Lisbon

Arriving in Lisbon was a very bittersweet moment. On the one hand, it meant that our trip was almost over. On the other hand, it meant that our trip was almost over. Rolling in on day 15, both Maureen and I were a bit punch drunk. We were both exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. GPS lady directed us straight to the hotel, which delighted me to no end. The thought of driving in circles in downtown Lisbon in search of a Sheraton was really the last thing I wanted to do.

We decided that the best way to plan our last stop was to do the bus tours on Sunday afternoon, the tram tour on Monday and then spend our last day luxuriating on the beach. So, we got all of our sightseeing done on Monday and Tuesday, and we saw everything there was to see of the city: two bus tours, a street car tour and a trip to the top of the Sta. Justa elevator (as well as the extra bit up a spiral staircase to the upper tower, which freaked both of us out just a bit). The only thing we did not do was the river tour, but we did that in Porto, and frankly, as nice as it was in Porto, I am just not sure that it added much to our understanding of the city. To spend the time and the money in Lisbon would probably have been a colossal waste.

On Tuesday, our penultimate day, we slept in a little, and decided to be out the door by 11 and on the beach by noon. I looked up on the internet "Lisbon beaches" and found out that Santubal and Portinho were two nice beaches a short distance from Lisbon. We set off in search of sand and sun.

The GPS lady was not all that helpful. Although she asserted that she knew where she was sending us, she was just confused most of the time: "turn half right in 300 meters, now turn left." At one point, close to Santubal, we just turned her off. By 12:45 we were pulling up to Santubal and there was absolutely no place to park. There were cars lining both sides of the very narrow state road which hugged the coast. We decided that, surely, there would be a better place further along. Sure enough, we came to Portinho and followed another narrow lane to a parking lot, which was (of course) packed. It was then that we realized that it was August and all of Europe was on vacation. It would be fairly unlikely to find anyplace off the beaten path to park and sun.

So, resigned that we were not finding a great undiscovered gem of a beach, we decided to return to Lisbon and try to find a beach closer to home base. "ESTORIL! Why did I not think of that before??" We plugged Estoril into the GPS and our lady began to direct us back to civilization. Upon arrriving in Estoril, we kept our eyes peeled for a beach. How hard could it be...? It is a beach town on the coast! But, I will tell you, gentle reader, it is a lot harder than you might think. You cannot see the coastline from the car, you just see water. We went as far as Cascais and decided to turn back. It was on our way back that we spotted a parking lot above a small beach. We drove in and found a spot almost immediately. The beach was reached by a very steep, skinny, stone staircase leading to a small bathing area. We threw down our towels at 2:25, just 2 and a half hours past our originally established ETA.

I was so excited to see sand and water that I headed right for the ocean. Upon reaching the edge, I noticed that there was no sand in the water: it was all rocks. I was immediately gutted. This was absolutely the last kind of beach that the girl with the titanium plate in her leg would want to swim in. Tentatively, I very gingerly took half steps until I was able at least to get in as far as my mid thigh. The water was cold and clear. It was really a gorgeous spot. I wish I could have been more confident in my footing, enough to step a little further out so I could stand waist deep.

I came back in and plopped down on my towel. The heat was overpowering, the sun blistering. However, we baked under the cloudless sky for three hours, getting some really good sun. By about 5:30, we decided to pack it in, since we needed to get back and pack it up at the hotel.

Rather than take the highway home, we decided to take the national road, the N6 and follow the coastline back to Lisbon. About 5 minutes past our rocky beach, we looked down and saw exactly what we had been looking for: a traditional, sandy beach, with lots of parking across the street, without having to scale the side of the cliffs to reach our patch of ground. "Son of a bitch..."

Maureen, ever the optimist, just replied: "Well, at least we know for next time."

Yes. Next time. Now that our trip has come to a close, and we can look back, I am reminded of what Vivetta wrote to me just yesterday. She said, "All good things must come to an end, but with such lovely vacations, you will carry with you the memories of all you have seen and done all year long."

She is right. I will carry with me every part of this trip all year. It will sustain me when things get rough. It will console me when I am feeling trapped. And, the thought of "next time" will save me when I am feeling restless. Next time, indeed.