Lisboa!

12/27/08

IT is a few days after Christmas and I am in Dulles airport waiting to board my flight to Lisbon. It's not a direct route so the first leg is to Paris. And, in true, French fashion, the staff is cold and withdrawn (although I am often mistaken for French so I guess that says something about me). The flight is full and I ended up with a middle seat. Aside from the fact that I have 2 herniated discs, the thought of 9 hours smooshed between 2 strangers makes me want to turn around and go home. Both the man who checked me in and the woman at the gate looked indifferent when I asked for a seat change, even after saying I was pregnant (just a little white lie). Ohhhhh well. Thank goodness for the Vicoden and Russian teacakes I brought along.

I am going to Lisbon for 5 days to ring in the new year and spend some time with my travel buddy, Joel. Joel and I lived and worked in London together, which eventually lead to travel. We went to Manchester, Rome and the Canary Islands (Spain) and had a great time. Traveling was our escape from the absurdities we too often encountered in London--the cost of living, impossible nature of the people, our abusive boss--all of it was cause for us to escape. And traveling is much healthier than drinking....

But, Joel and I have not been able to travel together since I returned to New York in June. My last hurrah was spent in Istanbul (my god, I love that city so hard)--best decision I made in 2008, hands down. Upon my return to NY, I've changed jobs, secured a lovely one-bedroom apartment, reunited with my cousin and family and discovered a new, life long friend (although she refuses to give me her hair). My life has revolved around these events along with an incredible amount of travel, all within the US and mostly for work. And while I've enjoyed being back, perhaps would even say it's the second best decision of 2008, part of me truly misses being/living in Europe. So, when Joel told me over brunch (during one of his work trips to NY) that he was going to Lisbon, I jumped at the chance.

I actually went to Lisbon last October (2007) for a work meeting. We stayed in Sintra which is just outside of the city. Our hotel was a gorgeous resort that used to be a monestary and it was absolutely breathtaking. My coworker, Sharon, and I stayed through the weekend with another colleague, Carly. Carly hired a car to take us for a tour of the surrounds cities--Lisbon, Cais Cais included. We had a day to do it which was great but tiring so by the time we returned we were too pooped to go into Lisbon to explore the nightlife--despite the persistent Swedes we met in the resort bar--however, Sharon and I would end up meeting one of the guys the next week in London. Needless to say, my trip to Portugal was great but not complete. However, I did leave it with two, key learnings...ok, maybe 3.

1. Portuguese people are the kindest in Western Europe. But there's a sadness in it that I can't verbalize but it's evident when your there--it's palpable.

2. Portuguese men are absolutely gorgeous--the women, not so much. I actually found this to be the exact opposite from the Spaniards and wonder if there's something to it.

3. The fish and wine are on par if not, surpass Spain.

All in all, it's a country of warm and delicious things be it animal, vegetable or mineral. I think of Portugal as the other side of Spain since it's well, on the side of Spain and the two have a lot of similarities yet Portugal remains relatively undiscovered by tourists.

So, here I am. Ready to embark on this trip--the first return to Europe and last of the year. I'm excited and nervous. I can't wait to see Joel and meet his friends. They arranged for us to stay in an apartment which is a great bargain. Joel arrived today and has already found a great restaurant for us to dine tomorrow, which is when I'll arrive. I can't wait to explore the city and meet people just as I did in Istanbul. I have a book about the city in tow to examine during the flight. And I took Portuguese in college so that, plus my Spanish should get me by (already the flight attendants have spoken to me in French).

I'm nervous, though because this is my first trip to Europe since I moved. What if I miss it and shake my already uncertain feeling over my return? I left New York for London to figure out where I want to put roots, only to return still not knowing. Worse, what if it HONKS? I'm not so worried about that as I know that these trips are what you make of them.

I suppose I should worry about going broke but life is short and I need to be/feel free. That's the main reason I'm taking this trip. Despite being back in my home environment and traveling, I've started to feel trapped. I think I'll always have the urge, the need to see the world. When I think about how I was feeling, listening to Joel describe his plans, my longing to join him hurt. And when he asked me to go, I nearly burst. I know it was exactly what I needed.

So here goes...

