We can occasionally be guilty of stereotyping countries. Greece is for history (and food). France is for art (and food). Italy… honestly is principally the food (but the art isn’t bad either). It’s not actually true of course, every place has everything if you look around a bit. Spain was a bit of a wildcard for us because we had very few preconceived notions, although our general sense was “mix of castle-y history + tapas.” One of our itches that wasn’t being scratched was deep, ancient history. Whether we’re in Portugal, Ireland, or…. well, anywhere, we love a chance to poke around an old cairn or solar calendar made of stones. So, when Lisa happened on a little-noted megalithic archeological site when she was plotting our route back from Seville we figured “what the heck!” and added it to our drive back to Seville. Little did we know what we had in store for us.

The marker on the map just said “dolmens.” The picture that popped up was really cool, and that was enough to hook us in. What it turned out to be is a UNESCO World Heritage site called the Dolmen de Menga. (A single name covers three separate spaces.) We knew we were getting more than we bargained for just from the parking lot. If you’ve been following along on our adventures (or just been on your own) you know that parking at these sites typically ranges from “pull off on the side of the road” to “dirt patch next to a gate in a cattle fence”. This parking lot, however, was paved and striped, with two aisles that could handle probably 40 cars in all. What the heck? Then there was the interpretive center, very modern, with a water feature and statuary. This is not normal. The center was spacious, clean, and informative. There was even a 10-ish minute movie with recreations of how this site was constructed. It was as fascinating as it was surprising. So just what is this place?

All three subterranean spaces are carefully restored, which sometimes gets up our noses (mostly John’s) but we’re getting more chill about this, especially when great attention has been paid to a) highlight what’s new and what’s original, and b) the new bits blend as seamlessly as possible. Check on both counts here. The Dolmen of Menga is the largest known megalithic structure in Europe and orients (unusually) to the striking nearby peak, shaped like the head of a sleeping man. (It’s uncanny how clear that likeness still is after literally 1000s of years. There are a lot of mountains that we’ve been told look like faces, but this one was striking.) The Dolmen de Viera orients to the Spring and Autumn Equinoxes. Both are from about 3500 BCE. The nearby Tholos de El Romeral is newer (1800 BCE) and has a distinct orientation to the winter solstice (which we could easily see at this time of year).

As always we were struck by the implied importance of these sites. The construction almost certainly spread across lifetimes; the people who conceived the work didn’t live to see it finished, and had to know that was the case. (Funerals are the earliest ceremonies we have evidence for anywhere. Death wasn’t catching these people by surprise. I mean, maybe a mountain lion or something, but in general.) The whole complex was a great surprise to stumble over; we’d suggest you go on purpose.

Not that Seville couldn’t hold our attention, but there was at least one additional stop on our itinerary for Spain, which needed a rental car. Since she was a little girl and first heard about it, Lisa has always wanted to see the Alhambra, an iconic piece of Spanish and Islamic history, part architectural feast and part historical treasure trove. There was no way we could this close to this palace complex and not pay it a visit… assuming we survived the drive.

Truth be told the driving wasn’t that bad. From Seville the drive to Granada is essentially all on major highways, well-groomed and -maintained roads that provided few obstacles. It was in the last few kilometers, well into the actual environs of Granada, that things got dicey. As has been mentioned before, Americans have to come to grips with the fact that, on the whole, Europeans don’t knock stuff down just because they want to build something newer. If there’s anything like eminent domain land acquisition we’ve seen no evidence of it. As a result, in “historical” areas the roads you’re on are probably similar to if not identical to the roads that were in place two hundred years prior to accommodate donkey traffic. Out in the countryside this makes for a hassle, with lay-bys and backtracking part of the daily commute. In any size town it becomes much more precarious – your typical one-lane, bi-directional road is hemmed in by stone houses that hug hairpin turns. Granada had this on steroids. It may not be unique but it was the first time we had a traffic light just to get you safely around a 160-degree turn featuring bi-directional traffic up and down a steep hill on barely one lane. Eep!

