Marrakesh, Morocco

May 25, 2023May 25, 2023 Joseph LyttletonLeave a comment

It took nearly four decades, but I finally made it to Africa. For my 40th, Helen and I traveled to Marrakesh in Morocco (the French spell it Marrakech, if that matters to you). We spent the better part of a week in Riad Ben Youssef, located in the Medina, a central business region of the city and an official UNESCO World Heritage Site that was founded nearly a millennium ago.

Other than an excursion for some Moroccan barbeque and a visit to a liquor store, we spent all of our time within the Medina. At 230 km², there is plenty to see and do there, and more than enough ways to get lost, which we did plenty. It didn’t help that the winding streets were often crowed with a mix of merchants, tourists, and motorcyclists speeding through.

Nonetheless, by the time we left, I felt like I had at least a basic understanding of the layout. Of course, on our way to meet our ride to the airport, we walked through a completely new area and I realized I hadn’t even seen a fraction of the city.

Getting Around in Marrakesh

Other than a bus from the airport and a return taxi (well, a guy in a van with his three children in the back), we got everywhere by walking. The host at the riad (our hotel; a “riad” is a residence with a courtyard within it) helpfully let us know about Maps.Me, an app that allows you to download full city maps to use offline. This was especially useful because neither Helen nor I had data, and Google Map’s offline mode is pretty weak.

With the help of our map and a list of places to visit, we haphazardly made our way around city. I say haphazardly because we didn’t really plan anything on this trip. In fact, though Helen had been to Marrakesh once before, neither one of has done that much planning ahead of time. We mostly went to relax and enjoy good food, which we did, and good drink, which took a little more effort.

Where to Find Alcohol in Marrakesh

As it turns out, one thing we would have known if we’d done more research ahead of time is that finding liquor in Marrakesh is pretty hard. Most restaurants don’t serve it and liquor stores are nowhere to be found in Medina. The only time we could get alcohol with a meal (including beer and wine) was when we ate at the fancier restaurants (liquor licenses are expensive in Marrakesh). Even at those spots, it wasn’t always available.

We also wanted alcohol for enjoying poolside at our riad, which required the aforementioned trip out of the city central. Another couple at the riad told us about a liquor store, the Mini Marché Majorelle, near Jardin Majorelle. There we filled a backpack with various inebriants and hiked it back to our riad under the hot sun. We lucked out in that our week there was relatively cool (32° rather than the ~40° it had been the week before), but when you’re saddled with a few pounds worth of alcohol, it doesn’t feel cool.

For our hunt for alcohol in Marrakesh, we initially turned to a common tool familiar to any traveler: travel blogs. When we searched for restaurants and other information (like, “where to find alcohol in Marrakesh”), Google spit out blog posts. It makes sense. Most serious travel bloggers (which, as I’ve said previously, I manifestly am not) know the tricks to getting recommended by the various search engines. They involve using keywords and key phrases, things like “best restaurants in Marrakesh” and “top hotels in Marrakesh”. If you insert enough of those into your blog, you’ll pop up when people search those terms. (Or, at least, that’s how it used to work; Google is always changing their algorithm, so who even really knows anymore?)

The thing about blogs, though, is that there’s really no reason to assume the information is correct. I mean, generally speaking, what we found was helpful. But a lot of writers who write these blogs present themselves as experts on cities they’ve visited three or four times. As I’ve said numerous times in this blog, even after a year living in cities, I never felt like I was an expert. And considering how quickly places change now, I don’t feel like I can claim to have much insight into the cities I lived in for 10 Cities. Which is to say, the blogs were generally helpful, but some of the “best restaurants in Marrakesh” were just places this guy had happened to walk into. And they didn’t help us find alcohol.

The Best Restaurants in Marrakesh

I have no idea if the places we ate at could qualify as the best, but we did have a few great meals. In fact, after a somewhat disappointing lunch of shawarma and falafel for our very first meal (both were dry), the food was fairly uniformly great. For more casual meals, we enjoyed the Google-challenging Falafel restaurant (if you want to find it, go to Maps and search for “Cafe restaurant Falafel”). Nothing fancy, but we had two meals there and both were exactly what we wanted (definitely try the falafel sandwich).

