Warning: The following blog entry contains naughty language, hypothetical drug use and adult concepts. TRAVELERCUZ advises screening the content before reading it out loud to any young cousins that may be nearby.
I am now sitting in a hostel in Madrid checking my emails. I had received one from the hostel booking website asking me to leave a review for the hostel I stayed at, People Hostel. As I started writing I almost burst into tears (which would have been awkward since I'm surrounded by a bunch of Spanish girls having their siesta... which feels awkward anyway). I'm less than a week into my epic three month extravaganza and I am already homesick, but not for Australia. No, I may have been there only four days, but all I want to do is return to Lisbon, and here's why.
(No photos here, text only. Unfortunately it is too difficult to shoot photos and video at the same time.)
Day 1
From my first seven hours in Lisbon, it might seem quite a surprise that the city ended up having such a profound effect on me. I landed at the airport and got through customs without any hassle. I knew check in wasn't until 2pm, so there was no point going directly to the hostel. Fortunately (or so I thought at the time) the hostel was a short way out of the main centre of Lisbon in a neighbourhood called Belem, meaning I could have a nice walk, get a feeling for Lisbon's make-up and arrive at my hostel at the exact time I was meant to check in.
Well, the metro part was easy enough. I got my Viva Viagem card, a thin cardboard card that works the same as a Go Card (though you only have to swipe on for buses and trams - trains and metro swipe on and off). One swipe cost me 1.40 euro and got me to the station I needed. From there I arose into... Lisbon! I had a google maps printout with street-by-street directions to get me to the hostel. Well, I had popped my head up in the middle of an intersection that stretched off at funny angles in at least seven different directions (possibly eight, and if you consider the fact that the next intersection was so close it was basically one giant intersection, we're looking at more than ten possible directions). After a quick look around, I couldn't see any streets with the name I was looking for. I guess google maps hadn't quite pinpointed exactly where I would be (or, more likely, Lisbon's roads are such a mess that Google Maps just spat the proverbial dummy back in my eye and screamed "You work it out.")
Not to be put off so early in my journey (hell, I'd left England less than 24 hours ago) I headed south-west. Or in a direction that kind of looked south-west...ish. OK, I just walked in a random direction hoping it would get me somewhere vaguely recognisable (spoiler alert: it didn't). In the end, the street took so many twists and turns that I must have been going south-west at some point (in case you hadn't guessed, south-west would take me to my hostel).
The problem is, Lisbon's streets are basically just narrow corridors flanked by enormous long buildings, three or four stories high. Good luck trying to work out where the hell you are when all you can see are scrappy tiled walls (with the occasional pale pink one thrown in for good measure). Every now and then I would come across a massive multi-lane road, think, "Ha! Now I'm getting somewhere!" before being funnelled into yet another narrow alleyway (which was still a multi-lane carriageway, more often than not). One time I came across what looked like a palace, with stone lions standing impressively outside it and incredibly intricate
After about an hour I suddenly came across a massive multi-multi-lane carriageway that also seemed to double as a car park and was on the seafront. Aha! The sea was a landmark I could use! I had apparently been heading south the entire time. Well, south-east, really, but that's at least half right. All I needed to do was follow the road west, head under the giant bridge linking Lisbon with the other side of the inlet (look at a map, you'll see what I mean) which was somewhere off in the distance, and I would be able to work out the rest. Off I went!
Then I got bored with the road, especially compared to the tiny streets I had been enjoying for quite a while, walked up some stairs into a park, had a look at the view, got bored of the view, and wandered along a street that I hoped was parallel to the sea. It was about this time I had my first near-death experience (you read that right, there's more than one). The footpaths are narrow and people tend to walk in the middle of them, staring you down in a pedestrian version of chicken. When an old lady with a walking frame stepped to her left, flat against the building, I was surprised, thinking she must have thought I was struggling with my bag. I stepped to my left, right on the edge of the footpath and nodded a quick 'obrigado'. I lifted my head just in time to see her bring her hand to her mouth in a horrified "ai!" (the European exclamation) as a tram rocketed past, brushing my bag and elbow.
I knew that my hostel was on a street beside a large monument (I had seen it on google maps) and it wasn't long before I found the monument AND the hostel. By the way, the monument is called Mosteiro Jeronimos (I've skipped the accents because I can't be bothered).
