Onwards :: Lisboa


The train is about 4 hours long from Oporto to Lisboa (which, later, when I look back upon, will be a very missed, fast and easy luxury) and we finally pull up to my stop. Here I am rocking a hot mess of an outfit that in no way goes together, a tangled cat of curls on my head and 50lbs on my back; and this little platinum blonde tart in a satin glove of a jumpsuit as chocolate as her false lashes and Portugease skin, is struggling over 7 suitcases the same shade as her pink lipstick. 

I am again, blatantly confronted with how homeless my neglected appearance has become, which almost sends me into giddy fits of laughter. Never have I been so happy not to be juggling all the weight of beauty and worldly possessions that this hot young thing is. I help her get the 60 lb. bags off the train, handing them down to her on the platform one by one. I'm wondering if she's moving here and if so, for the love of God, why didn't someone drive her?? Then two mid-driff baring twigs of girls come barreling down the platform towards us. An english speaking one exclaims how it is going to be the best summer of their lives. This time I laugh out loud. 

Despite being so ambiguously frightful looking, four even more frightful cab drivers surround me instantly, balking in Portugease, poking me like crows. Where am I going and who is going to take me? I hop in a cab with a very smelly, old man that makes me feel like I am in pristine condition, and head to Costa de Capirica, a small beach town on the coast of the Pacific outside of Lisboa's city center. 

I am staying in a hotel for two days and for the first time since leaving France, which is a most welcomed break from the chaos of the exciting past 10 days. My hotel is called Mar e Sol, meaning "sun and sea," on Ruo do Pescadores, or "Fisherman Street" and I arrive covered in grime and sweat. The boy at the desk examines me with wide eyes, fearful that I might disrupt the pristine conditions he has just finished preparing. Once inside my AIR-CONDITIONED room, I drop my bags, take all my clothes off, and collapse on the bed. 

After the best shower of my life, I walk along the beach and watch the sunrise and the surfers. I decide that I must meet one and have him teach me how to surf. Restaurants in glass-like, open trailors line the beach and couples sit out on the rocks watching the orange sky as it fades over the dozens of surfers below. I eat dinner near the hotel and it is a lovely, romantic setting for one, complete with candle light and butler-like service. I order Spanish Risotto (before remembering I am not in Spain), and it is delicious. Pama ham, asparagus, and peppers smothered in cream, with a glass of Vihno Tinto. Completely stuffed, I walk through the little beach town looking in shop windows and outdoor displays of hats, bracelets, and sandals. And then I have the best night sleep since France - completely dreamless.