For fancier meals, we ate at Le Trou Au Mur (alcohol), Nomad (no alcohol), and, on our last night, Le Foundouk (alcohol). Le Foundouk was both of our favorite meals; cannot recommend the pastilla with chicken and the fennel salad with grilled halloumi enough. I’d describe some of the food as a slightly earthier take on foods you might find in Greece, though there were plenty of other options available beyond the local cuisine.

Also, the common drink you’ll get whenever you go to cafes or restaurants is Maghrebi mint tea (Thé à la menthe). It’s surprisingly refreshing, especially since I generally don’t like mint drinks. Most servers will pour it the way Spanish cider is poured in Asturias, well above the glass so that it waterfalls from nearly a meter up. Even if tea isn’t your thing, give it a try.

What to Do in Marrakesh

Again, I can’t actually tell you definitively what to do in Marrakesh. We only spent five days there. But, of the things we did while there, going to a hammam (Le Bain Bleu) for a hard scrub and a massage and shopping in the Medina markets were two highlights. Helen found a selection of kaftans that she negotiated a good price for, and I found a leather jacket that I negotiated a less good price for. In all, though, it was a successful shopping adventure (considering that we spent half the time dodging speeding motor bikes and donkey-drawn carts, it really was an adventure).

We were warned at the riad to not allow people on the street to “guide” us through the city or to the local tannery. We were told they would take us to more expensive shops or demand a tip for their “help.” There were people all over the city, mostly young men in their teens and twenties, who called after us as we walked the streets. They always assumed we were looking for the main square or the tannery, which we never were. Sometimes they were persistent, but most of the time if we just said “No thanks” or ignored them they moved on.

Morocco is a poorer country (a Moroccan dirham is worth about a tenth of a euro) that draws in relatively rich tourists. So, that kind of gamesmanship is to be expected. Call it running a scam or simply call it hustling, but people are going to find a way to get by.

Passing Time in the Riad

Ultimately, the highlight of our trip might have been the Riad Ben Youssef. Located around the corner from the historical Ibn Youssef School (which we didn’t visit), our modestly priced hotel was a perfect oasis in the midst of a often hectic city. It’s a three-story residence-cum-hotel with maybe four to six rooms available to rent. There were a few common areas, and breakfast was served daily on the main floor, but the first impression wasn’t immediately great.

Our room changed that impression. When we reserved our third-floor room, we didn’t realize we had the entire rooftop terrace to ourself. It included multiple seating areas, a separate tented area of seats (that one of the local workers used as his personal hookah tent when no one was there), and a black and white cat who regularly hung out. The cat wasn’t technically a feature of the hotel, but it felt like it.

We also had, via a spiral staircase, direct access to the pool. It wasn’t a big pool, but it was gorgeous, enclosed by four towering walls, and since none of the other guests used it, it was essentially our private pool. Even after we checked out, the riad let us hang out by the pool in the afternoon to kill time before our late-night flight. If you’re visiting Marrakesh, I can’t recommend highly enough having a pool all to yourself. In fact, if you’re going to visit anywhere, I recommend that.

The End of Our Trip to Marrakesh

As I said, we had a late flight on Friday. So, before we left, we visited one of the “landmarks” that we were told to see, the Secret Garden (Le Jardin Secret), which is situated in the heart of the Medina.

It was a small but beautiful enclosed park that, like so much in Medina, spoke to the long history of the city. Once a palace, the grounds now house various vegetation and animals (including, oddly, turtles), an ornate gazebo, and an elevated café. Worth a visit, though there were numerous other parks and gardens around that we didn’t visit that appeared to be larger.

It was a short trip to Marrakesh, but a memorable way to finally make it to my third continent; it’s a place I would definitely return to someday. We didn’t even scratch the surface.

