Until recently, Australians couldn’t get into Portugal (except for certain circumstances) unless they’d been through another European country first and/or were willing to undergo Covid testing. This changed about a month or so before we left, allowing us to enter if we had a negative result on a PCR test 72 hours prior or a RAT 24 hours prior. The EU doesn’t recognise Australia’s “international” Covid vaccine certificate (neither does Spain actually) so we had to jump through this additional hoop.
A couple of weeks before our flight, I’d booked us in to take a RAT at Barcelona airport at the airport testing centre so we’d have the requisite paperwork. Our taxi driver was taking us to Terminal 2 at Barcelona Airport and it was only when we were getting a bit closer that I mentioned needing to be at Terminal 1, thinking they’d be close together. Turned out that wasn’t the case.
The driver said it would be cheaper to just get the free terminal shuttle from Terminal 2 to Terminal 1 rather than him or another taxi drive drive us and as we had plenty of time we wouldn’t have to stress. Barcelona airport, it seems, was built on the same principles as Perth airport, that is, build the different terminals far apart because that’s good planning.
We got out of our taxi, loaded down with luggage (Julian and Simon’s, not ours) and caught the shuttle to Terminal 1, which took a good ten minutes. Then at Terminal 1 there was mild panic as it seemed that the testing centre was through security, which wouldn’t work for us at all, but we eventually found it tucked down a corridor.
When we arrived, they were having problems with their internet so we had to wait a while. Eventually we did our tests, though none of us had much confidence in their setup which looked like it would be all too easy to mix up whose sample belonged to who. We went and got some food and waited for our results. All negative.
And all completely pointless.
Because we were within the EU already, no one was checking our passports, let alone whether we had a negative Covid result. No one in Spain or Portugal could have given two figs whether we had Covid or not. Anyway…
We caught the bus back to Terminal 2, completed our check in on RyanAir (without difficulty which we’d been expecting just because it’s RyanAir) then went through all our security etc with plenty of time to spare. We joined our “Priority” queue, which was about ten times longer than the “normal” queue, got on the plane and sat in the most uncomfortable plane seats I’ve ever been in.
Blah blah blah, we landed, got our luggage without incident and caught a taxi to our accommodation in Lisbon.
We’d booked into an apartment that was in a prime location for attractions and transport, with everything we needed (except a washing machine). We dumped our luggage then went looking around. We grabbed a snack of pizza and the three boys went off for a further explore while I finished off my snack, watching the world go by, and returned to the apartment. The half-nap I’d had on the plane had left me feeling drained and unenthusiastic about going anywhere except to bed.
The next day we had a full-day to explore Lisbon. Simon and Julian set off early as they had tickets to see Mosteiro dos Jerónimos, while Glen and I took a bit of extra time to follow along later. We went to the train station and failed at navigating the system ourselves, eventually buying a 24h tourist card for every type of transport then caught the train along the coast.
The train ride was great as we got to see the Monument to the Discoveries, Belém Lighthouse and Torre de Belém…and then completely missed our stop. So that necessitated getting off at the next station and taking a bus (we could have taken a train but for some reason we didn’t. My fault entirely) back towards the monastery. At least we got to see a lot of the city.
The monastery already had a long queue out the front of it and we arrived to see Simon and Julian in queue, close to the front but not yet inside despite having left a while before us. Glen and I took one look at the queue and decided the monastery wasn’t worth waiting in line for. Instead we joined the much shorter free queue to go into the church. We waited about seven minutes (which was already at the upper limit of acceptability) before being let in.
The church was church-like, and without looking at my photos, I can barely remember what it was like on the inside. However, I do remember its big ornate limestone columns which reminded me of skeleton bones. We did the rounds and left, the free queue and the monastery queue now impossibly long.
I have a thing about queues and I don’t think it’s just because I’m impatient. I generally think that there is very little that’s worth standing in queue for. I’d wait inline for food, if I was starving, water, if I was thirsty, and health care, if I were sick (or about to get a vaccine). Otherwise, I think there is little on the other end of a queue that is worthy of standing in line for. I’m sure this makes me sound like the absolute worst, but recently In and Out Burger (from California) had a pop-up store in Perth with people queueing around the block from 6am in the rain just so they could try it. It’s a burger! No burger could be that delicious to go through that for.
