Day 30 Lisboa Portugal

The bus to Lisboa was the nicest bus I have ever taken. It was like a Cadillac of buses with ergonomic leather seats, fold down trays, a water dispenser, and a movie to watch. It was luxurious. The view was disappointingly uneventful and only mildly scenic. Getting to the hostel from the bus station was only a matter of walking down some stairs, paying 13.20 euros for a five day metro/bus pass, two transfers, and walking a block, losing my metro pass and receipt in the process, forcing me to buy another, oops.

The central Lisboa hostel ($20 USD/night) is old and stately on the outside and ultra-modern on the inside. All the plumbing fixtures are stainless, including sinks and vanities, toilets, and urinals. Perhaps most strange for a hostel is that the furniture is in good shape and all matches. The hostel even has a fashionable full bar with a pool table, video games, and cheap drinks. The downside is that it doesn’t have a kitchen for the visitors to use, leaving dining out the only option after the free breakfast.

Lisboa itself is beautiful. Almost everywhere you look is postcard worthy. The hard thing is that things are so close together, it is hard to get good pictures of everything I want. The city feels very old, but not ancient as I expect will Rome to be. Many of the buildings are covered in ceramic tiles, a Moorish influence I think, and have a unique character that I haven’t seen before. I’ll try to get the Portugal gallery going soon.

My Portuguese is pathetic still and I have to rely on English or body language for most things. It hasn’t stopped me from going to the tiny local cafes with minimal signage and cryptic menus in illegible handwriting. I have had a few classic Portuguese dishes: whole sardines (some organs intact) cooked over a wood charcoal grill with roasted potatoes, olives, and some local beer; some of the most fantastic grilled chicken ever, served with crunchy home-style potato chips and local beer; and of course, bacalhau, which is a salt dried cod that came with chick peas, olives, salad, and local beer. Notice the common theme? To avoid getting fat, I have been working hard to avoid the ubiquitous pastelerias (pastry cafes) but for 50 cents for a high quality espresso and another 60 cents or less for the pastry, my will power has faltered, repeatedly.

I feel very comfortable here. For a big touristy city, the people here are pleasant and helpful. The temperature has been between 68 and 75 degrees, very nice.

Research note:

There is one question that I have been asked repeatedly, "Why did you elect Bush?"

Day 28 Lagos and Sagres

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.

Day 25 Praia de Faro

When I think of a city with an international airport, I think big. I am wrong in this case. Maybe it shows my travel inexperience. Faro is a cute little town with a small walled old city and only two hotels. I am told it is a booming tourist town in the summer. The old city takes about 2 hours to see fully and shopping holds little interest for me since I have to carry or post whatever I buy. Due to Faro’s surrounding wetlands, the beach is only accessible by a 20 minute bus ride. The beach is very nice though, with a course reddish beige sand and a the waves come in tall enough for some exhilarating body surfing. And thankfully, the water is a whole lot warmer than Oregon.

My new friends/dorm mates here are Andree from Brazil (living in Germany), Kay from Germany (lived in Brazil) and Luis from Lisboa. They all speak Portuguese of some form and English. A few other people we are hanging out with speak Spanish and rapid fire heavily accented Austrailian English. One of the most fun aspects of hostel life is communication. It is a always a source of laughs as we struggle with similar and dissimilar words. Conversations can take the strangest turns.