Portugal was easily the most underrated port on our itinerary. Not once did I hear anyone say that they were just dying to go to Portugal or that Lisbon was the port that they were most excited about. In fact, I talked to some people who planned to head off to Spain as soon as we arrived. Questions like, "What is there to do in Lisbon, anyway?" were not uncommon.
Looking back, we should have been much more excited.
I only spent one day in Lisbon myself, before I went off to see what else Portugal had to offer, but in that one day, I made on of my favorite memories from my whole time on SAS. I also took some of my favorite pictures.
I spent that one night in Lisbon with my good friend Isabella, with whom I would learn that a good glass of wine and a nice dinner with a friend is one of the best things in the world. With her I would learn that there is no greater pleasure than wandering aimlessly through a city that you don't quite know, along streets with names that you can't pronounce. I would learn that the best things happen to you in those moments, the weird, in-between, "Where are we?" moments.
Looking back, I'm reminded of my last trip to Disney World, of that kind of flawless magic that you expect from Disney. You expect music and bright colors, beautiful people, dancing and singing in the streets, and perfect magical moments. Now, don't get me wrong, I loved Disney World, but Portugal does it better.
Maybe it's because you don't see a bundle of wires if you turn your head the wrong way at the wrong time, because you're not swarmed by little girls in gauzy dresses, or maybe it's just because it's a little dirty. Really, Portugal doesn't have anything to hide. Even the ugliest parts have a strange beauty about them and it's weirdly magical.
Isabella and I had decided to go out early that night. Well, early by European standards. It was probably about seven o'clock, so no one was eating yet. We just walked for a few hours in the old neighborhood, the Alfama district. It was positively enchanting, with its tangled streets and narrow alleys, with people and their lives spilling out of the doors and windows. As we walked, we passed under lines strung with colorful laundry. We strolled past gossiping ladies, leaning out of their windows to talk to people on the streets, and old men perched on their stoops, nodding at passersby. The walls and streets were stained with age and graffiti, things that were both beautiful in their own peeling and faded way.
We walked like that for hours, wide-eyed and open mouthed, before our stomachs reminded us of our original plan. After perusing a few menus, we settled on a small hole-in-the-wall type of place, that oozed warmth on to the streets, like it couldn't possibly contain it all.
A friendly waiter seated us in a cozy corner where we could survey the rest of the room as locals started to trickle in for their early dinners. When we finally gave up on the Portuguese menu, we asked the waiter to bring us whatever he recommended, somewhat hesitantly. We sipped sangria and snacked on olives and bread until he brought us the best dinner we'd had so far.
A couple of hours later, we wandered back out into the street, completely stuffed, and proceeded to get lost in the labyrinth of twisted alleys. With a laugh we realized that we would eventually end up at the port if we just kept walking down hill. It was true and it sounded pretty simple, but the execution was a little complicated by the tendency of the twisted streets to come to an abrupt end or double back on themselves, forcing us back up hill. It was after one such turn that we found ourselves suddenly standing in front of a cathedral, lit up for the night.
Taking our time, we meandered back down hill, where the streets started to get crowded and we could hear singing, traditional fado, coming from the brightly lit doorways. It seemed to poor out of those doorways and ring off the walls, filling the alleys. We stopped in a few doorways to listen and slowly wandered past others, peeking inside, until we found ourselves back at sea level and within sight of our ship.
Isabella and I would talk about that night for the rest of the trip. In fact, it was the last memory that we relived together before I boarded my flight home at the end of the semester. We would constantly recall the fantastic food, graffiti, and singing. We always said it was easily one of our favorite memories, being lost in Portugal.