The hostel door was shut tight. I was bang on 2pm, so I thought, "Hey, I'll just wait a bit, they'll open up in a moment." At 2.30pm, some people entered. "Aha!" I thought. "Here are the receptionists about to open up." At 3pm I thought, "Maybe I got the time wrong." At that point some guy came out and wondered over to a car parked on the street, dropped off a towel and started to wander off. With a quick "Inglés?" and a nod in the affirmative, I discovered that there was a buzzer you had to press and the hostel would let you in. Whoops.
I signed in and felt a slump coming on. There was no-one around, it was around 4pm so there was no point going out for anything major. I decided to take a walk up to have a quick look at the local supermarket. Then I thought, "Why am I looking at the supermarket when I'm right next door to one of the biggest, fanciest-looking buildings I have ever seen?" (referring to Mosteiro Jeronimos). So I went and looked at the outside of the monastery. It was big. And then I walked around the corner and saw it actually went on twice as far as I had thought. Then I went a tiny bit further and saw a man pissing on the corner of it. Huh.
The next bit of the story requires a little setup. See, I was wearing my sound recorder around my wrist, and, just as I started to make my way up to the Tower of Belem, an elderly gentleman waved me over with the question, "What this thing you wearing?" (sic). Turned out that, even without my giant backpack, I was an obvious tourist. An obvious english-speaking tourist. Hrrm. He went on to say that he liked Australia, yadayadayada and offered to show me the area. A little suspicious (well, a lot suspicious - I didn't want to be scammed on my very first outing) I asked if he wanted money for it, making a big show of not having much. He got very offended: "Why you ask me this? You no trust me? I not tour guide, I friend." I went... yeeeaaaaah.... ok!
Along the way he changed his tune a little, saying I was smart to be suspicious, but that the Portuguese were very friendly and love to talk. He started to explain how it can get dangerous at night, some areas are really bad, he got mugged recently etc etc. I'm listening, vaguely nodding my head, when he says, "You think I want something from you? I no want anything from you. I no like boys. I like girls, no boys."
Oh, f***.
Long story short, we ended up at a bar on the water which was in a fairly populous area, I tried and failed to refuse his offer of a beer (after watching them pour it VERY carefully) and there we were, two men, one old and one young, sipping away at our beers on the waterfront. It would have been quite nice had I not been imagining being [the remainder of this sentence has been removed for your comfort and safety]. As we sipped, he gave me some pointers. He let me know that I should put my camera and audio device in my bag for as much as possible - having them out made me a target. He pointed out the bulges in my jeans of my wallet and mobile phone, saying they made me a target too. Put them in your bag, he said, and leave some euro in your pocket. That way when you are mugged you can say that the money in your pocket is all you have.
I obliged him by putting all the bits and pieces in my bag, nodding as though agreeing. I really, really wanted to show him I wasn't a complete idiot by revealing that actually the wallet he had seen was a dummy wallet, and my money and important stuff was elsewhere. Unfortunately, revealing such would have actually made me out as a complete idiot, so I acted as though, yes, 5 euro really is all I have on me at the moment.
It wasn't long after this that I was able to make my escape, using the classic standby, "Someone's expecting me - I'm meeting a friend." He shrugged. "I was going drive you home, but if you want leave, you go."
Hell yes I want leave. So I went. As soon as I was out of Antonio's (that was his name) eyeliner, I put my wallet and phone back in my pocket, half-expecting a goon to do a sudden bag snatch. No-one did though, so I got out of it with a free beer and a feeling of unease.
That unease was starting to eat away at me a bit, and by the time I reached the hostel I had convinced myself (in the way that brain-voices often do) that I was stupid for even coming on this trip in the first place and I should just go home and see it all as a very heavy sunk cost.
Feeling a little hungry I went to the supermarket I had, for some reason, walked to a little earlier. This time I actually went inside and bought dinner - some s****y ham (which, it being Portugal, wasn't actually that s****y), some s****y cheese (see note for ham) and some bread rolls. All up around 3 euro I think.