So if Google brought you here while looking for “the best shawarma in Marrakesh,” sorry, I can’t help you out. Just try somewhere random, you may be pleasantly surprised.

What 10 Cities Would You Choose?

October 27, 2022October 26, 2022 Joseph Lyttleton4 Comments

A week ago I spoke in front of a small gathering about my 10 Cities project at the Secret Kingdoms, a recently opened English-language bookstore here in Madrid. It was a surprisingly brisk hour (for me, at least) in which I shared a few favorite stories from that decade of my life and read some of my writing, including an excerpt from Yahweh’s Children.

At the end of my talk, there was a Q&A where the audience asked a number of interesting questions about my travels and the motivations for my choices. Even though I’ve answered questions about 10 Cities for well over a decade now, there were still some fresh inquiries, which were a fun challenge to tackle on the spot.

One of the most common questions I get is, of course, “How did you choose your 10 cities?” With the half dozen interviews and articles I’ve done, and the hundreds of conversations I’ve had with friends and strangers over the years, I’ve answered that question countless times (short answer: mostly, circumstances decided for me). But, I realized the other day, never once have I turned the question on the inquisitor to ask, “What 10 cities would you choose?”

So, I’m doing it now. Whether you’re a new reader or you’ve been on this journey with me since the early days, I want to know, what 10 cities would you have picked if you were doing this project? You can stick to the same limitations I was under and select ones from your home country, or you can just pick any 10 cities throughout the world. You do you. The only firm rule is, in this hypothetical, you will live in each city for 1 year exactly, and none of them can be your hometown (sorry New Yorkers).

Feel free to answer in the comments, or on Facebook, or Twitter, or simply write it on a piece of paper, bury it, and have your grandkids digs it up in 100 years.

I’m fascinated to know what you come up with.

Cadiz, Spain

October 13, 2022October 13, 2022 Joseph Lyttleton1 Comment

Another Spanish city checked off. This time, Cadiz.

After a sweltering summer in Madrid, we took our first break from the Spanish capital since our May trip to Greece and Italy to visit one of Spain’s many southern beach towns: El Palmar de Vejer in the region of Andalusia.

While being the most populous autonomous community in the country, home to Seville, Málaga, and Granada (to name a few of its better-known cities) Andalusia has historically been one of the nation’s poorest regions. Interesting tidbit: The Catalonia Independence movement is partially rooted in the wealthier Catalans resenting their taxes subsidizing the poorer Andalusians. But, hey, whatcha gonna do? We live in a society.

On Saturday morning, we took a train to the city of Cadiz, which is also the name of the province that includes El Palmar and numerous other beach communities. There we spent the weekend before bussing it to El Palmar Monday morning.

In many ways, Cadiz resembles the other Spanish southern beach cities I’ve visited, including Valencia and Málaga. There are the requisite cathedrals and churches towering around every corner; citrus trees of various colors and sizes abound along both the ornate and unremarkable city blocks; seafood is plentiful (especially fried); and outside the tourist sections, drinks are a steal.

But Cadiz, Spain has its own unique charms and I do say, I think it’s one of the prettiest I’ve visited in the country. I’ll let the photos speak for me, but between Playa de La Caleta, Parque Genovés, and Jardines de Alameda Apodaca (with its towering, winding ficus trees), it’s one of the most charmingly designed seafronts in Spain. (As always, click on any photos in the galleries to see them bigger.)

El Palmar de Vejer, Spain

After two days in Cadiz, we boarded an early morning bus and rode roughly an hour and a half east to El Palmar. There we had rented an apartment just across the street from the beach, at one end of what could generously be called “the city strip.” El Palmar de Vejer is a pretty quintessential beach town, which means most of the development happens along the road that runs parallel with the beach. Traverse more than a couple blocks back from the seafront and the area reveals itself to be a very literal desert.

Fine for us, because our plan for our five-day stay was to sit on the beach, read our books, swim occasionally, and play a whole lot of cards over drinks.

