Category: Portugal

Oh Porto, Porto, my city of love.

I know Porto is not well-known as The City of Love, but it is in my book. Or maybe The City of Boys would be more accurate. Bahahaha.

When I landed arose from the subway in Porto for the first time, I was met with hustle and bustle galore. A singing girls’ group was performing a beautiful song with a cajon, tambourines, and trilling bird calls. Such a magical introduction to the city.

I checked into my hostel and was informed that a walking tour was about to start, so I gladly volunteered to join. If I remember correctly, I believe the guide’s name was Nuni. After waiting for a bit, he offered me a rose (“For you!”) and we were off. Off to a good start, if you catch my drift. Hahaha.

It was just the two of us, which I was perfectly fine with, but he told me we were actually making our way to meet up with more people. On the way, out of nowhere, a speeding little hatchback zoomed onto the sidewalk while rounding a corner, and we had to jump out of the way to avoid being crushed!

“Did he just drive into the sidewalk?!” I asked incredulously.

Nuni replied, “In Porto, there are no sidewalks!” I was stunned to silence.

We met up with dozens of other waiting visitors and were split into groups. I was given to a different guide (booo), but he was fun, too. Everybody kept complimenting my rose and asking where I had gotten it, but I kept dodging the question. It wasn’t until halfway through the tour that my guide looked over suddenly and said, “Did Nuni give you that flower?” I sheepishly nodded, and he shook his head as if to say, “That Nuni is up to his old tricks again!”

Our tour brought us up through the center of the city and down around the sides to several viewpoints. Once, our guide impressed us by saying the word “lice” in every language our group spoke, for this was the nickname for one of the most popular cafes in the city. It is said that after class, students flock to this cafe like lice onto a scalp. Yuck.

I was amazed yet again by the views offered by Portugal, and I also made a friend in my photographer – a devilishly handsome young man from New York. (That’s boy number two, if you’re keeping track.)

As the tour wrapped up, it began to sprinkle. I did a bit more wandering, popped into one of the most lavish McDonald’s restaurants on the planet for some treats and a macaron (why don’t they serve macarons in the US?!), and then I made my way back to the hostel for dinner.

This hostel didn’t provide mama-cooked meals, but they did serve a multi-course Portuguese dinner with endless wine and port at the end!

We had a stewed rice dish that was drool-making. I sat with a German girl and a young Portuguese lady who worked at the hostel. This came in handy because the Portuguese girl could explain all the dishes and traditions to us. For example, before our main dish was delivered, each table received a little ceramic boat filled with oil and a sausage. She showed us that the host or guest of honor is supposed to dip a spoon into the oil, light the spoon on fire, and use this makeshift torch to light the oil in the boat. This way, the sausage can cook right before our eyes! So tasty. It was a sort of chorizo sausage and was so, so yummy.

Most of the dining room was taken up by a group of 20+ Dutch high school students who were visiting for a school trip. Partway into the meal, they began singing and chanting in raucous merriment while the rest of us looked on and got in conversation during the odd bits of quiet.

The German girl at my table was on her first day of a weeks-long trip where she would walk the Camino Pilgrimage, by herself, through Portugal, Spain, and France before returning to Germany. So impressive.

After dinner, I met a few people staying in my dorm room and tucked in to prepare for a full day ahead.

In the morning, I tried to sit next to some friends at breakfast, but they weren’t having it, so breakfast was a solitary affair.

That is, until the very end, when I noticed Bart, a red-headed, lanky Dutchman from my dorm room sitting down to eat alone a few tables away. I stopped to chat a bit and mentioned I was planning to make my way to Clérigos Tower to try to beat the crowds, and he asked if he could join.

Little did I know that it those moments, I was forming a friendship that would span many countries, many years, and many emailed pen-pal exchanges!

You see, the problem was that 1) I volunteered to lead the way and 2) I ended up getting us horribly lost. When I finally relinquished my map duties to Bart, he informed me that we had been traversing the city in the exact opposite direction from the tower. Oops. We got there nearly two hours after opening instead of right at 9 o’clock as I had planned.

The tower sights were lovely, as were the brilliant decorations of the interior, and it’s always nice to get a view from above.

Seeing as we had spent the full of the morning together at this point, rather than breaking off, Bart simply asked, “What should we do now?”

I ended up repeating bits and pieces of my tour from the day before as we passed familiar spots and landmarks, and we managed to glimpse many more views of the city’s wondrous red roofs.

