Ouch

Ouch. Nothing like two hot nineteen-year-old Estonian girls, massage therapists hitchhiking across Europe, to make you feel old and ordinary. My ego hurts.

Anyway. Évora is an hour and a half-is east of Lisbon. It's walled and quaint and cobble-stoned and, I had heard, must-see. And I probably would have agreed two months ago, before I started seeing walled, quaint, cobble-stoned towns on a very regular basis.

Évora is really nice, I just couldn't get that into it. It's really hot, and I kept getting lost. Which really wasn't Évora's fault. I'm always getting lost (especially now without my compass) because I have no sense of direction, and I was stubborn and didn't get a good map from the tourist office because they were too big. I spent most of the day grumpy, anyway.

Back in Lisbon, I finally saw some Fado, so the day wasn't lost. Fado is kinda like flamenco, but a little more restrained and without the dancing and clapping. It didn't speak to me quite the way flamenco does, but I did like it. You can't go too wrong with good guitar and gaping-wound vocals.

And they drink beer with coffee here. I don't think they drink it a lot, but apparently dark beer mixed with coffee and sugar and I dunno what else is a traditional Portuguese drink. (Either that or my new friend Pedro was just fucking with me.) I disliked it less than I thought I would, but that's the highest praise I can give. I forget the Portuguese name for it, but it means "kick in the cunt." Ouch.