Wisely, if we do say so ourselves, we parked as soon as was humanly possible and stuck to public transit while we were there. For such a little area (the “old town” that is) there was actually a robust transit network, featuring numerous little 14-person (give or take) buses. Probably there’s a lot to see in old town Granada, but we were there for basically one day and our agenda was simple: the castle/fortress known as the Alhambra.

So just what is this Alhambra thingie? Boiled down, it’s a large complex of buildings most of which are enclosed in defensive walls (along with some of the inevitable “out buildings” that grew up outside the fortifications.) The attraction lies in the history of the place (something was situated at this location since the 9th century; the “proper” fortress began in the early 1200s) and the beauty of the place. Islamic rulers were in no way inferior to Christian ones when it came to expense and grandeur in their homes. The biggest difference is a matter of subject matter, or the lack thereof; Islamic art does not depict the human form in most (all?) circumstances, and so the artistic ornaments tend to be in patterns and elaborately rendered text.

You don’t just “go to the palace” like in some places you may have been. Visiting the Alhambra is (or should be) an all-day affair, with numerous buildings worth poking around in. We had the luxury of an incredibly knowledgeable tour guide and still feel sure there’s another day’s-worth of exploration left for us on a future visit. Not only that, but we were there in late-December for pete’s sake; the gardens of the Alhambra are renowned for their beauty, and we saw almost none of that on display. (Why go around New Year’s? We had the time off from class, short answer.)

One of John’s favorite bits was the “Court of the Lions”, a courtyard within one of the central buildings and so-called because of a huge fountain resting on the backs of twelve encircled lions. The history of the Alhambra is extensively recorded, from architects to rulers, how it was funded, maintained, and expanded… practically everything is memorialized. And, nobody has a clue what’s up with this fountain. Not what it was originally called, not what it’s doing there, or what it may symbolize. For all we know, one of the rulers just thought it looked cool. Which, to be fair, it totally does.

Our time at the Alhambra essentially consumed our entire stay in Granada; we were out the next day to get back to Seville. Honestly if we’d known we’d have given it another day, and it’s definitely earmarked for a return trip when we’re next in the region.

Seville may be known for its oranges, but today it offered us lemons. We were supposed to go on a tour of the Royal Alcazar of Seville but it was booked solid – this news only came after we discovered a mix-up in the tickets we already had. John even got up early and stood in line (pro tip: they hold back several hundred tickets each day and offer them on a first-come basis) with no luck. (Second pro-tip, get in line SEVERAL hours prior to opening if you really truly want to go and can’t buy tickets online.) Plan A was in the trash; fortunately a city like Seville is a target-rich environment for exploration.

Our intrepid guide, who had been booked specifically to guide us through the palace, was light on her feet and offered instead to take us to the Palacio de las Dueñas, which we think was probably a better experience anyway. Also known as the House of Alba, the Palacio holds a literal wealth of treasures of one of the oldest noble families of Spain. Las Dueñas, literally “the nuns” and so-named because in the 1200s a monastery of nuns (which I was sure would have a different name than “monastery” but apparently not), who cared for the members of the noble Pineda family, was itself started in the 1500s. The residence was sold to the House of Alba to ransom a family member captured by Moors in 1612. During the 19th century the building was reinvented as a tenement house and finally became a family residence in the 20th century.

The famous poet Antonio Machado was born here in 1875, and writes of his life, “My childhood is memories of a Seville courtyard, and a clear orchard where the lemon tree ripens…” (Campos de Castilla (1912), and “It is this light of Seville… It is the palace where I was born, with its murmuring fountain” Nuevas Canciones (1924).

The ground floor was opened to the public in 2015, with the upper floor remaining the private residence of the Duke of Alba. Upon entering we found ourselves in the main courtyard, a great example of a typical Andalusian courtyard with a tiled fountain and white marble columns from the 16th century, decorated with 20th century cimacios (curve s-shaped molding), as well as the plasterwork arches on the upper floor from the 15th century. The main hall features a fantastic coffered ceiling of carved wood.

