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We got into Lisbon just after day break and pulled up at a giant transport interchange building. I followed a fellow passenger in the direction of the main building. He seemed to have the same idea as me and went straight for the toilets. Unfortunately they were closed. Wouldn’t want the general public using them now would we. Had to search the entire expanse of the great featureless building. A guy in uniform directed me back where I came from and I found the WCs. Trouble was that only one cubicle had toilet paper and was being used. After a minute or two I got my chance to go. I walked out toward the front of the building not having a clue where to go. There were a lot of homeless guys sleeping on benches but I figured it was pointless asking their advice on where to stay. I asked some young guys if there were any hotels near by. They pointed out front and said there were a few not far from there. I walked not far from there and found nothing so I asked someone for help at a train ticket office. They said I should go downstairs to
the metro station. I did that and got a helpful ticket guy I asked him where I could find cheap digs and he asked how much I wanted to pay. I told him around twenty-five Euros and he suggested a suitable metro station. Glad someone was on the ball there as there was no information booth to be seen.
Walked down to the platform but wasn’t sure I was on the right side. Checked with a local commuter who said I was okay. The metro map is a lot less daunting than Madrid’s with far less lines. A female commuter helped me out navigating my way to the station the ticket seller had directed me to. She happened to being going the same way which was a big help. Also told me when we’d reached Rosslo which sounded more like Rose Garden or something when the ticket guy pronounced it. I headed up to the surface and was greeted with the sight of a huge plaza. This did indeed look like the type of area that would harbour a pension or two. I walked off toward a grid pattern of old multi story buildings. Tram lines criss crossed the
streets making me fell a bit at home. I walked several blocks but didn’t see any sign of a hotel or pension. Maybe the ticket seller was wrong? Out of desperation I asked a waiter setting up at a restaurant for directions to a hostel. As it turned out there was one just down the corner. I walked ten meters, pushed a buzzer on a door. There was absolutely no indication of any pension inside. The door miraculously clicked open and I trudged up two fights of stairs. Finally I saw a sign confirming the existence of this pension. Aren’t they allowed to advertise over here?
It was about 08:30 and I’d apparently woken the young guy managing the pension at this ungodly hour. Now came the crucial question. Do you have a room for tonight? Yes came the answer. Phew. And secondly how much is it? Twenty-five euros came the reply. Boy, that metro ticket seller knows a thing about accommodation n this city. I checked out the room. Nothing special but it was clean, had a window and wasn’t a constant 30 degree C like the sauna in Madrid. I paid up for the night not committing
myself any longer until I survived a sleep there. Mind you I was in no mood to move house as my cold wasn’t getting any better. It was so good to drop off my heavy bag after having to carry it so much the past few days. Probably the toughest stretch of travel I’ve ever experienced when I think about it. The shower went down really well. The water was hot and steady which was a nice change. Had to use one of those flexible euro style hand held shower heads without a mount but it still felt good. Afar a shave I almost felt human but I knew my energy levels were way less than optimum.
I tried catching up on my travel diary which I had neglected totally while on the road. Felt pretty stuffed after knocking out one to two thousand words. Decided I needed some coffee and food so went for a big wander. The area I’m staying in has a lot of old world charm. Trams navigating their way along winding cobble stone streets can’t be beaten. The city has a good feel overall, nothing like Morocco. I checked out a number of cafes
and their menus. It’s going to take some getting used to paying in euros again. Found an unpretentious eatery off to the side of the main square that was reasonably priced and had an efficient, friendly English speaking waitress. I ordered a milk coffee with a ham croissant . The coffee tasted good but came in a glass which isn’t to all Aussie’s liking so I’ve heard. The croissant was filled generously with ham. I was a happy boy. So happy in fact I also ordered a beer. I thought the waitress had forgotten my order but the glass came just as I was about to remind her. I felt she deserved a tip and looked forward to eating their regularly.
