less than 5 pieces of artwork on the walls. Good artwork, not the usual naff and bland hotel stuff. Two I seriously covet. Yes it has already crossed my mind to nick one of them, well it is predominantly pink in colour. Irresistible. But I shan’t of course. Its frame is too heavy . I have a huge flatscreen T.V. on the wall opposite my really comfy king sized bed with cosy white linen. There is a flatscreen Apple computer with separate keyboard. There are two quirky 50’s style radios. The walls are painted a dark teal and the bathroom is white marble and immaculate. I don’t often rave about hotel rooms, but I am seriously happy with this one. And it is warm and quiet Aah.
I went out to check out the ‘hood. Did a little souvenir shopping. Silly, because I already feel that I might be paying to ship the stuff back from Dubai to here. Lovely old buildings and vistas out towards the nearby mountains.
I couldn’t find either of the two restaurants recommended to me by reception when I left the hotel, so just chose a touristy restaurant where I could sit outside in the centre of the street (yes, it’s not as cold as Sicily, though I was wearing my DOSC jacket and they had the same lovely open air heaters as we have at DOSC).
I ordered fresh sardines for starters, which were beautifully plump, perfectly grilled and delicious. Yum. Then I had ordered a mixed chicken and seafood paella. This was not so good. Not like Spanish paella with the saffron rice browned and sticky on the bottom from the pan. My mate Tracy Bottomley could have produced something ten times better.
You may be thinking that I eat a lot. I don’t. I once had a boyfriend and wannabe husband, for about four years, who owned two good restaurants in Paris. He was gorgeous and made me the most romantic marriage proposal, in the lantern-lit Rue de Tivoli, out of the many I have received. I laughed and said I was too young. I was 24. I’m still too young. But that’s another story. Anyway, he took me to dundreds of restaurants, typically French, occasionally Moroccan or Italian, sometimes Michelin starred, to Saint Malo, to Mont Saint Michel (reminiscent of Gormenghast), to Deauville (wonderful casino) and Trouville where I sent escargots flying across the room with my first attempt at using pinces d’escargots, to the fabulous restaurant in the Enghien casino (who sent me reminder and welcome cards for several years afterwards). Sorry, a digression from a digression, but this has brought back the most wonderful memories. We went, four of us, me and K and two of his best friends, from Paris to Enghien, not too far in the car from Neuilly. It’s a bit like the equivalent of Royal Ascot. We went to the casino and had great fun. I have always been keen on roulette, but I manage to restrict myself with gambling; I wish I could do that with other things. Then we went to the restaurant. The black-tailed waiters brought out our dishes on large silver-domed platters. The head waiter addressed us each individually in turn: “Mademoiselle, vous avez choisi le.........”. “Monsieur, vous avez choisi le.....”. After reminding us all what we had ordered, the four waiters removed the silver domes in rehearsed unison and presented our superb dishes. Such style. So French. Unlike some Brits, I have always liked the French.
After a wonderful dinner, we went to an adjacent nightclub. What fun. We sat at a table (which reminds me of the time K romantically and at vast expense booked an entire restaurant in Port El Kantaoui just for the two of us, but I will not digress further) and several bottles of spirits with mixers appeared on our table. It was a really nice club. Not too loud or trashy. Classy. We danced. I was in love.
We played a game where everyone on the dance floor stood in a circle and then the person in the middle threw a cushion to someone in the ring. The person who caught the cushion had to dance with the thrower, then would be next to throw. Of course a lady soon tossed the cushion to my gorgeous K. K wisely (there were many prettier and sexier girls than me, I thought) threw the cushion to me. We danced.
In the early morning, we went outside, it had been snowing. It was Winter, so not surprising. The trees around the lake twinkled with white lights. It felt like a scene from a James Bond movie. The pavements glistened with fresh white flakes. And we slid. Like little children. We deliberately and laughingly slid and skidded down the snowy pathways, the icy pavements. K caught me as I slithered. “I love you so much”. He said. “Let’s drive right now to Charles de Gaulle airport and get on the next flight to the Caribbean or wherever it’s going to.” He was impetuous like that. “Of course I can’t do that. I have to be back at work in two day’s time”. It was not the only time I said no to him.
Well that was a bit of a long digression.
But the point was to mention that when K took me to a restaurant he often ordered two or three main courses for himself. He would call for the dessert trolley and choose maybe 12 or 15 desserts. He would have a spoonful of most of them and leave the rest. This is what I do these days. No, not with such extravagance, but I do like to taste a country. I will sup it and sip it up. I will leave more than I eat. As I did in Sicily. I have often thought that I should be a restaurant critic like A.A. Gill, but I think I would be even more acerbic than him!
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