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When I visited Macau in 1997, before the handover to the Chinese, the islands were far quieter and more traditional in style. After crossing over to Taipa on one of the three huge metal bridges which connect it to the Macau peninsula, an experience probably quite similar to crossing the Golden Gate bridge in San Francisco, my Taxi drove for what seemed like an age through small towns and villages which didn't seem to be able to make up their mind whether they were Chinese or Portuguese. One moment, we would be speeding past a collection of tin huts or simple block houses similar to those in the New Territories, and the next we would be surrounded by mediterranean style houses with yellow walls, white balconies and tall, rounded windows. From time to time, we would pass a huge Rococo style mansion where, in less enlightened times, somebody important had presumably lived in order to keep an eye on the locals! It was a world away from the bright lights I had left behind me, and I sat for the entire journey to Fernando's looking out of the window and thinking how incredible it was that things could be so different just a few miles away from the hedonistic lifestyle of the city.
When we arrived, the Taxi fare was a staggering sixty Hong Kong Dollars - this was only about six pounds, but still a lot for a Taxi journey in Macau. This probably precludes a lot of local people from making the journey, which is a shame, but I certainly wasn't going to complain about the fare - considering the meal I was about to tuck into, and the atmosphere of the restaurant, I would've paid much more and would probably not quibble if I went back and found that the fare had doubled. Fernando's is located on Hac Sa Beach, which is just about as far as you can go in Macau without having to swim. Hac Sa is actually famed for its black sand - "Hac Sa" is portuguese for "Black Sand" - although, in an exercise in stupidity quite staggering in size, the Chinese government have recently chosen to refill the beach with yellow sand from elsewhere, meaning that it is now an ugly shade of muddy brown. Still, it remains Macau's most popular beach - and I had heard that Fernando's - both the food and atmosphere - were famed all over South-East Asia, so having such an auspicious place right next door to the beach can't exactly do its popularity any harm.
Fernando is certainly not just some faceless corporation - this is an authentic colonial style portuguese restaurant which is actually run by Fernando himself. Often, he will appear from the kitchen and show you to your seat personally - and that, in itself, sold the restaurant to me. When is the last time you went for a meal at Planet Hollywood and were shown to your table by Arnold Schwarzenegger - or decided to just nip into McDonald's and had your hamburger served up by Richard and Maurice McDonald? Fernando doesn't let himself be bothered by those boring little things that other restaurants seem to think are important, such as taking reservations - at Fernando's, you just turn up and have your name added to a list. If there's a space for you by the time he closes up the restaurant at 8 o'clock so that he can concentrate on looking after the customers inside, then you get in. Otherwise, you go home again. So arrive early if you want to enjoy the Fernando's personal touch... and expect a queue. The queue often stretches half way down the street.
Now, one thing that nobody could accuse Fernando's of being is sophisticated. When the Taxi arrived at the end of the beach road, my first reaction was to wonder where the restaurant was. The road ended at a small roundabout with the beach on one side and a field on the other, and between the two there appeared to be nothing more than a concrete shack covered in foliage. The front was totally open to the elements, with chairs and tables apparently strewn hap-hazardly around inside - but the crowd lining up outside convinced me that this was Fernando's. The smell emanating from the restaurant was incredible - Fernando even bakes his own bread on the premises, and the smell from the bakery alone was enough to make my mouth water.
Approaching the queue, I could see waiters emerging from a narrow concrete path which led around the side of the shack to the kitchens at the back, carrying huge platters of steaming hot food and warm bread rolls. The place was already packed to bursting point, tables and chairs spilling out onto the street, and even as I joined the back of the queue more Taxis were arriving with their hungry passengers.
Once I had been shown to my table, I began to look around and realised pretty quickly that the inside of Fernando's was just as unconventional as the outside. Every wall was covered in graffiti, but not the sort you find on walls all over any major city - these were all autographs from famous patrons of the restaurant, or complements and recommendations from customers. There was hardly any space to spare - anybody who visits Fernando's is encouraged to grab a pen and decorate the wall with their thoughts - although I imagine some form of censorship must go on, because almost everything I read seemed suitable for a family audience. It certainly beats having a visitors book! In one corner, an entire section of wall seemed to be dedicated to autographs and praises written there by members of British Football teams who had passed through. Between the scrawled praises, and on every other surface within the restaurant, visitors also seemed to have taken it upon themselves to stick banknotes from around the world, items of clothing and other miscellaneous odds and ends - Fernando's appeared to be something of a giant scrapbook. I felt a little ashamed that I had come to visit without anything to leave behind to tell others that i'd been there.
Not having had a chance for a while to have a full English meal, I was quite happy to find that I could order something as straightforward as Chicken and chips - so I did. What arrived at the table, however, perhaps wasn't quite as straightforward as I had been expecting. First of all, a waiter brought up a silver platter the size of a dinner tray, on which there was a pile of salted chips (Or "French Fries" for any Americans reading who are wondering what I wanted with a platter of potato crisps), at least half of which would've ended up being thrown away even if I'd been dining with three friends. The chips were soon followed by a similarly sized salad bowl in which the contents of a few plantations had been deposited, and then the chicken arrived - and I do mean "the chicken". It was a whole chicken, just for me, and I strongly suspected that this particular chicken had been dining out at Fernando's itself for the months leading up until its demise - again, it was large enough to feed a table of four. I was slightly worried about sticking my fork in, in case the whole thing exploded and showered everyone with poultry. I ate as much as I could, but the portions didn't seem to get any smaller - I wouldn't even like to imagine the sort of person who could eat a whole meal at Fernando's and not leave anything on his plate. Certainly not somebody who could get through the door unassisted - even bearing in mind that the door was basically the whole of the front of the restaurant.
From what I read, Fernando's is still as popular as it's ever been and now has a beach bar around the side that people can sit at while waiting to be called to their table. Although this probably means that you can now turn up and not find such a large queue out the front, it also means that you'll find everybody crowded into the bar getting slowly more and more sozzled instead. Mind you, I bet the graffiti that gets written on the walls is a hell of a lot more colourful after people have downed a few pints...
About Simon and Burfords Travels:
Simon Burford is a UK based travel writer. He will be re-publishing his travel blogs, chapters from his books and other miscellaneous rantings on these pages over the coming weeks and months, and the entry on this page may not necessarily reflect todays date.
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