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Madrid Unfiltered April 14

April 17, 2015 by Virginia Parker Leave a Comment

Tuesday, April 14

Skipped breakfast and headed straight to the Royal Palace. Kept hearing Cinderella’s song in my head, from the Into the Woods musical, ‘He’s a very nice prince…’  Though since his father, Juan Carlos, abdicated last year, the Prince is now King Felipe VI,  and his heir presumptive is his eldest daughter Leonor, Princess of Asturias.  Here’s a photo I like of the three generations of Spanish royals. Yeah, she’s got this.

Thre+generationsHere’s me in front of the Palacio Real de Madrid. The royal family doesn’t live here. It’s like the company headquarters, the main office where they meet clients and sign paperwork.vapalace

It’s pretty much grandeur, everywhere you look. Here’s the view from where I’m standing –

palace churchThere were swarms of humans buzzing around the palace. The first guard I approached shook his head at my Spain museum card. I walked on to another entrance and the security guard looked at it and waved me through. I still paid admission, happy to, but I wasn’t in line behind the sixty zillion tour groups of Asians and school children. Win!

Asked at the ticket counter about a tour in English, and as luck would have it there was one in twenty minutes for an additional four euros. What a deal. It turned out to be a nice young woman guide and a young couple from Brooklyn. A private tour, basically.

Sadly no photos permitted, except in the front entry, the grand staircase, and a corridor.

Just to give you a sense of the scale.entryAgain, looking upceilingThe guide’s English was so-so, but her enthusiasm and patience were stellar. At one point, after the over-the-top state dining room (formerly three rooms of the Queens and rococo as all get out) she gave us a number of personal recommendations for places to eat. Apparently, Clinton was the last President to officially visit Spain, and he is still highly regarded for this in Spain. Maybe Clinton will be the next President to visit, too. Just putting it out there.

We toured around twenty rooms of the palace and there are thousands more. It was built after a fire on Christmas Even in 1734 destroyed the former Alcázar (they threw Las Meninas out of a window to save it).

There is so much freaking splendor, it feels both aggressive and oppressive – behold the power and might of Reino de España – it’s clearly more suited to be a national heritage museum than any place you’d want to raise a family.

If you are like me, you wonder – who cleans this stuff? I mean, they’d have to have high-level security clearance to start, and arcane cleaning skills to cope with silk wallpaper and walls decorated with 200-year-old porcelain bas-reliefs, not to mention miles of Spanish marble floors, gilded carved wood frames, French crystal chandeliers by the score with a thousand lights a pop (currently halogen). No mop and go.  King Charles IV was another clock aficionado, like our friend the Marquis de Cerralbo. Clocks were the latest in technology and science, the iPhone of their age, said the guide. Dozens of these clocks are in the palace, all in working order. Who winds them? For that matter, who dusts the collection of Stradivarius? It’s got to be a highly paid, niche career.

King Juan Carlos, Queen Sofia, Prince Felipe and Princess LetiziaI was in love with the sphinx table, where the former king signed the abdication papers.

The guide explained that the King and Queen never sit on the thrones, they stand on the steps because the monarchy no longer rules the people. Interesting but I’d bet cash money King Felipe sat on that throne at least once when he was a boy.

_79529635_459888700A family portrait, recently unveiled and decades in the painting, has an interestingly retro /modern feel – the lightness of the background, the brushwork varying from loose to precise, the dated clothes (oh why, Queen Sophia? Why shoulder pads and big florals?) the visible grid.  It’s no Las Meninas, but it’s interesting.

The current monarch is impossibly handsome, not often the case for the prior job holders. I wonder if he ever takes his daughter to the office on Bring Your Kid to Work day, or when Mom has to open a fête.  Queen Letizia is a beauty, if frighteningly thin. I wish her future highness all the best. Go ladies!

Princess+Leonor+Coronation+King+Felipe+VI+0iBVETPhJ5_l

Dropped some ducats in the gift shop. As souvenirs go, they were classy. Afterwards strolled through the garden to a restaurant our guide recommended, Taverna Botin. The smells of the grilled lamb and roast beef wafted out onto the street – alluring. Ordered the menu del dia – soup, stew, wine and apple fritter. I did the reverse of Christ at Cana, replaced wine with water, but otherwise ate what came. I had forgotten what nutrition tasted like. The soup (broth, thin noodles, chickpea) was delicious, and the stew, to my surprise, tasted like really, really good Brunswick stew.

stewThe last thing I expected was a southern Georgia flavor. I could feel my body cheering for protein after two weeks of mostly pastry, jambon, and café con leche. I was so stuffed I couldn’t finish the fritter.fritterI was seated in the foreign tourists’ room – all Austrian, Asian and Americans – but the food was tasty and satisfying so it mattered not. Read Grace Burrowes’ latest, The Duke’s Disaster (also tasty and satisfying) on my iPad, leisurely ate my meal, and afterwards embraced my first siesta.

