Belém with Two Small Navigators

They wanted explorers. They got explorers, and a pastry the size of their fists.

My nephews, aged six and eight, have strong opinions about Vasco da Gama, most of them learned from a cartoon. So we went to Belém, where Portugal keeps its explorers in stone, and I let them set the pace, which is to say: running.

We started at the Padrão dos Descobrimentos, where the eight-year-old counted all the stone sailors and declared one of them "definitely seasick." The six-year-old wanted to know why nobody on the monument was eating. Fair question. We crossed back to Pastelaria Maré Doce for custard tarts still warm enough to burn tongues, and nobody cared.

The cloister of the Mosteiro dos Jerónimos was a surprise hit: arches like lace, and a long echoing corridor perfect for whispering secret messages. Then a picnic in the Jardim Botânico Tropical, where peacocks strutted between the blankets and the boys tried, unsuccessfully, to negotiate with one.

The Torre de Belém was our finale. We didn't queue to go in; we sat on the rocks outside, watched the river traffic and invented a naval battle. I lost. Then ice cream at Gelataria Caravela, which ended the war honourably.

Lived August 09, 2025.