Which is not to suggest there’s nothing to do there. There are surf schools every other building and opportunities to ride horses and do other activities. But after a long, hot summer, we wanted less activity, not more. There were plenty of other tourists there to keep the surf schools occupied, mostly from Germany. I heard more German that week than English or Spanish.

Each morning, we arose for sunrise (which wasn’t until 8:20ish, so it wasn’t too bad), and each evening we returned to the beach to watch the sunset. Helen was brave enough to get in the water a few mornings for a sea view of the emerging sun, but even with her love of cold-water swimming, she didn’t stay in long. (I stuck to quick dips in the afternoon when I could count on the sun to thaw my frozen limbs once I was out.)

We took long walks on the beach, ate most of our meals at the various bars and cafes that lined Paseo Marítimo, and made a few feline friends, including one who joined us for a sunset viewing. And, of course, Helen swam in a half dozen swimming suits while I took pictures.

We did get out of El Palmar one day, walking down the impressively long (and windy) beach to Zahora, another local beach town. There we had noontime drinks by the beach before lunch. After eating, we realized we were too hot (and I too drunk) to walk back in the midday sun. Unfortunately, we quickly found out that no taxis would come by to take us back. Walking was our only choice.

We struck out along the road back to El Palmar in the scorching sun with the seemingly hopeless plan to hitchhike. This may surprise some readers, but I have never actually successfully hitchhiked before. So, it was a great relief (and surprise) when a Portuguese/Argentinian couple picked us up and drove us back to our rental.

The couple owns Verde Agua, so if you’re ever in the north of Portugal and need a nice place to stay, check out their establishment.

Back to Cadiz, Spain

After five days in El Palmar, we needed to catch a bus back to Cadiz. A tip for anyone who is going to visit El Palmar. You need to pick up the bus from the same stop where you’ll be dropped off. Expect the bus to be up to 30 minutes later than the schedule states, and when you get to the first stop at the station in Conil de la Frontera, you’ll likely have to switch buses to continue on.

Back in Cadiz, we had one more night to enjoy walking about the city. I’ve said it before, the walkability of European cities is a huge selling point, and one that only a small handful of American cities comes close to replicating. Cadiz isn’t a particularly large ciudad (just over 115,000 residents and falling), but it has plenty to occupy a couple weekends.

As we enjoyed a few pre-dinner drinks in the Plaza de la Catedral (where the massive Catedral de Cadiz stands), we found ourselves suddenly surrounded by a crowd. It turned out that we had chosen to spend our last night in Cadiz during the Festividad de Nuestra Señora del Rosario (Our Lady of the Rosary; alternatively, Virgin of the Rosary), one of the countless region-specific Catholic holidays that occur throughout the year.

As with most such festivals, there was a procession of elaborately dressed priests, choir boys, and a marching band, along with the requisite bling-festooned floats. We broke away from the crowds to have dinner, after which we came across the procession once again, this time in the Plaza de San Juan de Dios. It was all very…religious.

If you choose to visit Cadiz, I can’t recommend highly enough staying at Pensión España, which is ideally situated, well priced, and very clean, albeit no frills. It’s also just around the corner from Plaza de San Juan de Dios and the delightfully indulgent (if a bit Instagrammed out) El Café de Ana.

While it might not be high on the list of must-see cities in Spain, if you get the opportunity, a visit to Cadiz is well worth your time. And visit El Palmar, too; if for nothing else, for the sunrises/sets alone. Just make sure to put some rocks in your pockets or the Levante winds will carry you away.

P.S. If you’re in Madrid on Wednesday night, October 19, I’ll be speaking about 10 Cities/10 Years and more at the Secret Kingdoms in the Barrio de las Letras. Get tickets here.

Fiestas de la Paloma

August 18, 2022August 18, 2022 Joseph Lyttleton1 Comment

This last Saturday, Helen and I, along with her parents, headed to the third night of Las Fiestas Virgen de la Paloma, one of Madrid’s most popular local festivals and essentially the biggest party of August.