 

 

Filed Under: Madrid Tagged With: food, palace, Palacio Real de Madrid, restaurant, tour

Madrid Unfiltered, April 15

April 18, 2015 by Virginia Parker Leave a Comment

Wednesday, April the 15

Before my Bon Bon breakfast, I consolidated the interior floor maps I’ve used at the Prado. Marking them with colored highlighters and writing notes in the margins turns them into treasure maps, with more than one X marking the spot. I scribble names of painters in the margins that I want to Google up later, along with the locations of paintings I want to revisit.

There were a few gaps signifying unseen rooms, though I feel as if I have poked my nose into every corner.Turns out I’d missed an entire room of Titians. The standouts were  two versions of Venus reclining on her bed while a man leers over his shoulder at her and plays an organ *wink wink nudge nudge*.

venus-recrec3a1ndose-en-la-mc3basica-tizianoNot a subtle man, Titian. To his credit, his goddess of love ignores the man and his, um, big organ for her dog. There’s also a lovely Venus clasping the waist of Adonis.

Next, I spent some time with one of Rembrandt’s many paeans to his Saskia. Then I devoted my attention to Velásquez, starting with  the portraits he did of the dwarfs at court. They weren’t rendered as purely grotesque court entertainers or buffoons but as individualized characters. Far from mocking or cruel, I found them ambiguous and compassionate.

Having looked up several accounts of the life of  Infanta Margarite Teresa, the golden child at the center of Las Meninas, I took another, longer look at that incomparable work. More on that at the end of this post.

Around three I meandered over to  Álbora for my lunch. http://www.restaurantealbora.com/   It was very nice indeed. The  wait staff recalled me from my single prior visit. Between courses we chatted about our respective visits to Edinburgh and the pleasures of viewing art. This meal featured an artichoke and asparagus salad and croquetas of ham and potato. My favorite, a sort of Spanish taco of braised oxtail on a puree of potatoes streaked with gravy and a heap of grilled, caramelized onion. Mm’mm.oxtail

And here’s a shot of their restroom doors. Not my usual area of visual interest, but I found this exceptionally direct. No manikin/skirt icon for this hip joint. The men’s room image is reflected in a glass partition.

wcThus fortified, I walked back to the Cibeles Palacio for the pleasure of seeing those magnificent brass mail slots for various regions of Spain, to mail my next batch of postcards, and to buy more stamps. This time, I got the ticket from the machine first.

Now, here is what became of the pretty little Infanta.diego_rodriguez_de_silva_y_velazquez_infantin_margarita_teresa_1651-1673_in_weissem_kleid_um_1656_originalGet out your handkerchiefs.

For the standard political and dynastic reasons (power, wealth) Infanta Margarite Teresa was betrothed as a child to her uncle and cousin, Leopold I, Holy Roman Emperor.  One courtly bow away from incest if you ask me, and it didn’t do their gene pool any favors, but he was in Austria, she was in Spain. It was all on paper, so no harm, no foul.

Margarite Teresa’s father, King Felipe IV, who called her ‘his joy’ in his private letters, died in1665 when she was only fourteen.

Margarita_Teresa_of_Spain_MourningdressBy Easter of the following year the grieving Infanta was shipped off to Austria and married to the twenty-six-year-old Leopold  She continued to call him Uncle, he called her Gretl. But it could still work out, right? By all reports they had shared interests in music and theater.

But instead, she was treated like a puppy mill bitch, a battery chicken. She gave birth to four children and had at least two miscarriages. Only one of her children survived past infancy. Margarite Teresa died in childbirth at the age of 21.

Do the math.

A pregnancy a year for seven years, punctuated by painful and debilitating miscarriage after miscarriage. Three funerals, not counting her own and that last baby. A man wouldn’t breed a valuable horse that young and that often for fear of spoiling a mare’s health.

What a bleak and desperate end.  One that could have been averted with a modicum of patience. A little restraint and she might have lived. Unlike, say, death by disease or misadventure, it was entirely preventable. A tragedy.

