Nothing but blue skies do I see

Oh Lagos, Portugal - where do I begin? Blue skies, 75 to 80 degree days, bright sun, blue-green oceans surrounded by sandy, secluded beaches hidden by tall, jagged cliffs with caves carved out into the rocks creating paths to more private beaches. And to top it off, despite the huge amount of tourism that goes on here, the locals seem to lack the cynicism that often comes along with catering to large groups of people on holiday. People greet each other with ola´s as they pass one another on the streets, friends hang out in their neighbor´s shops to gab about whatever, everyone is laid back and just so dang friendly. It also doesn´t hurt that everything is relatively inexpensive (our guest house that included a private balcony, shared kitchen all in a private apartment was 13€ per person).
I want to go into detail, but I´m going to hold myself back and sort of list what we´ve done in this town. After wandering around lost for a few hours, stopping at a cafe and getting directions, and finally making it to the lighthouse we were orginally attempting to get to, we decided to follow this trail that wound down into the sea where about 4 guys in little motor boats sat waiting to take people on private tours. For 10€ ($13 per person) we were given a tour of the grottos by this old Portuguese guy. He would talk about the various rock formations and what their names were. He knew a little Spanish and some Potuguese is similar to Spanish, so I think we mostly understood what he was talking about.


Speaking of driving people into cliffs, our second big excursion in Lagos was taking a scooter out for the day and heading out to Sagres, a place once thought of as the end of the world. For the most part, everything went along rather swimmingly...until Ben somehow drove straight into a sign post. I still don´t understand how it happened. Ben says it was the strong gusts of wind, (which I admit were excessively strong), but one minute we were heading straight down the road and about to park the scooter and the next Ben and the scooter were sideways on the ground. Fortunately Ben was driving too slow for too much damage to happen (maybe that´s how the wind ended up taking control) and it only ended up costing us 80€, a smaller blow to our budget than we had been expecting. Other than the mini-crash, being out the 80€ and the strong gusts of winds blowing us about, the opportunity to see the countryside from a viewpoint other than the windows of planes, trains, and buses was totally worth it. Plus, since we didn´t have to get the scooter back until the next day, we got to see the sunset from a place we would not have been able to get to otherwise.
Later that evening we ate dinner with our Canadian neighbors Phil and Sarah (neighbors as in their room was down the hall from ours) at a Reggae-inspired bar/restaurant which reminds me... I am having a difficult time discerning what is a bar, what is a restaurant, what is a cafe and what is store since no matter where you go there is an espresso machine and a full bar with all sorts of hard alcohol. And when I say no matter where you go, I mean no matter where you go. One day Ben and I were looking for batteries and inside was the espresso machine and hard alcohol. We went next door for ice cream and there they were again, espresso and hard alcohol. Anyway, just a digression...
Oh, my time is up...I gotta go.

Pickpockets and Narrow Passages

Carteirista is the Portugeuese word for pickpocket. Our Portugeuse phrasebook lists this as one of the top fifteen words you must learn in order to get along in Lisbon. Ben and I thought this was pretty funny at first, but then we were warned (in a matter-of-fact sort of way) by 1. the guy at the information desk to watch out for pickpockets if we decided to ride the trolley, 2. a random store owner that came out of his shop that directed us to the trolley stop, 3. by the signs posted on the trolley and 4. by three different front desk people at our hostel. Naturally, this put us a little on our guard when considering our options for exploring the city later that evening since we were starving and it was getting dark. But everyone swore up and down that the pickpocket problem was limited to the trolleys so we set out.

The hostel guy told told us it would take us no more than 15 minutes to get to praixa de cebolla (plaza of the onion), a place he heartily recommended. Coming from somewhere like Portland where everything is nicely and efficiently laid out on a grid, it probably would have taken us 15 minutes, but let me take this moment to describe the Alfama neighborhood's streets to you. First of all, it's located on a hill. Second, there's no such thing as an individual house with a private yard. Every home or apartment is connected to the next creating incredibly tall walls that you cannot see over or get past until you come to a point when the house maker said, 'I will end this house here.' Like most city streets created before the 20th century, the paths are narrow. They also meander, sometimes circling back to where you started which often means going up the hill and then back down again. It's as though whoever laid the streets out never thought that anyone using them would ever be in a hurry to get anywhere and would probably never want to leave Lisbon anyway. You would think that with streets like these, cars and trucks, (which I'm going to wager a guess weren't considered in the Moor's 12th century building plans) would not even attempt to try to pass through these narrow streets, but you'd be wrong.

