Now at about this point in the post I would beg forgiveness from all of you for making you wait this long for the post I’m sure you’ve been craving since Tuesday, but this week’s different; I had three papers due between Monday and Wednesday and spent one of those nights avoiding work so I could plan what’s lookin like a fun Holy Week with TJ. And yes, I could’ve spent Wednesday night in writing, but after all that writing I needed a beer. Sorry guys, I’m human.
Right, now that that’s outta the way, we can begin. Last weekend’s trip to Lisbon started, funnily enough, right where I am now. Yup, that’s right; this is my SECOND week in a row spending a night in Barajas. It’s not too bad, but let’s just say I’m looking forward to my 10:40 flight to Dublin next weekend.
Our fantastic journey to Barajas, though, is worth recounting, so I’m gonna backtrack a little. Michael, Kirsten, Caroline, and I met at the Toledo bus station to catch the 10:30 bus to Madrid (the last one they offer). While we waited for our bus, Kirsten realized that she wouldn’t be able to bring her bottle of Bióre face wash on the plane and was literally about to throw it away when Michael was inspired. The two of them disappeared for a minute behind a pillar, but not before – and I kid you not – Kirsten kissed her Bióre bottle. Just…awesome. When they returned empty handed, Michael was wearing an oddly triumphant grin and said he’d found a great hiding spot. I should note at this moment that Caroline and I, after commenting on how long it took them to run their little errand, decided that “hiding the Bióre” should be the newest euphemism for “what the kids are calling it these days.” Yes, we are indeed hilarious. The bus ride to Madrid passed without much incident – it was mainly Michael restating his optimism that we would, indeed, find the Bióre upon our return Sunday night – and we arrived at Barajas about an hour later.
After six hours in the airport (sleeping in some of the weirdest contortionist positions I’ve ever seen) we hopped our Vueling Airlines flight to Portugal. I, having only slept about an hour in the airport, might’ve passed out before my butt hit the seat, and woke up as we hit the ground in my first European country outside of Spain. Despite having to use my passport (and much to the dismay of a few of our group) we didn’t get our passports stamped. Despite that pitfall, we walked outside and realized that, at 9 a.m., it was probably about 60°F. God, I love Portugal.
We hopped a bus from the airport (I again passed out soon into the 45-minute ride) and finally arrived in the heart of Lisbon. It may’ve been the sleep deprivation, but what we saw when we got off the bus was a pretty damn beautiful scene. Part of it was the comedy of seeing 30-foot high representations of the Beatles in their Sgt. Pepper’s garb, but I was really happy about taking this trip. After a few minutes of walking we found our hostel and I found one more reason to love Lisbon. This place had a really sweet sitting room, a happy hour special of a pint of beer for 2 Euro, four spankin’ new iMacs with web access, a do-it-yourself kitchen, and ridiculously spacious rooms. Oh yeah, it was also 14 Euro a night. If you’re ever in Lisbon…find the Yes!Lisbon Hostel. The only complaint we had was the guy who literally never left the place that we could tell. I soon affectionately nicknamed Creeper McRapey. Sounds a bit harsh, but trust me, he was that kinda guy.
Since we couldn’t check in yet (and thus couldn’t nap yet) we dropped our bags and headed out to find the one thing on everyone’s mind: coffee. Thankfully, not a block away, was a pastry shop with coffee for one Euro. Have I mentioned how much I love the fact that Europe seems built for travel by college students? As we left, we had a rather odd experience that would be repeated about a dozen times throughout the weekend. While walking, maybe fifty feet ahead of us we saw a rather creepy old man (had to be at least 60) suddenly glance our way and move toward us. When we passed him, we heard what we thought was Portuguese, but ended up just being “Marijuana? Hashish?” Yeah…the 60-year-old dude offered us weed. And the eleven other people who offered me were all over 55. Guess that’s what you do when you retire in Lisbon.
Reenergized by the rush of caffeine and thoroughly creeped out by the drug offer, we walked around the bay for a while and snapped a few pictures. It was odd (and I say this with two corroborating Californians) but the combination of the bay and the hills made this place look creepily like San Francisco. They even had an imitation Golden Gate Bridge. Sadly, the bay wasn’t much to look at, so after a few minutes we were on the move again.
We ran into some BC kids (the first of another odd trend…running into students from our rival schools) and they told us about a lift they’d just ridden that offered a great lookout point to see all over the city. It was free…if you had kept your bus ticket from the airport. I, unfortunately, hadn’t, so stayed behind with my friends Michael and Rob while the rest of the group went up. While at first we felt a bit lame, we soon realized just how much cooler things were on the ground. About a block away from this lift we found a bakery offering probably the equivalent of a loaf and a half of bread for 75 Eurocents. And this wasn’t just your everyday loaf of Wonderbread…the stuff was unbelievably good. We split two loaves among the three of us and were thoroughly satisfied.
