We left lovely Porto in the rain, arriving in London during the late afternoon. By the time we arrived at our Airbnb near Baker Street—the home of Sherlock Holmes—the sun had set on day 32. But that wouldn’t stop us from doing a little sightseeing.
We exited Westminster Station directly into the massive shadow of Elizabeth Tower, better known as Big Ben. Other than a few people wandering the neighborhood and the evening commuters dashing by, we more or less had the area to ourselves.
Around the corner, the Palace of Westminster, home to the UK’s infamous Parliament, lay quiet. Big Ben anchors the gothic-style building at one end, while Victoria Tower—once the world’s tallest non-religious building—proudly flies the Union Flag at the other.
Across the street, the famous Westminster Abbey was equally quiet as flood lights highlighted the rose window on the north entrance. The abbey was founded in the 10th century and the current structure was built from 1245 forward. The neo-gothic western facade was a late addition in the 18th century. Royal weddings have been held in the abbey since 1100; most recently the marriage of Prince William and Kate Middleton.
Back near the station, the only crowd we’d seen all night lined the Westminster Bridge to take photos of the London Eye. Marking the unofficial beginning of the South Bank entertainment district, Europe’s largest Ferris wheel cast a colorful light upon the River Thames.
We hopped back on the tube toward London Bridge. Although it’s the subject of a famous song, London Bridge itself isn’t much more than a concert slab spanning the Thames. Its neighbor, the Tower Bridge, is the real star.
The 120-year-old suspension bridge connects the South Bank to the Tower of London. A four-year restoration project was finished in time for the 2012 Summer Olympics, adding a blue and white color scheme and LED lights that make the bridge a must-see on a London evening.
The north facade of Westminster Abbey.The London Eye reflecting on the River Thames.The Tower of London.The Tower Bridge.The Tower Bridge.
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I opened the utensil drawer on the first day in our Airbnb apartment to find a mostly empty cutlery tray with only a wine corkscrew in it. “Porto in a nutshell” I thought. But the city famous for its sweet wine has so much more to offer.
With the sun finally breaking through for the first time in what seemed like forever, we set out early on day 31 with an ambitious agenda. We started with another stair climb, the most scenic way to climb the south side hills, to the viewpoint at Miradouro da Vitoria for a morning view of the city. Nearby, the 18th-century baroque church and city icon, Torre dos Clèrigos, soared above the tightly-packed buildings.
Opposite the park near the tower is the famous Livraria Lello & Irmão. Widely considered one of the world’s most beautiful bookstores, Lello gained additional fame when Harry Potter author J.K. Rowling revealed it as a source of inspiration for her popular novels. The architecture is stunning, beginning with the deep red staircase in the middle of the room. Natural light from the stained glass ceiling floods the the collection of both modern books and 100-year-old copies of classics. The old book cart on rails now serves as a shelf for Rowling’s many works.
Across the street, the blue-tiled churches of Igreja dos Carmelitas glistened in the sun. While they appear to be one building, they’re actually two buildings separated by one of the world’s narrowest houses. At just one meter (just over three feet) wide, it served to create a barrier between the nuns of Carmelite Church and the monks of Carmo Church and was occupied as a residence until the 1980s.
After lunch, we boarded the Heritage Tram toward the coast. The vintage cable tram cars move slowly along the Douro River with only three stops along the way. At the end of the line, the conductor manually switches the cable connector from one end of the tram to the other before making the return journey.
We alighted a few blocks away from Porto’s long stretch of Atlantic Ocean-facing beaches. The ocean air was refreshing for the lungs and the soul. We sat along the stone wall for awhile and watched the clouds roll back in. As the sky began to turn to a less-desirable shade of gray, we headed back toward the city center.
The north side of the river is known as Vila Nova de Gaia and has been home to many of Porto’s wine cellars since the 13th century. Prior to the arrival of the railroad, wine was transported in barrels from the Douro Valley to the cellars by small rowboats called Rabelos. The boats are unique to the Porto region and are now on display along the banks of the river.
We chose to tour Sandeman Cellars after reading some reviews online. For just a few euros, we received a group tour (led by “The Don,” the character in the company’s logo) of the wine cellars and a sample tasting at the end.