I got home and fell in a bit of a heap. My eyes were really sore which is usually an indication of extreme tiredness for me. I just wanted to lie down on the bed for a while and relax The trip was definitely catching up with me. Time for some R & R. Think I snoozed for an hour or so. Hard to say. The friendly day manager had told me that there was an internet café
just down the road That was good to hear as I hadn’t spotted one on my first glance around the area. I summoned up my tiny reserves of energy and headed out onto the streets again. Only took five minutes to get to the internet joint. Asked them if I could use my laptop which they had no problem with. Hooked it up to their landline and surfed away for approximately an hour. Seemed a pretty good connection and at 1.30 Euros an hour it was a reasonable price. It was just good to get back in the loop after Madrid which didn’t seem to have internet joints anywhere. On my way back popped into a small supermarket being manned by an Asian guy. You guessed it, they sold cold beer at a reasonable price so I purchased a one litre bottle of local ale and a large bottle of mineral water. Went down a treat when I got back to the hotel. Took a while to get through the amber though. It wasn’t a bad drop with an alcohol content of 5%.
Did a bit more travel blog writing before fatigue set in big time. I was coughing
constantly and blowing my nose. I was obviously sleep deprived in a major way and needed a good dose of shut eye. It was getting to about 09:30 here and the sky was finally thinking about darkening. I drew the blinds and prepared to hit the sack just before 10:00. As my head hit the pillow the noise level rose outside my room. The TV was turned on and someone in an adjoining room or upstairs kept walking around and scraping their chair on a wooden floor. To add to my suffering the phone began ringing out in reception and the door buzzer went off. It was reasonably quiet before then. What a time to start a racket. Mercifully all this commotion seemed to die down after an hour or so. After that it was pretty quiet. Much quieter than Agadir or Seville on average. Thank god, cause I really needed a restful night. I just hadn’t been aware how little sleep I’d actually got on the overnight bus.
Woke about 08:30 on Sunday, my second day in Lisbon. Still had a sore throat and runny nose but on the positive side of the ledger had a decent night’s
sleep under my belt. So I was feeling relatively relaxed and crappy all I one. I find a hot shower is a really good pick me up when feeling off color. There was a cool breeze outside so I slipped on my black trousers. I headed down to the plaza at about 10:30. On this beautiful, cool morning I discovered that most places were closed. My favorite café was locked up which was a big blow to me. I didn’t want to think about finding a new place. All my mental energy was focused on keeping my airways open as I wheezed my way around the local area. I eventually bought a coffee at an outside café just near the pension. It hit the spot and wasn’t too expensive compared to the place I’d discovered yesterday. Felt under the weather and retreated to my room. Contemplated checking out a cheap hostel I’d found on the web. I just couldn’t summon the energy to catch the metro to be frank. Instead I visited the local internet café. The guy there tried charging me for one and a half hours use even though I’d only been there an hour. I pointed this
out and he backed down immediately.
I tried to find a bottle shop or grocery open that may serve packaged cold beer. No luck. They all seemed to be off work for the day. Walked through the main square and heard a number of American accents. A group of young US teenagers walked through the square singing a classic 50’s hit while accompanied by bongos, guitars and God knows what. What did they think they were doing, auditioning for American Idol? Really added authenticity to the place. Surely there’s a city ordinance against Americans forming groups greater than two. Luckily I found an escape from the cultural cringe. There was an alley way off on a forty-five degree angle from the main square that showed some promise. Numerous open cafes lined the narrow street with waiters shoving menus in your face as you walked past. I chose a non descript café on the corner that looked cheap. I ordered a couple of fillets of fish for slightly less than two Euros. The guy served it to me with bread. Portions weren’t big but it tasted okay. Took a couple of snaps of tourists overpaying for food and headed off
back to the pension to recuperate. It’s unlike me to cut back my walks like this. I can go hours wandering the streets of a new city. It’s one of the joys of travel but at that moment the body just wasn’t up to the task.
