Portugal Day 3: A 10-Mile Stroll, a 3 A.M. Party, and One Very Enthusiastic Baby Marine Biologist

It was another “character-building” night as Joni continues her campaign to personally dismantle the concept of time zones. Around 3 a.m., she decided sleep was for amateurs. So we had an impromptu father-daughter party, cleaning bottles, crawling laps, and giggling in the soft glow of the minibar light. She finally surrendered to sleep, and we felt like we’d won a small but meaningful battle in the ongoing war of jet lag. 

A few hours later, bleary-eyed but victorious, we shuffled down to what might be the most extravagant breakfast buffet in human history. Our hotel had everything! Fresh shaved prosciutto or handmade omelet…. Yes please! Pastries that flaked like dreams, salmon that belonged in an art gallery, every conceivable type of cheese, and an espresso bar that could caffeinate a small village. We ate with purpose, knowing we’d need energy for our upcoming expedition.

Our guide for the day, Gilby, met us at the Miradouro de São Pedro de Alcântara, a panoramic viewpoint that looks out across Lisbon like the city’s personal postcard. The sun was out, the air smelled faintly of oranges and coffee, and Gilby immediately started dropping fascinating facts and sarcastic one-liners with equal enthusiasm. 

From there, we set off on our 4-hour jaunt. We wove through the narrow lanes of Bairro Alto, where the buildings lean toward each other like gossiping neighbors.  Gilby shared tales from his wild youth and the political drama of modern Portugal, pausing only for locals to wave at him like he was the mayor. 

We meandered down Green Street, a lush, plant-draped alley that looked like it had been designed by a hipster Tarzan.  Then came our first encounter with the holy grail of Portuguese pastries, the Pastel de Nata.  Served warm at a market by the waterfront, its crisp, caramelized crust gave way to a creamy custard interior that made us both question our life choices up to this point. If I lived here, I’d need to start marathon training just to offset breakfast. 

From there, we passed through Pink Street, once a red-light district, now more of a neon, Instagram-light district.  Eventually, we stumbled into the Praça do Comércio, Lisbon’s grand square by the Tagus River, where Gilby regaled us with tales of the 1755 earthquake, tsunami, and fire that destroyed most of the city. The Portuguese response? Rebuild everything bigger, better, and with statues that exude “don’t mess with us” energy.

By this point, our legs had detached from our bodies and filed for emancipation, so Gilby took pity and led us through hidden elevators inside buildings—a genius local secret that lets you skip the city’s brutal hills. We emerged at yet another scenic overlook, this one with the whole city glowing gold in the late afternoon. 

Then came the best part of the day: a three-hour nap so glorious it deserves its own national holiday.

Eventually, we peeled ourselves from bed to visit the Oceanário de Lisboa, one of Europe’s top aquariums. Joni was instantly obsessed. Her eyes went wide, her little hands flew, and she nearly vibrated with excitement. Sharks! Otters! Jellyfish that looked like lava lamps! At one point, she was whipping her head around so fast I considered offering her a neck brace.

We wrapped up with baths, showers, and some light packing before collapsing into bed. Tomorrow: Coimbra awaits. But for now, we drifted off with dreams of tarts, tiles, and tiny penguins.