My suitcase returned, looking very sheepish. Actually, I had to collect it from the airport, as there’s no way to get a delivery where I’m staying.
I’m in Alfama, an older part of Lisbon where everything is uphill. Vehicle traffic impossível. So I wandered down the hill and grabbed an Uber. Several hours and multiple queues (take a ticket, wait your turn) later, I lugged the prodigal one up the hill to my little apartment. The rough cobbles wouldn’t allow wheeling, so it was quite the workout. The suitcase got there in good shape, me less so.
I had a restrained first day in Lisbon. It being a Sunday, things were quiet, at least until the afternoon when the locals set up the sound system formerly owned by Billy Thorpe and The Aztecs 50mm from my front door. I was treated to several hours of P-Pop, which is the Iberian equivalent of K-pop only louder and more banal. I cowered on my lounge, turned my headphones to eleven, and listened to Leonard Cohen’s Avalanche. ”I stepped into an avalanche, it covered up my soul...” That showed ‘em.
When I did venture out (after chaining my errant suitcase to the bathtub) it was drizzling. I managed a walk around the neighbourhood, accidentally buying beer along the way. I’m drinking it now.
Saúde.