Madeira Views for Days

 

Since I simply refuse to learn the bus system, when moving day came, I took my chances at finding a cab.  Surprisingly, it didn’t take long to flag one down.  But, once again, it took way too long to get to my destination.  The cabbie had to call dispatch twice to figure out how to get there.  Even then, I had to guide the dude the final few feet to the actual apartment … since I’d already been there.

It took weeks for our schedules to line up.  Some part of me didn’t want to see the place again.  Would I still consider it the best place I’ve stayed since starting this journey?  Or had my time away just covered the place in a haze of nostalgia?

Nope.  It’s still the king, baby!

There’s some work on the façade that obstructs the view a bit.  I knew about this beforehand as the host had put a note on the listing on the Airbnb website.  The microwave has mysteriously disappeared (although I did find a couple of the glass plates that go inside the oven to let me know that I hadn’t imagined the appliance being there last time).  Other than that, though, the place is just as awesome as I remember.

Why do I feel so comfortable in this apartment?  Even if I am fortunate enough to move to this gorgeous island, there is no way in hell I can afford anything like this.  The place is massive!  And to be able to own a three bedroom/two bath apartment with killer views like this and not live in it, the owners must be loaded.

God, I need a job.

That part of my day still sucks.  Not only is it dealing with rejection, but it’s also wading through links to jobs that don’t exist anymore, trying to avoid scammers, and reading listing after listing for positions that just don’t fit. 

On the search for any kind of income, I’ve even considered starting my own business.  Again.  I had an Etsy store for about a minute 10 years ago that went nowhere.  Now, I’m looking at the possibility of being an American living in Portugal trying to run a print on demand business while having to pay taxes to my former and current country and dealing with the tax issues of any other state or country that wants to charge them. It’s a bit daunting.

Madeira remained as lovely as ever.  Over the last couple of weeks, I watched the Halloween decorations morph into ones for Christmas (no Thanksgiving here to interrupt the money flow).  My last weekend on the island, there was a crafts fair featuring live entertainment. 

As far as I can tell, tourist season is a year-round thing here.  Every day, there are at least two cruise ships in port, disgorging their guests onto the city streets.  Mostly Brits and Germans, though I have heard some other accents/languages.

The location of the apartment made it, once again, too easy to visit the many cafes and restaurants nearby.  Once you get down that hill, of course. 

               (Seriously, screw that hill.)

I was having a lovely sangria with my pasta one day and enjoying the beautiful weather.  Then a bear showed up with a bouquet of flowers because … of course it did.  Ah, there’s some of the weirdness I haven’t seen in a while.  Wouldn’t want my life to get back to ‘normal’ any time soon.

Another bit of weirdness I discovered about the windows in the kitchen of this awesome apartment. When viewing the cable cars from right next to the window, they appear quite small.  I was lying on the couch in the living room one night with a clear view of the kitchen and from there the cable cars looked huge.  I thought I was just tired until I took pictures of the windows from different parts of the apartment the next day.  I wasn’t just imagining things.

This was taken right next to the window.  You can barely see the car.

This was from the entrance to the kitchen.

And in this one, I was standing in front of the sliding glass door in the living room.

Freaky, right?!

Unfortunately, it wasn’t all fun and games while I was in the place.  With the job search going nowhere and my Schengen days running out, I had to start thinking about moving again.  And the thought of that ruined my last week in Madeira. 

I’m not in vacation/tourist mode anymore.  I came back to Portugal with a purpose.  I was all set to face the scary Portuguese bureaucracy, ready to search for an apartment and go through the nightmare of getting all my stuff out of the U.S.  I was ready to set up my new home.  Instead, I had to plan my next move and flee the country.  Again.

Winter is coming.  And though it’s lush and beautiful on the island (75 degrees F and sunny most days), everywhere else is preparing for the big freeze. Too cold in the British Isles.  Schengen laws meant that most of Western Europe was out.  And there was no way I was heading back to America.  I REALLY just wanted to stay in Portugal.

But … sigh … it’s onto the next town.

