Tarts, Traffic, and Takeoff: Lisbon’s Last Hurrah
Slow lifts and morning feasts
The lifts in this hotel have a very relaxed attitude toward urgency. Getting from our third-floor room to level “-2” for breakfast took nearly ten minutes. Luckily, the food was plentiful once we got there—so no complaints, just mild elevator-induced hunger.
Bus roulette begins
Conveniently, we were near the first hop-on hop-off stop. Less conveniently, there were four different routes. We went with the one that looped past the marina and up to the castle. It was a mini bus, not the big double-decker kind, and the full circuit took about 1.5 hours... assuming you weren’t gridlocked in Lisbon’s love affair with traffic.
Two quick Lisbon lessons:
- Locals love honking horns.
- Station wagons are in.
Castle chaos and bump patrol
The closer we got to the castle, the narrower the streets became—like, “I’m amazed we didn’t scrape a wall” narrow. A couple of traffic standoffs later, a bystander with a beer played part-time traffic controller, telling someone off so we could finally get past. Then our driver floored it uphill.
Ros and I were at the very back—excellent for rollercoasters, terrible for buses. We hit a few bumps and left our seats entirely—twice. We held on for dear life after that.
Hot dogs and slanted seats
Back at the starting point, a book fair in the park beckoned. We grabbed food—Ros a kebab-like thing, me a hot dog with... potato chips? The picnic tables were perched on a slope. I didn’t notice. My hot dog rolled, my chips flew, and my dignity scattered somewhere under the table.
We regrouped and debated our next move: a scenic bus to a nearby town, or one that took us to Lisbon’s famed pastry shop. Spoiler: pastries won.
Sweet detours and Déjà Vu Elvis
It took about an hour to get to the right part of Lisbon, during which we heard about the devastating 1700s tsunami (cheerful stuff). We saw signs on buildings advising residents to flee uphill in case of another one. Always reassuring.
Just before our stop, we passed the pastry shop, hopped off at the next one, and walked back. Along the way—Elvis! For the third city in a row, we heard someone performing “Can’t Help Falling in Love”. Different instruments, different musicians, exact same song. What are the odds?
The great tart incident
Inside the pastry shop—surprisingly enormous inside—we ordered six custard tarts and drinks. The system was slick: seat one area, serve, clean, repeat. Then chaos struck.
A waiter startled our waitress mid-coffee delivery. The result: coffee airborne. It landed mostly on the floor, but also on my jumper and backpack. No hard feelings—just an unexpected steaming souvenir.
The tarts though? Perfection. I now understand the driver’s wisdom: “Eat one, eat two, eat three.” I tapped out at two.
Bus mix-ups and the Aussie connection
Getting back was trickier. We found a bus stop, missed a red one, trekked to another. A yellow bus showed up (wrong company), then a red one... also the wrong company. Who knew there were two red bus operators? Not us.
An Aussie couple next to us confirmed we were waiting for the same one. We finally boarded and rode 45 minutes back—though it felt like 90.
Home stretch: bogan bliss
It was another long day by the time we got back to the hotel and we were absolutely stuffed. We couldn’t be bothered going out to dinner nor getting anything delivered. Instead, we did the quintessentially Australian bogan thing to do – Hungry Jack’s aka Burger King and champagne.
Tomorrow: Scenic Eclipse. Tonight: The Simpsons and How I Met Your Mother with Spanish subtitles lulling us to sleep.