Once the rest of the group rejoined us, we went back to check into our hostel, then headed to a part of the city called Belén where there were some monuments, parks and, you guessed it, churches! While Belén was cool, the journey to get there was pretty amazing in its own rite. It involved hopping an old-world tramcar (again, San Francisco, anyone?), stopping at a park to snap some more pictures, asking a local for directions, getting lost again, asking someone ELSE for directions, wandering, finding, of all people, a Swedish couple who got us going the in right direction, having half the group go back to the hostel to sleep, and finally getting on the right bus (with the help of a Portuguese woman who spoke Spanish). Yeah, quite a trip.
I sat down on the bus and immediately fell asleep (sensing a pattern?). When I woke up, my group told me that we were, indeed, in Belén. We passed through the obligatory huge church, snapped pictures, went through the adjoining cloister, snapped pictures, went to a park with some cool fountains, snapped pictures, and were about to leave when someone brought up some kind of pastry that Belén was famous for. Not only that, we stumbled randomly upon THE place to get this pastry. I can’t really describe what it was, sort of like a sweet quiche but with a fluffier filling, but it was definitely worth the 90 Eurocents. Our stomachs full-ish, we hopped our bus back to the hostel and took a nap.
Finally back on my sleep schedule and once again hungry, I left with a few people to find a supermarket to grab food before everything closed. After skimming a little, Michael and I found some 2-Euro semi-frozen pizza and chips, both of which turned out to be fantastic. We finished our dinner just in time for happy hour and, of course, each had a pint. After some great conversation downstairs on a host of topics I can’t even begin to talk about among the present company of readers ([cough]…family…[cough]) the guys decided (minus Michael, who was still tired) decided to go out to find a bar. We walked around for a bit and eventually found what had to be the only Irish pub in Lisbon. And were talking fairly Irish here…I’m pretty sure everyone in the place was Irish and they had some great Irish folk music going on (for those who have been there, think Mullaney’s Harp and Fiddle…but in Lisbon). Two beers and several excellent Irish folk songs later, we decided we were all sufficiently tired and headed back to the hostel.
Another great thing about this place I forgot to mention before was that for 3 Euro they’ll make you a 12-inch pizza at literally any time of day or night. Being fairly well off and thus very hungry, the four of us split two and were in hog heaven…until I decided to get butterfingers and drop a slice on my fairly nice pink button down. Instinct took over (though I’m not sure how good it was) and I immediately ran the stain under cold water and through the shirt in the washing machine. Sadly, it didn’t come out, and the shirt is ruined. On the plus side, I got a chance to hop on Skype and talk to a few people from home, as well as to see my mom’s comment on my last post…glorious. Though I was a it disappointed about the shirt, I was generally content and hit the hay.
In the morning, as has become the custom among the group, the dedicated tourists woke up early and found a flea market that was supposed to be pretty fun. I, of course, was more excited about pondering the backs of my eyelids, and thus can neither confirm nor deny the rumors of this flea market being any fun. Sorry, still human.
When we’d all finally stirred and the shoppers returned (to their credit, empty-handed) we headed to the train station to take a half-hour ride to the little town of Sintra. As with everything, the proposition of getting nine of us on the train got way more complicated than it should’ve. I’m not really sure what went down…something involving a ticket with seven rides on it that could only be used once…but what I DO know is that we finally got on a train and passed the time doing what all Notre Dame students do during long trips on public transportation; we had a healthy academic debate on a wide range of topics, from the goal of education to the merits of GPA. Yeah…we’re dorks.
We finally arrived in Sintra and decided we were hungry. A few people went to the Chinese restaurant across the street from the station to grab massive spring rolls, but even those weren’t enough, so we began our search for authentic Portuguese food. We found a pretty cool restaurant a few blocks away that offered what we were looking for (and at a reasonable price, of course) so we sat down and enjoyed a fantastic meal. I’m not sure what I had, but I know it was good. I also know that they put bread in front of us that somehow cost some money, but, having learned in this past month of my love affair with European bread, I really didn’t care. Our bellies once again full, we left the restaurant and caught a bus up to the top of a small mountain at the edge of town, looking to see some kind of tourist-trap castle.