My first experience of the Fiestas de la Paloma was back in 2018, when Helen and I accidentally stumbled upon it not realizing what weekend it was. The festival, from August 11 to August 15, builds to one of Spain’s main national holidays, the Assumption of Mary (or Assumption Day). Being a majority Catholic country, celebrations of Mary (Marian feast days) take a central role in Spanish society, even if day-to-day religious practice is majorly on the wane. They usually involve parades, religious plays, and Mass.

While Saint Isidro is officially the patron saint of Madrid, the Virgin de la Paloma (Virgin of the Dove) occupies a similar, albeit unofficial role for Madrileños (citizens of Madrid). As such, the Paloma festivals are essential the city’s biggest block party and not-quite-end-of-summer celebration.

The festivities takes place in Barrio de La Latina, among Madrid’s most active and developed neighborhoods (it makes my own Puerta del Angel look positively sleepy). Situated around Plaza de la Paja, the festival stretches past the Royal Basilica of Saint Francis the Great and to the Church of the Virgen de la Paloma. At that second church, there is a famous image of the Virgin Mary over its altar, from which the church and the festivals derive their name.

*_{Real Basílica de San Francisco el Grande}*

While La Paloma is ostensibly Catholic, the parties themselves aren’t particularly religious. Mostly, they’re an excuse for locals and visitors to drink beer, eat various grilled meats (lots of roasted full pigs on display), try their hand at carnival games, and watch traditional music and dance performances, like the El Chotis, a Madrileño folk dance that’s origins go back to Polka. At night, there are also concerts on a mainstage to show off various local performers, from flamenco to rock.

A fair warning to anyone planning future visits to any Spanish festivals: If you want to eat, show up early. Spain is a country of exact timings, and the only thing more rigid than dinnertime (22:00) is lunchtime (14:00). If you go for dinner at the standard time, expect to wait in line for 30 minutes, easy. On the plus side, if you’re even 10 minutes early, your wait will be cut in half.

(This is a general rule for eating in Madrid any day of the year. If you don’t have a reservation and want to get a table for lunch, show up at 13:45 and you’ll be all good.)

The Return of the Festivals of the Virgin of Paloma

In 2020, las Fiestas de la Paloma were canceled due to COVID-19. Still reeling from the ongoing pandemic, 2021 brought the return of the festivals, but in a very restricted manner. There were strict capacity limits for most of the events, even outdoors.

So, seeing the bustling, mostly unmasked crowds at the festival this year really drove it home: Madrid, and probably Spain in general, has officially entered the post-COVID era. That’s not to say COVID is gone (it never will be), or even that people should stop caring about COVID (I’d expect at least a mini-surge in winter). But people definitely have stopped caring.

To be fair, at 86% of the population, Spain does have one of the highest vaccination rates in Europe (and the world). Though the country was pummeled by the first few rounds of COVID, life in Spain has mostly felt like it’s been back to “normal” for a while now. But this weekend at La Paloma was the first time it was so in my face.

We were among the unmasked cohorts; there were maybe a handful of attendees wearing masks. In Madrid, mascaras are only required on public transportation and in pharmacies. Perhaps that’s a mistake; maybe the long-term effects of COVID will prove masking should’ve been a permanent part of our lives. But, hey, no one ever accused humanity of being farsighted.

(I realize for many Americans, the idea that any COVID precautions would still be in effect sounds insane.)

For now, at least, it really does feel like we’ve truly entered the post-COVID era. Not an era where COVID doesn’t exist, but an era where the hospitals aren’t overwhelmed, vaccines are readily available, and serious cases are few and far between. Famous last words? Guess we’ll see.

Fiestas de la Paloma 2022

If the last 2 years has reinforced anything, it’s that we live in uncertain times. It’s a frequent topic of conversation, the fact that lifestyles that were once taken for granted are no longer the norm. It’s not just the pandemic. The Great Recession and its ripple effects, the rapid technological advancements, the widening global reach of culture, all of it has wildly reshaped what it means to live, even just from a generation ago.

