I am sitting in Lagos in a comfortably shabby hammock and enjoying the cool afternoon shade of a palm tree with nothing pressing to do other than drink ridiculously inexpensive and delicious local red currant beer and catch up on my travel blog. I wish life was always this rough.
Lagos is entirely a tourist town. It is similar to Cancun, Mexico in its draw for young people to party. It seems that everything is geared for summer youthful hedonism or off season geriatric sight seeing. Not really my scene.
Yesterday, I threw a rock off the end of the earth. Well, it was once thought to be the end of the earth. I took a bus (3 euro) 32 kilometers to Sagres, the farthest southwest point of Europe. The continent ends, appropriately enough, very abruptly with a 100 foot tall cliff that plunges straight down into what looks like very deep ocean. It is no wonder people thought that the world ended there; beyond is only azure curve of the ocean as it meets the horizon. After walking about 4 kilometers in a round about fashion to the point, I walked another 6 kilometers to Cabo Sao Vicente, the third most powerful lighthouse in the world, and had a 270 degree view of unobstructed horizon from straight north all the way around to the east.
At that time, two things happened. First, I was astounded by the sheer number of older British tourists that ceaselessly piled out of tour buses that arrived every few minutes. Second, a visual memory hit me quite suddenly; the bus schedule listed both Sagres and Cabo Sao Vicente for most of the day, but only went to Sagres at the end of the day. It was of course, the end of the day when I realized this. I tried hitching a ride with no luck and ended up walking the 6 kilometers back to Sagres. It was rapidly getting dark and there was no way other than an expensive taxi to get back to my prepaid room and backpack in Lagos. I opted for a quarto for 25 euro, a single room that is sometimes with a family, but in this case was entirely private with a shared bath. At a deserted café, I had a beer and a shrimp omelet that came with fries and a tomato and onion salad for 6.50 euros. I was tired, but had a bed and food--nothing to complain about. The next day I missed the first bus back to Lagos by about 20 seconds. Oh well. I had an espresso and pastry and sat for 2 hours, until the next bus, looking beyond the rows of palm trees to watch the sky and ocean slowly exchange hues of blue.
When I got back to Lagos I went three doors up from the hostel to get a haircut at a salon. They spoke no English, yet we managed quite well. For 9 euros I got the best and most precise haircut of my life. It must have taken her a full hour to make sure that every, and I mean every, hair on my head was exactly the right length. Ears, eye brows, side burns, everything. She was truly meticulous.
Tomorrow I am taking the bus to Lisboa; a four hour ride for 15 euros. Even though, I like the relaxed Mediterranean life here, Lagos is not for me.
On a research note, I found the overwhelming opinion about Americans by Brits, Germans, Portuguese, Brazilians, and Spanish, is that we think we are better than everyone else. “Americans think we are number one in the world.” "They think they know everything." I got this from direct and overheard conversations. Before I came, I was needlessly worried that people would be hesitant to tell me how they really feel; they have been quite frank. I have yet to actually run into any Americans here so I cannot provide any personal observations of my fellow citizens.