As the afternoon set on, we made our way down to the shores of the Duomo and across the magnificent Dom Luís I bridge.

Not long after our traverse, we tucked into a hole-in-the-wall restaurant and ordered up one of the famous Francesinha sandwiches to share. These sandwiches are a heart attack waiting to happen – stuffed with ham, sausage, and at least one other kind of meat, then wrapped in thick sandwich bread, covered in melted cheese, and soaked in sauce, this is not a sandwich to eat with your fingers.

Bart paired this masterpiece with a beer, and I opted for a glass of Port, kindly ignoring the owner’s advice that it would be too sweet with the meal. Muahahahaha.

Stuffed and satisfied, we continued along the banks of the Duomo, peeking into the many Port cellars lining the shores and debating whether we should do a tour.

^This photo has been my desktop background on my laptop for the past three years. I honestly can’t imagine ever changing it!

^Bart and I thought this sad cobblestone-repair attempt was hilarious.

When we reached one of the last cellars on the end, Ferreira, which boasted its status as the oldest Portuguese-owned cellar in all of Porto, we took it one step further and inched inside. When we saw that a cellar tour (complete with two samples) cost only six euros, we looked at each other wide-eyed and signed up for the next time slot available!

I was pretty close to heaven, let me tell you. Just look at this enormous barrel of Port!!!!!

As we walked (and I slightly stumbled) out of the cellar, we were greeted with more tempered sunshine and untempered beauty.

We made our way, slow and smiling, back up the shore and over the bridge once more.

The steep, steep slopes of the land on either side of the Duomo were treacherously steep and made for some very unique architecture.

There was a very funny quirk of the walking map I had, which was that it labeled many of the churches as tiny, bright blue little icons. When we approached the churches themselves, we found it was because they were covered in beautiful blue-and-white tiles.

Still, the map certainly exaggerated their electric blueness by quite a bit, thank goodness.

On the menu this night was a seafood rice. Bart had made the (genius) request for something non-seafood and was delivered a duck rice instead. How I wish I had done the same, because his dish was oh-so mouthwateringly tasty!!!!! But mine was yummy, too, haha.

The Dutch students were not with us anymore, so all of us were able to fit at one long table. There were two shy Brazilian girls who told us about being laughed at when they asked for directions to a toilet (probably like asking for the restroom vs. asking for “the loo”). There were two very rowdy French guys who got so drunk they started whistling at the (adorable) waiter when they wanted more wine to replace our empty bottle – I admonished them for that. There was a spunky Australian girl who educated me on some Australian lingo, and there was yet another drunk French guy who had a knack for flirtation.

In fact, this last man, whose name was either Émilien or Etienne, had been making eyes at me on my first day while I worked on my blog at one of the public computers. Every time he walked past me, he’d make intense, smiling eye-contact in a way that made me giggle uncontrollably. Finally, he gave up the charade and approached me. Here’s an excerpt from some writings I put down immediately after this occurred:

“I write to you from Porto, Portugal, and I must admit I am in a state of shock, so don’t be alarmed if my grammar is off a bit. I was just sitting at the computer in my hostel, minding my own business, when a rather swarthy Frenchman walked up out of the blue and started chatting me up. It started with the usual: where are you from, how long are you here, etc. etc., though the conversation was noticeably more intense than normal. Then he asked if I wanted to get a European passport. I was super confused. I thought he was maybe trying to do a black market trade deal or something! Of course I would love one though, so I said, “Aren´t they hard to get?” His response: “Yes, you have to get married.” To this, I laughed nervously, but he continued, “That’s why I came over here to talk to you.”

This continued on for a bit with my bafflement and his well-practiced attempts for my hand. Jeeze Louise. I don’t even know what just happened. (Don’t worry. I told him I was taken. He left shortly after, and he just walked by me batting his eyes at another girl. *sigh*)

Tehehe. Boy number 3, indeed.

I stayed up playing cards with Bart and the Brazilian girls until the wee hours before finally exchanging contact info, packing my things, and rolling into bed for a brief nap before my early morning flight.

Porto, you beautiful place, you, I’ll be back. Until then,

Obrigada e muitas felicidades/ thank you and best wishes!

-Lizzy-wa

I’m in love! I’m in love! And I don’t care who knows it!

I’m in love with a city, and her name is Lisbon. Gah. I can’t. I just can’t. Why did I stay for only a day?! It was love at first sight!