Roughly one hour later we emerged from the labyrinth and came out onto a main road following the Rio Tejo. A city map posted on a bus stop showed us we were probably 15 minutes down from away from the area we originally intended, all we needed to do was follow the main road. Seriously though, I still don't know if we ever made it to the place the guy recommended. We found an area with a ton of restaurants and picked the one with the nice owner standing outside encouraging us to go inside. We are so easy. Just be nice to us after being lost and hungry for over an hour and we'll follow you anywhere and eat whatever you give us.

At long last, BEN'S FIRST UPDATE

Hola peoples! What's the haps, yo- Ben here from the blogosphere - on this cr-cr-crazy new blog thingy that Stacy cooked up to update you on what's happening with our trip. Since Stacy has already talked in depth about the wedding, perhaps I should tell you about Lisboa, no? No? Ah, okay then!
Well, let me tell you peoples, Lisbon is totally insane, but in a good way. Trolleys zigzagging every which way, narrowly avoiding cars and babies in strollers....no mothers, just babies rolling their own strollers around - babies are really strong here. Anyway, we had tons of fun cruising around everywhere on these trolleys that took us all the way up hills and past 12th century castles, plazas, etc. Our hostel was smack dab in the middle of the oldest neighborhood in the city, the Alfama district, which is also the oldest surviving Moorish district in Portugal. Incidentally, by luck or accident, it was also the only neighborhood to survive the catastrophic 1755 earthquake that destroyed like half of the Iberian peninsula and leveled buildings all the way up to Ireland and down to Rabat and Casablanca in Morocco. The things you learn on these trips.
Sitting on my rooftop terrace, sipping espresso and eating toast and marmalade as the sun went down over an incredible panoramic view of the lower half of the city all the way down to the waterfront, I thought of each and every one of you...I really did.
We found plenty to do in Lisbon. The Castelo Sao Jorge and the Igreja Sao Jorge towered mere blocks away from our little hostel, massive foundations sunk down in the roots of the Alfama district like ancient sentinels, beckoning us to come and discover the wonders within. The Castelo is just that - a huge castle set on top of the hills of the Alfama, dating back to the Moors and even before, with ruins from the Neolithic age. And every Tuesday behind the Igreja - a massive cathedral where many of the kings of Portugal are buried in elaborate tombs - a huge flea market takes place on Tuesdays and Saturdays. As we walked around, we noticed that many of the items for sale came straight out of the backs of trucks or vans and looked suspiciously like a laundry list of items nicked out of the hostel rooms or backpacks of unwary travelers. A well-used IPOD here, random used shoes and clothes, CDs and electronic equipment. These were just the exceptions, I'm sure. The vast majority of the vendors were totally legit...I'm sure....
One day on the advice of our hostel owners, a really cool Portuguese guy and his hilariously bubbly Latvian girlfriend, we decided to take the tram - almost exactly like a MAX light rail train - all the way across the city to the west, to a district called Belem. There we ate pasteis - like glazed tarts filled with delicious custard - and marveled at the Torre de Belem, a bizarre tower fort from the 15th century that is built straight out into the mouth of the Rio Tejo near the sea. Later we visited a wacky modern art museum where I was chased by giant animated rats - I'll let Stacy explain that one - and we watched insane video installations that are simply indescribable with the written word.
One more thing - if you're wondering where to find good eats in Lisbon at the right price, I've got four simple words for you, words that probably won't make much sense to anyone right now (and possibly lead some to doubt my sanity), but whose significance is profound for the budget-conscious traveler - PAO PAO QUEIJO QUEIJO!! Literally translated from the Portuguese, this means BREAD BREAD CHEESE CHEESE! Trust me. All right, I'm off to eat and visit a cathedral where Christopher Columbus is buried. Much more later!