Lay down on my bed for a bit thinking things over. The Spanish lady managing the place during the day kept asking me if I was staying the following night. I decided that I was feeling so under par that I may as well commit to another five days and get a 15% discount on offer for a week stay. Approached the Spanish lady at reception and put this to her. She said that I would only get the discount for five days and not the first two. I said I wasn’t happy about that. I tried to exclaim that I felt the discount should apply for the whole week. Eventually she understood where I was coming from and rang her boss to sort it out. Boss okayed the discount for the whole week. I shook the Spanish lady’s hand. She apoligied for not understanding English and I apoligised for not speaking Spanish.
Felt bad about putting her through all that grief but I thought I had a fair case. Just so bloody hard to get your point across at times. Felt good that I had my accommodation settled for another six nights. I was happy I didn’t have to contend with seeking new lodgings until my health was regained.
I decided at 18:30 it was time to have a meal. Wandered all over the place but being Sunday my options were limited. I eventually chose a place to eat about a block away. It was like a local version of Subway (who happened to have an outlet in the plaza) I walked inside and up to the counter and placed an order. Easy to communicate as the guy spoke reasonable English. I found out from the female manager that I could also get a beer there. That was music to my ears. The guy commences making my roll and asks if I want mayonnaise. Pretty standard stuff. Then a pregnant woman walks into the food outlet. She approaches me asking for money. I tried waiving her off and saying no but it had no effect. She kept moving up toward me
repeating that she was pregnant and needed money. I backed off as much as I could in front of the counter. Then she moved into top gear and began touching me, something I’ve never encountered from a beggar before. I tried moving away but she had me bailed up in the confines of the take away area. I raised my voice and repeated the words no and tried to fend her off. The guy behind the counter said and did nothing. Apparently he felt it was quite alright for customers to be harassed like this in their premises. Finally the manager came out and had a few quiet words with this woman from hell. The beggar finally conceded defeat and left the fast food outlet. There was no way I was going to cave into her extortion. I figured she was probably moving in close on me to attempt a bit of pick pocketing. No thank you This is the most aggressive beggar I’ve ever come across, something I didn’t expect to see here in Lisbon. I grabbed my roll and beer and sat outside at one of the tables. Within a minute another beggar approached me. I was lucky
I had enough time to eat my meal and drink my beer before they surrounded me. I walk off and pass yet another beggar sitting on the ground with her hand out. What was this, a beggar’s convention? This stuff has got right out of control over here.
After the first night here I anticipated a reasonably quiet environment to sleep in. (after 23:00 at least) But as is often the case while travelling, expect the unexpected. For all the world it sounded as if I was spending Sunday night in downtown Manhattan. Vehicles with all manner of sirens kept racing down the road until just after 01:30. I was wondering what was going on in Lisbon to justify such a scramble of emergency vehicles. Eventually peace was restored and I got some shut eye in the early hours of the morning. Sleeping in seems to be a national past time here. No one is in a mad rush to get up. Eventually I staggered out of bed at 08:30 and coughed my lungs out. No sign of my faithful cold abandoning me any time soon. I headed off to my favorite café. And yes it was open for
business once more. The friendly waitress gave me a couple of friendly taps on the shoulder as I ordered a coffee plus a croissant with cheese and ham. Went down really well. Noticed that there was a photo of a building on fire in the local rag. I wondered if that was the reason for the national guard being called out last night. The waitress informed me that the events were totally unrelated. I headed back to the hotel via the internet café and crashed in my room.
I listened to a bit of local radio. As usual the airwaves were dominated by English language songs. There was hardly any activity on the AM band and not a huge number of stations on FM. Maybe Lisbon aint that big? One thing I found particularly curious was that there was absolutely no talkback radio. That seemed really strange to me. I’ve never come across a city that doesn’t have some talkback. Even the Thais (who some would say aren’t the most intellectual of cultures) have dedicated talk back stations. Maybe Lisbon radio is on another frequency I can’t pick up? Or maybe it says something about the Portuguese mentality? Hedonistic
as opposed to being focused on the cerebral aspects of life. Or maybe I just have too much time on my hands and am making a big deal out of nothing?
