Potato in Mouth Disease

Portugal.  No wonder the Portuguese were such good explorers.  They're maps suck ass.  What is "exploring" but seeking without direction? Vasco De Gama, a tip of the hat to you my Iberian way finder.  

Portugal is now what Tuscany and Provence was 50 years ago - before the buses of tourists descended like beehives falling from a tall, tall tree. The Tourist Pollution Quotient is at the lowest levels compared to anywhere else I've been in Europe and you see it in the eyes of the Portuguese. In areas with high TPQ, the locals have one of three looks in their eyes: 

1.  Wariness - Here comes another SLR-toting wannabe framing shots of 

my house, blocking my path and ordering "lee-o" with ice at my restaurants;

2.  Avarice - I can probably sell her a Duomo key chain for five euros but I can definitely sell her three key chains at the lower price of fifteen euros;

3. Snottiness - I live here and you don't so therefore I'm under no obligation to move a muscle as I barrow straight into you on a sidewalk and if you woke up lucky this morning, I'll give you my best "move bitch, get outta the way" sneer.  Oh wait, that was me on Prince St. yesterday. 

Lucky for me the Portuguese has yet to inhale my volume of ornery in their attitude towards tourists.  They are charmingly helpful even when they don't speak a lick of English and just the right amount of friendly so you don't feel like they're going to try to sell you the new, collectors edition Shamwow.  Cab drivers won't immediately interrogate me with "where are you from?/no, where are you really from?/I know a guy from China - do you know [blank]" when I get in the car but once the ice is broken, they are very charismatic conversationalists.  A cab driver in Lisbon told me Portuguese is like speaking with a mouthful of potatoes in your mouth. That has to be the singularly most insightful simile I have received from taxi drivers in all my globe traipsing and trust me, my lazy and lit ass took many, many taxis.

*RANT ALERT*

This brings me to another ranting tangent.  Why do people always gush "oh my golly goodness, [foreign-ese] is such a difficult language.  It must be impossible to learn!"?  Of course it's hard to learn for you, you miserable idiot.  That's why it's a foreign language!  And being that you don't speak it, how do you know it's impossible to learn?  Do you have a nose for linguistic difficulty? How do you know Romanian isn't just Italian in pig latin? Really, what language would be "easy" to learn for you? British English?  They do say "jumper" and "lorry" instead of "sweater" and "truck".  Quick! Start making flashcards! 

*RANT FINI*

Mapmaking skills not considered, we did find our way out of Lisbon, down to Albufeira back up to Porto and through the flaxen Duoro Valley.  The entire drive cost approximately $120 in tolls. I take back all my support for infrastructure privatization.  Renting a car was the best decision as it allowed us to visit the tucked away vineyards that hold tastings in the overseerer's family kitchen.  On a mission to find the exclusive and opulent Romeiro, we drove up a steep, windy, rocky, narrow path in pitch darkness for about 30 miles and got completely berfluxed in this tiny mountain village.  The Nanna who tried to give us directions only spoke Portuguese and French so she gave Ali directions in French who then had to translate to me as I mustered all the manual transmission mojo I had to back up a 65 degree hill without running over Nanna.  

I Heart HKG Food

Hong Kong, China - If Hong Kong is the mall of Asia, it wins first place for the best food court.  My friend tells me they have the Hong Kong 15 for new transplants to the materialistically driven port city.  Ironically, sizes in Hong Kong run like the rest of China (and pretty much Asia): XXS, XS, S, and Fat. Where does all the chow fun go? It's certainly not burned off climbing the Peak. Lazy Cantos built an outdoor escalator for that. Maybe it's like pregnant women drinking Castor Oil to speed up birth. Their intestine is like one giant slip 'n slide for greasy food.  

You know you're entering a culinary wet dream when even the airport has scarf-able cuisine. Zurich airport, I dined on wine. Frankfurt airport, I dined on bottled water. Heathrow, I threw up (turbulence). Hong Kong, I dined on har gow and 24 flavors of mochi ice cream. The two outliers has to be Charles de Galle and Lisbon, nasty airport food but pretty good indigenous nosh. 

Who's Got Varnish and is not Afraid to Use It?

Bangkok, Thailand - Holy shitake! This is where tacky goes to die. I now must issue my first retraction (even masters have a blemish). A few entries ago, I lamented over the varnished path to hell all historic Chinese buildings are doomed to traverse. I eat my own words. The refurbished Forbidden City is positively Gehry-esque compared to the Emerald Palace in Bangkok.  Hell, Walt Disney World is an icon of minimalist-chic compared to the aesthetic eye of Thailand.  To each is your confection-coated own I guess. But what do I know, Asian women have three colors in their wardrobe, black, grey and charcoal so I really have no right to comment on the technicolor of others.  

Every tour to Ayunthaya (poor man's Cambodia) involves a tour of the Summer Palace and it is apparently seen as rude to not want to see it. You have bigger problems than disrespecting your king's summer crib if you have to "trick" people into going. Effectively, you're putting the Summer Palace on par with all those stupid ceramic factories you make us go to. At least there were cute topiaries of elephants smelling each others asses.