The hotel room seemed to be getting smaller and smaller every day. Today was another Saturday and if memory served, this would be the fourth Saturday spent in this place, waiting for something to happen. The long history of what had brought me to Lisbon, a city I had not known before, started back in 1997 and had brought me here via long, similar stays in Zurich, New York City, London, and other places. That story probably merits a place of its own, but only once it is completely finished. For now, it will suffice to know that my arrival in Lisbon had been some 4 weeks before and since then, my daily routine consisted of breakfast, telephone calls, internet café visits, local street walking, and a late lunch at the hotel cafeteria, where the cost of the food was covered by my hotel room fee, and an occasional visit and/or trip with the friend who had received me at the airport and brought me to the hotel. He was part of the reason for my wait, since some of the issues pending had to be resolved by him and these were nowhere close to being so resolved. Every day there was a new reason for further waiting, and every day the relatively meager resources I had dwindled further.
This particular Saturday I simply refused to stay at the hotel or to just walk the streets. Besides, there are only so many times you can visit a shopping center –even one with piano music being played and with many very nice stores to see- when there is no money to be spent there. The streets of Lisbon are fairly empty on summer weekends since most everyone will head out to the beaches, to their summer places, or to family homes in the countryside. Also, it was fairly hot and not conducive to much aimless walking. My knowledge of the city was really reduced to the immediate 4 square miles or so (within walking and not getting lost distance), and I knew there was much more to see in this very old and beautiful capital city.
I asked the lady at the front desk to direct me to where I could go on an inexpensive Saturday day trip, a place to which I could take the beautiful metro system (inexpensive and very efficient) and she mentioned the International Park. This is on the outskirts of town and had been built to host an international festival some years before, having remained as an attraction–like park on the shore of the river. There were usually ongoing shows, there were also exhibits to see and many restaurants, including several “fast food” (read: cheap) ones. So, with her map in hand I headed to the nearest metro station and took the appropriate line and knew that, at the final stop, there would be the park.
The trip took about 35 minutes and 6 stops. When we were at the park, all who were left on the train went out so I, very intelligently, followed suit and found myself at the entrance to the park. One very nice surprise which had not been part of the information: it was free to enter. This meant I could actually use some of the funds I had with me and buy lunch there. But this would be later on. After I sort of triangulated the station’s location, so as to be able to find it on the way back, I shouldered my backpack and headed into the park, getting swallowed by the steady stream of people going in.
Sure enough, there were many things to see and some concerts going on. The maritime museum, not as big as some of the ones we have here, but nice and tidy, with many examples of the local fish and water fauna. The concert at the bandshell was being offered by a local rock/punk band and I remember there were some tunes I recognized as being Portuguese renditions of some of the international hits of the moment. They weren’t bad and it made for an entertaining hour or so. It was also very entertaining to see their fans, wearing their own version of the then current punkish outfits more commonly seen in the streets of London. As “theater” goes, it was fun to watch all this while listening to the music.
As the small crowd began to break up and the smaller groups now went their different ways, I headed further into the park, looking to find a place to park my bones and get something to eat and drink. The boards advertising the different restaurants began to spring up and, much to my surprise, there was the outline of what must be their concept of a Caribbean black woman: big, round, flowery mu-mu dressed black woman, with a towel like turban on her head and smoking a cigar in all her splendor; here she was inviting me to eat some “Cuban food”. WOW!! My mouth began to salivate and my stomach to rumble. I would go to the ends of this here park, but I would find this restaurant!! Rice… black beans… ground beef… fried sweet bananas… flan… Oh My!! My diet, since coming to this city, had centered on the every day fare which is mainly fish based; once in a while I would go to the mall’s cafeteria and by some sort of wrap. But these really did not have the taste to satisfy someone raised in Cuba and living in Miami…
More tomorrow...
Be Well!
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