To end this post on a more upbeat note, here’s a video of a couturier’s collection  inspired by the master.

http://www.blouinartinfo.com/news/story/971647/video-french-couturier-stephane-rolland-talk-velazquez#

Filed Under: Madrid Tagged With: Álbora, food, Las Meninas, Michelin Star, Prado, Titian, Velásquez

Madrid Unfiltered, April 16

April 19, 2015 by Virginia Parker Leave a Comment

Thursday, April 16

Did laundry again. It’s a luxury to have a little laundry room and a line to hang my jeans and tee-shirts on to dry, all to myself. En route to Real Academy Belle Arte I saw a window display of trim that reminded me of the sleeves I am so enamored of.

trimArrived at Real Academy Belle Arte and turned left at Lucifer falling, shades of Paradise Lost,lucifer

past a really nice still life of lemons

lemonand made a beeline to the Knight’s Dream. Sleeping man in armor and a glowing angel are all very well, but I am riveted by the table covered with allegorical objects; coins and jewels, weapons and skulls, and books. I’m fond of narratives in art.

antonio-de-pereda-the-knight-s-dream-1655Thought I’d draw the pistol, but instead ended up looking at the skull on the book. Stood in front of it, and made my marks on the toned paper of the sketchbook, all the while listening to Forgery of Venus.

skullI’ve read this novel but it was even better listening to here. When the protagonist names streets in Paris and Madrid, I see them clearly. Best of all, when he talks about his first time seeing Velásquez, recognition shivered down my spine even though he talks about it from the perspective of an embittered artist and I am whatever the opposite of that is. Grateful, maybe.

From the skull on the book, I went in search of what I am now thinking of as my favorite sleeve , especially the white kid glove the man hold in one gloved hand. More fun drawing , this time with conté sticks.

glove draw copyI’ve done several little drawings, my favorite way to report on a trip via postcard, but for one reason or another, I’ve been disappointed in them. They looked off, clumsy. Today, for some reason, I could just look and draw, instead of examine and judge. And though objectively it’s unlikely that these drawings are any better, I am pleased with them.

I am at the point I reach on every European trip when I am glutted on pastry, cheese, and ham, and desperate for vegetables. Yesterday it occurred to me to look up vegetarian restaurants on Tripadvisor and make a list. There are the four in this part of town. Walked to Artemisia. It was intimate, bustling and smelled great. Every table was taken, but I only waited five minutes for one to open up. I ordered the menu del dia and read Eloisa James’ Four Nights with the Duke while I laid waste to it; a bowl of minestrone, their house lasagna, and a slice of orange-scented chocolate cake. Fabulous. Generous portions. I couldn’t finish the lasagna and took the cake para llevar. 11 euros. Woot!

lasagne

Stopped by Typography to buy gifts for my family. Back early-ish , 4:30, but I am ready for an early day.

Filed Under: Madrid Tagged With: museum, Real Academy Belle Arte, sketch, vegetarian

Madrid Unfiltered, April 17th

April 19, 2015 by Virginia Parker Leave a Comment

Friday, April 17

An exchange of emails landed me a spot on an English language tour of the Cerralbo and I presented myself promptly at 11:15 on Friday. There is  little signage in this museum. Mostly standing plaques at the entry to a room offer a general statement about its use, with a few items identified for particular notice. Very few painters are named in any room or gallery, and several that have identifying plaques, with the exception of an El Greco, turn out to be not genuine. That said, it’s refreshing assess paintings and objet d’art not by provenance or the reputation of the artist, but purely how they strike you in the moment.

Recall the weaponry that the Marquis collected? Here’s is a tidy quartet of daggers.

daggersCompare them to his collection of Bronze age weaponry.bronze Below is a centerpiece made entirely of swords belong to his ancestors.  He was the XVII of his line. swordsHere’s the smoking room, adjacent to swords central. These rooms were considered an all-male preserve. I was thinking it would not be a good idea to have a bunch of touchy aristos slamming brandy around all that weaponry.

idols Columns topped with the busts of gods on the center table, including an Egyptian Anubis.

And here I am, badly lit but happy as can be, in one of the hall galleries.

va cer.While at university, the Marquis founded an art and literature society, La Alborada (Dawn). He wrote poems and romantic novels. He collected what he considered beautiful, and filled his home with luxury, opulence, and heaps of ornate objects. The reason Spain has this museum is there was no Marquis the XVIII. He had no heirs. Fun fact – he married the mother of his best friend at school, a  widow who was no beauty and thirty years his senior. I find myself wondering what their story was.

Here’s one of a pair of statues at the entrance to the ballroom.

indianAnd, finally, a fragment of the fresco on the ballroom ceiling.DANCING GIrL

Lunch was kind of a fluke. I was walking by the post office, AKA Cibeles Palace, and remembered a blogger mentioning great views and a café or restaurant inside. Just curious, I went through the security scanner and headed inside. Yes, there was a café, but also a restaurant, higher up on the 6th floor.

