Portugal is one of my favorite places in the entire world. Granted, when Bam and I first arrived we found ourselves in a couchsurfer's home that lied about his age (which is fine), but he would not stop grabbing my ass, staring at my chest, or trying to get us to drink. So we bailed (by pretending our friends surprised us and were outside waiting...) and tried our luck at a hostel. When that hit the fan, (due to no vacancies) we held our breath and really hoped our bank accounts had enough for the night - we took a cab to a somewhat tourist part of the city (which tends to be more expensive, but better for those inexperienced travelers). I should also mention, inexperienced-young-women who were scared-of-being-put-into-difficult-situations-after-dark, travelers. 

We went to Baixa-Chiado.  We knocked on the heavy doors of the Poets Hostel. The BEST fucking hostel I've ever set foot in. I made so many friends here, loved the fucking bar crawls, loved their food, and ended up staying there for most of our trip. I'm not going to lie. One of the reasons I loved Portugal so much, is because of a person. Places do that to me. I find love with the people I find there. 

I made a friend who worked at the hostel. He graciously took us into his home once we had to leave (because we had to save our money for the trip home!). He drove us all around the city, and showed us the oldest book store (Bertrand Bookstore) with books more expensive than anything I'll ever own, and really shouldn't be touched. 

It was a touching experience to make friends in another part of the world. I loved the Poet's Hostel. I wrote them a poem goodbye.

Phone Call

The sound of your voice

travels through signals

transmitting a love

dentro de mi corazón.

Until the moment ends

and our transmission is over

 I'm left with my own misconceptions

on the back of my eyelids

Islands of words

with no where to go.

I look to the ocean

and drop them into sea foam.

We all know

the same type of lonely.

At the time, my heartbreak was kind of replaying in the back of my mind on repeat. It was all, 'hey, remember how you wanted to share these moments with that person you thought was super important to you? Well, yeah it looks like they're not that important anymore, right? Maybe not.'

Lisbon is layered with history and an unforgettable sense of wanderlust disguised as romance. When I was traveling here I was always high off of everyone else's stories. One that stuck with me was Fernando Pessoa. A Lisbon raised poet born in 1888, he is one of the most astounding characters I have ever learned of. Especially considering he created seventy-five of them as pseudonyms/characters/heteronyms for other works and pieces of his.

“The frightful reality of things

Is my everyday discovery. ”

— ALBERTO CAEIRO (FERNANDO PESSOA) TRANSLATED BY EDOUARD RODITI