Sandeman is well-known in the history of the wine industry. It was the first company to put labels on the bottle identifying a wine with its producer. Later, it became the first producer to advertise, including a series of controversial art-nouveau posters.
We made some new friends that night as well. At the cellar tasting, we sat next to a older couple from London, our next destination. The woman was originally from Japan, so we had some interesting stories to share. They gave us a few tips of things to see and do on the next leg of our trip.
On the way back to our apartment, a drunken group of German futbol fans asked us to take a photo of them. The team from Dortmund was in town to play FC Porto and they traveled well, overflowing the riverside bars and singing team songs. The ringleader asked where we were from. When I replied “the U.S.,” he shouted “I love Donald Trump!” and everyone had a good laugh.
View from Miradouro da Vitoria.Torre dos Clèrigos.
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The art nouveau spiral staircase at Livraria Lello & Irmão.
Upstairs at Livraria Lello & Irmão.
The Harry Potter bin at Livraria Lello & Irmão.
Igreja dos Carmelitas.The Porto Heritage Tram.Fishing boats in the Douro River near the mouth of the Atlantic Ocean.A Rabelo boat belonging to Cockburn’s Port House sits in the Douro River.
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Oak barrels in the Sandeman cellar age the various red port wines. The ports at Sandeman rarely have a vintage as they use a blend of harvests to create a consistent product.
Massive barrels contain Sandeman’s white port.
In Sandeman’s tasting room, we received a generous sample of their white port and reserve tawny port.
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Porto was on our original itinerary, but we were having a hard time getting Portugal’s second-largest city to fit in our actual travel plans. The stars and flight finally aligned somewhere around Berlin and we were on our way.
We arrived from Brussels late the previous afternoon to warmer and dryer weather than we’d had grown accustomed during the week past. Sitting along the south side of the Douro River in Porto’s historic center, we watched as day turned to night and the signs of the wine cellars on the river’s north bank began to light up.
On this late February day, the historic south side felt untouched despite the increased tourism. Our Airbnb host told us the city is nearly unlivable when the summer crowds arrive—Porto was named the best European destination by a leading tourism agency in both 2012 and 2014. But, the local government has done an admirable job of keeping growth limited to certain areas of the city.
The spectacular blue-tiled cathedrals and 15th century houses painted in bright colors are the highlight for most sightseers, but real life is on display as well. In the morning, we climbed the stairs from near the river up the narrow alleys toward Porto Cathedral, the city’s oldest building. The small, narrow homes were full of life as people hung out their laundry and socialized with neighbors, seemingly unimpressed by their important surroundings.
We weathered a sudden and heavy patch of rain, ducking into Capela das Almas. Outside, the church is adorned in the aforementioned tiles covered in monochrome blue painted religious images. Inside, despite it being midday in the middle of the week, a crowded mass was being held. We stood silently in the back, waiting for the weather to pass.
Just down the street, we stumbled on Mercado do Bolhao. The old citarket was like nothing we’d seen before. The center of the market is set in a courtyard with balconies running around the outside. It resembled an arena more than a typical market. While some vendors targeted the tourists with Porto-branded kitsch, the myriad of produce vendors, butchers and bread shops let us know this was a place for locals as well. We bought some things for dinner, including a dense, softball-sized loaf of bread known as broa de Aventes that weighed in at two pounds!
In the evening, we crossed the Ponte Luiz I Bridge—designed by a partner of Gustave Eiffel and which bears more than a passing resemblance to the Eiffel Tower—and looked over the south side of the city from the Mosteiro de Serra do Pilar viewpoint. The river at night looks almost metropolitan as the outdoor cafes cast a yellow hue, but the old city on the hill fades to darkness save for a few flood lights.
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The signs for the various wine cellars on the north side of the river.
The Ponte Luis I Bridge, designed by a partner of Gustave Eiffel, and Mosteiro de Serra do Pilar.
The Sandeman Cellar is one of the wine industry’s most important brands.
Looking back at the Ponte Luis I Bridge from the north side of the Douro River.
The red roofs of Porto with the Torre dos Clérigos rising high above the rest of the city.The painted tiles of Capela das Almas.The historic south bank of the Douro River as seen from the Mosteiro de Serra do Pilar viewpoint.
