North to Lisboa

In the night the Argentinian hosteller snored like an outboard engine starting. An inconsiderate motorcyclist gunned his engine on a nearby street. It was a rainy morning. I think Lagos was telling me to get a move on. I had breakfast with S, then we said goodbye. I felt an anticlimax after the pleasant and undemanding interlude in Lagos. The bus retraced the route I came by with a change at Albufeira. There was a lunch stop at the same place as the trip south.


From Saldanha I caught a metro to Picoas. The hostel was just steps away from the entrance. There were music videos playing in the lobby. The place was clean but less conducive to meeting people. A sudden shower started after I arrived. There was traffic chaos outside. I was glad I had taken the earlier bus. But I was hungry because I only had figs and walnuts for lunch.


I found my dinner at Alfaia. I chatted with a British couple at the next table. R and G were librarians from Wales, though G had turned to social work, but were quite adventurous and had been to Nepal. They were interested in the Internet especially and its effect on libraries. The trend towards economic rationalisation concerned them. I shared a drink and conversation with them in Baixa.


I got back to the hostel just before closing time. The Argentinian had also arrived, but fortunately wasn't in my dorm.