The hostess said ‘May I invite you to look at the menu?” before they led me to a table. I appreciated their discreet way of warning me what I was getting my wallet into. This is why I make my own breakfast and eat cheese, fruit and ham from the market for dinner. I saw the numbers, did some math, and rolled the dice.

I should’ve bought a lottery ticket too.

C VIEWA gorgeous view on a perfect day. Gargoyles to the right of me, clouds scudding by to the left, and a fresh breeze to cool the sun. It was pricey but well worth it.  The kind of joint that brings on the amuse-bouche of strawberry soup and little bites when all you order is the sea bass entreé. A culinary highlight.

STRAWBWERRY SEA BASSI also had (not one but two!)  remarkable bread rolls that were savory, yet had raisins, and the perfect crisp-crust-to-soft-interior ratio. And they were warm.

One small caveat, at these prices, don’t you think they should’ve hired a proof reader?

menu blooperI know my blog is replete with grammatical transgressions, but hey, it’s free.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Filed Under: Madrid Tagged With: Cerralbo, Cibeles Palace, post office, tour

Madrid Unfiltered, April 18 & 19

April 21, 2015 by Virginia Parker Leave a Comment

Saturday, Sunday April 18 & 19

Part of the day before I travel is spent preparing to leave so the day of departure isn’t fraught. I did laundry and packed my suitcase except for two changes of clothes I’d need. The trickiest bit turned out to be trying to print a boarding pass. Apparently, Iberia likes Windows but they don’t like Macs. There were worried messages exchanged on WhatsApp with my landlady, and emails and calls to Iberia, until finally I stood in a photocopy shop emailing my boarding pass to them to print on an ancient copier and even that was a tightrope walk. Go figure.

Having survived that, I figured it would a good day to see the churches. I walked to San Francisco El Grande Basilica, Plaza de San Francisco, thinking I’d skip the tour and just look reverently at frescoed dome and chapel by Goya. I listened to the incomparable Joanna Bourne’s The Spymasters Lady  http://www.joannabourne.com/ while I walked. Ideal for the adventure of confidently slipping through the streets of a foreign city.

Alas, the Basilica is only open for tours 10:30-12:30, 4-6. No entry for freelance viewing or praying allowed. It was 2pm, so I changed my plans.

I walked over to Santa María la Real de La Almudena Cathedral. They started construction in1883, and it was completed and consecrated in 1993, so there’s are hope for Buckhead yet!

I had hesitated to go, since it is billed as modern and I imagined an unholy cross between a high school cafeteria and an airport lounge. I was wrong. It had far more grace than I predicted and the ‘modern’ decoration, especially the brilliant colors, were pleasing.

ceiling cathedralThere was plenty of what I love about Catholic churches.

maryThey played chanting monks over the sound system, and occasionally a voice admonished everyone to be quiet. It was surprisingly effective.

I’ve been looking at paintings of Venus and Cupid, aka Eros, for weeks.  Does innocent cherub at the feet of the Virgin have a mischievous glint in his eye?erosBefore I set out that morning, I learned someone I knew had died. We had exchanged posts online for years. I lit a candle for her in the cathedral and had more than one melancholy thought.

I miss the oddest things. Making lists. My gym routine. Talking to my friends over coffee in the morning.

That night I set my alarm for the first time. Didn’t need because I barely slept. The street noise hit new levels. It was like trying to sleep in the middle of a frat house during pledge week, or in during carnival in Rio, with a few three alarms fires and a riot thrown in. Exhausted and cranky, I left the apartment at 8am, trundled down the street to the taxi rank on the corner, bags in tow, and left for the airport.

 

Filed Under: Madrid Tagged With: church, San Francisco El Grande Basilica, Santa María la Real de La Almudena Cathedral

Bela Lisboa, Sunday afternoon, Monday morning

April 21, 2015 by Virginia Parker Leave a Comment

The guesthouse staff welcomed me with tea, pastry, personal charm and endless patience. My bed was comfortable. IMG_3600Went for an orienting walk – assigned myself the task of finding milk, bread, and chocolate. That’s generally a good place to start in a new town. There were other people on the streets, but it felt (blessedly) empty compared to the surge and swarm of humanity in the center of Madrid. I am fond of the tiny, bent crones I see here, carefully dressed in their multiple layers of Sunday best, who seem to have stepped out of my grandmother’s era.

The streets and sidewalks were paved in small square-ish cobbles that undulated in patterns – more like mosaic than the mathematical precise stone or solid lumps of cobbles.

streetSlept in a profound and restful silence. The auditory equivalent of being wrapped in white velvet and gently rocked. So quiet I can hear that seashell hum in my ears. You don’t realize how braced you are against the battery of crowds and cacophony of shouting and whooping threat of police sirens, or how anxious and tired your body becomes until it stops. Lisbon will have its own demands – every step is either uphill or down, like San Francisco – but I say bring it on.