Up in the Hills of Madeira

 

Location aside, I was good with leaving that apartment.  Even though the bedroom was as far from the busy street as you could get, there was still a lot of noise to deal with at night.  There was also a Halloween decoration of a ghost in front of the club downstairs that drove me nuts with its constant wailing.

Dealing with the gap between check in and check out for my AirBNBs, I ended up hanging out in the park for a while before getting lunch.  I quickly discovered that there are no Uber drivers on the island.  So, after the meal, it was off for another adventure with a cabbie who didn’t know where how to get me to my next place. Seriously, what’s up with that?  He had a phone and yet he had to ask the other nearby cabbies where the place was located.  The island’s not that big, guys.

Climbing up into the hills, the guy dropped me off at a spot saying, “there are a lot of apartments in the area, it must be around here somewhere”. Thanks.  That’s so very helpful.  Turns out my own GPS could locate the place, up a hill, around a corner, and up another hill.  I managed the trek while lugging all my stuff along roads that only had intermittent sidewalks and some fast drivers. 

When I found the place, I stood across the street with my mouth hanging open.  And not in a good way.  I realized that finding my apartment did not mean the end of dodging traffic.  No.  It was just the appetizer for the meal I’d have to deal with for the rest of the week.  What do I mean by that?  Well …

 

That first time getting into the place was not fun.  I was trying to keep all my stuff (and body parts) out of the way of oncoming traffic while looking at the host’s instructions on my phone.  Then it was putting the right combination in the lockbox, fishing out the keys, trying to figure out which of the three went into the lock.  CAR! Then drag the bags inside with a deep exhale, grateful that I didn’t get run over.  Yeesh!

No friendly host to usher me around this place, which is how I usually prefer it.  But I wouldn’t have minded someone to help me get up this narrow set of stairs. 

The stairs are just beyond two other apartments. I wasn't sure if they were occupied or not.  I never saw anyone, but I could have sworn I heard something downstairs. 

My new home for the week was tiny but serviceable. It was definitely set up to be a short-term rental as it is basically a glorified hotel room with a kitchen, not a place to live long term.  In spite of that (and the treacherous step out into the street), the apartment did have some advantages over the last place.  While the location wasn’t nearly as good, at least it was quieter.  There was a decent sized double sink in the kitchen and hot water for days.  The bed wasn’t the most comfortable, but it least it was a queen.

And whoever designed this bathroom with the large step needs to rot in hell.  I stubbed my toe a couple of times misjudging the height of that thing.

Another advantage(?) of this place is that it guaranteed that I’d get those steps in.  Since I haven’t really been doing the tourist thing on the island this time, my only exercise is my daily walk at lunch.  This apartment is nowhere near the shore, so my walk was always to the water.  The long, long, long walk to the water.  Seriously, why would anyone build on so many hills?  Yeah, they’re pretty to look at from a distance, but walking up and down those bad boys …?  Oy.

I really need to learn the bus system.  While there are grocery stores and cafes in the area, the area is mostly made up of apartments.  You want to get anywhere else without a car, you either have to hope for a taxi or hop a bus.  After taking that first long walk to the shore, I figured I’d need to get some motorized transport for the rest of the week.  But … I’m still cheap.  And I needed the exercise anyway.

Ahh Madeira

 

Yet another trip across the pond back to Heathrow.  I was ready for security this time.  I didn’t top up my liquids or add any more in the states, so the quart bag was unchanged coming back through.  My bags were fine this time, but just to keep me on my toes, this time I got flagged.  I went through the metal detector and was asked to step aside.

Seriously?  Do I have to remind you how many times I’ve been through airports this year?  Other than the underwire in my bras and the screws in my eyeglasses, there is no metal anywhere on me.  I know the drill by now.

It seems the machine detected some residue on my clothing that it found suspicious.  The guy swabbed my hands and the waist of my pants, scanned them again, then gave me the go-ahead.  This whole process is just …. I … I have no words.   

At least the flight went well.  I did note that while it was sunny when we left London, it was raining when we landed in Portugal.  The rain may have had something to do with my flight delay.  Here I am, all set to get this last leg over with, when the travel gods decided I needed to spend some more time in Lisbon airport.

