I’m currently sitting at my first Hostel stop at Hub New Lisbon. There Is an elderly man playing a fender acoustic guitar and the name of the song is titled Cranberries. I could tell he enjoyed my presence because he was excited when I asked to sit down to listen to what appeared to be something he had been crafting for so long.
I begin to recall the past three days I have spent here. From The Poets Triangle that held in bronze Chiado, Pessoa, and Camoes to The Patriarchal Church of Lisbon. From the Castel of Sao Jeorge, to the Church of Sao Roque…this has been an eye opening journey to say the least.
From the overthrow of what once was a Fascist-controlled government to some of the lowest crime rates recorded in the world…I have never felt more safe-Lets not mention the pickpockets, random hash dealers, and the common store clerk trying to make a quick buck.
In the beginning, This land was once controlled by the Romans. After some time the Arabic’s found there way to colonization. Through the Aid of the Catholic Crusades some few hundred years ago the city of Lisbon stands in front of or eyes. The Portuguese are a short, stout, and proud people who take pride in superstition and the happening of the great illumination of its people.
This man looks at the cheap black-strapped wrist watch in front of him and begins to pack up. His worn face looks ecstatic to be on time. He is in a rather big hurry to his next adventure lying right outside of the hostels double-pained door. I didn’t say much to this man. But we have a great deal more in common that I would care to admit.
We are one in the same. We are both chasing our next grand adventure… Wherever that might be only the souls of our shoes will tell us.