9. Lisbbbbon

 D & I were up early this morning (well early for me, 7.30am – that’s the crack of dawn), to see our arrival into Lisbon. The Captain said last night that we would be sailing up the River Tagus by 7.30, pick up the pilot about 7.45, go under the April 25th bridge and pass by the magnificent statues of Henry the Navigator and Christ the Redeemer. Well worth leaving one’s bed for, especially as we’d gained an hour during the night.

                                                                        

Lisbon holds special memories for me, as I was last here when I was 16 in 1967 and on an educational cruise on the SS Nevasa. We arrived in port to see the dockside lined with local lads, (O brave new world!) who knew that a cruise ship full of British schoolgirls was about to arrive. On disembarking we took advantage of their offer to show us around, during which they took advantage of us. A good time was had by all.

No old men on the dockside waiting to show an old woman a good time, so I had to make do with D. We confidently bought our City Sight-Seeing Tour bus tickets in Departures (we have 4 pairs of headphones now), hopped on and sat gratefully on the top deck in the weak sunshine. The Captain had said it would be cloudy with sunny periods and a few light showers. Liar.

Not too impressed with the tenements, brightened only by the lines of washing hanging from the windows, or the high rise blocks, but hopeful as we approached the city centre that the scenery would improve. It was then it started to rain, a far from light shower that needed head covering. All I had was my foldaway bag (umbrellas are banned), so I unfolded that and put my head in it. I looked daft, but not as daft as those who opened their bus maps and put them over their heads.

Things went from bad to worse, not only did the scenery not improve much – we were stuck in constant traffic jams in a very busy and very noisy city centre – the rain became torrential. My bag became soggy and the bus maps began to disintegrate. People tried to get downstairs to shelter, but unusually it was full, presumably with those who had read a proper weather forecast. We had to sit it out and get absolutely drenched, listening to a droning commentary about Phonecians, Germanic tribes and Visigoths. Oh for goodness sake, make it stop.  We saw a few old palaces, castles, towers and monasteries and things did improve when we got to Prince Henry’s statue - the Monument to the Discoveries - lovely to see it close up. I just about managed to get my wet fingers around my phone to take a photo. The commentary also pointed out the statue of Cristo Rei on the far hillside, built in gratitude for the Catholic church, who secured Portugal’s neutrality during the Second World War.

Back towards the city, several more cloud bursts and the fresh hell of overhanging trees, which we had to duck, to avoid being blinded. Catching the front of the bus, the branches sprayed water all over us: like having a bucket chucked into the top deck. D spat some rain out and said ‘Ridiculous’. I agreed.

By now we’d been on the bus for two hours – yes, two hours! People were muttering about whether it would ever get back to the ship; we daren’t hop off, as we hadn’t a clue where we were & the timetable was obviously shot. We pulled in at some sort of terminus and when we pulled out again our bus had become the blue line instead of the red line (Eh?), but 40 minutes later it arrived back at the port. Thank the Lord!

I was sad to give up my dream of a sun drenched pavement café, eating Pastel de Nata (Portuguese custard tarts), but I really needed to peel my wet underwear off, get somewhere warm so my teeth would stop chattering and have some alcohol.

The late afternoon was warm and sunny, but we appreciated it from the balcony and enjoyed the picturesque sail away – under the bridge again, which was renamed after the Carnation Revolution in 1974 (I did listen a bit) and close by Cristo Rei. Two days at sea now – hearing the words ‘We’re sailing for Southampton’ was sad, but from what we’ve heard, to some lovely hot weather. Thank goodness.

Below: spot the 16 year old forced to wear school uniform in the Mediterranean…