I went back into my room and saw two new people there - a Japanese boy that I can't remember the name of and a Polish girl that I can't remember the name of. I struck up a quick conversation with the Polish girl, with occasional reference to the boy (he stayed pretty quiet) before another girl was shown in, a French girl called Astrid. This is where it starts getting complicated, so keep up. After chatting briefly with Astrid and the girl from Poland (who will never read this I should think, so I won't worry that I can't remember her name even though I asked what it was about fifty gazillion times that night) I went downstairs and met, in quick succession:
James - A sorta-Chinese self-proclaimed "Bohemian Martial Artist" who loves Corsica but is currently stuck in Glasgow and who could pretty much speak the native language of every single patron of the hostel.
Fabridio - A Canadian whose family emigrated from Italy in his youth. He had the accent of a Canadian and the demeanour of an Italian. He had been in Portugal for quite a while and almost seemed a resident of the hostel.
Antonio - not to be mixed up with the other Antonio, this one was a middle-aged, wrinkled, fun loving man with an obsession with the phrase "take it easy, man!" He certainly did.
The German Trio - I first saw these guys around midnight when they stumbled in carrying what they may or may not have said may or may not have been "top quality hash." After they may or may not have passed the possibly non-existent hash around and everyone had possibly but possibly not sniffed it, proclaiming it (or not) to be of the highest quality. It may or may not have smelled a bit like tea tree oil - who knows? I had to hypothetically decline when they possibly but perhaps not offered me a puff - let's perhaps keep that to somewhere where it is legal (possibly Amsterdam, but who can say?) They were on a gap year and had already been to quite a few places around Europe (including, of course, Amsterdam - cue possible yet unlikely conversations about how good the skunk was there).
The German Duo - Laura and Effie (sp?). They were separate beasts from the Trio, being education students that had met on exchange (they are from opposite sides of Germany).
The Portuguese Filmmaker - I should remember this guy's name, but I'm tired. It's actually written down on a piece of paper in my bag, but I don't want to leave my laptop for even a second to grab it in a Madrid hostel. He gave me a list of Portuguese filmmakers and films, which is something I had been looking for for quite a while. He was working on an advert as an assistant to the director, so was working crazy hours. When I told him that in Australia film students are told to do unpaid internships for experience he laughed and said the Portuguese would never work for free.
To backtrack a tiny bit, I had gone down to the kitchen to make my sandwich-y dinner. I didn't get far before noticing that there was a massive box of free bread rolls. I had wasted my first 0.69 euros. OH GOD. Fabridio had done the same (though I think the bread he bought was even more expensive). James had bought a block of quality cheese (by a block I mean a 20cm diameter, 5cm high cylinder that must have cost him at least 3 euro) and was turning it into a shared platter with jambon and olives. When I went down later I had some. Good stuff.
Around this time the wine started opening. 10 bottles later we were all very happy, friendly chappies. To give you an idea, if you spend more than 1 euro on a bottle of wine in Portugal, you're either getting ripped off or REALLY good stuff.
On future nights, Fabridio and Antonio would take to following the wine with beer (1 euro per litre) in order to "cut the acid." "We're cutting the acid" they would say before pouring themselves another glass.
Anyway, once I started interacting with the people I met, my spirits started to lift. I got into bed at about 1:30am with a real buzz going, feeling really very good, and it wasn't until my last day, with the threat of leaving looming over me, that this buzz began to ebb away.
Day 2
Ok, from here on things get a little more straightforward. As Astrid had arrived the day before as well, we were paired up to go on a trip into Lisbon's centre together. The creepy Antonio (not the one from the hostel, remember him?) had actually been quite helpful, giving me a map with instructions on what the best sights were in Lisbon and a recommended day plan. To be honest, the more I think about it, the more I suspect poor old Antonio was just a lonely old man who wanted to chat with an Aussie guy and that what I wrote about him might be a bit unfair. Still, glad I didn't stay to find out.
So, with Antonio's instructions clasped firmly in-hand, we caught the tram to Cais de Sodre and I led Astrid up a hill... or perhaps two or three... to the Castelo de Sao Jorge. I'm not going to get too detailed with the history and stuff - basically the castle is at the top of a hill looking over Lisbon and, being at the top of a hill, is pretty strongly defended. It was occupied in the 5th century before the Arabs arrived in the 11th or so and built some more bits. Unfortunately it was damaged by the earthquake and tidal wave that hit Lisbon in the 17th century. Fortunately the damage didn't extend to the majority of the fortifications, so the outer and inner walls were still up. Really, as far as I could tell, the only parts that had been damaged were the small buildings within the keep (though they were totally demolished, with only a brick outline to show where they once stood).
