The plan was to head to the Feira de Ladra (thieves market) via breakfast - lots of random stuff including two second hand gas combi boilers - obviously the Portuguese version of Corgi is not as diligent as in the UK.
Coffee (and an amazing almond tarte) in the square by the Museu do Fado provided an entertaining hour of people watching - there were so many 'ladies of a certain age' wearing tabard style housecoats that we could have been in a Pedro Almodovar film. There was also a glamorous fifty-something woman with a leonine mane of golden hair, and a fabulously coordinated woman with orange handbag, orange Chanel shades and matching orange hair. Coco would be turning in her grave.
We made a quick sojourn into the Museu do Fado - not worth E5, but vaguely interesting - Fado is apparently a traditional form of guitar based singing that is somehow linked to brothels of the early twentieth century. The exhibit included a doll's house brothel - bet they don't feature often in letters to Father Christmas!
We tracked down Garrafeira da Sé - a wine tasting cellar near the cathedral that was recommended by Lonely Planet but the owner was disinterested and didn't offer any samples.
Just time for a coffee stop at Pois Café then a quick foray into the Sé Cathedral before heading over to Bairro Alto.
We walk down a whole street consisting solely of haberdashery shops - who knew you could buy bra making kits?
Whilst trying to find a restaurant called Fábulas we stumbled across a wonderful artisan chocolate shop called Xocoa - one of a chain of four from Barcelona apparently. Hooked in by the free sample ganache tart I left having purchased a bag of chocolate dipped orange peel and bars of Jamaican pimento, orange and lemon chocolate - and got directions to the restaurant!
Fábulas is recommended for its beautiful terrace, but sadly it was full so we dined inside. The goats' cheese, black olive and tomato salad was delicious - the cheese hard and waxy, more like manchego than goats' cheese at home. Several hours later we emerged disappointingly into drizzle and headed for the famous No 28 tram that wends its way through the city via most of the tourist highlights. Maybe it was the grey skies and the rain, but it wasn't quite the exhilarating roller coaster ride described in the guide book.
En route to the apartment for our afternoon siesta we stopped off for supplies in case Portugal's Sunday trading laws make securing breakfast tomorrow difficult. The shop owner is very sweet when we spy and try to buy a bag of croissants that are his supper - he sees our disappointment and offers them to us anyway but we politely decline, leaving with cheese, tomatoes, bread rolls, biscuits, Lipton's tea (a sure sign of being on holiday) and UHT milk (yum).
Three siestas later we are ready to hit the town.
First stop is the open air bar on the Largo das Portas do Sol - basically a viewing point to watch the sunset.
A beer later we head over to Baixa to A Ginjinha a tiny 1840s hole in the wall bar serving shots of Ginjinha - a sickly cherry brandy with incredibly sour cherries floating in it. Not unlike an alcoholic cough mixture. We then head over to eat at Café Buenos Aires for dinner - a wonderful meal starting with tempura zucchini flowers, baked Parmesan in Filo pastry and followed by sun dried tomato tortellini or rare steak, all accompanied by sangria with crushed raspberries.
To walk off dinner we headed to Bairro Alto to Solar do Vinho do Porto - an 18th century cellar bar with an extensive (try 10 pages plus) menu of ports - some over E20 a glass. We slipped into to cream leather club chairs and waited to be guided through the menu. And waited. And waited. Finally a condescending waiter approached and snorted with derision when we asked for a recommendation from the menu. We upped and left settling for the rooftop bar at the Bairro Alto Hotel and the nicest sourest Negroni I've had in ages. Finally we ended up in Bar Belo Di-nós Cabo Verde. A hipster cool bar with a live fado band and lots of bearded, glasses wearing geeks dancing with pretty girls. Two beers later we jumped in a taxi and headed home.
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