Portugal Part 1: The Affair

"You're staying at a what?"
"A hostel."
"A hospital?!"
"No dad, a HOS-TEL."
"I don't understand... Why are you staying at a hospital? Are you hurt?"
"I'm staying at a... place, dad."
"Ohhhh, a place... Why didn't you just say that?"

This is the conversation I had with my dad upon my entry into our hostel, The Independente (which is spectacular, by the way. If you're ever in Lisbon, Portugal, I suggest you stay here: http://www.theindependente.pt/lisboa/). Rick's not much of a traveler, but he vicariously tags along through my journeys nonetheless. Next stop: Lisbon, Portugal.

Now, I've previously mentioned my wholehearted infatuation with Spain. And I love her dearly, but I confess to a passionate weekend rendezvous with her half-sister, Portugal. Before departing for Lisbon, my roommate, Enrique, warned me, "There's a spell on Lisbon. I don't know what it is, but you won't want to leave." And, sure enough, five minutes within eyesight of the city, I was smitten. The buildings, streets, and people resonate with colorful zing and the air is laden with whimsical mystique. Every friggin' inch is dripping with beauty. Even the graffiti is breathtaking for crying out loud. Yep. My affair had begun.

Let me plead my case. Madrid, enchanting as all hell, is like Natalie Portman--sultry, classic, and charming. But, for those of you who have seen Black Swan, Portugal resembles Mila Kunis--the same attractive charm, but with an exotic, sexy flair. Natalie is gorgeous, but Mila is hot... Smokin' hot.

So, like my first middle school crush, I fell hard for Lisbon. Hard and fast.

Running on roughly three hours of sleep each, my roommate and I immediately dumped our bags in the hostel and scurried off like prepubescent school girls who just spotted Justin Bieber in a hotel parking lot--cameras, stupid smiles, and all (I may have let out a high-pitched squeal, but I swear it was involuntary). We explored the city, snapping touristy pictures and soaking in the thick afternoon air--actually enjoying getting lost, blaming our mishaps on our insatiable appetite to explore, justifying every wrong turn with the look-on-the-bright-side, "It's a learning experience!"

A word about navigation. A woman's ineptitude for direction is the only negative female stereotype I willingly attest to. We SUCK at navigating. My roommate, Yessica, and I probably walked eight extra miles due to our complete ignorance of a map. "Yeah yeah, we're going the right way... I remember seeing a blue building like five hours ago when we were walking at the opposite end of Lisbon. Oh FUCK but that building had shutters. This one doesn't have shutters. Okay, let's just lap the city one last time." It makes for interesting traveling experiences... Which I'll get to later.

Finally, we made it back to the hostel, showered, threw on some summer dresses, and headed on down to the hostel bar for happy hour (yes, this place has a bar). Yessica, bless her little soul, forgot her phone charger and waited in our room to charge her phone with the charger that our new friend, Peter from some tiny ass country in the Soviet Union, let her borrow. So I headed to the bar solo, plopped down in a bar stool and was greeted by the cutest damn thing I've ever seen in a bartender uniform--Vanessa.

A sex-ified Polly Pocket, Vanessa is about 4'9", brunette, and full of spunk. We instantly struck up conversation about everything from school, home, and traveling to cooking, music, and birthdays. Our personalities clicked (maybe because we're both Libras) and we arranged for me to go see her DJ that upcoming Friday at a local bar (as if she wasn't bad-ass enough... The bitch DJ's).

Side note: It's unbelievable how we (or at least I) rarely meet anyone of striking similarity during our familiar daily routine, but can connect with someone right off the bat halfway around the world who follows a completely different life pattern. Weird how shit works out.

Yep. This is the view from my hostel.

So, after learning how to roll my first cigarette with Vanessa on a bench overlooking the city across from our hostel, I met Yessica and our new friend Peter to venture the Lisbon streets for a quality Portuguese dinner. Peter, by the way, is the spitting image of Peter Pan--little with sculpted arms and legs, pointy ears, and a funny green hat.

We stumble upon an all-you-can-eat Portuguese buffet where we gorge ourselves with succulent pork and beef tenderloin, flaky fish and seafood, and exotic sauteed vegetables. Yessica and I gulp down a liter of white sangria and, about to pop, sleepily scuffle back to our hostel. We needed a good night's rest for the remaining debauchery we unknowingly had ahead of us...