I returned to the plaza in the early afternoon. I noticed a lot of people were walking in and out through a tiny corridor in a building. I moved in closer to inspect. (blind bastards like me are prone to do that by the way) It looked like nothing more than a green grocer. So why so many customers? I soon found the answer as I navigated my way past several people carrying shopping bags. Hidden deep inside was a fully laden supermarket. It was as if they didn’t want anyone knowing it existed. Guess it’s the same philosophy they use when advertising pensions. The other remarkable thing about this place was that it sold cold beer. There goes my theory about only Asians providing cold packaged beer to customers. Of course I couldn’t let an opportunity like this slip by and felt obliged to buy a litre bottle of Super Bock. Much better than regular Bock beer I’ve heard. Got back to my hotel room and unscrewed
the top of the Bock. That’s right they sell beer with screw tops over here. A real blow to the local bottle opener industry. Of course no unhealthy drink isn’t complete without some disgustingly unhealthy food. A bag of salted Lays chips in this case. I wasted no time sampling my booty back in my room. After one mouthful the effects of the cold amber fluid kicked in and the symptoms of my ailment receded. It’s basic physics my boy. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Hey it makes sense to a guy who’s delirious with a cold for Christ sakes.
The beer went down so well I decided to purchase another bottle. This time I sat in front of the TV and watched a Billy Connelly movie about him suing God. Didn’t exactly grab me but it was either that or a CSI clone on the other channel. Not a big choice of English language programming here.. Surprisingly I developed a bit of an appetite in spite of the cold. Headed back to the café a little after 18:00 and ordered Portuguese Sausage. A guy two tables up was trying to chat up a
girl sitting opposite me. They seemed to be getting on okay so I wondered why they didn’t just sit with one another. Then the girl’s jealous boyfriend lobs at her table and has a full on heart to heart with her. No need for sub titles to get the gist of the conversation. He left in a bit of a huff and she looked lost before calling someone on her mobile. The other guy kept to himself after that. While this mini soap opera took place I devoured my meal. The sausage tasted quite good, not that I had a clue as to its ingredients. I just hoped that animal genitals didn’t make up part of the mix. On my way back I bought…you guessed it, another litre bottle of Super Bock. Physics kicked in again. The momentum of my blood alcohol level was now overwhelming. A two litre jolt of 5.6% alcohol by volume beer is a powerful force in the universe. Soon it was like the early days of the Hubble telescope for me, the night was just a blur after that.
As I awoke from a drunken slumber in the early hours of Tuesday morning I
thought to myself that maybe I’d overdone the consumption of Super abundant Bock. My sleep from then on was of a sporadic nature. I crawled out of the cot at 09:00. Decadence is thigh name. Blew my nose, coughed like a choir with advanced emphysema . Life was good. Shoved what was left of my money belt down the front of my pants and walked off toward the cafe. My $2 shop money belt with broken waist strap and disabled zip dislodged beneath my pants and began spilling its contents down my left leg. My passport was the first item to land on my foot. I immediately stopped walking and retrieved my most precious travel document as a woman stood beside me and commenced window shopping. Next came one ten Euro note followed by another. But where was the twenty? I shoved my hand down the front of my pants (as you do) and retrieved the twenty Euro note lodged between my boxers and my pants. No doubt this looked really classy to the people passing by. As it turned out my credit card was still lodged in that poor excuse of a money belt which I extracted from under
my pants. I hastily tied the money belt into a tight little bundle so that no more wayward cash would spill out. I resumed my journey to the café feeling like a total dork.