Then, once we could actually board the flight, we ended up stuck on the tarmac for 45 minutes because there was a backlog of planes on the ground that had to leave first.  Sigh.  Just get me to the island in one piece.

Yes. I’m a wienie.  It was late and I’d been travelling all day.  But I was almost ready to cry when the plane finally landed on Madeira a little before 11:00 p.m.  It truly felt like I was coming home after months of wandering.  Not that the wandering wasn’t fun, but there is still nothing like the feeling of returning to the beautiful familiar.

I know.  It’s not official yet.  May never be.  But the island still feels like home.

I grabbed a cab and, for once, I was totally okay being in a car with a strange guy driving like a bat out of hell.  I was tired, it had been a stupidly long couple of days, and I was more than ready to reach my next temporary home.

The host was a friendly man named Alberto.  He lives next door to the rental property and was very understanding about my late arrival.  He was also clearly thrilled to share his island with guests.  After he showed me around the place, he whipped out a map and pointed out some of the areas depicted in the pictures he’d sent me earlier.  He told me the bus numbers and where to catch them to get to the good hiking spots.  He told me he would love to take me there himself, but he doesn’t own a car, only a motorbike.  I’m nodding along thinking ‘dude.  I am exhausted.  I’ve been traveling for almost an entire day and I really need to be unconscious right now’.  Not wanting to be rude, I listened to his spiel until I could discreetly get him the hell gone.

Left to explore on my own was interesting.  I got mixed feelings about the place.  The location is killer.  Close to the ocean, a bunch of restaurants, and the colorful doorways that I love, all without having to climb any hills.  The location also sucks because it’s right next to a couple of popular Fado clubs with people singing and carousing all night.  The apartment is spacious but has no oven and two single beds as opposed to a queen.  I liked the recycling bins in the kitchen, but I hated the lighting in the entire apartment.   While there was hot water in the shower, the sinks in the kitchen and bathroom remained ice cold.  I'd have to boil water to sanitize the dishes after I washed them.

And then there’s the hole.  Right above the toilet is a gaping hole in the ceiling.  There’s no screen or door and I could clearly see the rafters of the roof.  I couldn’t tell which was worse, the daytime when sun streamed in through it or nighttime when I couldn’t see a thing and it was just this void.  No.  Nighttime was worse.  I just did my best to ignore it on the many occasions I had to drop trou.

But back to the location.  The front door leads directly to a narrow, one-way, cobblestone street where people speed by.  A few steps away is the first of several restaurants lining either side of the street.  Crossing that street, there’s a park popular with the locals.  There are always groups of men sitting at the picnic tables drinking, talking, and playing games.  Just beyond the park, with the cable cars launching from the right, is

and

And I have to keep myself from repeatedly shouting “God, I love this place!” as my outbursts tend to upset the tourists.

I get such a sense of peace just looking out over the water.  I remember having a chat with a waitress in Cascais and I mentioned wanting to live on Madeira.  She scoffed, “you don’t want to be stuck on an island.”  Yes.  Yes, I do.

I don’t consider it being stuck.  As much as I’ve seen of the island, I’ve still only scratched the surface.  I haven’t been on any of the hikes that my host recommended.  Haven’t even been on the cable cars yet.  There’s still so much here to see.

For the time being, though, it’s back to my established routine.  Looking for work in the morning, exercise and meal at midday, then back to the apartment for study.  It’s not the most exciting way to spend my days but hopefully I’m getting closer to making a new life for myself.

On one of my trips around Funchal to reacquaint myself with the city, I stumbled across a bunch of cars in one of the courtyards.  Thinking this expo was somehow related to the Porsches I saw in Cascais, I didn’t think much of it.  I just thought ‘Hey.  There are cars over there.” 

I didn’t find out until later that this was a staging area for Rally Madeira (Rali Vinho Da Madeira), a race around the island that happens every year.  I had no idea this was such a big deal.  But it does explain why everyone drives like the cops are chasing them – they’re just keeping in practice.

An Unexpected Detour

Sigh.

