Lagos goals

After a five day stop in Lagos at the Rising Cock, we finally left for Lisbon to meet up with our Tios coming to visit us. Our last night involved packing all of our stuff up and thinking about trying to sleep but getting peerpressured into a night of staying up (the capitulation was remarkably fast ;) ) at various bars.

So long Chicken man, Nahnah burgers, 3 Monkeys with Scotty and his Chupitos alerts. And of course, so long to Mama with her awesome crepes and lemon tea.

The trip to Lisbon was via Tunes and was roughly 5 hours. The perfect amount of time to not get any sleep whatsoever, but we were quite proud to achieve the near impossible; catching transportation as it was scheduled...in the morning!

We were pretty exhausted, fortunately for us our Aunt and Uncle very generously decided to get us a hotel. While I will never give up hostels completely, a hotel break once and a while can be very welcome. After three weeks of taking as luke warm a shower as I, and my boys, could tolerate, I think I was just a few minutes away from making the shower a bath.

We got to the hotel ahead of them and collapsed after we helped Kezia, a fellow backpacker from the Rising Cock, get her trip to Paris settled. Having been burned on the Lagos to Sevilla trip with some of the times in GMT others in Spanish Standard Time (GMT + 85 minutes) we wanted to confirm the horario. So the guy at the desk calls the information number listed on the website...which was wrong. Patience is a virtue and a requirement for traveling in Iberia. Hoping the information was correct, we sent her on her way. (She later confirmed all went well)

Super Bockalao

Lisbon was the first city where I did next to no prepwork at all. I had no idea what to see (other than the castle as recommended by some backpackers in Lagos) nor any of the language other than to ask if they spoke English or Spanish, and Obrigado. Fortunately, our Tios did and recommended a museum near our hotel which had an impressive collection of ancient Greek coins, Egyptian knickknacks and Japanese artwork. Best of all the entrance is free.

After leaving, the first order of business was to find a place open to have some dinner. We strolled around the city which seemed about as tired as we were. As we got toward the coast we found a nice little place that was showing some futbol and served up Super Bock (which is neither, but still quite enjoyable) and some Bacalao which was delicious.

We all kind of thought it was weird that for a capital city, it didn't really buzz. It was more like a medium sized town. The next day the newspaper confirmed that the Portugese economy was lagging the rest of Western Europe.

The next day we decided against Sintra because of the misty weather and instead headed to the castle, cathedral and the old town. The main mode of transportation within the city was by trolley or metro and with the hilly roads it seemed remarkably like what I think of San Francisco and with a touch of Budapest thrown in. When we got to the castle we even saw a bridge that was the spitting image of the Golden Gate.

Having put in our share of uphill walking we returned to the hotel and watched a little bit of the Spanish election. Zapatero's socialist party (PSoE) won handily. That night we went to the best chinese restaurant I've ever visited. I went with lucky number 127 and hoped for the best. Maybe it was numerology, the fact that I was hungry or that I ordered it in Chinese. It was so good I came really close to getting another order to go.

We figaro'ed it was time for Sevilla

Day three in Portugal started with the usual breakfast and had us rushing to the bus station, with 10 minutes to spare. The worry from our more senior travel companions was hilariously palpable. 10 minutes is a luxurious cushion for the two of us. As it turned out, there was a more direct Lisbon to Sevilla bus that was not publicized on the web that left 30 minutes later. Awesome.

We began the log trek to Andalucia by way of Faro. Along the way I noticed how different the scenery was. At the Lisbon latitude it was way greener than arid Andalucia. The ride was long so we had a stop at a rest stop for about 45 minutes. All European rest stops have a similar feel. They are usually pretty nice, they have a gas station, a restaurant/food court and a souvenir stand. In the states, we have so many places to pull off. In Europe, they are few and far between partially due to the lack of intercity travel by car and also the urban centric lifestyle.

We pulled in to Seville at 8ish. From the Plaza de Armas we took a cab to Samay and while crossing Menendez Pelayo I felt a kick. It turned out to be two of our hostel mates from the Rising Cock who on the recommendation of Joe, Ben, Luke and the two of us made a reservation. There was room at our place but the Tios didn't get too thrilled by the prospect of dorm room living. (It turned out there was a private room that wasn't advertised on hostelworld they could have used...whoops!) So we showed them our pension from visits one and two to Sevilla on the Puerta de Carne. It is a very basic kind of place. Two beds, hot water, dripping with character but no TV (although anyone caught watching TV in Sevilla should be shot).

Across from the pension there was a nice Italian place where we got some grub and then headed back. The 10 hour bus ride had taken its toll so we made it an early night.