The marvelous aspect of this place is that it is a living residence, albeit grand. There are several rooms decorated with items related to the owners’ passions: predominantly bull-fighting, reading, and flamenco. It offers a rare combination between the majesty of the building itself, with its courtyards and gardens, and the attractiveness of its collection formed by a selection of paintings, sculptures, tapestries, furniture and antique objects of high historical and artistic interest. For not being able to see what we had planned, the day turned out pretty great.

More than just passionate dancing, Flamenco dance and music are deeply rooted in Spanish culture, blending music, movement, and storytelling. Granted, those roots dig down into some uncomfortable soil, including the typical (in Europe at least) anti-Roma sentiment and a general sense that it was a lewd art form unfit for performance in polite society. Well, we aren’t all that polite, and for many people Seville is the home, the birthplace, of Flamenco. (Although in more than one city we were told “you have to see Flamenco here; Seville says they are the home of it, but actually it’s <the city we’re in>.”) Well, we had migrated to Seville from Madrid for the second “home base” of our trip, so there was no way we weren’t going to give it a try.

We got into our hotel in Seville without difficulty; the Triana House Hotel is cleverly named, being in the Triana neighborhood as it is. You’d think we were in a pedestrian-only zone from the width of the streets but nope! You squeeze to one side and the oncoming car squeezes to the other and avoid taking any deep breaths. The hotel itself is probably one of the quirkier ones we’ve ever been in that wasn’t annoying in its quirkiness. Sometimes these kinds of places are just too invested in being so very very, but Triana House was cozy and the staff was incredibly solicitous.

The historic center of Seville manages to maintain more of its character than Madrid, if for no other reason than that Madrid is more of metropolitan city; tourism is certainly a major industry there, but it’s not the only thing going on. Seville definitely feels like it relies on tourism, if not to the extent of, say, Venice. Still, we were there to be tourists so having a handy “tourist central” area was efficient if nothing else.

Our first evening, however, was indeed dominated by dinner-and-a-show at El Patio Sevillano. (“Patio” seems to be the colloquial term for places where flamenco performances occur, probably because they originated as peasant gatherings out on… you know, patios. Now, you’ll see very elaborate, beautiful establishments that still call themselves “patio something or other”. ) To get this out of the way up front: we had a fine time, but are pretty sure that there are better versions of this entertainment in town elsewhere.

The performance hall at El Patio Sevillano is huge. Enormous. Probably seating for 150-200 on the main floor, with a balcony level ringing the space on three sides. There’s general seating in the central area, and underneath the hang of the balcony is where the dining seating is placed. Here’s the thing – we were there with many 20 other people in total, and only 2 other tables of diners (out of maybe 15 or so total available). Photos online seem to indicate that they configure their space in various ways (more or less tables or whatnot). IWe’re not sure if it was just a bad time of year or if word had gotten around, but there was a kind of cavernous quality to the sound, which was half live and half piped in.

Despite the seeming focus on the dancer, the heart of flamenco is the cante, the singing. Original flamenco was comprised purely of singing and hand clapping. Flamenco musicians improvise to match the emotions of the singer by finger snapping, hand clapping, and shouting. (Guitar wasn’t regularly incorporated into the performance until the 19th century.) The performers this night were giving it their all, and it seemed like a lot of talent was on display. The show was maybe 90 minutes long, broken into a 8 or so vignettes, mixing and matching from an ensemble of 7 or 8 dancers (there were a lot of costume changes, maybe we lost track of who was who). The live music was definitely the superior performance choice; the guitarists and the singers were all on point. All in all, we enjoyed the show and are glad to have seen it, but it’s not likely that we will seek this venue out again when we return to Seville some day.

Oh. Forgot to mention dinner…. yeah, that about sums it up. In any case, the evening was far from a failure, it just wasn’t (we imagine) an exemplary show for its type. Nevertheless, our appetites were prepped for a full day of exploring the city.

