Now we come to Lisbon, that Iberian rascal. I prefer it to Italy, which is an outrageous statement, I know, but I live for controversy.
I arrived in Dublin in the evening, crashed at Megan’s, and slept for approximately thirty minutes before our 2 AM bus to the airport. Most painless TSA passing of my life, which I attribute to my expert packing: all my worldly possessions crammed into one, single Maxpedition backpack that’s seen me through, now, six international junkets. What a loyal friend, that green, ratty thing.
Arrived, again, painlessly. Immigration was a breeze. Had no quarrels with the hostel people when we arrived by, first, the metro, then our own untrained feet that had to be reminded of the woes of cobblestone. We treated ourselves to pastel de natas, God’s bloody gift, which I indulged in excessively. Then we checked out a market near the water where I bought my mother a little something for Christmas. Hit the hay early, I admit. Couldn’t help it after running on a half hour of sleep.
Day two, how salubrious. Walked ten miles with our legs of steel, pursing geocaches (a newly acquired hobby of mine, thanks to Megan’s influence) scattered around the city. Jerónimos Monastery, an utter smack in the face in its glory. Belém Tower, a surprisingly quick line, and built in that exaggerated style I wish, one day, for a future house of mine to mimic. Architectural debauchery, if you ask me, and I live for it.
Dinner at Faz Frio, whose waiter I danced with shamelessly when the music called for it. Let it be known, cod and wine mix well. To anyone visiting Lisbon in the future, if you don’t eat at Faz Frio, you might as well decline food altogether. It’s practically a religious experience.
Day three, trip to the town of Sintra for a walk through Pena Palace, the vacation house of the royal family (19th century grandeur, to give you an idea), and the Moorish Castle, which dates back to the 8th Century. Pena Palace was furnished, I tell you! No empty rooms, the walls dripping with color and detail and, in one specific room, a green, emerald wardrobe that made me drool. If ever I possess one, that’s how I’ll know I’ve made it. “Megan, look…” said, agog, around every corner, finger pointing here and there to the annoyance of the other guests. There may have been a moment of screaming. Me and my tea sets.
The Moorish castle was more of a meditation. A small hike on the walls overlooking Sintra, fog thick, people few (as few will brave the incline). Silence, mostly. “I don’t think you or I realize how old this place is…” The clouds were coming in and the rain was on its way. We made it back to Lisbon before the weather could dampen us, literally and figuratively.
Sofia