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We woke up on our last morning in Brussels with a sense of purpose. We had just three hours before leaving for the airport and had some unfinished business.
The outer walls of some of Brussels’s city center buildings are adorned with large murals by some of Belgium’s most famous comic book artists. The style, especially hose drawn in the 1970s, heavily influenced artists around the world, the results of which can still be seen today.
Started in 1991 as a colorful way to decorate the mono color streets of the city, more than 50 murals can be found throughout the city. We followed the Comic Book Trail from Grand Place to the south end of the city. It’s a bit like a treasure hunt as some are tucked away down side streets while others jump out at you.
Along the way, we crossed off the final must-see. Mannekin Pis, a 17th century sculpture of a little boy peeing into a fountain, is arguably Brussels’s most famous landmark. Considering its usage in marketing at so many shops around town, it’s a bit shocking to arrive at the fountain to find the statue standing just two-feet tall and wedged into the corner of an intersection.
His impish grin instant brings out he 12-year-old boy in all of us. A steady stream empties into the fountain below. People stop, take a picture and maybe a selfie and move on. It’s impressive and not all at the same time, but definitely light-hearted and amusing.
Mannekin has a “sister” hidden away down Impasse de la Fidélité, a small alleyway near Grand Place. Jeanneke Pis was commissioned in the 1980s and features a little girl squatting.
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The Brussels Comic Strip Trail
The Brussels Comic Strip Trail
The Brussels Comic Strip Trail
The Brussels Comic Strip Trail
The Brussels Comic Strip Trail
The Brussels Comic Strip Trail
The Brussels Comic Strip Trail
The Brussels Comic Strip Trail
The Brussels Comic Strip Trail
The Brussels Comic Strip Trail
The Brussels Comic Strip Trail
The Brussels Comic Strip Trail
The Brussels Comic Strip Trail
The Brussels Comic Strip Trail
The Brussels Comic Strip Trail
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Manneken Pis
Manneken Pis
Manneken Pis
Manneken Pis
Jeanneke Pis.
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The historic medieval city of Bruges (Brugge), about an hour northwest of Brussels by train, is considered one the world’s most beautiful cities. The canals that run between its cobblestone streets have earned it the nickname of “Venice of the North.”
We visited on a very rainy day, which soured our experience quite a bit. We were soaked by the time we reached the park that doubles as the entrance to the old city and the weather never relented.
We did our best to capture the city, dodging raindrops and wiping the camera lens with sopping shirt tails, but could only manage a few good shots. By the time we reached the 300-foot, 750-year-old Belfry (pictured above), our Gore-Tex had been soundly defeated by Mother Nature. We cut our losses and headed back to Brussels. Bruges will have to wait until next time!
A row of houses built in the early 1700s have been restored to pristine condition.The Béguinage was built in the 1200s as a community for women who considered themselves devoutly religious, but did not want to become nuns. Since 1927, it’s been a convent for Benedictine nuns.One of the canals in Bruges that give it the moniker of “Venice of the North.”Some of the old facaded buildings that line the main square.Another old neighborhood further from the town center. Many of the buildings here were built in the 1500-1600s, including a pub that celebrated its 500th anniversary in 2015.
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I’m always glad when we get to spend a weekend in a city during our travels, especially in Europe where public markets pop up like tulips in the spring. On Sunday in Brussels, we could barely turn a corner without running into one.
The Marché de la Gare du Midi is a wild combination of produce and flea market packed into a tight space under a highway overpass. The large Turkish and Moroccan immigrant population lives at this end of the city and dominates the market. Bowls of olives overflow next to hot griddles cooking up golzeme and flatbread.
We sought out a specific stand making flatbread wraps filled with feta cheese, olives, figs, onions, roasted bell peppers, dried tomatoes and even a whole dolma, then drizzled with honey. To top it off, it’s served with a glass of fresh mint tea. The flavors were truly a party in your mouth. The figs and honey act as a sweet hostess greeting you at the door while the stuffed grape leaf in the middle is like the intellectual philosophizing on the couch to anyone who will listen. By the end, everything is blended together, no longer distinguishable from one another.