The trip back to the states just gets harder on me every time.  I already don’t want to go, don’t want to spend the money, don’t need the hassle.  What I do need are the replacement credit/debit cards that (hopefully) awaited me in my P.O. box.  And since they can’t come to me …

Packing to leave a place has become second nature to me.  The only times it’s a problem are when I’m leaving an apartment/location that I like or when I’m preparing to board an international flight.  In this case, I HATE having to leave Portugal (the place truly makes me happy) and I HATE going back to the states (what I said about Portugal but the opposite).  I could leave the apartment and Costa da Caparica, though.  Neither were my favorite.

Having to ditch perfectly good items isn’t my favorite thing either.  While traveling within the same country, I am the crazy woman carrying way too much food, paper products, and a big bottle of Persil.  Why purchase these items before I have to if I can just shove them in an Uber and move on to the next place? 

Of course, the thought of lugging these things around an airport … not so much.  Those trips require having as little as possible for me to carry and have to worry about remembering.  Then there’s airport security.  More on that later.

Uber has been incredibly convenient in Portugal, particularly in this location as cabs were harder to come by than in Lisbon or Cascais.  The driver spoke pretty good English and I was impressed with his driving skills.  Unlike most Portuguese I’d met, he didn’t drive like the cops were chasing him and was very adept at maneuvering out of the tight parking lot in front of the apartment.  We did get stuck in traffic just before the gate at the airport and he mentioned that it was always bad in this area.  I scoffed.  Buddy, you’ve obviously never been to Atlanta.  Now THAT is some bad traffic.  This was just a minor hiccup.

Getting through the airport was easy enough and I was quickly becoming more familiar with Lisbon Airport.  And I ended up having so much more time than I thought as my flight that was supposed to leave at 11 a.m. just … didn’t.  No explanation, just a whole bunch of people milling around a gate waiting for a boarding announcement that never came.  We had gotten so far as to line up for boarding, with some people already let through, only to watch those people get off the plane in disappointment. 

Then we all waited.  And waited.  And waited.  And watched our gate used for another flight that did take off on time.  Then watched as the gate sign changed back to our flight number, which at this point, should have taken off a couple of hours earlier.  Yeesh.

Eventually, we did take off.  It seems that the plane had mechanical difficulties and they’d had to call an engineer out to repair it.  The flight went smoothly (thank goodness), but any chance of me getting to my connecting flight was completely shot.

The airline was prepared for this, though.  As soon as we landed in Heathrow, agents were waiting to give us vouchers for food and transportation to a nearby hotel.  Guess I’d be spending the night in London.

But not with my luggage.  I asked about picking up my checked bag before I went to the shuttle and the guy said I wouldn’t have to.  Uh, but I kind of want to.  Not only were all my clothes in there, but I didn’t like the idea of, once again, being separated from my bag and not knowing when or if I would see it again.  But I would just have to deal with it.

It was raining when we arrived in London (surprise).  The shuttle took forever to reach us, forcing a bunch of people who didn’t want to be there to huddle under an awning in the windy gray weather.  Not my favorite memory from this trip. 

We arrived at the Arora, a simple-looking brick structure surrounded by row houses.  I shared my disappointment with my fellow passengers as we had passed a nicer looking Hilton hotel just before this one.  But, beggars can’t be choosers.

Check-in was easy enough as the hotel was expecting us.  As for the rest of it … not so much.  The first of the two elevators I tried refused to move.  I pushed the button for two, it lit up, then went dark again.  The doors opened and another woman entered.  The same thing happened when she pushed the button.  We both then exited and went to the other elevator.  The couple coming out of it were also in the hotel because of British Airways.  We mentioned the elevator issue and they told us about not being able to use the safe or adjust the thermostat in their room.  They also helpfully suggested that there was a liquor store in walking distance.  Not that we’d have need for booze during such a short stay …

I did like everyone’s attitude during our unexpected side-journey.  Instead of dealing with a bunch of angry entitled Americans, there was a sense of ‘we’re all in this together so let’s just get through it’.  I appreciated that.