When I finally got to my destination I was sweating like a pig. My cold had a now bestowed a fever upon me. Joy oh joy. I had a coffee with a cake recommended by the gun waitress, which was very tasty. The thing I like about this place is that they have a duel price regime. You pay a premium for sitting outside. Fine by me as I’m happy to eat indoors. On my way back I asked people in a couple of clothes stores whether they sold money belts. No one stocked them. I was starting to think my money belt replacement would have to wait another day. Not my preferred option after what happened in Morocco. I passed by a travel goods store. They had external money belts but not the more secure version worn under clothing. Just as I was about to reach my pension I found it, a place that sold exactly what I wanted. It wasn’t cheap at twenty
Euros but I figured it was money well spent for the piece of mind. So in the matter of an hour I‘d gone from wearing a lurid looking el cheapo money belt purchased at a $2 shop to a top of the range Samsonite duel zip marvel of modern engineering. I walked across the road to the pension happy that I’d done pretty well all I could to safe guard my most valuable possessions.
It’s Thursday morning and my frustrations grow greater by the hour. If only I could kick this damn cold! There’s an unexplored foreign city at my doorstep am I’m confined to quarters with asthma. It’s my own fault, I should have walked straight out of that internet café in Agadir as soon as I saw that kid coughing his lungs out. Paid the price for web surfing in the same room with bubonic boy for an hour. On the bright side I haven’t been approached by one beggar since Sunday. Can’t say I’ve even seen any beggars about. They must just target the Sunday crowds. Have eaten some nice food. Fish fillets, calamari and bifani. (a traditional Portuguese dish of beef between two slices of
bread with accompanying cream and hot sauces - tasty) Sadly the gun waitress hasn’t been seen the past few days. Maybe she’s just a part timer? It would be nice if there was a decent vegetarian restaurant nearby but I haven’t seen one. I’m looking forward to returning to my old stomping ground in Chiang Mai on the 17th of August. I was surprised to see that there has been no upward movement in the price of accommodation there. Even more of a bargain now with the stronger Australian dollar. It’s a great time to travel.
Discovered why I missed the gun waitress at the café yesterday. She shows up for work at nine but I was ordering coffee at eight. Not that I thought it was eight. My watch read a little after nine. I’d been on Spanish time since I’d got here. I had no idea that Portugal was in a different time zone. Of course you there’s zero chance of getting information like this on an intercity bus. It was like a replay of Morocco. I kept thinking people here took a long time to get moving in the morning. Conversely they seemed a bit like
night owls to me. Logically Spain and Portugal should be in the same time zone but I’m sure logic wasn’t behind this partition of zones. More likely culprits being politics and business. Tried to contact Asus in Lisbon re getting my sick laptop repaired while on the road. Couldn’t make a phone connection via the internet so asked the guy running the internet café to do it for me. I also asked him to speak to Asus in case they didn’t speak English. Great plan except for one fatal flaw. The internet guy doesn’t speak Portuguese. What I said! How do you conduct business then if you don’t speak the local language? Maybe he was pulling my leg although it didn’t look like. In any case it was all academic, Asus’ number in Lisbon was disconnected. Great Global support. On the bright side I discovered Super Bock stout. Not a bad little brew. It’s cheap and has a very agreeable creamy flavour. I’ll be sampling a few more bottles of this concoction before I depart these shores. No improvement on the breathing front. I may do a Skase and suck on a cylinder of oxygen while convalescing at my humble
farm house off the southern Spanish coast.
Friday was a horror day for me on the health front. Was struggling for every second breath and spent most of the day on the bed. But as they say it’s darkest before the dawn. The following morning my air passages cleared and I finally felt well enough to go out and explore the city. Sampled a Pasteis De Nata as recommended by a local contributor to this blog. It was delicious. Resembled a cup cake in shape but was filled with a creamy custard. Yummy and decadent, I liked it. Around twoish I decided to hit the Metro. Trouble is I couldn’t find the local station. I knew about the one in the main square but this one was supposedly closer. I asked a guy in uniform for help and he kindly walked me three quarters of the way to it. I find the locals here are pretty friendly and helpful in the main. Bought a daily ticket and caught a train to Saldanha Metro station. There was supposed to be cheap accommodation there although the location of the Metro looked up market. Asked a guy for directions to the address
I’d jotted down. He wasn’t sure so grabbed my piece of paper and was about to get me a taxi. I said no thank you and snatched the address back off him. Beware guys lurking outside of four star hotels. Asked an old guy for directions. He pointed in a forty-five degree direction. Couldn’t find the place so asked another local who had a GPS unit in his hand. As it turned out the place I was looking for was right around the corner. Wish I’d got a taxi. Yeah right.
