Lisbon

Lisbon

God, I love Lisbon.  And I love it more and more each time I visit.

The first time I came to Lisbon is was on an overnight train from Salamanca, where I was studying Spanish for the first time.  I went with a friend from the program, Dennis.  I was about 26, Dennis about 37, a gorgeous, fit gay man out looking for a good time.  The good time involved us in a cramped car for 6, 4 of whom were very young, very annoying French girls.  Dennis on the floor with his head tilted back on the seat, and my legs on either side of his head, the best possible position for us to try to sleep on this train.  He kept joking he was going to perform oral sex on me while I slept, as he was basically in my crotch already.  He did not.

We knew NOTHING about Lisbon, as it had been a last minute decision and we had no guide book.  All I remember was that it was spectacularly beautiful, with its colorful, geometric tiled walls, everywhere, and that the guy in the plaza who was offing to sell us "chocolate" was actually selling weed.  And it was hilly.  Very hilly.

Justin always tells me to get off trip advisor, and in Portugal, I basically have.  There's very nice restaurants, there's more simple restaurants, and there's tascas, which is even more low brow than that, and they're everywhere.  One of the great things about eating at a Tasca is that their menu is posted outside, and it's very traditional Portuguese stuff.  I went to one trip advisor place, and I had to walk inside to see the menu, and I didn't want anything they had there, and I felt badly walking out.  So I've basically been walking into places that look full of Portuguese speaking people and reading the menu, posted outside.

New hostel, new worry that it will be full of people that suck.  I had decided to go to Lisbon earlier than I thought, and the hostel I had already booked for three nights was full, so This one was for one night only.  The last time I stayed in Lisbon, I wasn't thrilled with Part,of town I was in, so I picked a different one this time.

Or so I thought, because this hostel was right down the block from the one I stayed in a couple of years ago.  But this is the greatest thing about google maps.  You can get a real feel for what is around you just by looking at the map.  Restaurants, stores, etc... The last time I was here I had NO IDEA that there was a lot of stuff around me and that the main sights area was really super close to me.  I thought I was in the middle of nowhere.

The hostel is on the 5th avenue of Lisbon.  I'm paying about $22 a night for this hostel, and I'm flanked by Miu Miu and Prada.  That's just CRAZY.  the balcony overlooks the tree-lined pedestrian walk.  Unlike last night, my 6-bed girls only dorm room is fully occupied.  I walk in and no one says a thing.  I exchanged a hello or two, and that was it.  This is officially the most unfriendly hostel I have ever been in.  None of the 5 girls in my room said one word to me or each other from the moment I walked in to the moment I left unless I said something to them first.  The only girl who talked to me was some New Zealander who was eating her dinner in the shared bathroom while I was trying to wash my hands.  And, this is nuts, all 5 girls were out like a light by 11 pm.  There was a part of me that wanted to go out to see a forró band, and a part of me that just wanted to sleep.  When I saw that all of these quiet ass girls were asleep, I got so excited thinking that I would get a full nights uninterrupted sleep, I just stayed home.

9 hours.  I slept 9 hours and it was AMAZING.  3 girls packed up and checked out so quietly, I didn't even hear them.

I leave for hostel number 2.  This is my last place in Portugal.  I drop off my bags and head for Cascais, a beach town about an hour away.  I don't really care when I get there, and I can't really stay at a beach for more than two hours, so I'm taking my time.  I walk to the cais do sodre train station, an 8 minute walk down the hill.

It's a good thing I'm in no hurry; the train station is PACKED.  like grand central at 5 pm on a Friday.  Of course, my instinct is to turn around and devise a new day's plan, but fuck it.  I'll get there eventually.