I felt for the staff though.  They did their job as well as they could, but it can’t be a morale boost to work for a hotel that no one wants to be in.  The Arora wasn’t anyone’s choice, it wasn’t a go-to destination in London.  It was just a way station for tired, displaced people to crash for a night. 

The room was clean and serviceable except for the toilet.  Sometimes it flushed and sometimes it just didn’t.  No reason; it was just temperamental.  The thermostat could not be adjusted and the safe was indeed unusable as I’d been warned.  I didn’t care so much about that.  The wi-fi was decent and the bed comfortable enough.

The dinner was comped with the room.  Nothing special and no alcohol, but they did have a butter chicken that was very tasty.  I know that Indian food is big in England, but I didn’t expect to have such good food in a bargain basement, last-resort hotel.

I did face a dilemma after dinner.  Was it better to shower knowing I’d have to put on the same clothes as the day before?  Or was it best to just not shower and keep the same clothes on?  I chose the latter option as the thought of putting dirty underwear on a clean body was just too gross to consider.  At least I had my deodorant with me.  I slathered it on the next morning and hoped for the best.

Breakfast wasn’t much more than boxed cereal and coffee.  I grabbed a packaged croissant, a cappuccino from yet another wonderful machine, and took a walk around the neighborhood.  It was a bright and gorgeous, if cold, morning in the town of Slough (is it pronounced like ‘slow’ or ‘sloff’ – I have no idea).  It slowly warmed up as everyone began to gather out front.  The shuttle was again late so we waited a while, but I had no worries as my flight didn’t leave until later in the afternoon.

Back at Heathrow I ran into a problem.  Please remember that by this point, I’d been traveling for seven months.  I’d been through at least 20 airports and had learned what will get through airport security and what won’t.  Early on, Dublin security proved tricky because they did not accept liquids in the gallon size Ziploc bag that everyone else accepts.  They insist on quart bags that they provide for customers at a station where you’re expected to throw out anything that doesn’t fit in the bag.  That was highly annoying, but since I was flying back to the states, it didn’t bother me too much.  I knew I could just replace the items while there (and have no problem leaving the country with them).

Heathrow was set up the same way.  Only quart bags, throw everything else out.  Sigh.  Okay.  Whatever.  So, imagine my annoyance when my bag got flagged even after doing this.  My belongings have been flagged multiple times on this journey and my cursing gets louder every time.  I’ve lost lotion, shea butter, conditioner, toothpaste, and that rare jar of Jif Extra Crunchy peanut butter that I found in Bangkok (found it there and couldn’t get it out of the country).

This time I lost a pair of hair shears that were too long to board the plane and my bottle of deodorant.  I’d left the states with these items, been through multiple airports without issue.  And now they get pinched?  Are you sh(%%ing me!  Believe it or not, I was more upset about the deodorant than the scissors.  It’s deodorant for crying out loud!  And you’re throwing it away because the bottle held more than 100 ml even though, by this point, the bottle is half-empty? 

I needed a moment after this particular run-in with security.  There were way too many people around me, I was wearing the same clothes as the day before, I was facing yet another long trip across the pond, and I’d had just about enough of planes and airports.  And just think – if I had caught my connection as planned, I may not have had to go through this.

Pissed off and already tired, I wandered Heathrow in a daze.  I still had hours to go before my flight so I began the hunt for food.  And since I was in England, why not have some fish and chips, mushy peas, and my first cosmo in months?

As I mentioned, the airport was insanely crowded and I hate being jostled.  Walking through the Harry Potter store, however, as a big fan of the series, did put a smile on my face.  I didn’t buy any of the overpriced souvenirs, but I liked walking around the heavily themed store.  They had a big assortment of wands that just tickled me.  I liked Belatrix LeStrange’s the best.  It looks like a big twig, suggesting you don’t need a lot of ornamentation to be powerful.  Just put a bunch of crazy behind it and you’re good to go.

The flight went well enough.  No issues reuniting with my bag and I was grateful to be landing in Atlanta before midnight, unlike the last two times.  At least this time, I could pick up my car and not have to get a cab/Uber for this shortened mail stop.  Well, in theory, I could pick up my car.  If the desk were open. 

