The next morning I was fighting jet lag and a mild hangover. I had to leave the hostel at 7 AM (1 AM Milwaukee time) to take a group kayaking tour to Lagos, a region just south of Lisbon. The meeting point was about a ten minute walk from my hostel. As I walked through the quiet streets the sky was turning from purple to blue and the streets were quiet. Street cafes were opening their gates, setting up tables, and the warm smell of salt filled the air.
The tour meeting point was just outside of a food market. I arrived earlier than I expected and went inside to browse. A cool mist and the smell of dirt lingered in the air from the vendors rinsing off their produce with hoses. As I was nearing the end of an aisle I spotted a small cafe, where I strode over to grab a coffee to help with last nights recovery.
Back at the meeting point, a guide was holding a sign for the tour. I was piled in a van with three hilarious girls from New York City, two “neighbors” from Chicago, a solo traveler from Houston, and another solo traveler from the Bahamas. I never had so much fun in a van ride, especially that early in the morning.
Once we were set on the kayaks, we paddled along the sharp coast. Large outcroppings of rock were almost white in color with perfectly straight ridges patterned along the face. The water was a turquoise blue and cold, but felt refreshing from the perspiration we accumulated from paddling. Dolphins came just feet away from our kayaks which is a rare and exciting site to see.
After a few hours of exploring, we set up camp on a beach and ate lunch. Delicious salads, handmade bread, and brownies were devoured quickly. As we were digesting and hanging out, I soaked up some sun and my surroundings. I kept thinking to myself “I can’t believe I am actually here”. It truly felt like a dream.
When we got back to Lisbon, we were all sad to leave one another because our group bonded so quickly. Once we exchanged our social media, we said our “see you later”s.
Three bottles of water and a solid nap later, it was dinner time. With no other plans tonight besides the hostel pub crawl, I dressed up and took myself out to dinner. Once again I am wandering the cobblestone streets with my dress flowing behind me. I found myself a spot outside at a seafood restaurant. I position myself to people watch along the pedestrian street as the waiter gives me a glass of white wine.
There was something empowering about this moment. I have always taken pride in being independent. From living on my own to taking myself out to dinner, this solo trip definitely takes the cake. This independent feeling was different from my other feats before, and one that I definitely want to taste again. Now back to dinner…
I twisted my fork in the seafood pasta I ordered. A thin red sauce mixed with shrimp, scallops, and muscles (I think) burst with fantastic flavor in my mouth. I washed it down with another glass of wine and braced myself for the bill. As I was waiting, a table of four was sat next to me, I had no doubt they were Scottish. Their accent is one I have only heard on TV, and it was honestly surreal hearing it in person. “So they really do talk like that” I thought. I replied to that thought “Well no sh*t Rachel”. I smiled down at my hands.
When the bill arrived I almost fell over in my chair at the price–and not in the way you are thinking. Two generous glasses of wine, and a seafood packed entree was 23 euros, AND the dollar and euro were even at the time, so essentially 23 dollars…for all of that! AND I wasn’t even trying to be cheap! Back home that would cost almost triple. I wanted to hug the waiter I was so happy.
Later that night I joined the hostel pub crawl. I had the expectation that it was going to be like the previous night, but it was far from that. I put on a purple cocktail dress met up with everyone in the upstairs lounge for drinking games. Some people were there from the night previously, but some were new and from Brazil, Australia, and New Zealand.
We hopped from bar to bar laughing, dancing, and taking shots. The morale was high, the music was good, and my new friends were hilarious. I was quick to learn that I was a “Yank” because I was so American…I’m like “duh guys because I am!”. I was also quick to learn that it’s a thing in Australia/NZ that you need to do a “shoey” at least once while out. Since I didn’t know what that was, someone gladly demonstrated by taking off his shoe, pouring his beer into it, and then proceeded to drink the beer out of his shoe. After the shoey demonstration each one of us took turns drinking out of our shoes. When it came to me I looked down at my sandals. Everyone awwed in disapproval. “I’ll make it work” I said smugly. I then proceeded to take off my sandal, tip it up toward my mouth, and poured my gin and tonic down the sole for me to sip from. “She isn’t a Yank anymore!” one said.
We then danced to “Higher Love” By Whitney Houston and Kygo