First of all, Lisbon is cheap. And I mean CHEEEEP cheap cheap. Known as the cheapest capital city in Europe. To get to the city center from the airport, most cities have metros or buses that cost between five and fifteen bucks. Lisbon’s metro to the city costs a mere 1.25 euros, which is less than $1.50. INSANE. I felt like I was sneaking onto the train for free or something. Once on the train, I became acutely aware of my out-of-placeness. Airport bus transfers are normally packed with tourists, but the metros and trains are stuffed with locals, and I observed our differences sheepishly. I was dressed in striped yoga leggings and a tank top with my ghastly green Geico sunglasses and a sweaty bun. In contrast, all the women around me had long, wavy, half-dyed-half-faded hair, always down to their back and never tied up. They were wearing sandals or running sneakers and flowy floral pants. Sunglasses were top-notch classiness, and the shoulder bags were prolific. The men were even more gorgeous, with equally flowy hair, but often tied up in man buns that, for once, did not bother me one bit. (;

Once we got closer to the city, a man stepped on the train and began playing the accordion. On his shoulder perched a tiny chihuahua, who clenched a little coin basket in his jaws. The man walked from the front of the train to the back, bending down for his pup to gather offerings, and then he got off at the next stop to get on a different train. So strange!

While planning out hostels for my trip, I tried to choose places close to public transportation and within walking distance of the city center. Last year, I went by the “cheapest as can be, please” policy, which resulted in a lot of horrible hostel stays. Portugal did not even have a “bad hostel” option, though. Every hostel seemed to have reviews claiming, “BEST HOSTEL I’VE EVER STAYED AT,” even though they were just as cheap as those bad hostels from the other cities! Man. Can’t complain about cheapness, right? Just check out my hostel’s drink/ snack menu:

One euro for sangria?! Unheard of! I was even offered a free welcome drink of Ginja, a Portuguese cherry liqueur, but as it was only eleven in the morning, I declined. (The man who checked me in was one of the gorgeous, man-bunned Portuguese variety, and he kept saying my name in that lovely accent. Gah.) I immediately changed into the most Portuguese outfit I could muster, “lost” my Geico sunglasses, and hit the streets to buy a new pair and begin exploration.

My hostel was tucked right into the middle of everything. Restaurants had camped their diners in the middle of the streets, and shops flanked the sides. The structure in the photo above is an elevator with a view…. How quirky!

Thank goodness I had on my new sunglasses, because I probably would have gotten stares for how far my eyes were bugging-out. Everywhere I looked was like something out of a calendar. All around me, rapid Portuguese was being exchanged in excited, friendly tones. It reminded me of Rome. (Except that in Rome, the general tone of conversation is much less friendly.)

The streets were all cobblestone. Cathedrals everywhere. Food (cheap, cheap, delicious food) on every corner. I took it all in (literally – I think I gained a few pounds that day, and the pastel de natas didn’t help).

The city was built into a giant sea-facing hillside, which meant that every turn on any street seemed to be met with breathtaking views of either the water or the endless clay roofs looming above. It also meant that half the streets were set at daunting inclines, and some of the streets were not streets at all, but rather snaking staircases! I was navigating via paper map, so as I worked my way from point A to B, I often found myself met with staircases where I expected to find alleyways.

More than once, this hilly city got me lost in the most wonderful way. It was one of the most surreal adventures of my life. Every scene was like a picture from some secret fairy tale I’d never read. I kept thinking, How did I not know this existed???

At the bottom of an exceptionally long “staircase street,” I sat to rest and was greeted by a stray. He was the sweetest thing, and he hung out with me as I tried to reorient myself, laughing internally with the other young woman doing the same thing just a few steps down.

I could tell I was deep into a residential neighborhood at this point by the lack of other paper map holders and the many white tank topped men, all of whom seemed to know my friend, the stray. Eventually, I did make it back out and back up to another hill and another breathtaking church.

More wanderings brought me to the entrance of Castelo de S. Jorge. A castle in the middle of the city? Sign me up! Sitting at the highest point of one of the hills, more views awaited me.

Oh, and yummy things.

It was so peaceful up there among the flowers, the ruins, and the sun.

(I felt really weird posing for this picture, but the lady just kept snapping away, so I tried to go for some glamorous, not-looking-at-the-camera poses. I think I still need to work on it. Hahahaha.)

I didn’t want to leave my perch on the castle walls, but I did, eventually, and I found my way to several small parks and shaded refuges spattered among the hot summer city.

