So at night, all of the shuttered storefronts transform into bars with live music and booming nightclubs. Portland’s social youth get dressed up and pour onto the streets. And the ruckus doesn’t scare away the homeless people. They hang out and watch or go to sleep right there on the sidewalk in front of the club.
At 1am, I visited Voodoo Doughnut and found the line around the block. Are the doughnuts really that good?
That last night before leaving, I didn’t go to sleep. It was a mad crush of house chores, laundry, and packing. Somehow, perhaps irresponsibly, I managed to condense two month’s worth of essentials into a single suitcase. We shall see how that works out for me.
My flight to Portland was with Southwest, an airline I’ve had some problems with recently but compensated me with some travel vouchers. But the vouchers didn’t make me feel any better about the airline’s “no assigned seating” policy, which I find very frustrating. Just like the last time I flew Southwest, I found myself pacing up and down the aisle looking for a window or aisle seat, with each person looking at me awkwardly as they wondered if I would sit down next to them. When you choose not to sit next to them, do they take it personally? Or are they relieved? Or some weird combination of both? Alas, the best option was an aisle seat next to an athletic-looking guy with a massive, V-shaped upper body that surged over the armrest and invaded my space. He looked comfortable, but for me, acute scoliosis set in at 15,000 feet. That, and the emergency row seats don’t lean back. That, and my inflatable airline pillow became soggy and pathetic after about five minutes. Read the rest of this entry »
Over the last year, pictures in my Facebook feed of friends doing exciting things in exotic places started to get annoying. I would see them, most often on my computer at work, and reminisce about how I used to take those kinds of trips pretty regularly. But for the last three years, I’ve found myself at a job that offered the sad American standard of two weeks of paid time off a year. I’d been with the company long enough to earn the three weeks of PTO a year, but it still was not enough. After marriages and deaths and doctor appointments and a flood in your garage take chunks out of your vacation time, you’re left with a precious few days each year to actually enjoy yourself.
Suddenly, travel opportunities started presenting themselves. My mom told me she’d be visiting my sister in western Canada in July and asked if I’d like to meet her there. My friend Jerry made plans to go to Norway in September to visit his wife’s family and asked if I’d like to tag along. There’s a Croatia/Greece organized tour that I wanted to do that is only available to my age bracket through the end of this year. My friend Conrad, while discussing some of the tour options for Greece, said he’d always wanted to do some sort of sailing trip. Conrad has also always wanted to do Oktoberfest in Germany. I don’t enjoy beer, but I enjoy fests. The wheels started turning. Read the rest of this entry »
Woke up feeling a bit rough from last night’s partying and went to the kitchen to find some breakfast. Offerings were typical hostel fare: toast, cereal, slices of melon, and tea. I put together a plate and sat down to eat, cradling my pounding head between bites.
The dining room was overrun by German students on some sort of school trip. The typical high school mix: some were friends, some were loners, some were loud and obnoxious, some were quiet and shy. Easy to see who the popular ones were. After they left, an older woman with an accent I couldn’t place sat down next me and asked me if I was OK. Nice of her.
Fredy bounced into the room, grinning from ear to ear about this great Lisbon orientation walk he was going to take us on. I don’t know where he gets the energy. I collected myself, grabbed my camera bag, and headed out.
First was Bairro Alto, the historical center of the city that was first built up in the late 1400’s, right around when Columbus was discovering America. Take away the cars and power lines and tourists, and it’s easy to feel like it’s 500 years ago.
Lisboa, the Portuguese name for the city, is huge. The bus zipped through the industrial outskirts of the city, crossed the enormous delta of the Tagus River, and dropped us at the bus terminal. A couple of quick subway rides, and we were at our hostel in the heart of Lisbon.
I needed some me time. We’ve been together as a group for over two weeks now, and coordinating things with everyone and constantly maintaining a friendly smile takes a toll. With a few free hours to kill, I decided to wander around for a bit on my own, soaking in the sights and sounds and smells of the neighborhood.
Lisbon, or at least this part of town where we’re staying, has a good rustic feel, with charming little streets, wrought iron railings on balconies, and streetcars. A regular pattern of white stonework, which I think is just called Portuguese pavement, covers the ground pretty much everywhere here and also in Lagos.
I used TripAdvisor to find a little taverna, and feasted on super-spicy chicken wings and a few tiny lamb ribs.
Our next stop was Lagos (“LAH-gose”, also the name of Nigeria’s biggest city), a small beach town on the Atlantic coast of Portugal. I’m excited about Portugal. For me, it’s the wild card for this trip. I don’t know much about it other than it was a powerhouse during the age of exploration and that it spawned Brazil.
On the bus to Lagos, Fredy and I had a long conversation about his worst trips, his worst travelers, our aspirations, and differences between the Spanish and American way of life. He discussed how Americans value money above all else. He told me a story about a Spanish ticket collector he met at a train station who was appalled that his manager had asked him to work more hours for more money for doing his job so well. The man spent a lot of time with his family and enjoying life. He was happy. How could his manager not understand that more work and more money would take him away from the things that made him happy in life? Any American would have taken that promotion.
Something that I’m reminded of every time I travel abroad is that Americans might be the most unhappy people in the world. Fredy got my wheels turning when we talked about my own life situation, about where I want to be and what I want to be doing for work. Maybe I need a job that gives me a bit more travel or remote work flexibility. Maybe I need to work in the travel industry. Maybe I need to work for a company like G Adventures.
At the Portugal border, the police decided to stop our bus and do a passport check. They spent a few extra seconds scrutinizing Nader’s Egyptian passport.
Our hostel in Lagos is just down the road from the beach. You can see the ocean from the rooftop deck. I don’t think there’s a whole lot to do or photograph here (thank goodness). Definitely thinking that this will be the relaxing couple of days that we all needed.
As the sun came up, we entered the industrial outskirts of Seville. Again, I’m surprised how these places I’ve never heard of are legit cities.
We made our way to the historical center of Seville, and things started looking a lot like, well, the historical centers of Valencia, Granada, and just about every other Spanish city. This old town is particularly beautiful, with an enormous royal palace and cathedral right in the middle of it. As I took pictures, I almost got run over by a horse.
Overnight buses suck. I perfectly cantilevered my ass off the edge of the seat to achieve the lowest possible horizontal angle, but I still hardly slept. No amount of cantilevering made me comfortable for long enough to fall asleep. On top of that, the driver announced over the loudspeaker stops at random bus stations every hour or so. Not cool. The only good thing about the trip was the occasional glimpse of a giant, orange full moon hovering over the roadway ahead.
As sun came up, hills have way to mountains, and then we were in Granada. I’d never heard of Granada, but it’s a decent-sized city. Our hostel was in the historic part of town wedged between two mountains. Everyone was dragging pretty hard, but no time for resting. Off we went to do our orientation walk around historic Granada with Fredy.
Granada’s old town is charming, with a definite north African, Arabic influence to the architecture, people, and countless souvenir shops.
The bus rolled into Valencia, a full-fledged city. I had imagined something smaller because I’d never heard of it.
After dropping our bags, we headed straight to the beach for some much-needed relaxation before dinner. This beach is massive, as wide as a football field and as long as the eye can see. And with sand so fine, it feels like velvet when you walk on it.
After a quick stop at the pretty train station in Montpellier, France, we were back on the train to Spain.
My name is Jeff. I'm a photographer and web developer living in Alexandria, Virginia, USA.