Up the street, the Place du Jeu de Balle flea market is literally a public square full of junk. Sure, you can find some decent art and maybe some nice silverware or dishes. But you’ll have to navigate the eccentric deal-hunters pouring over broken boomboxes, naked Barbie dolls and “art” like the large framed photo of someone’s grandmother circa 1999.
With no room in our carry-on for one man’s treasure, we rode the glass elevator up to the viewpoint near Palais de Justice and tried to board the tram to our next destination. Apparently the tram was parked at the terminus, not at a stop. The driver tried to explain this in French, but after seeing our blank stares, he smiled and told us it was okay to get on because “you’re not from here.”
The tram took us to Place Flagey in the Ixelles neighborhood. A local market was just closing up for the day, but that was fine because we were there for frites! The line at Frit Flagey reminded me of Voodoo Doughnuts in Portland. Lining up for snack food seems ridiculous and I’m sure the locals scoff at the tourists who do so (just like in downtown PDX), but the product is worth it. Crispy and airy, most of the potato is fried away, leaving a dense, salty frit behind.
In true “When in Brussels…” form, we took a bus from Flagey to nearby Jourdanplein to try what are widely-considered the best frites in Brussels. Maison Antoine has been serving up frites for more than 60 years. The large stand is clearly king of the neighborhood as the surrounding bars all proclaim “Frites Welcome” in a variety of language, encouraging the visiting tourists to have a beer with their snack.
Maison Antoine didn’t disappoint with a more perfect frit, soft in the middle with a crispy shell. Each layer is salted instead of relying on gravity to do the work. Maison Antoine is a must-try during a stay in Brussels.
The public bus back toward our hotel became a hop-on, hop-off as it wound through the Sablon neighborhood, known for its antiques market and up-and-coming Belgian chocolate shops. We bought a few pieces of artisanal choco goodness at Passion Chocolates and walked around the neighborhood.
Nearby, we found views overlooking the city, including the central plaza of Grand Place. The town hall, completed in 1420, is the highlight of the plaza with its 315-feet tall bell tower. It’s surrounded by equally grand buildings, many highlighted with gold-foil details. It’s often ranked as the most beautiful public square in Europe and became a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1998.
A statue called “La Cycliste” by Alain Séchas features a cat on a bicycle overlooking a traffic intersection.An olive vendor’s bounty at Marché de la Gare du Midi.The crazy wrap at the Marché de la Gare du Midi.The insanity of Place du Jeu de Balle flea market.A vendor selling silverware and dishes at the Place du Jeu de Balle flea market. An argument broke out nearby after a customer stepped on and broke a plate then pretended she didn’t do it.View of Brussels from near Palais de Justice.Waiting in line at Frit Flagey.A sculpture outside the 60-year-old frites institution of Maison Antoine.Looking toward the Grand Place from up above Sablon.
The town hall building at Grand Place.
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Day 26 was a travel day with a twist. We booked bus tickets to make the short trip from Amsterdam to Brussels, Belgium. We had to split up on the crowded bus. Viktoria landed a front seat next to a lady who watched Harry Potter on her laptop. I got stuck next to a fussy baby and a giant Spaniard who, despite his best efforts, took a quarter of my seat along with his. About 10 minutes in, the driver announced that we’d be delayed about an hour due to construction.
All in all, the bus ride turned out OK. The gentle giant offered me a swig from his water bottle about halfway through the journey (which I politely declined). The fussy baby stopped crying and spent most of the journey sleeping while his young mother thumbed through her Bible. The driver announced that he’d found a detour and we’d only have a slight delay.
Once in Brussels, we turned to the business of finding our hotel and then finding food. No trip to Belgium is complete without trying waffles, frites (don’t call them french fries), local beer and handmade chocolate. We arrived during the dunch hours (halfway between lunch and dinner), so breakfast food seemed like a logical way to start checking items off the list.
Waffle cafe Peck 47 was packed on a Saturday afternoon and there was no waiting list. Seating was divvied up kill-or-be-killed style; if you see a table empty, grab it before someone else does. We ordered two savory waffles, topped with melted cheddar cheese and something called Psycho Sauce, along with two local craft beers. Everything was delicious!