I had to open my (double pane) window to hear the birds – the birds! – singing in the boughs of the trees in the park I could see from my window. Trees thickly canopied with spring leaves, trunks so huge a single one blocks the width of the sidewalk and spills into the street.  It would take three of me to put my arms around that trunk.

tree

There’s an aqueduct that runs along side the park- stone arches and pillars dwarf the rectangle of  greenery and worn wooden benches. A small coffee kiosk and playground squealing with children – a happy sound. The children reminded me that the name of this place Largo do Rato. I expected a piper in motley at any moment.

The breakfast options were varied and fresh, and tables await in either a den, the sun room, or in the enclosed garden. Star jasmine was blooming, mixed in with the ivy on the wall.

va I was willing and able to take on the city.

Filed Under: Lisbon, Short Trips Tagged With: Casa Amore B&B, Largo do Rato

Bela Lisboa, Day Two

April 22, 2015 by Virginia Parker Leave a Comment

Lisbon April 20

I’d booked a day tour with Mafalda Corregedor, a guide highly regarded on TripAdvisor. She was all that and a bag of chips. Smart, friendly, informed, and feisty. She drove for a part of it and we walked the rest. According to Fitbit I did eight miles, and I swear all of it uphill. I am beat, but is was well worth it.

It was the best introduction I’ve ever had to a city, thanks to upbeat and resourceful Mafalda. (mafaldacorregedor@gmail.com) She has several jobs because of the threadbare Lisbon economy – tour guide, school teacher, tango performance.

She picked me up and we drove to Belém and saw the Jerónimos Monastery, where Vasco da Gama is buried.jm

Took a gander at the monument to explorers, which oddly enough reminded me of the Stone Mountain Confederate Memorial Carving. A monument that honors men who died in the service of a cause I don’t believe in.  It’s not exploring I object to so much as subjugation and extinction.

explorerThere’s a map of the worlds that they conquered by sea, back in the day.
frigates
Moving right along, we ducked into the famous Pastéis de Belém with the delectable Pastéis de Nata, an addictive egg custard tart. Outside Belém tower a young black violinist played a medley of the theme from Star Wars, Somewhere Over the Rainbow, and Shake it Off. It was weirdly great.

Back we went to Lisbon and drove around in the steep hills, the twisty winding narrow streets. I saw the famous elevator and tram, and stopped at three overlooks. IMG_3648

Had lunch at the place she takes her father. A family joint, with an old school menu. We had cod mixed with potato and battered and fried, (but not greasy, a Lisboa miracle) a heap of lettuce, onion, tomato, and olive salad, and red beans and rice in a casserole. She instructed me on the way to order cod (only salted!). I had a shot of espresso that made my eyes pop open.

We walked up to the Moorish Castle of São Jorge, to the top of the castle ramparts, on the tip top of the city. We dodged school kids and seven screaming peacocks and the views helped me make sense of the layout of the city. The guide that led the school kids around dressed for the part.crusader
We walked down back through the town and into various churches and the cathedral, and in and out of neighborhoods, and short cuts through building with escalators, and back onto the streets, for miles and miles.

Mafalda told me about the natural calamities of earthquake, Tsunami and fire; what withstood them and what was swept away. We talked about the man-made disasters of war and dictators, the current economic woes and the resilience of the people. She approved of the assassination of the former king – she has no use for royalty. If she were French she would’ve stormed the Bastille. As the citizen of a country that was founded on the rejection of the concept of divine right of kings,  I could only agree.

I popped my head into a few shops and  bought a tea towel embroidered with misspelled love letters. Mafalda translated the Portuguese for me. At some point I had a coconut gelato at Santini’s – I can remember the name because of the movie and you know, yum, gelato. There was a curtain made of buttons I liked. mafaldaThis is the only photo I have of her. The smile is right, but her eyes are closed. Drat.

Graffiti covered the city like a crocheted paint blanket of loops and slashes. Sometimes it was just an ubiquitous signature of urban life. Sometimes it pissed me off.bad graffittiWe walked and walked and walked some more through the center of town. She advised on where to eat and not eat, and where I might like to shop, wisely steering me away from the fashionista district and to the street for trims and buttons and yarn. Clearly, she was on to me. We stopped for pastry and bread for me to take back to the B&B, then back to her car. I am leaving out a lot. We talked the entire time. She dropped me off at 6pm.

Best money I spent the entire trip. I have never had so much fun and felt so at ease. I tipped generously.

Tomorrow I am dining at a fou fou joint the B&B guys suggested. I just hope they are as welcoming as they are inventive.

