The story goes as follows: Early one night, at 4:30am, a door across from the Rising Cock Hostel opens and a backpack comes flying out, crashing to a halt square in the middle of the narrow street. There's a bit of a ruckus inside (no, I can't describe this ruckus), 30 seconds pass and an Aussie stumbles out, only to have the door slammed behind him moments later. Disheartened and dejected, the evicted backpacker slowly gathers his gear, takes one last look at the flat, and pleads to no one in particular, "I've GOTTA get out of this loopy town." Welcome to LAGOS, Portugal. Fittingly, my own whacky trek through Lagos begins with a chance encounter to end all chance encounters. On a never-ending bus ride from Sevilla, we get to the end of the line
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