When It Rains In Lisbon

The “coffee” machine in the hotel breakfast room doesn’t really make cappuccino. They call it that, but that’s not what it is. To be honest, I’m not entirely certain what it is, but I suspect hot chocolate, or maybe mocha.

None of this keeps me from having some, but I’m at least honest about what I’m having.

It rained today. A lot.

The morning actually started out dry, however, so I headed toward the center of town and the market. Today is Sunday, though, so the traditional market was closed. Instead I ended up next door at the Time Out Market, which is just a big food court.

I wandered around for a bit, perusing the offerings, ultimately heading back outside, because what I really wanted was an espresso.

Across the street, I found a kiosk selling espresso in the park, so went for it, all the while watching the weather forecast and knowing the clock was ticking.

I sat in the tent, nursing my espresso, considering next steps, and messing around with the settings for the camera on my phone.

That’s how I ended up with a bunch of pictures that look like this.

Having chosen an itinerary I went back into the now-crowded market and found myself a lunch of croquettes and beer.

As I walked to my next destination the rain began to fall. The plan had been to visit a church, but mass was being held, so it wasn’t a good time for tourism. Instead, I just walked faster toward my hotel. By the time I arrived the rain was growing steady, and eventually would become drenching (as I could see from my window).

I had anticipated that this might happen, and had already considered options. Those had included rushing from place to place, but instead I chose comfort, so found myself nested in my room for the day.

My hotel, I should note, has an interesting history. In former times the building housed a burlesque show, and the hotel was designed and decorated to feature that history.

That’s my room. When I chose the hotel I had mostly based the choice on the high ratings, moderate price, and good location, giving little thought to the decor. Had I paid more attention I might have stayed elsewhere, but honestly I’m glad I didn’t – it’s a great hotel. It’s just not a place to bring the kids.

Late in the evening, with the sun set and the last light fleeing to the horizon, the weather abated and I was ready for dinner. I found a small family-run restaurant a few blocks away and went for it. The roast goat was gamey and delicious, and the charcuterie board was perfect.

Best of all I got to speak with the family, as I was the only customer. We spoke in Italian, which is interesting, because in Portugal they do very well with Italian, whereas in Spain they looked at me like I had bugs crawling out of my eyes. I don’t know why this is, but to my ear Portuguese is in many senses more similar to Italian than I would have expected. And it also sounds a lot like Sicilian.

Having overeaten by a good amount I headed back to the hotel and checked the weather forecast. Morning rain, then sun.

Tomorrow will be a better day.

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