We walked around the old city center for a bit, then crossed off the next item on the must-eat list. Frites may seem like french fries to the uninitiated, but there’s an art to Belgium’s favorite snack. The potatoes are sweet and yellow and are fried twice, leaving the inside soft and potato-y and the outside golden and crispy. They’re always served in a paper cone with plenty of salt and a standard choice of a dozen-and-a-half sauces. The frites at Fritland were probably the least-good of the ones we tried in Brussels, but we’re still better than most french fries I’ve ever had.
We finished up the day at the highly-recommended and very crowded Moeder Lambic, a craft beer bar featuring mostly Belgian-made brews. We tried a Troubadour Magma (a hoppish blonde), a Noir de Dottignies (a dark ale) and a Monk’s Stout (an imperial stout). Verdict: Belgian beers are the best we’ve had in Europe (but still not as good as Oregon beers!).
Frites… check! Waffles… check! Beer… check! Chocolate would have to wait for another day.
Savory waffles at Peck 47.The rainy streets of Brussels. The tower of the Town Hall in Grand Place can be seen at the left.Our first Belgian frites at Fritland!Troubadour Magma and Noir de Dottignies at Moeder Lambic.Manneken Pis, Brussels’s famous 17th century statue of a little boy peeing, has been co-opted throughout town. Here, he’s eating a waffle… while peeing.We didn’t try the frites here for obvious reasons.
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When I think of Holland, the image of wooden shoes and windmills come to mind. Amsterdam hints at it through its many souvenir stands, but there are places where the idyllic scenery of old Holland still exists.
One such place is Zaanse Schans, a neighborhood in the Amsterdam suburb of Zaandam. A short train ride from Amsterdam Centraal, the river town has worked hard to retain some of 17th century Holland, even as it is surrounded by modernity.
While everyone headed across the bridge to the village created specifically for tourists, we stayed on the near side of the Zaan River and walked through the old neighborhood. Restored homes proudly display their original construction dates from the 1600-1700s. Very few of the buildings had been taken over by commerce as usually happens in these kinds of places. These houses are still homes.
We stopped into a chocolate shop called Chocolaterie de Boom and had a glass of hot chocolate. The city was once home to 15 cocoa mills and, although only two large cocoa mills remain today, the neighborhood still smells like chocolate. It’s literally in the air.
On the opposite side of the river, most of the city’s eight remaining windmills invite visitors to see what life looked like pre-Industrial Revolution. With names like The Cat, The Ox and The Spotted Hen, some of the mills even perform the same function as they did nearly 500 years ago. Het Jong Schaap (The Young Sheep) is an active sawmill that offers tours for just a few euros.
We ended our day at the tourist village, which had mostly closed down for the day. Here visitors can see chocolate being made or watch a craftsman make the aforementioned wooden clogs. But the real charm of Zaanse Schans comes by walking along the river and imagining life in old Holland.
De Bleeke Dood, or The Pale Death is the first mill you come to from the train station, marking the bridge over the Zaan River.Hot chocolate at Chocolaterie de Boom. Pieces of dark chocolate were placed in the glass with hot milk poured over them. When we were ready, we mixed the chocolate in with a teaspoon. Wonderful!The Young Sheep, a sawmill, as seen from the opposite side of the Zaan River.The old homes of Zaanse Schans date back to the 1600s.From right to left, The Young Sheep (sawmill), The Seeker (oil mill), The Houseman (mustard mill), The Cat (dye mill) and The Crowned Poelenburg (sawmill).The Cat at sunset.A bike path runs along the east side of the Zaan River, offering a convenient way to view the windmills.Zaanse Schans windmills.Zaanse Schans windmills.The Houseman at sunset.Zaanse Schans windmills.The old houses in the tourist village have mostly been imported from around the area beginning in the 1960s.
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Our second day in Amsterdam was also Viktoria’s birthday! The clear, crisp weather from the day before gave way to steady showers. Nothing to do but bundle up and enjoy the day!
We started with a quick walk through the Albert Cuyp Market. Although it was a Thursday morning, the market was much busier than the previous afternoon. Albert Cuyp is a great place to find local specialties like stroopwafle—two thin layers of dough baked on a waffle iron with syrup in between—or gevulde koek, two cookies with almond paste baked in between. It’s the Dutch cultural equivalent of the American chocolate chip cookie.