 

Filed Under: Lisbon, Short Trips Tagged With: Belém tower, Castle of São Jorge, Graffiti, Jerónimos Monastery, Mafalda Corregedor, monument, tour guide

Bela Lisboa, Day Three

April 24, 2015 by Virginia Parker Leave a Comment

Bela Lisboa, April 21   –  In two parts.

 Part One

Enjoyed a varied and tasty breakfast in the walled garden of my B&B Casa Amora.  www.casaamora.com/  TripAdvisor has never steered me wrong. There is a reason these guys are the number one guesthouse in Lisbon and I’m delighted to add my voice to the laudatory chorus. They manage their transient guests with good humor and skill, arranging a tour here, dealing with airlines there, offering dining and shopping suggestions tailored to individual tastes, with no pressure. They encourage the timid and marvel at the adventures of the bold. Total pros.

Headed out, overjoyed to be going downhill. If I had to pick one word for the topography of this town it would be steep. I saw a plain gray stone church, and, on a whim, pushed open the door. The interior was painted Tiffany blue and white. Intricate versions of The Stations of the Cross marched around the periphery, made of classic blue and white painted Portuguese tile.

blue church1The ceiling was elaborately painted, with the Holy Spirit as a dove in the center in a nimbus of yellow light.

dove Three people came in at different times while I was poking around. They dropped a coin in the poor box, prayed in front of one of the altars, and left for work. I was respectful and discreet, and they paid no attention to me. It was lovely to see the ritual part of spiritual in daily life. I lit a candle for a departed friend and pushed on.

candleI stopped in a park with an overlook and took a moment to stop and gaze at the city spread out before me. As I turned to go, a man playing guitar for passersby picked out the opening to Stairway to Heaven. I put two euros in his cap.

My next stop was the Museum of Sacred Art, adjacent to the Sao Roque Church. There was blindingly intricate lace for priest’s cuffs, gold embroidered vestments,IMG_3810

ornate silver gilt candle sticks, painted wood statues,  – my favorite was the Pious Pelican,

IMG_3828and variations on saints, martyrs, virgins and one particularly dissipated looking cherub.

disipatedAnd  the man himself, St Roch. I don’t know why I love that hat on the skull, but I do.st roche

I was absorbed and fell into my observation zone. It’s very meditative and I lose track of time.

Afterward, I thought I’d take a quick look at the church. Holy cow. You know when a flash bulb goes off in your face? Probably not, unless you are over forty, but I digress. The point is you are temporarily blinded by the light. Well, that’s what this was like. Plain as a paper bag on the outside, beyond gaudy by everything baroque could throw at you on the inside.

gold chapel1 There’s a poem by John Keats, On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer, that sprang to mind. No, really. It starts out,

Much have I traveled in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;

and ends this way –

Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortés when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific -and all his men
Looked at each other with a wild surmise –
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

Perhaps it was ‘realms of gold’ since I was swimming in the stuff. Or the conquistador reference,  that’s where a chunk of the loot to finance this came from. Or the fabulous phrase, ‘wild surmise.’ I think the whites of my eyes were showing. I stared, stupefied by the sheer level of in-your-face.

This Jesuit church is awash in gold.They went all in, and then they threw in some more. gold chapel2

There were glazed tiles, gilt woodwork, marble, carving, silver gilt, multicolored painted figures, and oil paintings galore. One chapel featured what looked like a couple of thousand cherubs. The interior was  a visual assault, a body slam of gleam and dazzle. It made excessive seem like it’s just not trying hard enough.

rock gold

It’s one of the earliest Jesuit churches, built in the 16th century.

Fun fact – The most notorious of the several baroque is the 18th-century Chapel of St. John the Baptist (Capela de São João Baptista). That built this bad boy in Rome, then disassembled, shipped, and reconstructed it in São Roque. At the time it was the most expensive chapel in Europe. Apparently, God loved it, because this church was unharmed by the infamous earthquake/flood/fire disaster of 1755.

I lit a candle for my family and then my time was up – I had a lunch reservation at 12:30.

candle2I reluctantly pried myself away, and stumbled the few blocks to Belcanto, hoping the service would be as welcoming as the food was inventive.