When the sun finally began to descend below the buildings, I made my way back to my hotel for “Mama’s Dinner.” Remember how I said all these hostels had amazing reviews and amenities? Well, I chose this one because it was owned by two brothers, and every night, their actual mother cooks dinner for all of the hostel residents. Whaaaaat???

Dinner consisted of a seafood pasta with salad on the side. I’ve never had a pasta that tasted so much like the sea. I also ended up sitting with a couple of friends who turned out to be from Seattle! What a small world! The dude even worked at Amazon, hahaha. When they went to get seconds, they told me the pasta was in the largest pot they’d ever seen – more like a cauldron than a pot.

Dessert was pears and cream. Yummy yum yum. Oh, and there was endless white wine, too! I think we were supposed to get a pour of the local ginja liqueur, but either I didn’t stick around long enough or they forgot. In any case, we ended the dinner with a toast to Mama, given each evening by someone who has been staying in the hostel for some time and is staying for their last night. So sweet.

In the morning, I popped out to wander these lovely streets one last time.

Then I stocked up on pastel de natas and made my way to the airport, sad to leave, but excited to return one day.

It was a bit silly to fly to Porto, as it would have been an easy four hour train ride, but I’m glad I did, for the views from the air were stellar.

More Portugal adventures to come. Until then,

Obrigada e muitas felicidades/ thank you and best wishes!

-Lizzy-wa

Okay guys. It’s the home stretch. I’m almost all caught-up. We’re in Portugal now!

When planning our leg of the trip, Kristina and I had originally wanted to just do the big cities: Barcelona, Madrid, Lisbon, Porto. But the connecting flights weren’t the nicest price-wise, and we got some tips on checking out Cordoba and Sevilla. Therefore, when we ended up in Sevilla, it was too expensive to get up to Porto. Cue a Google search or two to find the little town of Faro, a bus ride away from Seville. Reviews said that most people just use Faro as a gateway from Spain into the rest of Portugal, but the town has quite a bit to offer in and of itself. Sounds like my kind of place!

We arrived mid-morning and stepped into the heat. Our hostel was nice and close to the bus station, so we went to check-in and drop off our things. The girl at the front desk was so sweet! She was from Brazil (they speak Portuguese there, too), and she had come to Faro to go to school. Supposedly Faro is a college town, but I really wasn’t getting that vibe. The girl kept calling us ‘girls’ very endearingly. ‘Okay, girls, you can just leave your bags over there…. Girls, it is too, too hot today, so be careful.’ It was so cute!

We were pretty tired, but seeing as it was a hostel, we didn’t have the option of taking a nap because our beds weren’t available until two. Kristina wrapped up her blisters and we set off to find lunch. We actually stumbled upon a place right around the corner from us, and only because we went the wrong way in the first place (away from downtown). It was one of those lovely little places where patrons sit almost exclusively outside. I got a chicken salad and a fresh orange juice, and Kristina got….. hm… I actually can’t remember what Kristina got, but I’m sure it was delicious! We kept trying to speak Spanish to the waiter, though. That was a bit awkward. It’s a tough habit to break!

The heat was getting to us, as usual, so when we turned around toward actual downtown, we ended up sitting down in practically the first snack shop we came to. Ha! Too hot to move. This place was a fresh fruit and frozen yogurt shop. I got a giant cup of mangoes and peaches with natural frozen yogurt on top (tasted almost exactly like the Greek yogurt Jamba Juice puts in their smoothies), and Kristina got a smoothie.

‘Liz, you have to try this,’ she said shortly after I handed it to her. ‘This is the realest smoothie I’ve ever had in my life.’ And she wasn’t joking. I had watched them make it: three apples were pressed in a juicer to make fresh apple juice, and to that, she added whole fresh plums and a bunch of other whole, fresh fruits I can’t remember right now. It wasn’t a chunky/ thick smoothie because the fruit was all fresh instead of frozen, but it sure was tasty.

We ran back to the hostel to change into swimsuits, then wandered a bit more and got some crepes.

And then a ferry ride to Faro Beach! No beaches within walking distance, unfortunately, but the ferry was cheap, and it was a great place to nap.

So.. uh… You’ll never guess what we did when we got to the beach…

Sorry, not sorry. That salmon toast was to die for, even if I couldn’t properly finish it off. Plus, Somersby! My favorite cider! And it’s Danish! Eep! With a fresh orange juice on the side, of course.