While it was 10 at night when I arrived at the rental center, the other desks in the area were open.  But not Alamo.  Not even their kiosk could help me.  Sigh (again).  I briefly stood in line at Enterprise, said screw it, and went over to the line-free Budget counter.  “Just give me the cheapest thing you have available for one night”.

That car turned out to be a red Kia Soul, a decent car.  While I’m not a fan of driving at night in an unfamiliar car, the lack of traffic on the road made it easier.  A quick night in Woodstock then off to the usual errands. I was expecting three cards in the mail.  Bank of America, for the second time, refused to send my new debit card, but at least the two credit cards arrived as expected.  I dropped off some summer gear at the storage unit and then it was back to the airport.

Costa da Caparica

 

Once again, moving day had arrived.  I would have stayed longer in that apartment in Cascais, but it wasn't available.  Besides, I figured it was time to see more of the city.  Though I wish I had moved the day before since the morning started off cloudy and gray.  Despite having great weather the rest of the week, a light drizzle began just as I was leaving the apartment.  Great.

Grabbing an Uber, I traveled across the bridge from Belem to what I thought was Setubal but alas, no.  The apartment I chose was a bit farther from Setubal than I thought it was, being located in the city of Costa da Caparica.  Totally my bad, but I had to make it work ...

Once I got to the right place.  The driver dropped me off in front of a pizza joint as the GPS couldn’t get him to the exact address (an issue I’ve encountered more than once in Portugal).  I figured the apartment was just across the street but alas, no.  I contacted the host to let them know my location.  The response I got back was ‘see you soon.’  Not sure if that meant I should go to them or they would come to me, I decided to start walking.  Better to walk in the rain than stand in the rain (learned that lesson in Bulgaria).

Why do I have so much stuff?  Seriously, what is all this stuff?  I dragged all my crap down the sidewalk in what I hoped was the right direction (again, GPS is wonky in this country).  About five minutes later, a car stopped across the street and the driver stared at me.  Turns out, the hosts, a husband and wife, had jumped in the whip to come get me.  Beyond grateful, I waited for them to turn around and then hauled my damp behind into their car.

The couple didn’t speak much English (AirBNB has a handy translation mode on their messaging system), but we managed to communicate just fine.  The apartment set up was on the first floor (convenient for the bags) but located behind a door that would plague me for the rest of the week.  I don’t know if the weather made it stick or not, but it usually took a bout of hulk-like strength just to get that bad boy open.  I hated that door.

The apartment was nice enough if a bit cold.  The décor, not the temperature.  Too much white on the floors, the kitchen, the bathroom.  It made the place feel like a hospital.  Not my favorite.

The hosts, though, were top tier.  Not only did they show me how everything worked in the place, but they had also amassed a ton of brochures about attractions, a card for a private driver who lived nearby, a list of recommended restaurants, a map of the area on the wall marking the grocery store and other vital places, and a schedule of busses along with directions on where to catch them.  Very thorough and not something you get with every home.  Making sure I had the wife’s number on WhatsApp, they left me to it.

Once situated, I went off to explore.  The rain had finally slacked off enough, though the sky was still gray.  Honestly, there wasn’t much to see there.  The apartment is in another maze of buildings with some restaurants and businesses scattered around.  There’s a huge camping site across the street near a decent sized park.  Though I found the small grocery store, I was still surprised.  There wasn’t even a Pingo Doce in walking distance.  What?  That store is everywhere.  At least, it will be everywhere I stay from now on.

The small mom and pop store did at least carry my wine.  And, at 3.69 euros as opposed to 4.19 in greater Lisbon, it was a bargain.  Sweet.

While there wasn’t much to see on foot, the beaches were still the main draw of this area.  Me being me, I made a beeline for the water.  The nearest easy access point was about a mile away and the route wasn't nearly as scenic as in Cascais.  A long walk, but worth it in the end.

