6th June - Cascais and Lisbon

I had not been to mainland Portugal before and was keen to wander around Cascais, and possibly visit Lisbon, which was approximately 12 kilometers further up the Tagus and easily accessed by train. Cascais in some respects is not unlike what Arcachon is to Bordeaux, with exotic and fanciful villa retreats occupying vantage points around the bay. Above the marina where we docked is an old citadel which is somewhat dilapidated but its strong walls still impress. Distinctive turrets guard the corners in a manner repeated throughout the area including more modern structures. The town itself is quaint paved with small white cobblestones. Some streets are patterned with a mix of white and black cobblestones. Most of the old town houses and villas are decorated with ceramic tiles, many with typical blue glaze panels displaying religious scenes or devotion to a particular saint. The walls of the town hall had a series of ceramic panels depicting a number of large scale figures in polychrome.




Clean sandy beaches and a promenade link Cascais to its neighbour Estoril, but the tourism and day trippers have not fully eroded the town of its character, and the fishermen still land their catch in a corner of the bay without ceremony.

The fish market was not open early, but I was reliably informed that the main auction would commence at 5 p.m. A local fisherman encouraged me to attend and take a look. Later that afternoon a small crowd of women, who appeared to be the only buyers, gathered in the benches above the conveyor where the fish would pass and be viewed. At this point no fish was for sale however there was quite a bit of heckling, whaling and general commotion directed at the manager of the market. Normally you can get a feel for the reason behind the disquiet but this time it was difficult to decipher. Instead of asking what was going on I preferred to imagine that this poor unfortunate man had wronged one of the local women. You never know I might be right!


The catch in the market that day was not plentiful; only a few boxes of sardines, some skate and octopus were for sale. Fishermen made the best of a poor catch by arranging and dividing the fish into small batches for sale.

The morning and afternoon were spent in Lisbon. We decided to reprovision with among other things fresh fish primarily motivated by the lack of a catch on board, but given where we were it would be a travesty not to buy some fresh fish. We decided to visit the market at Campo de Ourique, set in a small suburb of the city, and get a view of the city at the same time. This covered market is smaller than the vast light filled halls of the Ribeiro market but less frequented by tourists. On entering the market you arrive at the fish stalls set onto an incline to carry away the water from the melted ice. Pespada, grouper, sardines and snapper were the main varieties of fish for sale. Fresh octopus, and various sizes of squid were also laid out on the ice covered stalls among numerous other varieties of fish made up the rich icy displays.

The rest of the market was made up of similar small stalls selling dairy produce and a mixture of stalls selling fruit, vegetables and pulses. Towards the back of the market there were a number of stalls selling flowers and plants. Some of the sellers encouraged us to buy a particular small leaf basil plant/bush. It left a strong scent of basil on my hand after brushing the leaves and could have been useful for the odd salad.

The seller explained that it was dedicated to Saint Anthony and went on to assure us that the plant would boost your love life or spark a new romance. At the time I was not sure if the old lady could be trusted or even if she owned the plants, but we purchased one anyway. As we wandered our way around for the rest of the day we attracted knowing smiles and nods from the local ladies, and quite sincerely I can only put this down to the effect of the little basil plant and the oddities of the Portuguese religious beliefs.

A decision had to be made and so we picked out a big snapper, which was scaled cleaned, gutted and beheaded with ritual skill.


Small shops, bars and restaurants occupied the units that made up the walls of the market having direct access to the market itself; some were specialist butchers selling tripe. We passed a small unit that was a restaurant and seated approximately 8 people with a little room to spare. A lady, who I can only describe as a local character, ran the place which had a retro tulip print gauze curtain covering the windows. While presenting the menus she inquired if we knew what we wanted and we replied "sardines". This was the right answer to her question, and the coincidentally the only dish she was prepared to cook at his point in the day. She smiled knowingly (observing the basil plant), and gradually set the table piece by piece while attending to the other three tables, cooking the food, running the till and chatting to the market workers who would drop in for coffee. Incidentally, she made the coffee too.

A time and motion study would reveal some level of madness behind the sequence of events in this restaurant but like all these places everything went like clockwork and we were served with bread and cheese, followed later by "special" bread and a broad smile. We were asked if we should like some wine and we decided to defer to the chef's preference and recommendation, which earned another smile. As it happened the wine was stored in narrow 3 foot high wooden barrels, the contents of which were decanted into water bottles and stored in the fridge. Now in her stride and assured with the fact that we would be satisfied with anything that graced our table she produced a half litre carafe along with a brief assurance that it was of the best quality.

A dozen sardines grilled to perfection arrived in good time; skin charred and the succulent firm flesh released easily from the bone. Some time later, the plates cleared and without a prompt, "arroz dulce" with ground nutmeg was served for desert with a little more wine. Coffees and the bill eventually brought matters to a close and we waved goodbye as we squeezed out the door. A priceless experience. God forbid, if we had not purchased the holy plant and immediately struck it off with the eccentric, humorous and very pleasant proprietress.

We wandered back to the railway station through the streets of Lisbon and had a quick look at the Ribiero market before getting on the train for Cascais. Following refueling motored into the bay passing a four masted sail training ship as we went. After hoisting the mainsail and unfurling the genoa we set off on a bearing of 169 passing Cabo Especial by 10 p.m. just after sunset. The snapper was left to marinade in olive oil, lemon juice, salt and pepper and thereafter baked in the over. This was devoured with Guernsey royal potatoes, mange tout and asparagus. A great end to a great day.