We hung out at the shady restaurant for a bit too long, maybe, but we did have an excuse: we were not prepared for the beach. The thing is, nearly every beach I’ve ever gone to in Europe has the same setup – lots of lounge chairs and umbrellas, with men walking around and charging five euros to sit. Therefore, we brought zero towels. We did manage to bring an umbrella, but it was a tiny portable rain umbrella that would provide approximately Zero Shade. We did manage to visit the beach after lunch (? Dinner?), and it was very pretty.

Made me wish we had a proper setup! But we didn’t want to hang around getting sunburned, and we had a dinner to get to back in the hostel. Hahaha. We ate a lot that day.

On the walk from the ferry terminal to the hostel, we walked by what appeared to be a dress rehearsal for a dance showcase, so that was one hundred percent wonderful. We stayed and watched a few numbers, and the kids were adorable. Quite talented, too! My favorite dance was a semi-modern duet interpretation of Flight of the Bumblebee.

And then…. Dinner time! Woohoo! When booking our hostel for Faro, we made sure the hostel description explicitly mentioned that there would be a dinner offered. Last time I hosteled in Portugal, both hostels offered multi-course, home-cooked Portuguese dinners for around ten bucks, and it was one of the best parts of my stay. I knew this would be the same for Faro, and I wasn’t wrong.

We were ushered to ‘where people usually eat,’ which, quite honestly, was not the large, multi-table dining area I was used to in a hostel. We found ourselves on a small patio with a single picnic table set with eight places, and we were the first to arrive.

We sat down and chatted while the hostel employees finished up dinner in the kitchen, and one girl soon joined us. She was Scottish, and very sweet, and it turns out she worked in the hostel. Next, a Spanish girl joined us, very sarcastic and with an air that told me she could be a fashion icon someday. She also worked at the hostel.

After a couple other introductions, it became clear that Kristina and I were actually the only two dinner guests who were, in fact, guests! The girls (the Scot, the Spaniard, a Mexican Texan, a Torontonian, and a Brit) all worked at the hostel and dinner was part of their payment. The hostel owner gave them grocery money every night and the British girl usually ended up cooking just because she was a great cook. On the menu tonight: homemade lemon risotto and some crazy delicious fried eggplant thing. It was so good! Everybody was full to start with because the girls had all gone eating at the beach like we had, but that didn’t stop us from all getting seconds. Couldn’t help ourselves!

The best part was, of course, the homemade sangria. (: The girls explained that they only got to make sangria if guests joined them, so Kristina and I assured them that they would definitely be getting sangria tomorrow.

I woke up the next morning surrounded by men in their underwear, and one of them had his nose in my feet.

Ha! Actually not joking, though. Not sure how, but both nights in Portugal, Kristina and I ended up being the only girls in our eight-bed bunk room. Add this to the unbearable heat, and you get a lot of guys sleeping on top of the covers in their underwear. Not a single one wore a shirt. Not a single one wore any sort of bottoms. It was uh… a sight to see, to say the least. My bunk was also jutted up against another at the end, and for some reason that boy had decided he wanted to smell my feet all night. His nose was literally inches from my toes! A little alarming. This particular boy also happened to be a French Canadian Harry Styles look-alike, which was pretty entertaining.

We forced ourselves awake and out of the house around nine because we really really wanted to actually get some ish done before the heat set in. Our first and only stop was Old Town (Faro isn’t that big).

We passed by a little outdoor restaurant boasting crepes on the menu, and this happened:

Neapolitan-filled ice cream crepe. I almost licked the plate clean.

After this, we spent some time in the grass, and I accidentally laid down in some dog poop. 10/10 experience.

(You can’t see it, but it is hiding nice and squishily underneath my left knee, unknown to me at this time.)

And then we found a tower!

It wasn’t the tallest tower in the world. It may not have even been the tallest tower in the town. In fact, it really wasn’t much of a tower at all, come to think of it. More like a little lookout on top of a reasonably tall church. Still pretty, though.

Our ticket to the tower also got us into the church and museum. And uhh… there was also this:

That is a chapel. Made out of bones.

Real bones.

Like, real human bones.

I was pretty disturbed, and Kristina wasn’t having it for a second. Apparently there is an even larger bone chapel in downtown Faro (not sure where the obsession came from), but we were never able to make it there during opening hours. Kristina was not sad about it.