So, it’s interesting to walk through something like the Fiestas de la Paloma and see the vestiges of the past still holding on. The elderly chotis dancers were doing their part, performing their routines in classical attire. And there were younger people helping out, too, like the 20-something-year-old girls wearing manila shawls and traditional dresses.

The purpose of the various Spanish festivals is to continually reinforce the ever-fraying threads that connect the past and the present. Many Madrileños will return to La Paloma year after year, growing up with it from childhood to adulthood to parenthood, bringing their own offspring to an event that makes some concessions to the changing world but largely remains the same. They’ll come because it doesn’t change.

Likewise, posts like this by writers like me are meant to be evergreen, something that aims for the first page of search results when someone googles “Fiestas de la Paloma Madrid”. A good travel blog (which 10 Cities/10 Years is categorically not) is always looking for that perennial hit post, and that means writing about these kinds of static cultural events.

But, how static is it, really? The festivals themselves are relatively new, having grown out of the religious processions surrounding Assumption Day; the Paloma Festivals only started at the end of the 20th century. So, while it’s now a mainstay of Madrid culture, it’s a relative baby in terms of Spanish tradition. What will La Paloma look like in the future; in the unknowable 2023, and the unimaginable 2053?

Spain is a country that is notoriously slow to embrace change, but it feels like all of us are being carried on an unstoppable wave to a foreign future (and not just because sea levels are rising). So, will I be returning to the Fiestas de la Paloma in 30 years, or will we have all evacuated the city to escape the fire-breathing lava monsters that rise up out of the heat-scorched Earth? It’s really anyone’s guess.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Joseph Lyttleton (@10cities10years)

Portugal, Part 1: Lisbon & Sintra

April 10, 2018April 9, 2018 Joseph Lyttleton

Semana Santa – Holy Week – is the week from “Palm Sunday” to “Easter.” During this week in Spain, you will find essentially all academies and numerous other businesses closed. Many people either head back to their hometowns or take a trip. For myself and the various expats I know here, the latter was the preferred option.

Portugal

My good friend (and former roommate), Calla, and I booked eight days in Spain’s neighbor on the Iberian peninsula, Portugal. Part of booking a Semana Santa trip – especially when booking a little late – is scrounging for what deals can still be found and adapting your travel schedule to the cheapest flights and hostel rates.

We found our flights to Portugal through Iberian (always a good choice) and for hopping around within Portugal, we booked Ryanair (do not do this; avoid, avoid). Our four (!) different hostels were found through Booking.com which resulted in some mixed results. Pro tip: Make sure you’ve scrolled past the front-loaded positive reviews to get a fuller picture of your accommodations.

LISBON

Our initial destination was national capital, Lisbon (Lisboa). We arrived without any specific itinerary, instead opting for my preferred method of traveling: making it up as I go. On our first morning, after making it to our hostel after midnight, we met up with my current Madrid roommate, Casey, for a free walking tour. I would highly recommend, if only because after the tour I had a much firmer grasp on the layout of the city.

Tour Guide — Luis’ 10 Min History of Portugal

The tour, led by Luis, lasted three hours, and followed a circuitous, slithering path that stayed contained to the city center and the most heavily trafficked tourists spots. Luis helpfully explained that, since Portugal had decriminalized all drugs, we could expect to be propositioned quite openly for weed and other narcotics (we were).

The tour took us by a number of the important sights and literary monuments of the ancient city, including Livraria Bertrand, certified by the Guinness Book of World Records as the oldest bookstore in the world still in operation.

Calla and Casey Fountain — Calla and Casey

I’m generally not one for tours or group activities (or groups, for that matter), but as a way of getting my bearings on the first day in a new city while also getting a succinct history of Portugal, I’m glad we decided to participate. Plus, it was free – with a heavily suggested tip for Luis (I’d recommend 5€). When the tour ended around 2 in the afternoon, we had arrived at the waterfront, in view of the spectacular Arco da Rua Augusta.