Most of this detail came not from the place itself but from the Michelin guide book Astrid had with her (in French). She would occasionally open it up to read about some interesting tidbit, and I would come and read it over her shoulder and pretend to understand everything I read. I mustn't have done a very good job, because she always ended up translating it.
We arrived at the castle around 11:30am. By the time we left it was 4pm and we were hungry. The castle was actually a lot bigger and more interesting than I was expecting (interesting in the "haha look I'm climbing on rocks that were put here 1000 years ago! Wheeeeeee!" kind of way) and we managed to get some spectacular views over Lisbon. There was a nice little courtyard, gorgeous tangerine trees - it really felt different to castles I have seen previously.
But I was talking about hunger. I kind of scoffed at the idea of eating at one of the places near the castle, certain they would be crappy tourist traps. So we walked a little way down the street before I realised that I was too hungry to give a damn and we went into the first place I could find. I had a chicken sandwich. It was served with a side of chips. As in potato chips. As in crisps. But the sandwich was actually pretty nice.
We had a really quick look around Lisbon's centre - the Bairro Alto and Baixo... something or other. They are really spectacular, with intricate Manuelian statues and buildings, huge streets and plazas. It really is stunning. See, after Lisbon was decimated by the one-two punch of an earthquake and a tidal wave, the King decided they'd make it nice. You can now compare the straight, huge boulevards of Bairro Alto etc with the winding pathways that I mentioned in my discussion of day 1.
I was quite glad I hadn't eaten much that day when I got back to the hostel because a feast awaited us. Fabridio, Antonio and some Dutch guys that had been there previously and were dropping in on their way somewhere else had put together an amazing meal of fish soup (great chunks of fish), chicken in beer (that was Fabridio's doing), sausage stew, risotto and potato gratin. We had a dinner party with the whole hostel (well, except for the boring ones, but everyone was invited). Oh, and there was wine. And beer. One of the Japanese guys who had just arrived at the hostel foolishly left his camera on the table when he went to do the washing up, and Fabridio got to it. Approximately one thousand photos later, the poor guy had our grinning mugs all the way through his SD card. He actually had a really nice Carl Zeiss lens, as well, though that's kind of by the by.
Day Three
[I'm just going to keep going with this now since there's no way I'm getting to sleep at anything like a reasonable hour. I'm in a dorm with seven giggling girls (the sleeping forms from the beginning of this blog entry, which began around nine hours ago) who are getting ready for a night on the town in Madrid. But, as you may or may not know, Madrid nightlife starts at about 1am. Anyway, suffice to say I HOPE THEY F***ING LEAVE SOON, THEY'RE TAKING FOREVER. And all they can talk about is how they fraped one of their number with a status update saying her vagina is itchy and asking for people to scratch it. They seriously laughed at that one for half an hour. (P.S. I slept around 4 hours last night... but that's a story for a later point. Suffice to say I really want to go to bed.)]
Ok, Day 3. Fabridio asked Astrid and I whether we wanted to go to Cascais, a coastal town a bit to the west of Lisbon to hire a free bicycle and ride along the coast. We did, so we did. It was only a short train ride to Cascais. We cycled from the town further west, passing spectacular cliffs. It was here, on day 3, that I had my second brush with death. The waves were splashing up beside a small natural platform and I wanted to get a good shot with my video camera. The waves weren't reaching the platform, so I stepped down to get a good angle.
It was at this point the waves decided to swell to an immense size, crashing onto the platform where I was standing. I got soaked, but luckily the only thing damaged was my pride. And my jeans, but they dried out eventually.
[The girls are now discussing the crazy antics they have gotten up to while really drunk. Why do they take so long to get ready? They're only going to mess up all that hard work when they get so stumbling blind drunk they vomit all over themselves.]
We rode further down to a kind of beach, which was really a series of huge sandy dunes. There we found dog tracks (Fabridio swore they were rabbit tracks, and I called bull****). We found a little... shelter... thing... Not sure exactly what it was but it looked straight out of a spaghetti western, and had a mysterious pool of water inside it.
