Lisbon, Friday

We took a cab north for a tour of the Palacio Fronteira, all tile work and terra cotta ceilings and a formal garden. Afterward we walked down to the Calouste Gulbenkian Museum, my favorite part of the trip so far, the personal collection of a 20th-century oilman from Armenia with eclectic, impeccable taste: Cases of 16th century Turkish pottery, 18th century over-glazed Qing dynasty porcelain, Roman coins, and a few Impressionist masters to boot. There was a special exhibit of relics given over the years to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre that was jaw dropping.

Then pastries and espresso at the Art Deco pastry shop Versailles nearby, and a walk in the twilight to the 38 tram home in rush hour traffic: Screeching stops and rumbling intersections and cars forced into reverse as we rounded blind corners.

Dinner was a bottle of wine and simple tapas, tinned fish pate and meat and cheese and bread. We ate inside a small wine shop among a half dozen other tables, a mix of locals and tourists. Lads on tour roamed past in matching pink rugby shirts. Three hairdressers came in and ordered glasses of wine, taking them out the door to the salon across the street to finish their shift and gossip. The vibe was unpretentious and fun.

Finally, two pasteis de nata from Manteigaria on the walk home as we stood by the glass and watched the workers fill another tray of tarts and slide them into the oven.