Lisbon

I take a train to Lisbon. At this point, if I NEVER have to see another cobblestone street it will be too soon. I was so excited to talk to Evelyn that I forgot to pull up the instructions to the next hostel. AGAIN. I don't even know what stop to get off on the train... so I choose the 2nd stop because a lot of people didn't get off the first. Wrong. Not the biggest problem, in retrospect, but it was the one further away. All I had on me was a google map that showed that there WAS a metros station nearby, but it didn't say which. It was 10 pm, and no one was working at any information desk. Also, Oriente station is like a mall. There are 3 or more levels of shopping, transit, and it seemed huge and I was lost. After about 20 minutes, I did figure out how how to pay, where to go, and what to do, thanks to Lisbon's beyond excellent maps in the station. If it weren't for that, I'd probably still be trying to get there. So I arrived in Lisbon much later than I wanted to. Hostel Salitre, recommended to me by Isadora, is gorgous. It's a renovated house, sparkling clean and modern. And once again, I am fortunate to have m y own room. It was cheaper than a lot of the other hotels, only by about 4 Euros or so, but as soon as I stepped outside, I knew why. THERE IS NOTHING around. It's about a 20 minute walk (or, as it turns out, an equally long train ride) to the Barrio Baixa, the main area. It's now about 11 pm, and I'm really glad that I thought to book a 2nd night in Lisbon. I was a bit tired and defeated from the traveling, and I was about to just thrown in the towel. But something inside me just said “GO!” I went to the center of town. I look for a place that looks occupied but isn't full of Americans. I find Casa da India, which reminded me so much of this dirty, hole in the wall place in Buenos Aires that cooked up the best churrasco. I knew this was the place. I sat next to some convival Greeks. The waiter tells me that they're out of almost everything, except somegrilled meats. But now I've got to get my sardine fix, so I leave. I wind up at a Brazilian joint. There's a small room playing forro, a kind of Brazilian country music that is really popular and that I've danced in New York. The place is full of Brazilian ex-pats. This is fantastic. The only food they really have, however, is Brazilian “hanburgers.” Brazilians eat some really weird street food. They like to put lots of crazy crap on their hamburgers and hot dogs that you would never think of. Then they call it x- something. Like x-jamon or x-tudo. I REALLY didn't want a hamburger, and I wouldn't even eat this craziness in Brazil. But it was late, and I liked this place, and the opening ceremonies were on. I order something that was meat, but not a meat patty. It was a hamburger bun, chopped up cooked pork pieces, a slice of cheese, a slice of cooked ham, pickles, onions, mayonnaise (fuck), CORN, and some other random shit I don't remember and am trying to forget. It was so much better than it had any right to be, probably because I was hungry and I am loathe to loathe anything Brazilian. Besides, the caipirinha was starting to kick in. If you thought the opening ceremonies were boring, imagine how boring they are with the sound off. So I go into the forro room, wondering if and when my body was going to reject the craziness I just made it deal with. It's a tightly packed room, and everyone is singing the songs, except me of course. I am sitting next to an older man, probably in his late 40's, who starts talking to me. I am speaking only portuguese and I'm pretty excited with myself, realizing the flow is much improved by the caipirinha. He tells me that my portuguese is very good. I now realize he's trying to get into my pants. He buys me another caipirinha, despite my refusal. He's nice enough and not touchy, so whatever. I barely drink it, as to be in complete control of my faculties. He gives me his number and says that he will take me up to some tower the next day if I like. I tell him I doubt it, I don't have much time. I excuse myself and head to the other room so that I don't forget to pay in my drunkenness. I meet a Brazilian guy, probably also in his late 40's, who's really tall and looks like a cross between Wolfman Jack and Penn from Penn and Teller. I said “nice song,” as he was just singing with the band- a strange but entertaining ballad rendition of New Order's “Something's got a hold on Me.” He's great. He says that I can cancel my hotel reservations and stay with him and his wife. He LOVES Americans! The other guy realizes I'm gone and comes over to the bar, with the drink he got me, and awkwardly stands next to me, not saying anything. Just standing there. Wolfman Jack says he's leaving. I kiss him goodbye, and say I will leave too. The first guy says he will walk me out. He does and I run into the cab, narrowly avoiding the kiss he was about to plant on my lips/neck. Ick. All in all though, a really nice night. The next day I spend walking around, window shopping, just absorbing Lisbon. So fucking beautiful. I went back to the Casa da India. Delicious!! More amazing grilled sardines. At night, I meet up with Evelyn. Evelyn has three kids in tow from the hostel. They just sorta followed her there, I think. No matter, the more the merrier. I was a bit hungry, so we went in search for food, and at this point of my travels I could give a shit what everyone else wants, except Evelyn. I like her!! We wander and wander, and the area where the drinking goes on is very expensive to eat in. So we walk in the oppsite direction, and it takes forever, and Evelyn doesn't care, the boy (american, but of portuguese descent, speaks a little portuguese) is definitely getting annoyed with me, the girl, Andrea (american, also of portuguese descent, speaks no portuguese) seems to have no opinion on the matter, and the Korean kid doesn't speak much english so he can't complain even if he wanted to. We finally find this little family joint and sit down. I'm all ready to order and the portuguese boy is really starting to stress me out. He is trying to help everyone, although I told him I didn't need his help, and really it's he who needs the help. He has no idea what he wants, and he's getting on my damned nerves. I get a little snippy with him. I don't care at all. He tells me that bacalao has a lot of bones in it. He is wrong. We are inadvertantly driving this poor waiter crazy. Food is delivered and all is well, although the waiter caught a guy try to rob the Korean guy's camera. None of us notice. Lisbon is full of theives and we have to be careful, he says. We go to the nightlife area and have a great time... the korean guy leaves early, soon followed by the portuguese kid who says we're having “girl time,” and thenAndrea unloads and says he's been driving her nuts. She's adorable. We just keep laughing... even when some guy walks past our table and not-so-surreptitiously steals her sangria and walks away! The next morning, I get up early to walk to the mirador that overlooks the whole city. Gorgeous. I am REALLY sad to leave Lisbon for some reason. It is so old and beautiful, walkable, the food is delicious. I had breakfast at a little place, a chewy, orange flavored tart of sorts called a queijoada that was one of the most delcious things I had ever eaten. It seems that Portugal is like Spain's kid brother. Picked on, a little worse for the wear, always trying to prove itself. A number of people in Portugal told me that the food is better, the people are nicer, the prices are better, even though they share a similar culture, a similar climate. I do LOVE Spain, but I have been completely enchanted by Portugal. It's time to revisit that retirement scenario.