Our next day in Madrid broke sunny and cold. Really this whole first part of our trip was marked by pretty low temperatures compunded by frequent, stiff breezes. We weren’t letting that stop us (although John at least had to screw his courage up before stepping out; Lisa has always handled the cold weather better). Off we went to one of the must-sees of Madrid: the Royal Palace, official residence of the King and Queen of Spain and one of the largest palaces in Western Europe. It’s pretty amazing, evoking Versailles, Belenheim, and the Grand Opera of Paris.

(Warning this is a graphic heavy post.)

After a security scan, we walked through what was once the carriage entrance and into the central courtyard.

The main hall is imposing, although if you look at the picture below you’ll see something strange. The two figures, one on either side of the window, seemed to have been added later than the original decorations and it is… not done well. Our best guess is that some descendant of the originators of the Palace wanted to bring the feel of the fresco on the ceiling down into the room, but the painting was done on the existing surfaces, which had those same textures you can see in the otherwise-exposed bits. There’s no way that the artists assigned to the task had to bite their tongues and do as they were bidden, because this is in line with no thinking person’s aesthetic.

But it’s the Throne Room that takes your breath away with it’s ceiling mural giving the illusion of opening into the blue sky and heavens.

Each corner boasts a gilded bas relief and painted scene corresponding to each of the four seasons.

A gilded railing illusion runs around the room, giving the sense of characters — mythological and historical, peeping in and keeping an eye on the goings on. It’s really one of the more astonishing effects we’ve seen in these sorts of places; not just the beauty of it but the precision of the layout, having the railing affect going in front of some images and behind others, and it’s not just paint there’s a texture to it with plaster or something. Truly amazing.

Unsurprisingly, the Royal Palace is filled with magnificent treasures from the 17th century onward.

I especially enjoyed the crystal chandeliers, each unique in size and shape.

Several rooms were particularly special because of the quality of the craftsmanship. One was the Porcelain Room, made up of 100s of hand cast porcelain figures mounted on wood panels and fitted so carefully that it looks seamless. This and one other room in another royal residence outside of the city are the only examples of these all-porcelain rooms, considered the masterpieces of the porcelain studios of the era. When you see it, you can’t help but agree.

It is a truly opulent and beautiful place. We enjoyed ourselves greatly.

It being Christmas Eve, the city was closing down pretty quickly. We made a grocery run to lay in supplies of grapes, apples, juice, and (of course) some wine. With room service rounding out our gatherings by bringing us hummus, pumpkin soup with soft shell crab tempura and a chicken caesar salad, we felt well feasted.

When we first heard that there was a museum of coaches in Lisbon, we were perplexed. First, it had to be explained (to John at least) that we were talking about transportation compartments pulled by horses, not athletic team leaders. Then, it had to be explained that they weren’t kidding and there actually is such a thing as a coach museum. And then we had to learn that it is, in fact, one of the more impressive buildings in the entire city, dedicated entirely to a coach museum. (Well, and miscellaneous sundries.) And finally, when we first encountered the National Coach Museum, we learned the hard way that it is closed on Mondays. Whoops.

As relayed in our first sojourn to Lisbon, we stumbled upon the building with more than a little mix of surprise and suspicion. It is a huge building, designed by Brazilian architect – and Pritzker Prize winner – Paulo Mendes da Rocha. We don’t claim any special architectural expertise, but clearly this was a big gun that they brought out for their… coach museum. Learning this also blew a hole in my ginned-up theory that the museum was originally something else, and was repurposed so as not to have a huge derelict on the waterfront. Nope! The government raised funds, worked through committees, the whole 9 yards… for the coach museum.