12/28/08 The gall of deGaulle

I'm writing from Charles De Gaulle Airport which is the spot of my layover which was originally less than an hour and is now 3--due to a number of events. The first--my flight from D.C. arrived in Paris a half hour late. The second is the gynormity/absurdity of the layout of this friggin' airport. I arrived in Terminal E. Flight to Lisbon was leaving from D and they're a lot further apart than you'd think, and there's no shuttle. Dulles has a shuttle and it's not nearly as large! I ran for a half hour, chirping "pardon" and dropping the f-bomb along the way to get to my gate. I mean, never has an airport layout been so perplexing. I used to think Zurich airport was the most poorly designed but have been proven wrong. As an aside, I remember running with a coworker, Megan, in Zurich Airport for dear life to catch our flight after a meeting. At one point she left her shoes at security, which were returned to her by some Japanese stewardesses (those would have been the last things I ditched). We were huffing and puffing for dear life yet laughing at our circumstance.

Anyway, I ran all the way to terminal 2D--literally going down an escalator only to go up just across the way. Then I encountered my third and final event. Security line+old couple-their tickets+security worker who doesn't give a damn=my flight/temper taking off. The only thing to do was get on the next flight, grab a coffee and ear my feelings/the Russian teacakes nearly confiscated.

I headed to the transfer desk where their were two areas for lines--one for premier and one for economy class. The latter had not a soul, the former was packed. I got in my designated, empty line, surprised so many people could afford premier class. I was hosted by numerous dirty looks and an "excuse me, this the line" from a man in the premier area. I told him the difference in the lines and he pretended not to hear and/or understand me, despite his perfect, Nordic-inflicted English. Another side note: I find Europeans can be unbelievably hostile and judgmental of Americans. And I understand, to a degree. I myself am hostile to my own people when they come to New York. They're rude, loud and fat. But, it's kind of like the mother rule--it's ok to complain about your own mother, not ok for someone else to. I could tell that this man was judging me as and it made me want to rage. I had 30 seconds of angel/devil discussion and opted to head to the wrong line and keep my mouth shut. And just when I was about to march over, one of the desk attendants announced to everyone that they needed to move into "my" line unless they were indeed, in premier class. My friend was visibly upset and put up a fuss. I smiled at him and said that he could go in front of me because I'm American and accustom to always being right. Victory was mine.

So, I got on the next flight and found myself an espresso and empty spot. Sadly, the Russian teacakes got crushed during my run. The good news-I got my work out for the day in. The bad news-warm string cheese and espresso just tastes weird.

I'm so happy I have a 4.5 hour layover on my return.

12/28 Hungry and Tired

I finally got into Lisbon and to the apartment around 6 but not without a tiny snag. My taxi driver dropped me at the wrong address which meant I had to carry my heavy suitcase up a long hill. So much for going easy on my back. He also charged me double the fare--I was so aware of this scam in Istanbul but completely missed it here. Oh well--10 euros will go further with him than me I guess.

Joel greeted me and gave me a tour of our digs. A modest and modernly furnished flat (IKEA goes a looooong way)--2 bedrooms, kitchen, bathroom and living room. Everything is petite--classically European that I forgot. Thank goodness I'm small.

After the tour I freshened up and we headed out for an early dinner (most Portuguese dine at 10 and it was 8). Joel had already scoped the area. Principe Real is near Barrio Alto--a funky little nook of bars and restaurants similar to the Lower East Side but with a bit more grit-not to mention the wonderful stone pavement-lovely to look at, terrible to walk on in heels. So much for my sky-high stilettos for NYE.

Joel showed me around and took me to a restaurant he'd been to the night before--a small, family run place that was peppered with customers when we arrived and then filled by the time we left. The waiter/owner was a slight, older man who recognized Joel immediately, saying, "Ahhhh! Last night you were alone but tonight you bring a girl!" It was like that scene from Lady & the Tramp. Immediately after we sat, small plates of proscuitto, local cheese and beef croquettes (kind of like a fried meatball) were placed on the table. A few minutes later, our guy brought over 2, gorgeous lumps of Portuguese bread with instructions to spread the garlic butter over them---deeeeelish.

Joel ordered for us--a bottle of white wine, arroz con frijoles/cebollas (red rice and beans in a light broth), cod fritters and baked bacalhau, which look like macaroni and cheese. It was kind of like a fish casserole only with cubes of potatoes instead of noodles. The cod fritters were best with the red rice and beans--a mixture of sweet and salty. It was a family meal cooked with love. And while we rejected dessert, our waiter's mother, who was manning (and may have been a man) the bar area, sent us each a chocolate with our coffees. All in all, it was a great first night meal.

Afterward we walked around--ok, Joel walked and I hobbled. The streets were small and cobbled, lightly sprinkled with people beginning to dine. We decided to head back to the flat. Joel got some wine which we drank while we told stories and watched a Portuguese talent show. I crashed and didn't wake up until 1:30 the next day.