Filed Under: Lisbon, Short Trips Tagged With: B&B Casa Amora, church, mosaic tile, Sao Roque Church

Bela Lisboa, Day Three, part two

April 24, 2015 by Virginia Parker 1 Comment

Part Two

Belcanto http://belcanto.pt/EN/ welcomed me. The Maître de was like the Jeeves of Lisbon. He shimmered around being helpful and unobtrusive. I ordered a la carte – Wave Breaking to start, (translated as ‘bivalves, coastal prawns, seawater and seaweed ‘sand’) and Dip in the Sea (‘sea bass with seaweed and bivalves’) for my entrée. He approved, and asked if I had any food allergies. When I said no alcohol, he didn’t curl his lip or sigh. He went and checked. Good man, because one of their signature freebies turns out to be an ‘inside out martini’. Happily for me, they were willing to adapt. The waitstaff deserve props for being game and throwing no ‘tude. Another thing I really liked about this place was the small waiting area that had a phrase by Portuguese writer Fernando Pessoa, “To be great, be whole,” spelled out in light coming from the spaces created by missing books. Books! Ironic, given the words were made of absences.

booksI won’t keep you in suspense, the food tasted great – really top shelf. What was interesting was the amount of attention paid to deceit. Food as trompe–l’œil. They were into trickery and tomfoolery, and they liked explaining it afterward. Imagine Penn and Teller as chefs de cuisine.

Here’s the real crew on the job.

crew copyFirst thing they brought out looked like a tangerine-colored candy fireball. It balanced on a short handled spoon they rested on an indentation in a stone. It was a thin shell around a liquid they promised wouldn’t actually have alcohol in it. They didn’t exactly lie. It tasted faintly like vanilla and cherries. It was their riff on a faux aperitif. I would have preferred to skip it.

port fireballAn olive trio followed. A tempura-esque fried olive (I could have gladly eaten a dozen of these), a soft shell olive that was olive-colored and shaped, but had a melting texture, and the aforementioned inside out martini, which, sans booze, was like a tablespoon of olive puree.

olivesMore trickery followed. Something that had the exact texture of an almond rocher, including the gold foil cup, but was fois gras and nuts with a fragment of gold leaf. I could have eaten these until all the chefs went home. I forget what they called the thing in the back, but it reminded me of fried chicken. The little half moon in the front was tasty and threw me because the visual matched the flavor.

roccaThey delivered bread and butter with due ceremony. There were choices of breads and three kinds of butter. Resistance was futile with the olive roll.

bread & butterNow we come to what I actually ordered. All of the above was just foreplay. Wave Breaking, a diorama of tiny morsels of various sea creatures punctuated with dots carved out of green apple, and a foam that the server said was part seawater. Crumbles of dehydrated seaweed made the sand. By now I am in the swing of having fun with this. It’s not food to satisfy physical appetite so much as to engage the mind and encourage you to be playful. Well, as playful as a joint with a head chef named David Jesus (I am not making this up) can be.

sea & sand I ate my seafood morsels and though they were small, the flavor was mighty. Especially the mussels. I remember thinking how I didn’t realize that fresh was a flavor until now. The immense amount of briny goodness in those tiny bites was startling.

The sea bass, aka  Dip in the Sea, brought along his friends, and the actual amount of fish was impressive. It was poached in seawater, and was moist and tender to a degree outside of my experience, except for a butterfish I once ate in Hawaii.

The raspberry was another bit of cleverness. It was looked real, but it was reconstructed, reformed and chilled – pure liquid essence of raspberry, with a touch of wasabi.

berryDessert was called, with surprising directness,  banana, chocolate and peanut. Robert will recognize this layout from The Getty Center, in LA.

dessertCan’t say it was visually appealing, but it tasted just fine, though it required more plate scraping than I like to do in public. The peanut was another decoy. It was made out of a hardened substance reminiscent of a peanut butter cup, but not as sweet. The chocolate was excellent, intense and neither sweet nor bitter –  balanced on the edge of both. Those banana slices were fakes. More like a cold puree with a faint banana flavor formed into discs and dotted with faux seeds.

They brought a wooden Chinese puzzle box for the finale. It pulled apart into three drawers filled with cocoa shells, and each level presented a pair of ….something. The top level was said to be olive, but it tasted sweet and crunchy, just like a gumdrop. Okay by me.

black garlic gah

The middle layer was candied black garlic. Summoning all my bravery,  I put one in my mouth and chewed twice. Gah. So bad. Nasty. Absolutely foul. I spit it into my hand as discretely as I could manage, only to realize there was nowhere to put it. Desperate, I dropped it back in the box, slimy with drool. Sorry! But no. Hell no. I don’t want a mouthful of sugary garlic to wipe the excellent flavors I’ve just experienced off my tongue. Lesson learned. When creative food goes wrong, it’s a spectacular crash.

Fortunately, the bottom level had a pair of raspberry and chocolate morsels that were sublime. All’s well that ends well.