So, ok, I’m leaning pretty heavily into the “coach museum can ya believe it?? herp derp” attitude, but here’s the thing: it was actually pretty cool! The coach sets date back several hundred years and are kept in fantastic condition. (There has to be extensive restoration to look this good, but I’m caring less and less about that as the years go by.) There are coaches that were crafted by the Portuguese, but some of the finest examples are French carriages that arrived here as the transportation for various princesses that were marrying into the Portuguese royal family. Still, Paris to Lisbon in horse-drawn carriage? Wooooof.

After walking the wildly impressive first hall, the second hall with its nearly uniform small, black carriages as engines were visible on the horizon just didn’t hold the same pizzazz. Car aficionados would probably get a kick out of it as a walk through of the early evolutionary stages of automobiles, but otherwise it was kind of a dud. Still, the first main hall with it’s twenty-ish examples from several centuries was, and I still can’t quite believe I’m saying this, entirely worth the visit. It’s great.

We have remarked before (probably here, certainly in conversation) that we have been much more thorough in our exploration of the greater European continent than we have been of our adopted home country. We’ve dug into the capitals of England, France, Italy, even Greece… more than we have the fair city of Lisbon. That all changed recently, when personal business required us to visit the U.S. Embassy in Portugal, located iiiiinnn…. that’s right, Lisbon. Since we had to make the effort to get there anyway, we decided to stretch the trip out a few days and actually poke around a bit. See the sights, that sort of thing. We consulted the oracles (aka our friends) to prioritize our options, then hit the road.

We’ve actually done a little bit of touristing in Lisbon before, but that trip was short on actual experiences and long on “peering through the locked gate” experiences. This time we double checked that thing we wanted to see were open on the days that we wanted to see them, the way real people do it. Our first item up for bid was the Museu Nacional do Azulejo, aka “the tile museum” to us English-speaking heathens. (That’s extra clever if you’ve read about the origins of the word “heathen“.) I suspect this is common knowledge but just in case: the Portuguese have a deep cultural appreciation for decorative ceramic tile that goes back hundreds of years. They aren’t unique in this but they are particularly well known for it. Decorative tile (“azulejo“) is to Portuguese culture what marble statues are to Italian. Thus it is hardly surprising that there is an intense gallery in the capital city dedicated to outstanding examples of this craft, both from a technical standpoint as well as examples of cultural significance.

While there are numerous exhibits within the converted convent, we felt you could broadly think of the entire museum on a continuum, with “historically significant” on one end and “just plain beautiful” on the other. The earliest examples go back to the mid-1400s but, kind of unsurprisingly if you stop to think about it, they aren’t really the peak of the craft. It’s fascinating to see how far back this art form goes, but the techniques have advanced so far since then, as has the evolution of technique in craftsmanship, that the early examples are just kind of plain looking out of context. (NOT saying they aren’t worth the examination, just that… well, if you were tiling your house tomorrow, you probably aren’t going for reclaimed tiles from 1491 unless you’re a history buff.) By the time you get to the samples of the last few decades there are some truly spectacular works of art.

Click on the images below to see just a few of the exhibitions in more detail. Which, alas, is about as good as it can get for you for the near future, as the museum closed for renovation at the beginning of November with an anticipated re-opening in June of 2026. Fingers crossed!

We’d no sooner got ourselves unpacked from our brief jaunt to Vila do Conde then it was time to pack ourselves right back up for another journey. The last getaway was a near-spontaneous escape from the heat, but we’d been planning this one for quite some time. We’ve told family and friends back in the States that if they make it across the Atlantic we’d do our best to close the gap if they were up for a visit. We were happily being taken up on our offer by Lisa’s sister and her family, who were taking a rare vacation overseas to visit Ireland. Us being us, we plotted a trip that ended with our rendezvous in Dublin and then worked back to include not one, but TWO bucket list items that we could finally check off.

So off we popped on a short flight to Dublin, although for now this was just a waypoint. Directly from the airport we hopped onto a commuter bus that would drop us in downtown Belfast. (Unlike the last time we pulled this maneuver, we did not start at 1AM nor did we arrive in Belfast at 4AM. Go us.) Arriving while the sun was still up, we had no difficulty navigating to the lovely Fitzwilliam Hotel; three cheers for flash sales on booking.com.

