Strangely Portugal

Sagres

With all those stories about karma filled with emotion, I neglected to talk about my latest destination : Portugal.

If I say San Francisco is one of my favorite cities in the whole world (until now) and Lisbon reminds me of San Francisco, it shows how I like the place.

The expected heat didn't show up. A modest 28 degrees Celsius was a "cold" maximum in here. I also needed to put a sweater on in the evening because it got chilly.

But it seems the sun will make its magic happen in the next few days, since we expect temperatures around 37 and 40.

Other thing : a very important music festival, with Radiohead as a headliner, took place last week-end. Everybody was converging to the capital and was trying to find a bed in a hostel.

I, again, had no clue that was happening. But it wasn't the end of the world. I packed my belongings, visited three different hostels in Lisbon, and booked a bus ticket to Lagos, in the south.

It is a party city where youth and douchebags are kings. So Lagos doesn't make me feel particularly at home. But the walk I made from cliff to cliff was worth it. Beaches are beautiful and not as commercial as the ones I saw in Greece.

The next day, for my birthday, I went to Sagres, where is Cape Saint-Vincent, the most south-eastern point in Europe. It is very windy but the view is amazing. The only shadow came from the information desk, closed, on which I was counting to help me find something to do. It is closed on Sundays et Mondays. Like all tourists were taking days off on these particular days.

That said, why is Portugal that strange? Because of my visa story, first, which brought me the help of a total stranger.

Because of that old lady, too, who gave me directions to find the bus station. She answered in Portuguese with informations I knew weren't right, because she didn't get the question. She gave me a very passionate kiss on the cheek when I said "Thank you". 

For the pepople working in the tourist business, who are the less sympathetic people in the country.

For that other old lady I took directions from, who looked intimidated at first, but whose eyes lightened up when I mumbled centro, to say I wanted to find my way back downtown.

For all those dealers, twelve for every square meter, offering hasch, cocaine and marijuana to tourists. They won't take no as an answer. They will follow you to make sure you understood what they had to offer.

For those waiters in Lagos restaurant, laughing each time they looked at me, until one of them, shy, came to ask me if I was an actor.

For that man who sat next to me while I was looking at the national palace and who told me why he was visiting Portugal, without any introduction. He's from Dubaï and he gave me his email address, saying he would organize a trip for me when I get to Dubaï. All of that in six minutes and a half.

For that Thai girl, I met two hours later, who asked at what time the metro stopped. I brought her safely to the next metro station without even knowing her name.

And Portugal is strange because here, girls think I'm funny...

It takes all sorts of people to make a world.

A last time about karma

Sintra

Maybe I should shut up already...

But the next story might be of some interest. And it talks about my new favorite subject : karma.

So let's start where we left it : the lost luggages.

After a night without my luggages, I put on my only underwears, the same smelly socks, to try to get my visa for brazil. All I have is the address of the consulate. And a confidence which is not doing too well.

Because we'll say the truth : probabilities are against me. Not only because of my socks. It takes about 10 working days to get a visa for Brazil. At least in other countries. About Portugal, I found nothing on the "simple" consulate website. All I know is I'm supposed to fly in seven working days.

I get there around 10 AM. The place is full like the hospital waiting room. And as chaotic. I end up getting, from the security guard, who doesn't speak english, that the visa requests must be handed on the second floor.

There, the room is full too. There are people with numbers. People waiting for I don't know what. I don't know what to do in that confusion.

I go back down and the security guard, still unable to answer my questions, send me to the information desk. The line is long and moves slowly.

After some sights (because it takes a long time and it's hot in Portugal with jeans on), the woman behind me talks to me. She understands english but hardly speaks it. I tell her I wish the woman at the desk speaks or at least understands english.

We start chatting. She looks unsure when I tell her my flight is booked for next Wednesday, even if I don't have my visa yet. Thanks for the encouragement.

My turn.

Like I anticipated, the very not sympathetic woman at the desk doesn't speak english. She gives me a piece of paper, circling words in portuguese and she calls the next client. Thanks for the compassion, Miss!

Except the woman behind me won't let that happen. Oh no! Oh, hell no! Because she's a lawyer.