I walked up a couple of flights of stairs and saw a sign for accommodation. Rang the door bell and a guy answered. Said he had no rooms. I showed him the address and he pointed to the door opposite. I rang their door bell and there was no reply. The guy opposite saw this and came up with another strategy. H walked over and thumped hard on the door as if he was conducting a drug raid. Still there was no response. I rang once again and got the same outcome. I then put my ear to the door and heard an eerie
breeze whistling through the door jam. Sounded like a haunted house inside. I imagined cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. The neighbour suggested that I just jot down the phone numbers on the door which I did. So it looked like that was a total waste of a trip. Got to see another part of town I suppose. A lot more sterile than where I am staying with none of the historical charm. I thought maybe it wouldn’t be such a good area to stay in anyway. I continued m exploration on the Metro. Got off at Jardim Zoologico. With A name like that I was expecting a Parkville type area with a zoo entrance. Not a chance. It was an ugly transport interchange with freeway fly overs. Caught a tram from there which crossed an ancient Roman Aqueduct according to the map. From my vantage point on the top deck of a double Decker train I couldn’t spot it. Got a good elevated view of the city below however. The train also headed across a large expanse of water which I didn’t expect from my map bearings. Decided to return to the familiar surrounds of the Metro. On the way
back spotted the Roman bridge which definitely seemed to deserve a second look. It was great to escape the confines of my room and check out the city for once. More to follow.
Sunday, the day of closure. Not in a touchy feeling Oprah sense but in the old meaning of the word. Every business here is closed on Sunday. At least this week I was prepared with my stash of Super Bock Stout in the closet. A survivalist’s must have item. Still feeling a lot better although I was coughing a bit. Touch wood a relapse wasn’t on the horizon. Went to a café diagonally opposite my favorite place. Coffee and cake cost more and the pasteis De Nata was a pale imitation of the one I previously tried. There was a guy with a persistent cough at the internet café. I stayed well clear of him. Once bitten twice shy. I then headed up a winding road. It was time to check out this city that had remain a relative mystery to me. You have to watch your step navigating the footpaths. They are made up of decorative tiles, in a mosaic pattern. Pleasing to the eye
but not so good at providing grip on the shoe. I slipped on about four occasions that day. May explain the high proportion of people here hobbling around with walking sticks. I got to an elevated position where there was a viewing area looking out at the sea. Took a few shots and a trio of young Euro tourists asked me to take their picture. I looked into the digital display and saw a blank screen. I questioned them about this and they seemed blasé about it. So I flew blind trying to frame their shot. It turned out okay and I got them to take a picture of me. There’s always a price to pay girls.
I walked further along the picturesque road dodging the throng of tourists crammed into the tiny confines of the narrow footpaths. Spotted a sign for Castelo De Sao Jorge. Did a left and passed by buskers and beggars on my way to the castle entrance. About time I did the clichéd touristy thing I thought. It was recommended by some guy on the web and was only five euro to enter. Got some great views from
the vantage point of the castle grounds. Even better when I scaled the walls. My only disappointment was that that was it. No displays of banquet halls, no amour, no interior at all as a matter of fact. There was just empty space inside the walls of the castle as if was nothing more than a glorified fort. I’ve seen a hell of a lot better in my travels. If this is an example of a Portuguese tourist attraction I’ll be very wary of experiencing any of their other ‘attractions’. On the bright side it was a terrific photo op and well worth the walk. I headed off in an opposite direction after replenishing my energy with two small bottles of Super Bock Stout. I was searching for an English/Brazillian restaurant called Hells Kitchen. It looked as though it wasn’t far away on the map. I soon discovered that the topography of Lisbon can be quite daunting. I walked up what seemed a million steps and tried to find a street listed in the area. No luck. It’s so hilly it’s hard to know what is the most direct route. The other problem is that the map isn’t exactly the
most accurate ever produced. If their sea explorers had had to use this cartographer they’d be lucky to navigate their way out of the harbour.
