Portugal - Dia Dois

Today, I woke up waiting. Waiting to get my luggage. Waiting to take a shower. Waiting for someone to come home to the apartment so I know what the fuck to do. So I tried to make the TV work, but I'm awful at that stuff in America, and I certainly bombed it here. (One of my kids' songs just came on my iPod, and I miss him so much. He'd die if he knew his music had been played in Europe, even if it was just for me)

Then I decided to pick up the map and guidebook and actually plan my trip to Lisbon - and promptly fell asleep on the couch. I woke up to Joana coming home from a business meeting to feed the dogs, Malcolm and Vlad. She turned on the TV for me, laughing a little (I'm sure she thinks I'm a moron). CNN was on, in English. I don't mind CNN so much, although I find it a bit conservative, so I left it on. A Turkish Airlines flight crashed while landing in Amsterdam, so that became breaking news. In true CNN fashion, they knew nothing about the crash, and so kept reporting that they knew nothing but that - over and over and over, adding one tiny detail and repeating it ad nauseum until they dug up something new. So I promptly fell asleep again.

I woke up to Rich coming home with his mom and her boyfriend. The boyfriend joined me on the porch and we talked about New Orleans (he's visited pre- and post-K) and the DC riots (he was stationed at Fort Meade in 1968). I thoroughly enjoyed him, and may interview him for my dissertation. We all went to a Brazilian steakhouse for lunch. HOLY SHIT. I got the chicken and that shit was STILL delicious (I know, I know, a steakhouse, but I'd had the Jesus steak last night, remember?) It came with family style platters of rice, black beans, salada mista and condiments - tiny hot chiles in vinegar, pico de gallo minus the tomatoes, and some other stuff I didn't try. Good stuff, followed up by a cup of thick coffee served in a thimble (Rich's mom asked if I'd ordered the medium). Please, once in your lifetime, go to a Brazilian steakhouse.

Then we walked around a cute little turn-of-the-century neighborhood and Campo Pequeno. I'll let the photos talk about that.

Rich and I walked back to the apartment and while I planned the rest of my trip (for real this time!), he got the call we'd all been waiting for - MY STUFF! We ran downstairs to retrieve it, and I almost kissed the courier. I'd already bought a new shirt and underwear (unwashed new clothes make me break out in a rash :( ) and borrowed clean socks, but having my own deodorant and my contact case is priceless. Not to mention, I don't know, having all my shit back? And not having to buy a new dress and shoes (shoes here would be a nightmare, since I wear a women's 12) for the wedding? Thank you, God. Thank you!

With suitcase back in my possession, I put on a full face of make up (just because I could) and headed out to wander. And oh boy, did I wander. I got myself motherfucking LOST in Lisbon. "Am I near the Avenida de Republicas?" [BLANK STARE] I couldn't find myself on the map, so I bought a tiny custard pie from a pastelaria and sat on the steps of a church. Then, suddenly, what did I hear? ENGLISH! I quickly hopped up with my map. "Hi. Where am I?" They pointed out the church where I was sitting, and I almost kissed them, too. Then, I got lost again. I figured, fuck it. There are enough people here who speak English or Spanish (mine is passable enough to get me fed or un-lost) that I'll make it back to Elias Garcia. So I wandered around a mall for awhile (Bennetton is slinging some ugly shit these days) and pretended I looked Portuguese. When it started to get dark outside, I left and asked a very handsome man, "Wo ist Avenidea de Republicas?" [BLANK STARE] A little louder, "Is this Avenida de Republica?" Another blank stare, then, "Yes." "Thank you!" "Unh huh." So I skipped up the street, careful not ot get hit by a car (they drive so FAST here!) or pickpocketed until I stumbled upon Elias Garcia. A-ha! The New York Hamburger House! Almost home.

Too embarrassed to go back to Rich so soon, and a tiny bit terrified, here I've sat for the last hour in Pastelaria Eiffel, where the proprietor thinks I'm retarded AND American, drinking a Sagres (two Sagres) while I listen to my iPod and write this. When I finish this (very small) beer, I'll go back up the block to the apartment, feeling a little more international than before. Tomorrow, a subway ride to Torres de Belem and Cascais - NEAR DE BEACH, BOYYYYYYYYYY!