Confessions

Forgive us, for we have travel sinned.  We cheated.  Twice.  Well, technically, three times, but I've never been technical, so only twice.  You see, we're sort of "travel snobs".  We pride ourselves on getting off the beaten path, only taking what we can carry on our backs (although our backpacks are pretty darn huge), eating national dishes even if we're not quite certain what we're putting in our mouths, staying in pensions and guest houses that help us meet people and make relationships and get more insights in to the culture . . . you get the idea.  But sometimes we make exceptions.  Lisbon has been the city of exceptions.   I'll blame, at least in part, my health.  In Coimbra my bodyaches became a knot in my chest which moved to my throat which turned into a two-day fever.  So when we arrived in Lisbon and the first pension I visited resulted in no answer (in spite of climbing all four double-flights of stairs), I was sort of done.  And there was a temperature-controlled, noise-proof hotel room with a rooftop pool right there.  And the price was still in double digits, not triple.  And did I mention I had a fever?  So we caved.   Confession one.

Confession two:  We've sort of marveled at the fact that everyone here stays so thin when we rarely see vegetables or fruits on the menu and there's a pastry shop every 25 yards.    And, as if to further justify the choice of delicate, flaky, fresh bakery over greens, the veggies that are on the menu are usually canned and mushy.  [Note to self and readers:  when in Portugal, skip the Asparagus in Spanish Sauce.  As best we could tell, the Spanish Sauce was mayonaise with canned shredded carrots and parsley.   And the asparagus was canned too.]  So we were desperate for a salad.  We did a few shopping sprees for fruits and veggies at a corner market or two, but we craved salad.  So, once again, we caved.  Twice.  In between our multitude of pork and potato and fish-filled meals at authentic Portugese establishments, we succumbed to the Sirens' Song of Salad and snuck in to a corner table, surreptitiously and guiltily relishing our greens at the (gulp!) Hard Rock Cafe.  Ok, so one time we hid in the corner; the second time we might have actually sat on the stage.  But those anti-Cobb Salads, overflowing with color and crunch were worth every second of guilt.   And we resisted buying the t-shirt.

Coming soon:  The List of Blessings and Beautiful Moments and People that Come from Getting Off the Beaten Path