As before got some great photo ops on my long walk along more winding streets. I backtracked after about an hour and tried another route in my search for this pub/restaurant. I walked up a main avenue where there was supposed to be a curved street leading to the road I was seeking. There wasn’t one. Not one I could see anyway. I gave up the ghost at this point and decided to grab a feed. Returned to the street lined with outdoor restaurants on both sides. The waiters were out in force shoving menus into potential patrons faces. I headed right to the end of the street this time to where there was a theatre staging Jesus Christ Superstar. Strangely the restaurants there were virtually empty. I backtracked to a restaurant that claimed to have ‘authentic local food’ A hyped up waitress shoved a menu in my face and extolled the virtues of the joint in rapid fire English. Her spiel was accompanied with photos of the specials of the day. I thought
what the heck, the specials seemed reasonably priced so I took a seat. A waiter asked if I wanted a drink. Then another waiter asked the same. I ordered shish kabobs and was asked if I wanted a salad with that. They weren’t adverse to value adding here. I waited for my meal as the wind blew a gale. A an attractive young woman sat opposite me and lit up a cigarette. I immediately moved seats. Thank God for our smoking laws back home. I wasserved the meal as a beggar approached me and spoke in English. I totally ignore him, not even making eye contact and he went away. The meal was surprisingly good in spite of the high pressure tactics used there. I left before the whole place was sucked up by a tornado and dumped on Kansas.
Woke up feeling good, yet again. It’s a luxury we shouldn’t take for granted. So end the lesson. Had my morning coffee back at my favorite place. The gun waitress was serving the whole café by herself. Nothing unusual there. I asked her about Coimbra, the university town up north that I will visit next. She told me it’s
a lot cheaper up there than in Lisbon. Mind you I didn’t think Lisbon was that bad but I’ve been to the big L, London. I’m hoping to find an inexpensive pension to stay at there. Nothing low cost listed online but that doesn’t mean anything. Caught a train to Jardim Zoologico where I’d been informed the bus station lives. Wandered around the upper level of the transport exchange building. Saw a sign for buses but then nothing. Another black mark against Lisbon signage authorities. Had to ask a woman at a ticket counter where the bus station was located Walked outside a short distance. past a couple of zealous beggars to the booking hall. Purchased a ticket for 10:30 on Wednesday. If all goes to plan should be in Coimbra by 13:00 and have secured lodgings by mid afternoon. Next I headed up to platform four on the city’s above ground rail network. I still wanted to check out the Roman aqueduct which was one station down the line.
Got off at Campolide railway station and spotted the aqueduct immediately. It looked impressive even from a distance. Walked down an exit ramp while a guy in front of
me jumped the fence and took a short cut to the road. I was in no hurry so took the slow route out of the station. I also didn’t want to strain my right ankle which I had twisted a few days before. As I walked out of the station I copped a full view of the Roman structure spanning the gorge. I couldn’t help but be impressed by such a marvel of engineering that has stood the test of time. Not only was it functional but an object of beauty with a succession of arches adding strength. I couldn’t help but admire the organisational skills and effort that must have gone into constructing such a bridge in pre industrial times. For me the recently built highway fly overs buzzing around it almost looked obscene; like polystyrene cups compared to a superbly crafted porcelain vase. A perfect example of our do it on the cheap, throw away society. What evidence will we have of our civilization in a thousand years? A Brittney Spears DVD perhaps? Passing motorists probably thought I was a bit strange taking numerous photos of the aqueduct. For me it was a huge buzz standing in the
prescience of living history. Looking up at those arches from so far below sent a shiver down my spine. Wish the locals treated their archeological treasures with a bit more deference than this.