After this craziness, we made our way back to New Town…

And did some modeling…

We also found evidence of a drinking game the hostel girls had told us about the evening before called the Pi Challenge. We thought they meant Pie Challenge at first, something involving both pie and alcohol, but oh no. Basically, the number pi is spelled out along the length of this street downtown, and the challenge is so try to recall the digits of pi all the way to the end. Every time you get a number wrong, you drink. This is a long street, mind you. Many numbers. I guess people get pretty drunk!

After deciding the Pi Challenge was not nearly as interesting as my version of the Pie Challenge (it involves leisurely enjoying a slice of delicious home-baked pie), Kristina and I went to assemble our beach-going supplies. We borrowed a beach umbrella from the hostel (for free!) and purchased a giant elephant-print tapestry from a shop downtown, and then we were off! To Farol (Lighthouse) Island!

You can just make out the lighthouse through the fog if you squint hard enough. Here’s a better view:

The first thing we did upon arrival with likely come as no surprise to you: we ate.

Sorry, did I say eat? I guess I meant drink. Hahahaha. Here’s a picture of drink number two, with some actual food in the background:

Somersby so good. They put mint, apple slices, and a cinnamon stick in it. Never would have thought to do that! And here’s me forcing Kristina to eat her vegetables. (She was not happy about it.)

We didn’t spend quite as long at this restaurant. We were really only here for the drinks…. Tehehehe. We found a nice stretch of sand on the beach and set up our new tapestry and sunbrella, and Kristina promptly fell asleep.

I was wearing Kristina’s pants so my legs wouldn’t get sunburned if the umbrella shadow moved. I’m basically a vampire, by the way.

We lay there for quite a while, and I dozed a bit, too, but I knew I wanted to get in the water before we left. Kristina’s Lizzy Senses must have woken her up, because she stirred of her own accord to take some photos.

We then jumped into a full-on photoshoot, complete with acrobatic poses and lots of near-falling-over-in-the-water experiences.

I really should have taken my dress off before going in, but I thought I would just walk in a little ways. Then a big wave caught me off guard and I was basically soaked from the chest down. Felt so good, though!

We enjoyed a leisurely stroll through the cute little island homes on our way back to the ferry…

And then Kristina passed out again.

Bahahahahaha. Don’t be fooled. She is one hundred percent asleep in that photo. We were pretty tired. (:

For our last Portuguese shebang, we had another meal lined up with the hostel. When I had paid for our reservations that morning, the British girl who can cook (can’t remember her name, haha) asked for ten euros instead of seven. I was about to complain and point to the price written on the chalkboard in front of her, but then I realized she meant it was ten euros for both tickets! I didn’t argue.

On the menu tonight was ‘delicious homemade burgers!’ I was a bit bummed, hoping for some sort of home-cooked Portuguese concoction, but I figured at that price, only a fool would say no to a full meal with endless sangria.

A few more hostel guests were joining us this time around, so we moved the dinner location up to the rooftop terrace. The sunset was gorgeous, and the temperature was just starting to cool off for the night.

As Kristina and I settled in across from French Canadian Harry Styles and poured our first glass of sangria, a few more boys joined the table and we started in at burger building.

Okay. Now, do not take what I am about to say lightly. That burger was one of the best burgers I have ever tasted in my entire life.

In my. Entire. Life.

The British girl was at it again. She made patties from scratch with beef so soft and tender. She seasoned it with soy sauce, hot sauce, and tooooonnnsss of fresh herbs that were visible in the burgers. Then to top it all off, she made a homemade garlic mayonnaise aioli.

I died.

And then I came back to life so I could eat a second one.

I really cannot adequately describe how delicious those burgers were. I was slightly in pain after the second, but the sangria helped. Bahahaha. Just kidding. I mostly just ate the fruit.

Kristina and I took some much needed showers before retiring for the last time to our way-too-hot bunk room.

I awoke again to a room full of underweared, snoring men. Such a strange thing to wake to, really. And this time, Kristina had joined them in spanks and a sports bra. I was the only modest one in the whole hostel! Hahahaha. We savored our delicious Portuguese-hostel breakfast (four kinds of cereal, granola, fresh fruit, toast, juices, milk, teas and coffees and hot chocolate and this hot honey drink that I couldn’t bring myself to drink because of the word ‘hot’ in its name). So good.

And then we were off! To the airport and beyond.

One last stop.

 

Venlig hilsen/ tchau,

Lizzy-wa