The ocean in this area was pretty epic.  The winds are high there so the waves can be massive (not Hawaii massive, but still).  It was very moody with the gray skies.  I kept hearing U2’s New Years Day when I looked at it.  The video for that song was taped in the winter with no water in sight, but the gray scale of the video reminded me of the waves.

There is a nice boardwalk area dotted with the usual restaurants and surf shops.  The beaches are broken up by rocky outcroppings.  Those were a bit sketchy to walk on in the middle of the high waves, but still made for some great shots.

With nothing else to do, my routine stayed the same.  Job search in the morning (still sucks), walking to the water for lunch and exercise, then back to the apartment for study and as much writing as I could get done.  The rain was intermittent all week, making it easier to stay inside and focus. 

On one of my daily explorations, I walked along a stretch of beach that was covered in washed up jellyfish.  Fascinated, I took as many pictures as I could.  I probably looked like a madwoman, but … wouldn’t be the first time.

Foods of Many Nations

 

This is a restaurant in Singapore.  I didn’t eat there but had to take a picture because … yeah.  I figured it was a good image to start off this post about my food experiences of the past year.  In no particular order …

This is the weirdest mojito I’ve ever seen.  It was more like an alcoholic mint slushie.  I had it in a funky café in San Jose that had live music and was decorated with stuffed animals and a jungle theme.  The drink wasn't too bad if I recall correctly.

Near the Sacavem apartment in Lisbon, I sat down at what I thought was a steak restaurant.  Turns out I was one row away from that place.  I was instead seated at a sushi place.  Raw fish is not my food of choice, but I was already there so I ordered the sample platter and took my chances.  It was ... interesting.

It was always hard to find something to eat in Singapore.  Not because there weren’t plenty of restaurants, there were actually too many.  It was hard to choose, especially when most of the items on the menu were alien to me. I stumbled into this one place where they serve traditional Chinese dumplings.  The chefs even yell their greetings when you enter.  Never been in a restaurant where they do that and it was pretty cool.

The meal was good, though I was not feeling that pumpkin patty dessert.

The Portuguese do strange things with steak.  Not bad things, just … strange things.  This is bitoque, a traditional Portuguese dish that you can find everywhere.

I still don’t know what the fried egg adds to the dish, but it is my go-to meal when I don’t want pizza, fish, or a burger.  I’ve also had it swimming in sauce. 

See what I mean?  Strange things.

Türkiye was big with the kebabs.  You could find them everywhere.  Also big there are pides which are like a variation on pizza except shaped like a long wrap. 

I ate at a restaurant in Türkiye that served only pilaf dishes.  The base was always rice and chickpeas and then you could order other stuff on it like various meats and vegetables (I had chicken on mine).  A simple, cheap, filling meal you can also get anywhere.

This dining experience was particularly memorable.  I was seated outside and this cat parked himself by my chair.  I was more than accustomed to being stared at by stray beasts as I ate, but this creature upped the ante by repeatedly poking me in the butt.  With its claws, no less!  Being the crazy cat lady that I am, I did not feed him.  I tried to reason with him.  I explained that there was food all over the city and he wasn’t getting a scrap from me, so beat it.  He eventually got the hint and went to poke other customers in the butt (dang varmint). 

Behold the lethal concoction I’ve dubbed The Devil’s Lemonade.  Not exactly an accurate nickname considering that it’s made of cachaca, limes, and sugar.  A better name for a caipirinha is Houdini’s Limeade as these suckers disappear way too easily.  My first taste of one was in Lisbon back in March and it has become my mixed drink of choice.  It’s served all over Europe and is a lot easier to find than most other mixed drinks.  It’s either this, wine, or straight up hard liquor.

Breakfast in most of the places I’ve been to are usually simple meals.  Coffee and a pastry do it for most people.  The notable exceptions to this rule are Dublin with its full Irish breakfast (including a half pint of Guiness) and, of course, the epic deliciousness of Turkish breakfast.  The first one I had was still the best, but I did try a few other variations that weren’t too shabby.

Below is a sample of the famously odd flavors of snacks available in Asia.  Pictures only -- I wasn't bold enough or hungry enough to try any of them.

And one snack from Greece that I did purchase and they were absolutely delicious.