Walked back to the station after gorging myself on aqueduct spotting. Had no idea which platform I should go to to get a train back to the Metro. Asked a ticket selling who said it was platform six. Sounds like helpful advice in theory until I discover that none of the signs indicated platform numbers, only destinations. I asked a fellow train traveller for help. He walked me over to the entrance to platform six which was hidden away in the corner of the upper concourse. I’ve found Lisbon locals to have been extremely helpful. More so than many other places I’ve visited. The big bonus is that quite a few of them speak good English. So I headed down the escalator to the platform. Now I saw a sign indicating that it is platform six. Another black mark against Lisbon signage. I took the one station ride back to the Metro and was approached by a ticket inspector on the train. He told me that
my daily ticket wasn’t valid for train journeys, only Metro, bus, tram and boat. This was news to me as I genuinely pleaded ignorance. I said sorry and left the train. The inspector was far too pleasant to get a job with Connex and let me go my way. The strange thing is that my daily ticket has symbols printed on it for all modes of transport in the city, including the standard rail network. Very confusing.
Tuesday - last day in Lisbon. Caught up with the gun waitress one last time. Told her that I was leaving for Coimbra the next day. She said the people there were much nicer than those in Lisbon. I personally though they were pretty good here. Maybe I’ll be greeted with a parade in my honour as I enter this northern university city? I snap a candid photo of her as she’s about to serve me coffee with milk and a cake I hadn’t ordered. I look at the cake with puzzlement and ask “what’s this”. She says it is banana cake and added that I might like it for a change. Bit presumptuous of her. As a matter of fact I
didn’t want any cake. That’s why I didn’t order any. I’d stuffed myself with a supermarket tray of cakes the previous day. My sweet tooth had checked into rehab. Still, I didn’t want to rain on her parade. I’d told her I wanted to try new things and she really thought she was doing the right thing. Besides the shell shaped cake tasted fine. Very bananary as a banana cake should be. We bid our farewells. Told each other what wonderful people we thought we were. She insisted I give her a kiss on each cheek, a really lovely lady.
Bought another daily Metro ticket and got off at a couple of stations I thought may have been of interest. They weren’t. Drab, soulless slices of urban landscape with nothing much to recommend them. But I did have the bonus of hearing a middle aged busker pay his accordion on the train, IN BOTH DIRECTIONS! Another guy had a stick he tapped on the carriage floor making a vaguely rhythmic sound. Even the Metro station on the shore was less than enthralling. Just docklands with nothing particularly worth seeing. Looks like I was spoilt with the likes of S
Sebastio Metro. I did return there just to check out the large supermarket attached to the Metro station. I was expecting to be dazzled by a huge variety of goods on sale. No chance. It had larger aisles than the local supermarket but no more stock. I found that surprising. All in all a pretty uninspiring last day in Lisbon. I was glad I was moving on, especially to a smaller city. I hadn’t booked a room in Coimbra so I’d be winging it which can be both good and bad. Worse case scenario, I’ll pay through the nose on my first night. I was also glad to part company with Pensao Prata. Was sick of hearing the door bell buzz at all hours and likewise the phone answer to the ring tone of Swan Lake. I was also sick of the random street sounds below and night manageress who watched TV next to my room into the wee hours. Once she hung out the sheets at 04:00. I kid you not. I know because I could hear the squeaky pulley being turned to shift the sheets into position just below my window. Lastly I won’t miss the clear window
above my door. Was I on suicide watch or something? The other rooms seemed to have full privacy. As I said it was time to go.
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ME
non-member comment
Coffee in a glass
Where on earth did you get the idea that some Aussies disapprove of this practice? It's very common here in Melbourne, and it does not in any way demonstrate a mindnumbing inabilty to select an appropriate vessel for the service of a hot beverage. It must be very sophisticated because they do it in Lygon Street.