Camino Portugues Day 2: Which Part of the Sardine

—LISBON

"Well it doesn't help that I'm wearing khakis." This, spoken by an American man holding a large camera, walking down a Friday night street in Lisbon. 

Amen brother, I said to myself. For just as he said it, while our shoulders passed each other, I had been thinking — good lord everyone here looks cool AF and I look like I just stepped out of the sale section of an LL Bean Catalogue. 

I don't know if anyone has figured out how to be comfortable, organized and look cool, but I can only accomplish one, MAYBE two of those at one time. I can't be sure, maybe it's my clunky hiking boots, my pastel wind breaker, or the utility passport wallet I'm carrying, but all of the shop keepers I've interacted with have automatically addressed me in English, bless their sweet hearts. I still make an attempt at the Portugues words I'm learning, which earns me the patient smile/nod/head tilt, but we both know — this girl is new here. I may not be wearing khakis, but everything I am wearing and doing is basically the khaki of whatever that thing is. But I AM comfortable, and so, so SO organized. 

Speaking of which, I had a short to do list here in Lisbon. Food, nap, but most importantly, Credencial del Peregrino -- the passport for pilgrims walking to Santiago. I had to go to five churches, but I finally found one. I'll officially start collecting stamps tomorrow in Tomar, when I start walking. For now, lots of blank pages to fill. 

As for a nap, I went and checked into my hostel, which is located in the train station via which I actually arrived in downtown Lisbon. I'm not going to tell you how long I walked around downtown Lisbon before finding the hostel back in the train station. I will tell you that I started my relationship with these fine people by failing to properly operate a door. (Ring bell, unlock, enter.) Instead I rang, pulled, rang, pulled, rang, pulled until a kind older gentleman came over and gently pushed the door in the other direction. Yes, all the signs were in Englsh. I also had to get a replacement ID bracelet within 20 minutes of arriving. I'm not impressing anyone today. 

But more interestingly, a hostel in a train station is a great idea. 

And food? Here we come to the title of this post. Along the rua Augusta there are outdoor restaurants, all with young men holding menus showing large bright pictures of seafood plates that could be yours if you would just take a seat please miss and have a little something. I was offered fish and weed more times today than I could possibly count. I finally did take one of them up on the food, and sat down to order some local fare. I chose a plate of sardines and fresh vegetables. I also noticed that one of the women sitting next to me had ordered the same thing. Not sure what the etiquette was on whole sardines, I watched her closely to see how she ate it. Bite the whole thing? Just dig out the meat? Peel the skin? Just the tail? Put it in your pocket and eat it in your bunk alone later? I wasn't sure. My food arrived at about the time I reached my limit of comfortably staring at a stranger while she eats. So I went for it. 

What I found was that whole sardines are an adventure not unlike Sean Connery movies. You really want it to be good, the anticipation is terribly enticing, great marketing, the presentation decent, and in the end parts of it turn out really fantastic, while inevitably some of it's a hard no. I actually thought that in my head after taking a bite of meat with a large portion of black congealed maybe blood or liver on it — yeah that's a hard no, I thought as I swallowed. To be fair, I'm not sure how much of the organs and congealed stuff I was supposed to eat. The woman kept turning her head away from me so I couldn't tell. Weird. I can say the meat was good, and the fried skin was one of the best things I've eaten in a while. So, regarding sardines, I choose the skin. Fried, with sweet vinegar.

Obligatory food picture:

Finally, I offer some of my more favorite observations of the day. 

A woman making her husband pose for a picture with an artistic gelato cone. But a very specific pose, tongue out, paused, making eye contact, taking several pictures to get it just right. Which was impossible because it's a weird thing to do. I tried to recreate it but all the pictures are really disturbing and I felt like I was just becoming the guy with the ice cream AND his picture taking wife all in one, creeping other passers by out, perpetrating this vicious cycle of bad pictures, and I was like, this ends HERE, you know?  

Two stressed out looking young dudes wearing very, very new-looking backpacks covered in hastily attached Canada flag patches. 10 bucks says they're from Oregon and their moms sewed those patches on. 

That this merry go round, and the entire weird store it's part of, is dedicated entirely to the rich and apparently whimsical local history of sardines. 

The posted "outdoor urinal" in the city center that was really just two half walls, a drain and what I imagine to be an aura of regret. 

The first church I walked into, which was Iglesia de Santa Maria Magdalena, and quite lovely. 

And finally, while I find picture taking to be almost as burdensome as looking at other people's pictures, I found today that I did enjoy taking pictures of strangers trying to take pictures of each other on a particularly windy day. Here are some of those. And then a few others.