She gets next to me and explains I needed an appointement to hand my visa request. Me, I don't have an appointement, because I didn't find that information in a language I could understand, even if I made some researches.

The lawyer tells me to follow her. Together, we go up to the next floor and she asks to talk with someone in charge, explaining my situation. What helps is that I already filled all the papers needed for my request (one of them was a form online).

After a serious discussion, the man says I can get to the desk in ten minutes.

That is when the lawyer, whose name I didn't even get to ask, hugs me and leaves wishing me luck. I hope she'll ask for the beer or the meal I owe her one day, if she ever finds me back.

At the desk, the woman offers me the face of the day, the one saying "sorry, can't do anything", when she finds out I have no appointement. But I'm not moving. I repeat I was told to wait there. I haven't sweat in my only clothes, in a room without any fresh air, to be shown the door two hours later.

It worked. A little cooperation.

Forms filled, I was told my visa would be ready... in two days!

Haaaaaalllllelujah! (Can you hear the bells?)

Yes, yes, yes, I went two days later and the visa was ready. Going to Brazil on Wednesday! Who said it was complicated to get that visa for Brazil?

In the mean time, karma caught me for that big luck. My fifth sunglasses, bought right when I walked out of the consulate, did beat a mediocrity record by commiting suicide less than 24 hours after the beginning of our relation. Direction : trash!

The king is dead, long live the king! I now am wearing my sixth sunglasses. Wish me luck!

The Story of The Lost Luggages

Lisbon

I should have shut my mouth!

I should have shut up with my karma stories. Like I said in my past message, when you spit in the wind, it falls back on you. But I'll have a second story that should balance it all. Which would prove I don't know what to think at all about karma.

After saying all those good things about Helsinki airport, I boarded my flight to Prague like I was supposed to. It looks like a stopover of one hour, on my way to Lisbon, was enough for me to walk from gate C4 to gate C7 (about 50 meters), in the airport, but that the luggage handlers needed at least 12 hours more to send my stuff in the right place. Looks like the distance to fill was longer in their kart.

When I got to Lisbon, with the not so good company TAP, the landing was rough. We were 30 minutes late. And while everybody was waiting next to the conveyor, the intercom said it would take 15 more minutes for the luggages to get there. Maybe they needed more time to process that rough landing.

That is where I said to myself : it would be the worst time ever to lose my luggage.

Déjà-vu!

I should have shut up in my head.

I told myself the exact same thing in San Francisco airport two years ago. Magic, that is when my bag went missing the first time, going to New York even if I wasn't traveling through that city.

Feels like my brain felt something was wrong. No luggage.

«Have you looked on the over-sized conveyor?» they ask me.

Sorry! When I said I lost an elephant, I really meant a backpack...

Time goes by. And my luggage is finally declared lost. The computer doesn't tell where it is. Because it's true that if they didn't have enough time to transfer my bag in Prague, four hours later, they probably didn't have time to enter the information in the computer.


By chance, all my valuables were in my hand luggage. But not my tooth brush. No clothes either.

The airline gave me an emergency kit made for women. (with no sexism intended)

Yeah! I got bleaching deodorant with woman perfume in it, a thing to have nice nails, a hairbrush, moisturizing cream, shampoo but no soap. And laundry soap (thanks, but you lost my clothes, so I won't need it) and cotton pieces to wash make-up from one's face. Oh, and an extra-large t-shirt and a toothbrush.

At the hostel where I'm staying (the excellent Goodnight Hostel), they confirm that they call regularly for lost luggages with TAP. Did I recommend not to take TAP?

Next morning, the staff call for me to know where the search is at. I hear them use the words puta and stupido. I let you translate.

Twelve hours after arrival, they still don't know where they lost my bag. But TAP believes it might be in Prague because it left Helsinki like it was meant to be.

Congrats for the deduction! I could have told you as I was getting out of the plane. It is as obvious as the nose in the face, like we say in french.

I had to go buy short pants, because Portugal with jeans is a little too hot. Money wasted.

In the evening, the company finally called to say they would deliver my luggage during the night. 

TAP? Never again... but the flight I booked already for Brazil.

Should have waited before booking with them again.