After the bus ride (no, I didn’t sleep this time) Michael had one of those funny small-world moments when he ran into a friend he’s known since kindergarten and is apparently studying in Madrid through the University of Michigan (rival school number two). Photos were taken, hugs were given, merriment was shared by all. Sadly, that merriment was soon washed away when we found out that, after the four-Euro bus ride it would cost 8 more Euro to enter the castle. Naturally, a debate about the meanings and merits of sunk-cost ensued and, though Michael made some points, all of us except Rob decided to screw it and go in. Thankfully, the place was definitely worth it.
It’s hard to describe this castle, but if I had to I’d say it kind of reminded me of a kid’s dream tree-house/fort/castle thing, but built out of multi-tonal Lego blocks. Yeah…it was somethin’ else. We walked around the outside, snapped some pictures, including this one which was taken by some girls I met from USC (number three, for those keeping track at home) and then walked around the inside, where, unfortunately, we couldn’t snap pictures. Yeah, I was upset too. All told, we had a great time, and decided it was definitely worth the 8 Euro we’d spent.
Eventually, though, our time in the awesome fort castle thing came to an end and we headed back down the mountain and trained back to Lisbon just in time to grab more 2-Euro pizzas from the market. Soooooo good.
Over dinner we discussed our options for the night. We could go to a Fado (think I have that right) bar which is kind of the Portuguese version of flamenco, but that would cost us 15 Euro. Gotta love the economics of college kids traveling in Europe…price > culture. Instead, we decided to go to Barrio Alto, apparently the happenin spot for young people in Lisbon. We did, of course, take advantage of happy hour once more before heading out.
Once we got the Barrio Alto, we basically found it to be one huge party in the streets with drinks provided by the bars that stretched for about a mile. I’m not quite sure how, but Michael managed to find the place with pints for 2 Euro. God, I love that guy. We sipped slowly, taking in the cultural insanity that was this mass of people. Unfortunately, or Portuguese wasn’t exactly up to snuff with our Spanish, so we had to resort to people watching rather than interacting with the locals. Still, a fun time was had by all, and we headed back to the hostel to sleep.
In the morning, we finally rolled out of bed just in time to catch 11 o’clock mass in Portuguese. Yeah…I got like two words of it. I do distinctly remember, though, hearing something involving the word “difficult.” I was rather proud of myself. I’m easily amused.
After mass, we did our last touristy thing of the trip and visited another castle/park thing. It was cool…nothing too special, but it was free, so we were obviously in. We got some good pictures, had fun with the cannons that lined the courtyard, and stopped into a souvenir store where I started my international shot glass collection. Unoriginal, I know, but damn it, I’m in college. Let me have my fun.
Back in the heart of Lisbon on what was a rather dreary day, we caved to our American instincts and tracked down a place that ended up having a pretty decent burger for just under 3 Euro. In Lisbon of all places…go figure. We bummed around the hostel for a while after that (finally got a picture of Creeper McRapey…the shot of the trip if I may say) and got on the bus back to the airport.
When we finally boarded our 6:45 flight at 7:15, we all simultaneously commented on the fact that it was oddly comforting to hear Spanish again, but we were also a bit agitated at being so late. Our pilot told us that someone on the previous flight had refused to deplane for some reason and that, while the pilot clearly had some pretty nasty things he could’ve said about the guy, he politely refrained and in a few minutes we were off.
We finally got back to the bus station at 11 p.m. Madrid time and caught the last indirect bus to Toledo. The anticipation built as we reached the station…Michael was optimistic that he would find Kirsten’s beloved Bióre and save the day. Kirsten remained unconvinced, but happily discovered that the hiding spot had, indeed, done the trick. With that happy ending to an admittedly long weekend, we split off to go to our separate homes. As I passed O’Brien’s, our favorite bar, I thought for a split second of going in and catching some of the Super Bowl, but decided the four-page paper I had due in my 20th Century Lit. class was more important. Good thing too…I worked through the night (with a two hour nap in the middle) and finally finished the damn thing at 10 a.m. It was odd…it felt like home.This week was one of very little sleep for me, and yet, here I am, now at 4:15 a.m. finishing this thing I’ll post as soon as I find Internet in Barcelona. This weekend will apparently be amazing…it’s the Spanish celebration of Carnaval (their equivalent of Mardi Gras, except it lasts a week and involves insane costumes). While we won’t be in the capital of Spanish Carnival – a small city near the southern coast called Cádiz – I’ve heard good things about Barcelona, so we’ll see.
Right, I think that’s everything. Hopefully you enjoyed yourselves. I think I’m going to try to grab a few Z’s before our flight in three hours. Wish me luck!
Ta Luego,
Griff
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