It was a wee bit surreal as it turns out that the Open was happening. (Us Americans would call it the British Open, the oldest golf tournament in the world, held over four days.) The City was festooned with golf-related events and experiences, and waiting for us in our hotel room were little party favor / welcome gifts – golf balls made out of white chocolate. Sure! After checking out the room and unpacking a bit, we headed out to dinner at Mourne Seafood Bar. Total yum! It’s a great place for oysters in particular and the mussels were excellently garlic-y and tender. (We did think the dough on the lobster gyoza was a bit too thick.) We slept very well.

You may remember that we enjoyed our visit here in 2022, we ran into . . . difficulty . . . seeing the Giant’s Causeway. If you’re an OG Sasha’s Doghouse fan you may even recall similar difficulties on our honeymoon in 2012. This time we were by gosh and by gum going to succeed! Making it completely easy (and not our usual style) we booked with PaddyWagon Tours for a day trip that would leave all of the planning in the hands of locals. We scored quick breakfast and then let them drive us all around for a day.

We started with the Dark Hedges, which have been made famous by the Game of Thrones TV show, and which we found underwhelming. No matter how atmospheric and cinematic the location may have been on the show, when its swarmed with people and vehicles it’s … just a bunch of trees. Instead, we took this picture about 100 meters away from the overrun hedges. It may not be fancy or featured on the television, but a) it’s prettier in our opinion, and b) we had it all to ourselves.

Much more interesting was the dragon door at a nearby Inn carved from the wood of fallen trees in the Hedges, which has apparently suffered significant losses from immense tourist traffic. There are a few of these doors scattered around the world and you can even get stamps in a little passport thingy to show when you’ve completed your collection. Sorry, there’s probably more lore here to unwind but as you’ve probably gathered by now neither of us are particular fans of the show.

From there we went on to Dunluce Castle, a glorious ruin set on the edge of a basalt outcropping. The views are lovely and it was wonderfully scenic. John had a moment of cognitive dissonance as we grappled with the fact that the vibe was of an incredibly ancient site but the castle actually only dated back to like the 1700s. That’s what being on the Irish coast will do to a place; eek. He got over it and enjoyed the visit immensely.

And, finally, we arrived at Giant’s Causeway! The natural element is interesting and worth seeing, but not during the summer when the rocks are covered with people. Frustratingly, the Visitor’s Center is an expensive 15 pounds and is the easy way to get to a cafe and souvenir shop. However, there is no need to pay the fee, you can just walk through a tunnel (that looks like the way to a car park) and then down about a mile to the rocks themselves. However, there is also a tram for a small fee that takes you one, or both ways. (Good idea, especially on the return trip uphill.) By the by, this was our main gripe with the Paddywagon tour. While an incredibly close reading of the text probably reveals that they never said boo about the visitor center, they go to great lengths to sell you on the idea you were being ushered along to all of the spots. (We didn’t pay an entrance fee at Dunluce, for example.) At the Causeway, however, we pulled up along the curb just outside the place and were dropped off with instructions to meet back there in am hour and a half or so. “Nah, don’t worry about the Visitor Center, who needs to be bothered with that nonsense?” Us. We need to be bothered with the nonsense. Sigh.

It wasn’t actually the end of the tour, as we stopped for lunch at the “Fullerton Arms” which was a huge disappointment. We didn’t get there until after 2pm — so bring snacks to tide you through the many hours between pickup and lunch. The food was bland and very “industrial”. When they drop you off at the Causeway you peruse a terse menu and then you choose fish and chips, shepherd’s pie, ceasar salad, and option four whatever the heck that was, which would then be waiting for you at the inn. The food was “meh” and also not at all cheap, which is particularly irritating when it was not discussed ahead of time and there were no other options presented. It wasn’t terrible, just managed and presented badly which just got us off on the wrong foot. All that being said, the tour accomplished what we wanted it to. It was back to Belfast for us, for a quiet night before catching the Steam Packet the next day? What the heck is a Steam Packet? Tune in next time!

