I Am Eating Custard Tarts

Main Square, Lisbon, 4.49pm

The highlight of the past 24hrs has been....pasteis de nata! Yes! Portuguese custard tarts in their natural habitat! (My Dad is dying very loudly right now and probably talking about 'When he was in Rio..'.)

They are wonderful. Flaky pastry and dense, gooey custard and that burnt finish on top. I walked out of this internet cafe last night and there's a bakery next door with, I would say, approx 500 custard tarts in the window and I just couldn't help myself. Gotta get the culture into me, right?

I'd say there's a fair chance that once I finish up here now, I'll be trundling off to Cafe Nicola for another custard tart and a Nicola coffee, just to perk me up. Yes apparently Lisbon loves me as much as I love it - they have a very widely available brand of coffee called Nicola and there's a beautiful cafe in the square here called Nicola as well.

Today really took it out of me, especially after yesterday. I wanted to go and check out this market this morning, envisioning mounds of exotic and beautiful fruits, veggies, nuts, fish and meat. I think I got there a bit late. Apart from some wonderfully fresh looking fishies and one lone octopus, everything else looked like it had been seriously cleaned out - early. Never mind! Off to a gallery I go!

Except that they'd closed off the street for the bus I wanted to film something very odd looking with people sitting in car seats on the ground for about an entire block. Not to worry, found the bus, got on it and guessed accurately where to get off.

Just a brief note about Lisbon and it's signposts. They don't have many. They seem to think one sign about 1km before the place is ample warning and direction. Also, it seems Lisbonians are not into art. There were maybe six people in that gallery, and eight in the next one I went to. A crisp winter's day is not the time for wistful gallery wanderings apparently.

The second gallery I went to had a cool name - Fundacao Caloustan Gulbenkian (I think), but it was about a gazillion miles from anywhere and I had to walk for ages to get there. Plus both the galleries were chock full of religious art, gee whiz how delightful. My favourite was the one where I was staring at it trying to work out what was going on when I checked the title. 'The Circumcision'. Aah, that old chestnut. I also feel a bit sorry for St Catherine, whatever she did, because she ended up having her head cut off in a nasty fashion and apparently her neck sprayed white and yellow stuff all over the ground. Charming.

Anyway, am off to Sintra tomorrow to swan about the palaces and gardens. Plus it's my first night in a Continental hostel. Goody. Although right now, I'd kill for a conversation with anyone, so perhaps in a hostel I'll get that.