I decided a postprandial walk was just the ticket. And by ‘walk’  I mean mountain climbing with steps, no sherpa. That’s how Lisbon rolls, people. Believe you me, I was grateful that Jessica ran me up and down those stairs at the gym.

stairsI headed to the big square beyond the grand arch.  Mafalda called it Lisbon’s St. Mark’s Square. A tourist kindly took my photo by the Tagus River.

va targusAfterward, I walked down the street of trim, braid, buttons and lace, and did a little window shopping. Finally headed towards my B&B, following the Google map. It was a long, hard slog that felt longer when I realized it was mostly straight up. By the time I came through my door, I was aching from hip to toes.

Time to call the cavalry, aka Uber. I promise myself I’ll start using the service tomorrow. Spend several hours working out a plan of what to see on Thursday – proximity is crucial. Dinner is cake and tea and tangerines, and I’m in bed and asleep in no time.

Filed Under: Lisbon, Short Trips Tagged With: Belcanto, Michelin Star

Bela Lisboa, April 22, Day Four

April 27, 2015 by Virginia Parker Leave a Comment

Wednesday April 22,

This time I took Uber straight out of the gate, to the glorious Calouste Gulbenkian Museum. http://museu.gulbenkian.pt/Museu/en/Homepage\

My priority was to preserve every shred of cartilage I have left in my hips and knees. It was uptown, and in Lisbon, they mean straight up. I swapped a thirty-minute uphill climb for ten minutes by vehicle for 3 euros. A bargain! I wanted to smack myself in the head. I could’ve had this little bit of ease all along. Once again, pain teaches me what pride won’t let me learn.

The Gulbenkian was named for a Turkish oil man who loved art as much as breathing, and made this provision for a home for works he called his children. *  I have not inquired into his family life. The man had exquisite taste and threw not only money but his skill at long and complicated negotiations into his acquisitions. The museum building was thoughtfully designed to conserve and show the artwork in the best way for viewing, and the presentation of objects and paintings was exactly as I would wish.

It didn’t just have paintings by old masters, it had some of their best work.  Very Frick-ish feel, though not jumbled in a house rejiggered to serve as a public venue, yet it retains the sense of a single discerning and, yes, obsessed, eye. My kind of guy.

They were out of the English audio guides. I plunged in. I whipped through the Egyptian room, slowed a little bit by the coins display. I usually can barely see such small objects, but these were suspended and lit in such a way that even I could  make out the intricate designs clearly. Below is an example – the coin was about the size of my little fingernail. I don’t know what it commemorated when it was struck in 400-350 BC, but the couple looks pretty frisky.coin I ended up spending much more time with textiles, porcelains, and glass that I have in other collections. I loved the Portuguese patterned oriental carpet with a design of the ships on water – you could see the east and west collide.

rug

Also, due to his Turkish heritage, Gulbenkian has objects from that part of the world. A fifth-century glass beaker and glass lamp from mosques amazed me – think of the odds of glass surviving those ages.

By the time I reached western European art, I’d slowed down and fallen into the moment. This was a detail of a smallish portrait of St. Joseph. The whiskers captivated me. Northern renaissance, of course. My people.st joeLoves of the Centaurs, by Rubens. And by love, he means more a verb than emotion.

loves of the centaurs And this portrait of a woman who, fully dressed, personified carnal flirtation with a look and a single gesture.

flirty

No way I could walk past this Weenix painting of hunting trophies. weenix1

I’ve spent months painting rabbits, some more successfully than other, and this is what I aspired to. This is what a pelt should look like.

rabbitI ended up circling back to this painting multiple times.

After my lunch in the downstairs cafeteria (vegetable soup, fresh fruit, the ubiquitous pastis de natal) I sketched just the rabbit for an hour. Made a couple of attempts, on more than one page of my sketchbook, using pencils and Conte crayon. Mostly I wanted an excuse to look at how Weenix did this.

Saw many portraits that were unique in the liveliness of expression of the sitters. Cracked up over this one –

sharp dressed man“Everybody’s crazy ‘bout a sharp dressed man.” – ZZ Top.

Loved this little Sargent of the boat under the willows.

sargentI had lunch and then explored the grounds – art students were sketching, scattered across the lawn and back garden vying with the resident ducks and pigeons for the green space. students

Meandered around in the gardens, watched baby ducklings paddling in formation behind the mama duck on the pond, then went back inside to revisit some of my favorites.

Stayed until 5, then foolishly imagined walking back would be downhill. Nope.

Should’ve called Uber.

* The collection nearly ended up in the states. This respected collection was shown in both London and Washington DC. Curators in both cities courted him in hopes of the coup of winning the ultimate future of the collection. During WWII the British government managed to offend him and they were out. He ended up in Lisbon, and ultimately decided to leave his collection here.

Filed Under: Lisbon, Short Trips Tagged With: Calouste Gulbenkian Museum

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