Anyway, that’s just me. And fortunately, also Glen a bit haha.
While the boys were in the monastery, we walked over to the Modern and Contemporary Art Gallery which is a beautiful modernist building with a courtyard that was completely empty. The complete absence of people was a beautiful sight to behold. Glen found a favourite sculpture and we enjoyed the solitude, before crossing the motorway to Torre de Belém.
Again, there was a queue to buy tickets to go inside, but a quick look at Google Images didn’t show much point in going in. Also, we didn’t see any heads popping out the top of the tower so we gave it a miss. Instead we wandered around the outside and on to the sand at the base of the tower while the tide was out, providing us with a different perspective that was relatively people free.
From there, Glen and I wandered up to a cafe on the water and ordered a coffee and some food. By then, Simon and Julian had finished their look around the monastery and the Discoveries Monument and were walking down. Glen started to feel washed out by this point so decided to head back to the apartment. (He was most excited to go to the supermarket and buy very cheap supplies.)
Simon and Julian went for lunch while I went past the Belem Lighthouse and up to the Monument to the Discoveries, an unapologetic monolith to the glories of Portugal’s Age of Discoveries. One thing that struck us while in Portugal was the almost off-handed way they talk about the Moors. They were kicked out, expelled, sent packing, evicted… all language that affirms the Portuguese’s (God-given) right to the country. Whereas wherever the Portuguese explorers went, it was all about discovery and expansion. This is just an impression and I need to do more research into Portugal’s history and its confrontation with its colonial past, but those were the general themes that came through.
The Monument to the Discoveries is a tall structure with about 350 steps (or an elevator) that lead to the top of the tower. There’s a narrow walkway up the top where you can get a 360° view of the surrounding city (which would have been even more spectacular without the haze). I raced to the top, arriving at the same time as the French people who’d taken the elevator ahead of me. I took my photos, had a look around, then raced to the bottom to meet Julian and Simon.
Our afternoon was spent exploring the Alfama area of town, taking a bus and then walking the rest of the way. We saw the arch and the golden head and got asked by multiple people whether we wanted to buy hashish or cocaine. Portugal’s decriminalised drug policy is great, but it was extremely wearing to be asked constantly whether we wanted to buy anything.
From the arch we went past a Knights Templar Church where there was a beautiful shaded sport with a quartet from South America playing music while people took photos of the terracotta roofs and the giant cruise ships in the distance, or beneath massive bougainvilleas. We continued our ascent through the city to Castelo de Sao Jorge, a sprawling medieval complex with walls and a gutted castle. We took our time wandering through as much of it as possible, the high walls with low guard rails a little terrifying. The views over the city were good too.
Having walked a lot by this stage, we thought we’d call it a day, grabbing an ice cream along the way then stopping for a drink, before getting back to our apartment. Glen had slept off whatever illness he had and we relaxed for a little while before it was time to go to dinner for Simon’s birthday.
Julian had made a reservation at a place called JNCQuoi, which took a while for us to realise was an abbreviation for Je Ne Sais Quoi. We kept calling it “Joon-Qui-Qui”. It’s an uber-fancy place…with a mini T-Rex skeleton in the middle of it. We ordered a lot of food that we almost finished and spent a lot of money, which we had to pay. Most unusual was the bathroom setup, which was made up of a circle of stalls that surrounded a central circle where a real-live DJ was mixing tunes. The toilets had black toilet paper (super impractical and leaves ink on your bum). The boys shared a massive steak, while I had cod, which I should never order but nevertheless did. It was fine. Happy birthday, Simon.
We walked home through the fancy part of town, bought another Starbucks mug (I’ve bought five so far as each one depicts a different city we’ve been to), had photos with random street sculptures, and went up then down steep streets to reach our apartment. We’d walked a lot by day’s end.
The streets of Lisbon were pumping, but we’d had our fill and I was so glad to be going to bed, even if the mattress was like a rock.
Travels with Dan 
What do you say, eh?