The first full day back in Spain, which funny as it sounds, was a little like coming home. That feeling I had as I left France for Irun came flooding back. Em was feeling bad so she met us later. My 3rd time inside I finally got a little more numb to it's awesomeness. Although, in preparation of Semana Santa it was decked out a little. We roamed around and entered the courtyard where I ran into a girl I knew from a messageboard I post to. I knew she was in Sevilla and we planned to meetup that night so I wasn't too shocked to see her and her friends but it was a nice surprise none the less. A few more pictures later we went out to meet Emily who was feeling a little better. Off to Euro fastfood; Pans and Company a place I frequented in Salamanca because of its proximity to the Plaza Mayor and its daily lunch specials.

We took a leisurely paseo to the Plaza de España and from there split ways. Em and I to the hostel to arrange some transportation for ourselves, and the two of them to an archaelogical museum.

We got a Tapas bar tip from the woman who worked in the hostel. Near the Alameda was calle Eslava home to the eponymous Bar Eslava. It was a packed hole in the wall with delicious food. Round one was delicious and everything I understood. Round two was a mixed bag including blood and onions and things I preferred not to look up after I left. Em went her own way from calle Sierpes and I walked with the girls to the Plaza de Armas.

Having had a stationary day we figured we were rested enough for Cordoba. We'll pick it up from there next time ;)

--Joey

(Photos to come within the next day or so right now I am having some technical problems)

Faro and away

Our second trip to Sevilla was 7 days of soaking up the town. Yup lucky number 7. We missed the bus to Lagos on Monday for the sake of 50 euro cents off a chicken sandwich meal at the BK Lounge.

Bonus night in Sevilla was kind of meh. Something I sort of knew but didn't have drilled home until recently. Your hostel experience is part the hostel itself and more so the people you meet around the common room. The place was dead come Monday. All of the great people we met were either in Lagos, Malaga, or Granada. All the music, communal cooking and joking around was replaced by silence.

The next morning I woke up arond 7a and checked my mail. The rest of the guys had made it to Lagos and were telling us the bus left at 7:30 not 8:30. I double checked the bus schedule and saw that 7:30 was the departure time from Lagos to Sevilla. With that reassuring tidbit, we took our time getting to the station. 10 minutes before we were scheduled to leave, we learned our friends were right and the website was wrong. At tourist information the typical Spanish mentality of customer service as an after thought prevailed again. The lady said she can get us on a bus to Ayamonte. Great, then how to we get to Lagos from there? Yo no se. What? She told us to ask someone at the station when we get there. You have to be kidding me. Okay fine. We get to Ayamonte and there is no station just a closed kiosk on the side of the road.

We talked to a cab driver who said that for 14 Euros he could get us to Portugal. To a town that has a train to Lagos. It was better than the alternative of waiting 8 hours in Spain so we went for it. Plus, he gave us a crash course in Portugese on the way there.

Two and a half hours via a stop in Faro and we were in Lagos.

When in doubt, follow the bleeding guy

With tourist season in a lull, the owners of pensions, hostels, and homes are hawking their accomodations. Nao obrigado, we have our accomodation...at the...Rising Cock hostel. It is rooster themed. It may also be a double entendre ;)

One of the guys pushing his house told us he would walk us there...he also had a bleeding lip. Not in the little blood crusts sense from a shaving mishap, but like a juicy, bright red bleeding corner. Not sure if he realized this or not but when you are trying to convince someone to stay in your house, the fewer open wounds the better. Anyway, the hostel was literally 10 minutes from the train station and 5 from the beaches.

Lagos is a Portuguese beachtown that reminds me a bit of Amity. It gets heavily touristed during the summer but it is a different kind of tourism than you see on the costa del sol. Right now, the shops along the sun beaten streets are catching their breath in anticipation of the endless lazy summer days to follow.

Our hostel, the Rising Cock, is an interesting place. It is essentially study abroad kids on break, the usual cadre of young Aussies, Kiwis, Brits, Canadians and Americans relaxing and longtermers that have no idea how to find an appropriate encore. Anyone with any flexibility at all in their schedule overstays. In part due to its common room (with a huge couch sectional) and also due to the lack of sites to see (you come here for the beach and the beach only) makes it the best social hostel I have ever been to. After a night of hitting up the local bars the hostel mom Maria, makes you lemon tea and a mountain of crepes to cure your hangover. Quite an easy life to become accustomed to.

Cliff Cravin'

The beaches are beautiful here. Coarse yellow brown sand, blue green waters, and rock formations reminscent of American west loom invitingly. Em and I being beach and water snobs are finding the testicle destroying 17 degree water horrificly hypothermic and nearly unswimmable but when you get out it feels like jumping into a hot shower on a cold morning. Good times.

To relaxing days, long nights and suggestive accomodation. Cheers :)

--Joey