A German Wedding American Style

Hey everybody! Sorry for being so behind on the updates, I´ve been a little sick. No crazy stomach bugs (thank goodness!). I might just be imagining things, but sometimes I think in the past few days I´ve caught someone´s pitying stare as they nod their heads in a way that lets me know that they see another poor consumption victim is in their midst. They would know. Europeans are full of stories of people dying of consumption. I think it´s in the contract they have to sign if they want to tell stories. But without futher ado, let me present you with my first official update, and take this moment to swear on the soul of my father Inigo Montoya that I will soon catch you all up with regular updates (internet access willing) whether you want them or not as I make my way through strange and distant lands (cue sitar and chimes)

So much has happened in the last week (have I been gone that long?) and I am not exactly sure where to start except maybe to say that Ben is becoming an espresso drinking fool. Unlike us weak Americans, Europeans do not adulterate their coffee with water. They drink straight shots. Ben, being the caffeine addict that he is, has easily adjusted to drinking straight shots, even graduating from one shot to two. With my attempts to adjust to the time schedule here, I have tried the straight shots, but there is something about the thick particles sticking to the back of my throat as it slides down that has caused me to begin ordering my um (um=one in Portuguese, it´s not a typo folks) cafe com leite (with milk).

Just to refresh your memories, on Wednesday I flew out from Portland at 730am for Josh (my cousin's wedding) and arrived in Frankfurt the next day at 10am. And because I do not let things like 4 hours of sleep within a 48 hour period get in my way, I threw my luggage in my hotel room and raced off to see some Guttenberg bibles. Unfortunately, sleep was determined to catch up with me so I often found myself drifting off to sleep while standing and trying to admire these really old bibles. And then the next day I pretty much slept the day away, except for the time I got up to eat a lovely dinner of turkische pizza and made a german gummy bear stop at a wonderful discount store named Aldi in order to buy and then eat gummy bears.

The sleeping all day think would not have been so bad if not for the fact that I also slept through the civil service of Josh and Rebecca. You see, in Germany everyone who marries must go through a civil service or it does not technically count whether or not they want a church wedding. Since this is what everyone who wants to marry has to do, many people do not even have a church wedding (gasp!). So while I inadvertently slept the day away, I missed the civil service. Fortunately for me, Rebecca's parents do not count the civil service as the real thing and there was a church wedding the next day. The church wedding is what I wanted to attend anyway because it was what German's call an American style wedding. (I want to put quotation marks here, but I still cannot figure out this keyboard).

It seems the few Germans that do decide to have a church wedding will usually have maybe a best man and maid or matron of honor, but no wedding party of 10 or 20 bridesmaids and groomsmen. And because a church wedding is so uncommon, they like to go all out with formal, let us all dress up in our suits and prom dresses, dance on a dance floor and eat a fancy shmancy four or five course meal. (Let me stress at this point that I do not know if this is typical - I am just repeating what Josh said and what I saw.) Of course I was severely underdressed. I would say I am used to the typical informal weddings in which the fanciest thing you will probably see is the dress the bride is wearing and the cake you get to eat. I did not realize that American weddings were so fancy. What weddings have I been going to and what have I been missing out on (this keyboard has no question mark) I think even the waiters were in fancier attire than I.

Still, out of all the many highlights of that particular evening, I would have to say that the biggest highlight of all was when Josh and Rebecca were about to leave and Josh's new brothers in law and their drummer whose name I cannot remember did a spot on version of Flight of the Conchord's Business Time. I could tell people were touched by this gesture because of the tears I saw in their eyes.

Anyway, I gotsta go ya´ll. There´s an 11 pm curfew on the computers at this place and Ben´s got to check out some bus schedules for tomorrow.

Ciao. (i´m so cultured)

Ready to Go

I am excited about this latest trip I'm going on. Heading to Germany for a wedding, then flying over to Lisbon, hanging out in Seville for Semana Santa, maybe even dipping down into Morocco after ferrying over from the Rock of Gibraltar. I love to travel. Whether it's exploring my neighborhood, home state, this country or another, I am happiest when I am somewhere unfamiliar, learning something new. I sleep better when I'm not in my own bed. I yearn for opportunities to not be able to speak English and eat crazy foods. I'm ready to give up the distractions of my daily life; no television program to set my life to, no familiar cultural cues to clue me on to whether a person talking to me is genuinely interested or wants to take my money, no apartment to return to when the day is over... I am ready to be reminded about the futility of trying to control life. I am ready to observe and interact with a new world. I am ready to trust in complete strangers. I am ready to rely on myself. I am ready to go.