I have no idea where in the city I am. Because it was
late on my arrival, I took a cab from the airport, - fortunately, as it turned out – because the
streets are unbelievably convoluted and narrow, and the hostel is in an old
area of Lisbon. In the morning, I walk a little ways to a small park which overlooks the Tagus
River. It's a beautiful sight in the sunshine. I walk sort of around the block,
but decide it's just too confusing for me, so end up back watching the river
flow, waiting for my courage to return, when I venture back out to a busy
street and wander down, memorising landmarks. It's busy, busy out there, with
lots of interesting shops, streets and buildings.
Suddenly, I'm in a big square, with huge ornamented
structures, and the elusive metro system to boot. Street musicians are playing for the weekend
crowds. I sit, listen, and people-watch, with the sun on my back. The streets
are paved with tiles, and patterned, a trend everywhere in Portugal, the lack
of which I decry on our continent. They don't just build there, they celebrate
beauty. I find funky shops, and an art gallery, amongst other things, and as I
wander I decide to move on with my original plan to travel up the coast to the
city of Porto. I'd heard it was lovely, and had pre-booked a hotel (my first on this trip), so I had to get there. Three hours on a bus was not an inviting
prospect, but I didn't know any other way.
It was all good until I actually boarded the bus, and
very quickly got annoyed with the AM radio that didn't shut off after we got on
the road. AM radio is annoying everywhere, but I didn't want to listen to Portuguese AM radio
– too reminiscent of the Benfica House in Toronto that used to keep me awake
every weekend night. On the route there was absolutely nothing beautiful, and I
became progressively foul-tempered until I remembered that I had brought a tiny
mp3 player, and started listening to myself – all my eight CD's that I have
recorded. I thought, “Hey! I'm good, dammit!”. Better than the AM station for
sure. And some of my songs are great – original; tuneful. I listened to me
singing my life (because every melody tells a story, don't it?), and I watched
the day slowly die in the pink sky. But even singing to myself could not
overcome the bum-and-mind-numbing torture of the never-ending hell-ride. In the
dark, I hear my song “Unsung Song”, recorded with Norm Amadio and Jack
McFadden. I'm sinking into depression, thinking “it's my life, and even though
I'm singing it, it stays unsung, doesn't it, in the world at large, when it's
not heard and known the way so much crap and unmusical stuff is making millions
for hackers. Jack's gorgeous solo on the bass makes it seem even more of a
travesty. I HATE THIS *&^%$#@!!! TRIP!!! But I'm trapped. Where's the “lotsa
fun, eh?” now?
And
it gets worse when we pull into the bus terminal, situated God knows where in
the city. I just start walking angrily, asking directions, begging for English
because, unlike Spanish and Italian, I have no vocabulary in Portuguese. It
takes a very long time, but I find the hotel, or some spirit guide that has
helped me all through my life's miseries steps in and brings me there, maybe
just to shut me up. I have to admit, I meet and talk to a lot of nice people,
and only one with bad breath. The hotel welcomes me, in spite of the incorrect
VISA info I had booked with, and they very kindly began again with the last
remaining room. I am very relieved, (see crazed pic) and when I go down the street to the
recommended restaurant, eat, and listen to some Fado music, I'm sort of human
again. Back at the hotel, I shower the unhappiness off me and sleep.
|
Tagus River, Lisbon; morning |
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looking over the rooftops of Lisbon |
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and down a street.... |
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all the church ceilings make my neck ache; think of actually painting them |
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sunny square and memorial |
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subway station; god, toronto's is boring |
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oh, the colour; oh the whimsy; oh the relief |
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I love the sidewalks (I will repeat that); this is still in the subway, however |
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outside (note tank top in warm weather); I don't realize what awaits in the bus ride to Porto |
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now I realize |
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and then the darkness, outside and in my mind, sets in |
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I'm off the bus!! I'm off the bus!! I found the hotel!!! It's over, isn't it? Isn't it?!!!! |
|
Guarany cafe, since 1933; good food; Fado music too |
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