We don’t have a lot of hard and fast rules in our marriage, but we have many moderately set guidelines, and one of these is that if our feet aren’t nailed down there’s no reason to suffer through the worst heat, at least not without some reprieve. A few weeks back the temperatures were set to hit the mid to high 30s, maybe even touching the 40s, and stay there for a long stretch. Not at all related, the daughter of some very old and dear friends – a young woman in her 20s about whom we clearly remember talking to the parents about preparing to have their first baby(!) – was in Portugal for a few weeks on a deep-dive course in aspects of archaeology. She was in Vila do Conde and maybe we’d like to drop in for lunch and a friendly pair of faces? It sounded great. Then, Lisa says to me all sweet and innocently “did you know that temperatures in Vila do Conde this week are in the low 20s?”

And thus, very quickly, our lunch date turned into three days’ refuge from the sun.

We “got our car out of the garage” (we don’t own a car, as little as we need one it’s far cheaper just to rent one when we want) and made for the coast. Vila do Conde is situated on the coast at the mouth of a river. We’d never been there before but people we know had said they had enjoyed it. The vibe there is definitely more touristy than Braga, but for being an extended suburb of Porto (the light rail makes it out there, which surprised us) but still far quieter than Porto proper, thank the gods. Lisa arranged our lodging which, because we had a hankering for a pool and maybe some spa time, ended up being the lovely Lince Santa Clara. It was, oddly enough, the second converted home of a holy order that we’d stayed in here in Portugal, and the digs were impressive. Stone construction, vaulted ceilings, heavily ornamented… it’s a hoot, really, so long as you don’t dwell on how the original holy order accumulated the power and wealth for digs like this. (sigh…)

Most importantly, by the time we hit town we could kill the A/C in the car and roll down the windows, taking in the gorgeous breezes. Our first order of business was to find our visitor coming out of her accommodation – we had expected to be taking her and her roommate to lunch but the roomie was still asleep… ah, youth. We left the car parked and walked in a couple of different directions (heh) before getting ourselves pointed towards a nice row of restaurants including Europa, which was our target. Our friend liked the place and told us a just adorable story about how her friends all figured out that going in on a jug of sangria was a cheaper buzz than just ordering drinks on their own. We say again, “ah, youth.” (And before our friends blow gaskets, she told the story about what “they” do, she apparently isn’t much for drinking in public.) It was a nice time, and we caught up on what she had been studying, which turned out to be restoring and preserving archaeological artifacts. When I was in college it never would have occurred to me that this was a thing, so good on her.

After a nice afternoon playing catch up, we made our way to the hotel and got checked in. The plan for the day was just to check out the facility in general and then make for their restaurant, Occulto.

There is a fun story behind the restaurant’s name, which translates to “hidden”. The hotel is a fairly recent renovation (2024) and while doing some foundation work, they found an entire level that was not shown or referred to in any plan or document. Thus, a superbly beautiful vaulted space became a restaurant that has already earned a Michelin star. Don’t worry, if you forget this story when you’re there you will be reminded several times. They aren’t trying to be pedantic; everybody is just eager to share an admittedly cool story.

The menu is quite simple, offering only two tasting menus: Flora (8 moments, vegetarian) and Imersão (“Immersion”) (option of 9 or 12 moments) with an optional wine pairing, each moment is tied to local and seasonal products. “Moments”, by the way, seems to be Portuguese parlance for the courses of a tasting menu. It seemed an amusing affectation the first time we heard it, but it’s come up at several restaurants now so “moments” are in.

It’s tricky to describe our meal, other than outstanding.