A short walk away is Amsterdam’s main flower market. From the street, Bloemenmarkt looks like a long row of stalls with a ton of tulip bulbs and other more tourist-targeted products (wooden shoes, marijuana seeds and Venus fly-traps for starters). But the 150-year-old market is actually set on platforms floating on the canal behind the shops and is the only floating flower market in the world
In the afternoon, we visited the Anne Frank Huis. The museum is inside the office building where Frank and her family hid from the Nazis during World War II. While light on information, the effect of walking through the building is powerful. You climb the “leg-breaking stairs” that Anne describes in her journal. You enter the secret annex from behind the same bookcase that covered the opening in the 1940s.
Pro tip: Skip the line and get your Anne Frank Haus tickets online. Only a handful of tickets are made available online for each day, so book several days in advance.
Anne’s father, Otto, was the only member of the family to survive the concentration camps. A secretary who helped the family hide kept Anne’s journals and gave them to Otto when they confirmed Anne’s death at Auschwitz. She had rewritten many parts of her journals before the family was captured, which would become the basis for the international best-seller The Diary of Anne Frank. Her original journals are on display as well as excerpts of the rewritten portions.
We finished the day with a birthday drink at Arendsnest, a craft beer pub near the Jordaan neighborhood. The pub features a large selection of only Dutch beers and a knowledgeable staff who encourages sampling until you find just the right choice.
Stroopwafle at the Albert Cuyp Market.One of the many houseboats lining the canals in Amsterdam.The Heineken Brewery makes its home in Amsterdam. The beer itself isn’t any better here than it is in the US…The stalls of Bloemenmarkt floating on the canal near the city center. Opened in 1862, it’s the world’s only floating flower market.Four portraits of Anne Frank. Photos were prohibited inside the museum, but we were able to get a few snaps in the exhibition near the exit. A quote from Anne’s journals. The story of the museum was told through short excerpts from her writing.Our beers at Arendsnest, a Zakkendragger Imperial Porter and a Smokey Au Vin sour Belgian ale. Delicious!
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“The Queen ate here,” says Bob of Bob’s Vlaamse Frituur, a french fry stand in Amsterdam’s famous Albert Cuyp Market.
He nodded toward a photo hanging in his booth. We expected to see the instantly-recognizable Queen Elizabeth of England, but this is The Netherlands and they have their own royal family. He proudly recalled the time she visited and we tried to keep our enthusiasm at Queen of England levels.
We arrived in Amsterdam late afternoon and immediately headed for the market, which was only 20 minutes away from closing for the day. Many of the stalls were still open and the market would become a daily starting point for our adventures into the streets of Holland’s capital city.
Amsterdam may be best known for its Red Light District and legalized drug use, but these sordid details make up a very small part of the city. The public areas—parks, plazas and markets—are vast and lively. There’s a charm to the bicycle traffic, which easily outnumbers the automobiles. Dodging the bikes and the trams is an art form all its own.
The architecture is brilliant. The old-world charm hasn’t been lost, even as modern-day life takes place in and around. Cafes dating to the 1600s are still in operation. Many of the narrow brick buildings have sinking foundations, their forward-list apparent next to their tightly-packed neighbors.
We continued to explore the streets, eventually stumbling upon Museumplein. The large park is flanked by the definitive Van Gogh Museum and Rijksmuseum with its collection of Rembrandt and Chagal works. But the most popular draw that night was the frozen-over pond being used as an ice skating rink. Nearby, tourists posed for photos on and around the “Iamsterdam” sign (I am Amsterdam… Get it?).
After the sun went down, we wandered up and down the canals that separate the city’s neighborhoods. Tourist boats were few and far between. Instead, houseboats were anchored along the banks. Small rowboats were tethered nearby. The canels aren’t just part of Amsterdam’s neighborhoods, they are the neighborhoods.
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Wooden tulips…
Albert Cuypstraat Market.
Amsterdam canals.
Slippers in the form of wooden shoes at the Albert Cuypstraat Market.
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Sunset in Amsterdam.
…and the real deal!
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These kids were doing goofy things kids do, so when Viktoria asked to take their picture, they just kept on being kids.
Bicycle parking in Amsterdam.These kids were doing goofy things kids do, so when Viktoria asked to take their picture, they just kept on being kids.
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Homes in the De Pijp area.
Amsterdam canals.
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