Dropping a deuce...

I arrived at the Hotel Lisboa Plaza (a stately old world place - think the Benson only European size).  I took a shower and now i'm sitting here in a t-shirt and sweats in my room. It's good to feel HUman again.  The trip started on Wednesday, when bro-in-law PV picked me up on the early side (we heard Biden was coming to town and roads would be blocked) and transported me to PDX.  Three hours early allowed my to bite off a big chunk of GREAT PLAINS by Ian Frazier. A good read.. thanks HB.

Flew Delta direct to AMS - paid extra for the Economy Plus, which I enjoyed. The plane was not full, so perhaps I could have had more room in the back, but that's the roll of the dice.  Sat next to Sue, a woman from the Dry Shitties (that's Tri-Cities for the uniniated). She was heading home to Birmingham, UK to visit her brother who has cancer.  effing cancer.  Haven't we all had enuf of that.  The flight was uneventful, but long.  10+ hours. The drugs never did kick in, so I never got any sleep, except for maybe 20 mins here and 15 mins there.  That sucked.  When you are traveling by yourself, you can't get "too far gone", because you have no backstop.  So no booze and a couple of prescribed anti anxiety drugs took the edge off, but that was about it.  Of course, it seems like every hour and a half, they are feeding you something, so you stay pretty busy.

We arrive in AMS and now I have a three hour layover.  Around 11 am, I decide to get some good food in my system, so I order a caesar salad with anchovies and a glass of Sancerre at a fish house called Bubbles.  If BB would have been there, I just would have got the 750ml Tattinger champagne... but c'est la vie.  He's back in PDX dicking around selling houses when we should be on the road, eating and drinking our way across Europe!! (thot i'd give you a plug, B!)

Now it starts getting good.  I catch the 12:50 to Lisbon, which is a 3 hour flight on a Boeing 737.  Its packed... I try to sleep, but no joy.  I've been up way too many hours to count... and now I've got this intestinal rumbling going on.  I head to the rear of the plane, wait 5 minutes and get into the restroom, which is the size of a Sucrets box.  I can barely turn around in it.  I plant my fat American ass on the child-trainer-sized toilet seat and I have an experience that my daughter refers to as "not so solid gold".  Oh, isn't traveling fun.  I return to my seat - and then repeat the process one hour later.  We finally land in LIS, another trip to the airport john (are we having fun yet?)  

It's raining here... maybe 65 degrees with a little more humidity than PDX.  I hail a cab and he delivers me to the hotel w/o one word of english spoken.  $15, as advertised.  

So, why Portugal.  Timing mainly.  Cancer in the family (in remission), which eliminated my normal travel crew. Good reports from L&Y.  And... a homecoming of sorts.  In 1971, I was stationed in the Azores (Portugese islands to the west).  One weekend we flew a plane to Lisbon to enjoy the sights.  Of course, we were stoned the entire time, so all I remember is eating ice cream with little spoons that resembled shovels.   So I am here by myself thru Monday, at which time I join a Rick Steves tour.  I will now attempt to download a pic of my room.

Later...