Finally off! Somewhat unexpected. Until last night, I half thought we might not get away. Multiple illnesses, one bereavement – not your usual run up to a holiday. Except in our family. Have discovered that I’m the calm one in this family, which is not exactly comforting. Mother tutting loudly at whiff of queue-jumpers while Dodo voiced concerns about how he didn’t feel anxiety at the prospect of being on holiday, and the unusual absence of anxiety was making him anxious. He then dissolved into a quivering wreck. I truly am the glue that holds this whole amateur tap dance troupe together.
After walking three miles to the gate, we got settled at the rear of the mob, probably a trademark of budget airlines and bussed in for this purpose, who were slouching redundantly at the closed gate. We had to climb over a few to get onto the plane… Three hours later we were coming into land enjoying some cheerful bickering about the glacial speed of Dodo’s photography over gorgeous sunny Lisbon.
It turns out that, for a slightly pained and sensitive arthritic, going limp for the landing is a real joint-saver. Unfortunately, it also makes other passengers wonder what you’re doing. On disembarkation we walked even further than we had in Edinburgh to collect our bags.
Don’t even ask about the familial trauma that ensued when we tried to get the bus. The short version is that we looked up the right bus, found where it left from, got on the bus and got off at the right place. No misdirections or obstacles. The long version involves the loss of the Dodo who evaporated somewhere around the taxi rank, my mother befriending a porter by barrelling towards him down a steep incline with her luggage trolley, my abortive first attempts at Portuguese including an amused bus driver and a rummage for change, M and I feeling really bad about displacing the two Portuguese ladies who have up their seats, insisting that we sat down, me getting buried under all the family hand luggage, near conflict when I said we weren’t getting off at the wrong stop, and my father rugby tackling an unfortunate Scandinavian. I wish I made that last one up.
On the plus side, Lisbon seems very exotic, with its yellow Mediterranean light and big chunky palm trees everywhere. On the way in we passed at least give really great Art Nouveau buildings and – slight culture shock here – a full-fledged Guimard metro station entrance.
After checking in and getting settled, we went to hang out on the roof for a while. I got a foretaste of how this holiday will proceed – with my mother shoving me towards any Portuguese person crying, “Help us! Help us!” Am not entirely convinced that she knows I’m not actually fluent in Portuguese.
Wonderful view from the roof, in great light, while the moon rose over Alfama. We watched a pigeon clearly having a problem with heights. And enjoyed the view.
After a short break we stopped at tourist info for leaflets en route to the Hard Rock Café, where we stuffed ourselves, sitting onstage in a converted theatre with a pink Cadillac suspended over our heads. “You always wanted to be on the stage,” Dodo quipped.
After some night-time pictures, we ended a suitably surreal day with a hunt for the bathroom light switch, a head trapped in the lift door and a strange coffee-making method due to the lack of a kettle.
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