Porto Tonic Part 6: I Smell the Number 2 Tram

It seems this alarm clock is missing a snooze button.

If you're going to get up before the fisherman might as well make the most of it with a stroll down to the lighthouse before breakfast.

Sorry folks, you voted to secede from this golden crescent of sand, send us an Instagram of your soggy fish and chips from Brighton.

This vantage point explains why Zara sells bikini tops and bottoms separately. You don't need both.

This whole no work thing is surprisingly easy when no one else works either. Pass the sangria.

Hang on, I take that back. Someone has to do the hard yards and pour the lads a drink.

A 5am start tends to do that to you. If you ask nicely Mommy might pour you a Coke. If she's still awake.

Last stop on the circuitous road to Lisbon, the uber-hip LX Market, a collection of reclaimed warehouses in the shadow of a hulking overpass. Because post-industrial shade is so much better than you know, tree shade.

Hey ET, you said you were going home, not to the third floor of a hipster bookshop to find some coffee table accouterments. Although in fairness your spaceship does sport some minimalist mid-century modern finishes that would pair well with a curated Franzen collection.

Malaysian-fusion inside a printing press? That must be the secret behind their wafer-thin roti canai.

Don't worry if you overindulge, you can always take a spin through the printing press on the way out.

Race you to the bottom. Same thing most readers of this blog are doing.

A one stop shop for all your hipster essentials: single-speed bike, record player, a box of spare Edison bulbs, and a reclaimed row of old cinema seats.

Daddy, are you a hipster? Son, don't make me wash your mouth out with handcrafted artisanal cruelty-free pomegranate-infused soap.

Finally after a long week on the road the ancient city of Lisboa offers welcome respite for the weary travellers. Magellan's modest circumnavigation has got nothing on getting a 16 month old from one side of the country to the other.

This tram-spotter has come to the right city. Which way to the Number 28?

Once again that New York time-zone comes in handy. The party only gets started once the sun goes down.

Must be the American accent. 

Daddy, what's your best pick up line? Two words son: Toyota Corolla.

Daddy, what's the difference between a lager and an IPA? Son, it's the difference between turning pink and bright red.

Time for the Big People to go out and play.

Final day in Portugal. This might be the moment when Dad extends his vocabulary beyond obrigado. It's embarrassing that in this age of Google Translate Ryan knows more Portuguese than his old man.

If it's stood for a thousand years one more push probably won't hurt.

No Dad, when I said Number 2 I didn't mean a tram.

Aren't you a little red for a stormtrooper?

TramCam. Just keep your arms inside these roads were designed in the pre-selfie epoch.

The TimeOut Market, a curated line-up of the finest chefs in Portugal, each of whom flog their signature dish from their stall. It's like an All Star game, except actually worth going to.

Looks like somebody hit every stall.

Time to say goodbye to Uncle Devan. Can't give a Londoner too much sun or they're liable to get all cranky and vote for fog, mashed peas, and warm pints.

Here's hoping Ryan makes it back here sooner than the quarter-century it took Daddy to return.

How many times can you read Go, Dogs, Go in seven hours? About to find out.

Porto Tonic Part 5: Fortified Port

So fellows, what's the plan for today? Well son, I've mapped out another run at the eggs and granola. After that we'll pretty much wing it.

Mommy, Daddy said in Europe it's ok to eat chocolate for breakfast.

Pena Palace was once the summer retreat for the Portuguese royal family. Kind of like the Hamptons, except even the crown jewels won't get you into the Eleven Madison Park pop-up in Amagansett.

Oh come on, the dungeon can't be any worse than when Mommy dumps me in the crib at nap time.

So last time Daddy was here your Uncle Casey was about your size. Same cool hairdo too.

For those castle purists who find the gaudy towers of Pena a bit too Cinderella, the crumbling ramparts of the Moorish castle on the adjacent mountaintop offers crossbow bolts through the sternum with no FastPass required.

We may be bankrupt and 40% unemployed but try to foreclose on our castle at your own peril.

"The people of Rohan will need you. The diaper has to hold."  "It will hold."  It better kiddo, it's the last one we've got.

Daddy, is that the Well of Souls down there? Sorry son, these days it's all done CGI.

The mystical gardens of Quinta da Regaleira are what you get when a millionaire Viscountess is between seasons of the Real Housewives of Lisboa.  Why settle for a mere water feature when you can have a mysterious Initiation Well complete with spiral staircase. Better than geraniums anyway.

Daddy, you said we'd find Gollum down here. Yeah I also said Mommy would let you stay up late last night.

Daddy, when will my arm be long enough to take selfies? Dunno kid, your Mom never made it to that stage.

Hang in there, in theory nap time is approaching. Oh wait, wrong time zone. Sorry.

The best way to conquor the wooded hills of Sintra is by tuk tuk. It comes with the added bonus that the tuk tuk spotting game will keep him entertained for at least an hour afterwards.

Which way to the beach? No, it's the other way. That's the way Daddy went when he took the wrong exit at the roundabout.

Daddy, is this one of those European beaches where the Mommies only wear their diapers?

The great irony of the street artist: in their rage against the system they unwittingly become the vassals of gentrification. Hate to break it to you, but that hammer and sickle you just painted has already been appropriated by a bourgeois coffee roaster. What would Marx say now?

Coolest bar of the trip, the rustic Taberna Clandestino.

Daddy, when you've got 60 percent youth unemployment this is what you do all day, sit on the curb and stir up trouble.

Felicidades!

Chick magnet already.  Certainly didn't get that from Dad. Maybe he's destined to be more than a Blogger with five readers.

Daddy, I thought selfie was singular?

Dad I like this new bedtime routine. Much better than reading about llamas in incongruous red pajamas.