Meeting more Madrid-based expats later, our first night in Lisbon was spent exploring Alfama, one of the oldest neighborhoods in Lisbon, famous for its confounding winding streets and the numerous restaurants that offer Fado performances during dinner. Fado is a traditional Portuguese form of musical performance heavy on sad tales of lost love and heartbreak. Though we could hear the strands of Fado streaming through the streets of Lisbon, we unfortunately never got around to stopping for a proper performance. We did, however, try Ginja, a sweet liqueur that’s been a Portuguese mainstay for over two centuries (of course we made time for an alcoholic tradition).

SINTRA

There are countless Sintra day tours offering any variety of sightseeing packages, but despite Luis’ halfhearted effort to sell us on one, Casey, Calla, and I opted to make the journey on our own (for better and worse). For five euros, we bought tickets for an hour train ride to the city famous for its numerous castles and spectacular views.

Sintra, a village overflowing with charm, is planted in the midst of mountains and history. No descriptions would do as much justice as a few pictures, so enjoy:

After wandering around aimlessly for some time, we paid for a bus ticket to take us up the mountain roads so we could explore some of the castles. We should have been paying better attention, though, because after riding the bus for an hour, we found that we had done a full loop and were back where we started. Sheepishly, we stayed in our seats and went back up again. Worth it.

Each castle has its own price for viewing, and we weren’t trying to blow all our funds, so we picked one; a good one: Castelo dos Mouros (The Moors Castle). Built of stones and towering high into the sky, it can be a bit vertigo-inducing, but just grip the wall tightly and take the climb. You’ll appreciate the views.

Despite storm clouds threatening us most of the day, the rain held off for us, only falling once we had returned to the city square for a late lunch. In fact, I’d say our whole trip was characterized by lucky weather. Rain was in the forecast for essentially all eight days, but it rarely interfered with our activities (other than making for some gray photo backdrops).

Pastéis de Belém

Before Casey could leave Lisbon the next day, we had one last stop we had to make: Belém. Located on the western edge of Lisbon as the city inches towards the Atlantic Ocean, this district is known for having the one, true Pastel de Nata – an egg tart pastry (a description that doesn’t do it justice). Supposedly only three people know the original recipe.

The place to get them is at Pastéis de Belém, located on the Rua da Belém. Upon entering, the renowned restaurant gave me flashbacks to the famous Café du Monde in New Orleans. Just as that shop is known for its beignets, Belém is where you go if you want authentic Pastel de Nata. You can get similar tarts throughout Portugal, but like Highlanders, there can be only one.

When we arrived, there was a long line out the door (another similarity to Café du Monde), but Casey had been clued in by the manager at her hostel that we could slip through the line and go straight inside for a table. We still waited in a short line, but it only took us ten minutes to be sat. Unlike du Monde, there is a full menu of food and pastry options to choose from, but if you’re not getting the Nata, why did you even get out of bed?

Now, what everyone wants to know: are these pastries worth the hype? Well, put quite simply, they are delicious, unquestionably. Are they the greatest things I’ve ever tasted? I wouldn’t go that far, but I would definitely make it a point of going back to Pastéis de Belém the next time I’m in Lisbon.

Of course, some will wonder if getting a Nata in Belém is really necessary if other shops sell them, too. To that, I’d say: unequivocally, yes. I had actually tried a similar tart earlier that very morning at a café just outside my hostel and it wasn’t even in the same category.

If you’re a pastry devotee, there’s no reason to settle, Pastéis de Belém is a 30 minute detour outside of the city center. Make the effort. (Also, if you’re a pastry devotee, you’ve made some weird choices in life, but you do you.)

After we parted ways with Casey, Calla and I returned to our hostel. This was our second hostel (the reason for the change is a long, uninteresting story), and a definite upgrade, even though it was further outside the city center.

Our first hostel was a mistake. Overbooked and poorly designed, it had only two single-occupancy bathrooms for some 30 guests. Sure, the loud-whispering, drunk bunkmates who were a few steps short of reaching third base in a room of eight people were annoying, but that’s just part and parcel of hostel life; the bathroom situation, though, that was unacceptable.

