One of my favourite memories from the trip is a day visit we made to go to a seaside town (naturally, I can't remember the name), a short train ride from Lisbon.
It was a long strip by the beach, filled with outdoor cafes and bars, all overlooking the sea.
And what a sea it was.
Seas are as different as people really.
Some are prettier than others. Some are mysterious and forbidding. Some are inviting, waiting for you to get to know them. Some are calm, nothing ruffles them. Some are volatile and unpredictable. Some don't give a shit. Some are full of shit.
This sea?
Well, why don't you see (haha) for yourself.
I know, right?
There really isn't much to write about this day, nothing particularly entertaining, but it stands out in my memory.
We plonked ourselves down at one of the cafes, facing the sea, and we drank wine and ate crisp salads and crusty baguettes. We sat there leisurely for nearly four hours, chatting, people-watching, just being.
Oh here's something.
To get to the ladies' room (which was also the men's room), you had to go into the cafe, climb the stairs, cross a sort of terrace passageway, and open a big industrial door with a key given to you by the landlord. The room was HUGE with loads of stalls, and lots of space in the window, and large windows, and white sinks lined up against the wall. Despite the light, there was something sinister about it. Large spaces are often sinister.
It was the perfect setting for a tourist to be murdered in.
I went into one of the stalls, freaking out because my imagination is truly weird sometimes and goes completely beyond my control, and though I'm perfectly aware of my irrationality, it doesn't make it any less real. So I sort of positioned myself with my phone as a weapon to hit someone if they were waiting outside the door, and with the key as a shameful substitute for a knife. I figured I could poke my potential murderer in the eye with it at the very least.
I didn't see any murderers, but I did see a drunk tourist brushing his teeth at one of the sinks. Even my imagination didn't allow me to picture him trying to kill me, so I placed the key next to him, avoided eye contact, and left.
I will skim over the rest of the day, because it won't interest you particularly.
Here's a funny incident that occurred once we were back in Lisbon though.
I really needed to go to the loo, so I went into one of the cafes by the station. I looked around and a man - presumably the owner - came up to me and said something in Portuguese.
"Um. Could I use the bathroom?" I asked.
He looked puzzled.
"The Ladies'?"
He continued to look puzzled.
And then I made that universal gesture, the one that nearly all humans understand, and showed him my little finger.
"Ah," he said, comprehension dawning. "You want to do this..."
And then he crouched slightly and made that other universal sound, that sssssing sound, but I took it in my stride and said, "yes, ssssss," and he pointed the way.
After that, I think we strolled around Lisbon for a bit. It's one of those places meant for strolling. We went back to our favourite cafe - you know, the one with the pigeons and the dogs - and had a glass of wine.
Yeah, that's about it.
Oh, but that's the thing about days like that.
'That's about it' is more than enough to satisfy.
It was a long strip by the beach, filled with outdoor cafes and bars, all overlooking the sea.
And what a sea it was.
Seas are as different as people really.
Some are prettier than others. Some are mysterious and forbidding. Some are inviting, waiting for you to get to know them. Some are calm, nothing ruffles them. Some are volatile and unpredictable. Some don't give a shit. Some are full of shit.
This sea?
Well, why don't you see (haha) for yourself.
I know, right?
There really isn't much to write about this day, nothing particularly entertaining, but it stands out in my memory.
We plonked ourselves down at one of the cafes, facing the sea, and we drank wine and ate crisp salads and crusty baguettes. We sat there leisurely for nearly four hours, chatting, people-watching, just being.
Oh here's something.
To get to the ladies' room (which was also the men's room), you had to go into the cafe, climb the stairs, cross a sort of terrace passageway, and open a big industrial door with a key given to you by the landlord. The room was HUGE with loads of stalls, and lots of space in the window, and large windows, and white sinks lined up against the wall. Despite the light, there was something sinister about it. Large spaces are often sinister.
It was the perfect setting for a tourist to be murdered in.
I went into one of the stalls, freaking out because my imagination is truly weird sometimes and goes completely beyond my control, and though I'm perfectly aware of my irrationality, it doesn't make it any less real. So I sort of positioned myself with my phone as a weapon to hit someone if they were waiting outside the door, and with the key as a shameful substitute for a knife. I figured I could poke my potential murderer in the eye with it at the very least.
I didn't see any murderers, but I did see a drunk tourist brushing his teeth at one of the sinks. Even my imagination didn't allow me to picture him trying to kill me, so I placed the key next to him, avoided eye contact, and left.
I will skim over the rest of the day, because it won't interest you particularly.
Here's a funny incident that occurred once we were back in Lisbon though.
I really needed to go to the loo, so I went into one of the cafes by the station. I looked around and a man - presumably the owner - came up to me and said something in Portuguese.
"Um. Could I use the bathroom?" I asked.
He looked puzzled.
"The Ladies'?"
He continued to look puzzled.
And then I made that universal gesture, the one that nearly all humans understand, and showed him my little finger.
"Ah," he said, comprehension dawning. "You want to do this..."
And then he crouched slightly and made that other universal sound, that sssssing sound, but I took it in my stride and said, "yes, ssssss," and he pointed the way.
After that, I think we strolled around Lisbon for a bit. It's one of those places meant for strolling. We went back to our favourite cafe - you know, the one with the pigeons and the dogs - and had a glass of wine.
Yeah, that's about it.
Oh, but that's the thing about days like that.
'That's about it' is more than enough to satisfy.
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