On our way back we stopped off at the beach with a bag of apples and a carton of beer. Then we stumbled off back to the hostel (after participating in the time-honoured tradition of peeing in a European public space... about three times... Screw European public toilets and their extortionate 0.20 euro fees... with machines that don't even work. Power to the people!!!
(Having said that, I have to admit that Lisbon wasn't too bad for public toilets - I only had to pay for one once, and that was 0.50 Euro in the train station on my way out of the city for the very last time).
That night Fabridio treated us once more, this time to spaghetti with clams. It was delicious. And more delicious. Astrid and I got the booze. I spent about 2 euro and got two bottles of wine for that. Another feast awaited!
I didn't sleep too well that night. I was nervous about having to organise the train to Madrid the next day and validating my eurail pass. But even more, I was sad to be leaving Lisbon so soon, especially as it could be the last time I saw many of the new friends I had made there. But I had one full day left to enjoy, and I had planned with Astrid to go to Sintra for that final day.
Day Four
[The girls are playing a song now which is just a drum beat to the sound of some woman listing all these things that are killing her... like drugs and alcohol. It is literally just: "X is killing me... Y is killing me... Z is killing me" ad nauseum. GO OUT ALREADY!!!!]
I had suggested to Astrid that I would go on ahead in order to sort out my trains and tickets and such to save her time, and we could meet at the train station for Sintra. As I was checking out, however, the guy at the counter suggested that it would be quicker and cheaper to catch a bus to a different station. We decided that I would go and do my thing, then come back, pick up Astrid, and we would head to Sintra.
Well, the train sorting out was fairly uneventful. It was really easy to find the station, I dropped my luggage off at the station, got my ticket and headed back. Astrid was asleep when I got back - she had gone to bed quite a bit later than I had, and was really tired. When she woke up and I said it was time to go, she replied that she had changed her mind - she wasn't really feeling up to going out that day.
My mood dropped immediately. This would now be the last time I'd see any of them. I said my goodbyes to Antonio, assuring him that yes, indeed, this was the last time I would be leaving. Overhearing my words, Astrid perked up, surprised.
"Oh, you're not coming back?"
"Nope. This is it."
"Oh."
There was a bit of a silence for a while before she stood up. "Ok, I'm going."
And so we both went to Sintra together, and I was happy again for another few hours.
Sintra was amazing. Imagine a world where every fairy tale exists simultaneously, but was built before fairy tales existed, so wasn't a tacky ripoff. It's a world of immense, fantastical, colourful palaces, all squished upon the side of a mountain with gorgeous thick forest all around. The whole scene is watched over by the spectacular Moorish Castle, which, from the bottom of the hill, is one of the most amazing views of a castle I have ever seen. It was incredible. We trekked up through the beautiful streets, seeing windows (apparently Astrid is obsessed with interesting windows and - believe it or not - discarded cigarette butts). We hiked up the mountain, through the forest, past great stone walls and gates. We didn't end up going inside the castle proper because... well, why pay five euro when the best view is from the bottom of the hill? And there was still so much more to see.
There isn't too much more to say about Sintra. It really has to be seen to be believed. But it was soon time to go, and to say goodbye to Astrid.
But perhaps not forever. Astrid is a local of Lyon, you see, which is destined to be a future stop (in just one week, in fact). Hopefully she doesn't lose my email address and manages to get in touch so that I have a brief reminder of my time in Lisbon soon.
This is where I had intended to end the blog, but they're still not gone, so I'll tell you about the train trip. In my sleeper carriage was a guy from South Korea on his honeymoon (his wife had a different room because they divide up males and females on Spanish sleepers. A young Portuguese man arrived a little later and struck up a friendly conversation with us about Portuguese culture, history, and the GFC. Then another Portuguese man arrived, a tiny bit older, though not that old. He was nice as well.
It was lucky we had the Portuguese to assist with translation, as the conductor spoke no English. As it turned out, this was a major problem because there was important information to be divulged to us. Namely, a rock had fallen on the train track, so we would be stopped at an earlier station, loaded onto buses and bused to the next station. We were told this would happen around midnight and that we needed to stay awake for it. So I did.
The girls have finally gone (time is 1:20am) so it is time for me to end this with a giant:
TO BE CONTINUED.
And go to sleep.
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