Following our night’s stay in the less crowded and far less grunt-filled hostel, Calla and I had to catch a flight to Porto for the second leg of our trip. But that’s a full post in itself, so you’ll have to come back next week if you want to meet this cool dude:

Until next week, Adeus!

Three Months

December 12, 2017December 12, 2017 Joseph Lyttleton

It’s been a minute.

In so many ways, I’ve just begun.

Three months is how long one can have a “Tourist Visa” for the Schengen Area, the territory made up of 26 European states (including Spain) that have a common visa policy. Everything after that is, well, just life.

I have been in Madrid just over three months. I am still a visitor.

I’m surrounded by Americans here. My three roommates are all from the States, as are most of the people I associate with on a day-to-day basis. My situation is unique among the group because I am the only one not enrolled in the language school, and thus lack those direct connections and gateways into the wider culture here.

Admittedly, it’s made things difficult.

I never had any illusions. Moving to Spain was always going to be more difficult than any of my 10 US moves for one obvious reason: I don’t speak the language. Every challenge associated with relocating is amplified by that deficiency. Which, of course, is the point. Each challenge should be harder than the one that came before, otherwise, there’s no growth.

I am on my own.

As I said, I have a group of Americans around me, and I’m grateful for their company. We spent Thanksgiving together, traveled to Toledo as a group, and have enjoyed a wide range of activities, both Spanish and otherwise, including photo shoots, dance classes, and bar hopping. Like so many other cities before Madrid, I have landed within the comforting fold of a collective.

But after my many years on the road, I’m acutely aware of the solitude inherent to my life. Carpool lanes don’t exist on this highway.

I scan through a lot of travel blogs and social media posts by people who have moved to another country. A common trope across almost all of these mediums is the grandiose self-examination, the “What have I learned so far?” post.

I get it. Not only are we a species prone to taking stock of where we are, where we’ve been, and where we’re going, but our friends and family are always asking us about all that David Copperfield kind of crap. Why move across an ocean if you aren’t going to learn new things about the world and yourself?

So, here’s some knowledge: Mahou, the name of a ubiquitous beer in Madrid, is one syllable and rhymes with “wow.”

Something else? Well, hm, a euro or two is sufficient tip for a full meal.

Still more? I’d rather not.

Three months isn’t long enough to “know” anything. I am new to this country – to this continent – and I have experienced relatively little in the grand scheme of things. If I returned to the States now, I could certainly share insights into life in Spain and on how it differs from life in the US. They would be shallow observations, though, because I haven’t come here to report back on my findings.

I’m here to live. Solo mirando solo.

When the original 10 Cities/10 Years project concluded, my biggest struggle was explaining the “why” of it, both to others and to myself. I did it, it happened, there was nothing more to it. The project was such a massive undertaking that it’s nearly incomprehensible to suggest there was no grand purpose to the endeavor, and yet.

Now in Spain, I feel a similar disconnect. The people I know have different reasons for being here, either seeking a break from their life, or improving their Spanish, or even escaping a painful past. Some will be here a year, others might push it to two. In the end, though, they will return home, because home is something definite to them.

I’ve nothing to return to. I’m home here. And then, some day – a year, two years, a decade from now – I’ll be home somewhere else. Home is always the future, never what’s past.

I have no idea where I will be in a year. In some ways, that’s standard operating procedure for me, but in the past there’s always been scaffolding to provide shape to the uncertain future. I might not have known what city I would be in, but I knew I’d be somewhere new, starting over, getting on with the process of life and building towards New York.

A year from now, I could be in Madrid or Barcelona, some other European country, or somewhere in Asia. Maybe circumstances will force me back to the US or into some heretofore unimaginable corner of the planet. I mean, probably Madrid, but also, if the wind blows, so be it.

I am on my own.

This much I know. Everything is up in the air and the roads undiscovered are plentiful, but there has been one truth to my life that hasn’t changed: I will find my own way.

May it not always be a lonely path. Cada camino es un buen camino.