The Imersão is based on fish and seafood, mostly sourced from the fishing community of Vila do Conde, and our menu was . . . crab, goose barnacles, chawanamushi, horse mackeral & mussels, codfish & green tomatoes, hake & zucchini, red prawn & sea urchin, monkfish & cauliflower, and “pao de lo” with nectarines. The first three moments and the final mignardises and coffee, are served in a comfortable seating area facing the kitchen, with the chef explaining the source and inspiration for each. Once in the intimate dining room a cart with slow-fermented bread from a local bakery and butter from Marinhas arrive to whet your appetite. We both agree that the second moment of goose barnacles with smoked green asparagus was one of the best things we’ve ever put in our mouth. (Lisa still remembers it fondly.) While we didn’t love every course, we enjoyed the several hours we spent wending our way through the local seafood.

We were up and out with a very light plan for breakfast – “find something”. That’s not our usual strategy, but we had plans for a nice lunch so we figured breakfast – especially since we slept in a bit and weren’t exactly rising with the dawn – could be simpler. We found a nice little spot in Café Hispano, the name of which made John giggle a little only because the decor was decidedly Anglo-American in focus, with vintage Guinness and Coca Cola signage all over the walls. Lisa helpfully pointed out that A Coruña is a port-of-call for cruise ships and this was almost definitely designed to lure those folks in; fiiiiine.

After breakfast we meandered a short little ways to the Marta Ortega Pérez (MOP) foundation, which is tasked with bringing in high-caliber art exhibitions for the enrichment of the populace. We’ve got a whole ‘nother post just on the place and the exhibition we saw, otherwise this will be an all-time long blog post. For now, here’s a bit of a tease for an upcoming in-depth post about Penn and his work.

After seeing Penn, we wandered around the city a bit, stopping for orange juice and people-watching. Then, a bit early, we went to El de Alberto. This (Michelin Bib Gourmet) was a bit of a shot in the dark (Lisa didn’t know about its M. rating before booking it) especially since they don’t share their menu (even a sample) online. Word of the mouth for the win, baby!

We each had the tasting menu, 53eu for seven courses, plus dessert (eight dishes altogether). They don’t do a wine pairing, but David, our excellent server, recommended several wines from their “by-the-glass” offerings that worked beautifully. We started with a black carrot in a curry reduction and shaped like a single sardine on the plate. Our second was a “sushi roll” of tuna tartare wrapped in thin-sliced cucumber with mango, a ginger sauce, and topped with dots of wasabi mayonnaise. We then enjoyed lightly seared and smoked mackerel on a sploosh of onion crema encircled by dots of wasabi mayonnaise. David showed us that we should pull from the outside of the circle inward to capture a piece of fish, thus allowing each bite to include all of the ingredients. The fourth dish was razor clams, chopped and cooked in a beurre blanc — seemingly a departure from the typical menus, based on looking at what others were having. This was likely due to Lisa’s single food allergy because other diners were enjoying scallops presented on their shells. (No idea about the dish otherwise.) Our next dish was roasted hake over creamy paprika potatoes topped by green beans. Just at the edge of seafood surfeit, we were presented with a rich beetroot risotto, dotted with bleu cheese (and Lisa switched to a Rioja). The seventh dish was roasted Iberico pork over an onion cream thickened with potatoes. Dessert was a tray of white chocolate “donuts” filled with a bischoff (cookie) cream.

The service was impeccable, they genuinely cared that we were enjoying ourselves and each dish was delicious. Neither of us care for razor clams — it seems impossible to get them tender instead of chewy so even the rich deliciousness of the beurre blanc didn’t change our mind. The risotto blew us away with its perfect texture and we will eagerly seek it out at our next visit. The donuts seemed overly sweet after the rich meal, and we each only tried one and had no interest in any more. A lovely chunk of chewy, tender, bread was provided at the outset and was often employed to surreptitiously sop up a bit of remaining sauce.

Replete, we happily paid our — brace yourself — 132eu (13eu for wine and nearly the same again for water added to the food bill), and ambled back to our room for a bit of a lie down.

Here’s a gallery of images (not ours) of many of the dishes we ate.