LISBON, PORTUGAL

September 2015

Two months earlier when writing late night messages to my best friend Lucy, we discovered that she would have two free weeks before starting at the university of Leeds for the winter semester. And we could spend those two weeks exploring anywhere in Europe together!

We contemplated our options, it was nearing the end of summer and we wanted somewhere warm and somewhere colourful. On the top of my travel wish-list now that we were finally allowed to re-enter the European Schengen zone, were Portugal and Spain. Lucy immediately agreed, happy to be refreshing her Spanish skills and revisiting some of her favourite cities. And that was it! It was planned, we booked flights, found cosy airbnb apartments and cheap hostels and booked a midnight flight from Manchester to Lisbon.

Ohhh and it was one hell of an epic travel day. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt looking back on all my travel/transit decisions… it’s that sometimes it’s worth spending a little extra money to save a little more sanity. We left our Oban home at the crack of dawn, caught a three hour train to Glasgow, and jumped on a 5 hour bus to Manchester. I’d worked out our timing perfectly. We would arrive three hours before our Lisbon bound flight, grab a quick dinner at the airport and be on our merry way.

That was of course until the traffic jam from hell. I mean, one minute we’re flying along the freeway only an hour away from Manchester, next we’re stuck in gridlocked traffic on a three lane highway. We’re sitting in row three and I can hear the driver softly speaking to the bus terminal operator. Moments later he calls out to the bus “No one has a flight to catch do they?”. I feebly reply yes, and his response “Goodluck with that”. I’m close to tears. We stop at a petrol station after half an hour of snail pace crawling along. I’m sitting on the cold, tile floor researching flights the following day to Lisbon. $700. The tears flow freely now. But the bus driver comes over to speak to us with this crazy determined look on his face. He tells us to stay on the bus when we arrive at Manchester (even though we had only booked our ticket to the city centre) and he will take us straight to the airport after that. He quickly herds the passengers back onto the bus, pulls his sunglasses over his eyes and grips the wheel with steel force. We make it to Manchester, and from the city centre he makes it to the airport in 10 minutes. A journey that takes 25 minutes usually he tells us triumphantly. He’s flying along roads like we’re in mission impossible and then we’re running through the airport hallways and we make it. We beat all odds and at 9:00pm we’re waving our final goodbyes to the UK from 30,000 feet.

Martin and I arrived past midnight, caught the last train into the city and walked to our hostel. We were so exhausted I don’t even remember my head hitting the pillow.

We awoke early, repacked our bags and hit the sunny streets. Winding our way through little alleyways until we made it to the city centre and to Lucy’s hostel. She arrived three days before we did, and we were meeting her here before travelling on to our airbnb apartment together. I had butterflies in my tummy from excitement, we hadn’t seen each other in six or seven months but the moment we entered the common room our hug felt like we’d only spent weeks apart. Our travel trio was complete! We spent an hour or so catching up on comfy couches and meeting her new hostel friends before heading back out into the streets and catching the oldest tram I’ve ever seen to our new accommodation.

The apartment was ancient. In that cute grandma’s, dusty but cosy apartment kind of way. Our bed looked like it belonged in a gothic chamber and the lights were cobweb covered chandeliers. The internet only worked when you sat with your back pressed against the bedroom wall. In a strange sort of way it was perfect. We were staying a twenty minute tram ride from town, but our suburb was cute and we spent the afternoon discovering the local food market, grabbing dinner at an authentic Portuguese restaurant and buying cooking supplies from the supermarket.

(The view from our apartment window.)

On our second day in Lisbon we hit the streets. Starting by jumping back on the lurchy-screechy tram, we stay aboard until we made it all the way to the oldest district of Lisbon, the Alfama.

With all the excitement of our first day arriving and catching up with Lucy, I hadn’t felt like I had truly got a feel for the heart and soul of Lisbon quite yet. But on this second day, wandering through little cobbled alleyways and admiring the old quarter, I was immediately swept up into its charm.

After hours of just getting lost amongst the Lisbon streets and immersing ourselves beautiful architecture, we realise our bellies are hungry for only something sweet could fix. Lucy knew of the most famous Portuguese tart bakery that actually invented the recipe all those years ago! So we jumped back on the tram, switched to the train and lined up with about one hundred other drooling tourists to buy an afternoon treat. I even risked getting a tummy ache from the dairy just to try these beauties, and let me tell you… it was worth it. Honestly these babies are DELICIOUS! I’m lucky I could stop at just one. We sat in the park in the sunshine and savoured the sweetness. (If you’re going to try them in Lisbon, you must buy them from Pastel de Belem!).

And then stop by the Pastéis de Belém, the late gothic monetary that’s just a stone throw away from the bakery. It’s breath-taking in it’s size and beauty.

In Lisbon we mostly spent our time exploring, cooking yummy dinners in our apartment, eating traditional sweets, catching the tram through winding streets, getting rooftop cocktails with new friends and watching the twinkling city lights. I felt so lucky to be sharing it all with my two favourite people. It was short and sweet, and I never wanted to leave.