The line for the ticket booth, sinuous and long.  The lines for the 4 automated machines, long and full of tourists who I'm sure can't figure out the system.  I wait on the line for a person.  FOR 40 MINUTES.  I cannot BELIEVE I waited patiently for that long.  Eating the most amazing pastries from café A Brasileira I bought helped.  A pastel de nata where the top was crunchy like a creme brûlée and an amazingly dense, moist, and sticky queijada de laranga, like an orange egg custard flavored tapioca cake.  And yes. I ate them both.  Probably a bad idea.  A couple from Amsterdam complains to me that the Amsterdam system is so much better, that this would never happen.  I joke that in New York someone would be dead by now.  I argue that this is the trade off: you can't have low priced food, wine, and accommodations and then have perfectly logical infrastructure.  They agree.

I get to the window to discover that if you have a declining balance card with enough money on it, YOU DONT HAVE TO BUY A SEPARATE TICKET.  I basically waited on line for nothing.  I already had the declining balance card, and all I needed to to was walk to the nearest metro about 3 minutes away and fill it.  I'm not even mad; I think this is hilarious.  All they needed was one person to direct all of these people to the metro to buy a declining balance card for an extra 60 cents or so.  I miss the train by 10 seconds.

No matter, the next train is leaving in 20 minutes and I get a seat instead of having to stand.  This new, patient Cindy is a novelty.  She isn't long for this world.

Cascais is a resort town.  And it's fantastic.  There are 7 beaches connected by a walking path.  I choose the first because it's hot out and I know when I'm burned and tired I'm not going to want to walk all the way back to the train.  It's full of families.  I like that because I feel like my things are going to be safe and no one bothers me.  No one talks to me except a girl, about 6, who walks by with her whale-shaped floaty device to "wwwwwwooooooooahhhhhh" at my floaty device.  She is mesmerized.  My floaty device rules here in Portugal, too.

The beach is sandy and narrow, with lots of beach bars.  There are water sport shacks doing stand up paddle boarding and the like.  The water is clean, not crystal clear, and it is COLD.  Like 60 degrees cold.  Very refreshing on a very hot day but its significantly colder than the catalunya coast. I just love it.

On the way back, I wander around a couple of the other, smaller beaches on the Estoril coast.  They're rocky, but cute, and the water isn't as clear but it's full of locals.  I get a little lost on the way back to the train, but I'm rewarded with views of these incredibly houses.  I'm sure really rich people live and vacation here.  Making a note for the future.

Considering I only ate pastry all day, I'm starving, and I patiently wait for what might be an appropriate dinner time.  I'm in baixa-chiado, the center of tourism and nightlife, and I'm across the street from a restaurant with a €100 tasting menu.  A 10 minute walk away from this part of town puts me at Tasca Ze dos Cornos, and I get a huge, impossibly fresh and delicious sea bass for €9.  I also eat almost all of the hunk of cheese I'm given, some kind of aged goat with a spicy rind.  It's the only spicy thing I've had in Portugal and this cheese is amazing.  The guy is busting his ass waiting all the tables at this tiny place, with only 20 seats.  He's super nice and I'm laughing to myself at the French girls who have absolutely no idea what the menu says, either in Portuguese or in English.  Even the Korean couple next to me is doing better than they are.

I go back to the hostel.  My room is quiet.  There's two nice French girls, and two who won't speak or respond to me.  Bitches, I know you know how to say hello in English.  It's better this way.  The Italian girl is sick.  Everyone is ready for bed by 11.  I don't know how I got so lucky that over the last couple of days, all of the young girls I'm staying with have no desire to go out and party.  I decide to try to dance forró.  The flyer says the doors open at 10:30.  I show up at 11:30, and there's 6 people there and it doesn't look like it's going to happen any time in the foreseeable future.  It's across the street from the long-distance train station, and I just don't think it's wise for me to be sitting around, by myself, at the train station at midnight, so I go home.

I wander around barrio alto a bit, and it's crazy.  People drinking on the street, on the metro, in bars. I'm not taking part.  I don't need to be partying until 4am, trying to talk to people.  I think in my heart, I'm a loner.  At this point, I am so content to wander around, eat great food, see beautiful things, and I'm more than ready to go home, eat some sushi, see my loved ones, and not see a boiled potato for a long time.