Thursday, November 20, 2014

Lisboa

Even in the rain, I like this city.  It's been raining since I arrived, more or less.  There is something romantic about the rain and how it casts everything in an unfamiliar light.  I have mentioned before how it seems to make colors brighter, the wet sheen covering everything magnifies the blues and greens and reds of the trees and the black and white tiles of the sidewalks.  It makes the city seem newer and fresher and more welcoming to the visitor.  It also makes for a great excuse to spend some time sprawled out on one of the community room couches, sunk deep and buried in pillows reading The Flamethrowers, my latest novel conquest. 


I have completed 8 books since I've been traveling, this being my 9th.  It's amazing how they just keep ending. Each one comes to a close almost as a surprise- I never have the kind of time at home, or more accurately I never make that kind of time at home to finish that many books.  They've become like traveling companions.  Isn't it funny how that can happen?  Each story, the characters and sometimes even the plot, are intimately woven into my experience here.  Arriving physically and imaginatively in a new place has been punctuated by what's happening in whatever book is the current book.  Granted, the first few books I chose specifically because they are either about the region or set in the region I was venturing toward.  And one of my incredibly sweet and generous co-workers gifted me another book that is about personal journeys and what they mean or have the potential to mean.  These books lay the land out mentally in my mind before I set foot in each place, and almost narrate moments as I move along.  I imagined Hemingway walking through the streets in Ronda and entering the famous bull fighting ring, building a certain amount of anticipation and expectation inside of me.  Or I memorized the dish described by Mayes that she loved in Provence and matched her descriptions of the crowded, hot and teeming Rivera with quieter experience we had on the street in Cannes.  I wondered about my motivations in taking this trip, other than simple wanderlust (ha, is it ever simple?) and tried to imagine it as the beginning of one of Guillebeau's quests,  something that I would complete over my life time- this desire to explore our expansive planet.  I could go on, but I hate to bore you (if you've made it this far...).  What I'm getting at is books have been the most reliable and comforting companion, now and probably when I first fell in love with reading.  I can only hope to keep up this momentum when I come home.

When my train arrived yesterday, it was raining.  I made my way to the hostel and immediately fell in love with the space.  I don't know why so many of these places call up memories of Berkeley, but this hostel definitely has a Berkeley type of feel.  Shag carpets in the computer rooms, walls painted in rich colors, and couches and carpets and bean bags everywhere and books, chalkboards and chandeliers lining the walls and adorning the ceilings.  It's a beautiful spot, and the perfect place to land before making my departure.  



(This is where I'm currently lying :) 

After checking in, I braved the rain in interest of finding food and spent the afternoon holed up in a little cafe across from the Cathedral, satiated with an avocado burger, mint tea, and The Flamethrowers.  There is something so indulgent feeling about sitting in a cafe, alone besides the other cafe sitters, watching it rain and enjoying the shelter and food and jazz. It was warm and I was happy.  And there I remained for most of the afternoon as it continued to pour outside.

(Inside the Cathedral, it was as cold as it looks)

Finally succumbing to the draw of a new city, I released the cafe table I had been holding for over two hours and I splashed my way out into the streets.  I explored along the waterfront, dodging the people who wield their umbrellas like blind rabbits, hopping to avoid puddles while wacking you in the face with the metal pointy parts that precariously stick out.  That was enough to make me tired, so I returned to my cozy hostel and enjoyed an evening of free sangria and multi-lingual hand-gesticulating company. As a group we decided to head out together to a district call Barrio Alto, and spent the night dancing between bars and different live music venues.  I noticed one of the girls in our group, Heaven from South Korea,  bent over a notebook while we listened to a jazz band at a tiny little bar, and I thought it kind of strange.  To each their own.  But, in fact, she was sketching the scene!  It was so cool.  She said it's her way of capturing moments, and in a little under 30 minutes, this is what she had:

(This is an awful representation of why she drew. It is much better in person).

The group was fun, low key and easy going.  Together we made up a map of Germany, Denmark, South Korea, Italy and California.  We listened to American rock & roll, jazz and reggae and were back and tucked into bed by 2 am- my latest night out to date. It was a great night.


And the rain continues.  I stared at a map when I woke up this morning, and obliquely planned out my day- but then forgetting my map in my bed I ended up just kind of wandering along in the rain.  



Interestingly enough though, I kind of did the route I had planned and explored one of the large parks, happening upon three random chickens and a tree full of parrots:




It is the strangest thing to see parrots flying around here!  I noticed a few in Porto, but didn't realize they just fly around freely and wildly. So cool.


I'm headed out in a bit to meet up with Nick and Ericka for dinner.  Two more days and I'll be loading myself onto a plane- looking so forward to seeing everyone.  Ciao!

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