Day Three: Hill Street Blues

I arrived in Portugal early Saturday morning. I'm not even sure why I wanted to come here. I know absolutely nothing about the place save for that its inhabitants were supposedly decent sailors (Vasco Da Gama was Clyde Drexler to Columbus's Jordan). The station, Santa Apolonia, was nowhere near as nice as the one in Madrid or even Sevilla. It was pretty bare bones, but still architecturally nice if simple. I was hoping to find a locker where I could put my duffel before leaving out to explore the city. Alas, there were none and I was left to schlep around with the 50lb beast digging into my shoulder. Did I mention there were hills? Lots and lots of hills. All roads that didn’t lead around the coast led up. Up, up and further up. Take the above picture and imagine navigating that for a few hours. That was my introduction to Lisboa.

I mentioned before that there was a bit of a hitch in my flawless planning. Thanks to some quick hustling and my pal, Visa, I managed to circumvent the problem or at least postpone dealing with it. It all started with a...

Train snafu! Note to self: In the future, make sure to check the dates on your tickets before you leave. I specifically told the agent that I needed a ticket for 11/13 leaving Madrid Friday evening at 10:25. I didn’t notice but the ticket was for 11/11! I should have been more thorough, but that is the hazard of doing things last minute. I got to the train station with ten minutes to spare and ended up having to buy an entirely new ticket. The ticketing agent stamped my ticket unused and said customer service would deal with it. Considering that I bought the exact same ticket for the next day, I’m hoping when I get back to the states that I can get a refund or at the very least a voucher for future rail travel. We’ll see.

If I’d have just stuck with my original plan to buy the tickets when I got there, I’d have been just fine a.) and I would have save myself a $20 “handling” fee b.). I mean I’m not traveling in the thick of tourist season. And even if the tickets had been sold out, I would have just taken the (cheaper) flight option. Live and learn.

I’m glad I went ahead and bought the new ticket. The overnight rail experience feels decidedly old school. These days most people wouldn’t bother with a 9-10 hour trip that could be done in a quarter of the time. Not too mention the fact that it's ironically more expensive than flying. Yet there are people who still do it. I can't imagine they're all aerophobic or medically restricted. I'd like to think they're just romantics too.

There is something soothing about listening to a locomotive. I love the hypnotic rumble of the churning wheels. It's not like the dull roar of a jet engine which you just want to drown out. I didn't even bother with my headphones. The accommodations were modest even though it was first-class. Two fold-out bunk beds with a ladder that folded into the wall. Felt like being in a mobile flop house, albeit a well-kempt one. The bed had a thin beige wool blanket like something they might give you in the army...or jail. The mattress was slightly smaller than twin-sized. It barely fit my 6-ft frame. My feet kept coming to rest on the end of the metal frame. Still it was relatively comfortable. Much more so than trying to get a good night’s rest in an actual seat. I was happy that the conductor spoke pretty good English. He kept me posted on everything.


I was excited to experience my first meal in a dining car. It wasn't exactly the Orient Express, but that's alright. Breakfast was a serving of bacon and eggs with assorted breads. I even had a cup of coffee. I never drink coffee. I guess I was feeling European that morning.

So I guess what I'm saying is that if you get a chance, take the train. It's just better. Except when it's Amtrak. Can we get high-speed rail already? Sheesh...

Back to Lisboa...


The first thing I noticed walking the streets was that the sidewalks aren't paved, but tiled. It gives all the streets a unique look and feel. It's as if doing whatever was most efficient wasn't even a consideration. I suppose it's also about heritage and cultural identity. Still, they must be a pain to maintain, but it would be heresy for any urban planner to think about modernizing. As it stands the streets are far more beautiful than any I've ever encountered back home.

Once I stumbled my way into the main square, things got much better. I found Rossio by happenstance after wandering aimlessly through the narrow streets of what I came to learn was the Alfama district. I kept stopping at various cafes to see if they had an internet connection since I had yet to book accommodations for my stay. Finally, I just went to an actual hotel, one that was mentioned in my guidebook as a reasonably-priced option. It's the Heritage Av Liberdade. They were booked for the night, but had an opening for the next which I promptly took. I ended up finding a cheaper if less charming place almost directly across the street from it. So that worked out.


I didn't realize the population of Lisbon was so small; there's only 550,000 people who call the place home. I keep seeing a lot of old ladies in stockings and black walking shoes with scarves around their heads. There are a lot of older men too who look as if they've spent their whole lives working the docks. This should not be surprising as it is the consummate port town.


After settling into my hotel, I took to the streets again in search of an authentic Portuguese meal. I ran into two English girls who allowed me to tag along with them to the Bairro Alto district which had some good restaurants. I ended up at a quaint little seafood place that had a multi-language menu which was nice. I ordered one of the local favorites: salted codfish and potatoes. I also had an octopus salad with tentacle-pieces as wide around as a dill pickle. I think before that I'd only had baby octopus. Not a bad seafood option I have to say. The cod was a bit oilier than what I was used to. Gave it a heartier taste. I'm sure the Portuguese have no problem getting their Omega-3s.

There was a big soccer match going on as well. Portugal was facing Bosnia Herzegovina in a World Cup Qualifier. (This explained all the dudes I saw walking around earlier wearing "Bosnia Forever" t-shirts.) Apparently there was some drama because Cristiano Ronaldo was not playing due to a minor injury. I guess it would be the equivalent of Lebron or Kobe sitting out of a regular season game deciding if your team goes to the playoffs. I watched it up to the point where Portugal scored and it cut away to an apathetic Ronaldo fiddling with his cellphone. I imagine he was busy ensuring that the correct number of supermodels would be waiting aboard his private jet for his trip back to Madrid.


Portugal ended up winning the match, but the after party was a wash, literally, as the rain started coming down much heavier. I had wanted to check out the nightlife, but it would have been dicey to try and negotiate my way around a bunch of slippery tiled inclined streets. I ended up at a cafe near my hotel where a local band was doing a few covers. I caught a nice version of Stevie Wonder's "Isn't She Lovely." And then I called it a night.