They pray 5 times a day...

...at the mosque near my dorm. I can hear it from my shoebox of a room, even through the metal shades that all Portuguese houses have to block out the morning sun, which is extremely bright. It shines through the cracks, almost like a whisper saying, "Do you really want to stay in bed when you could be outside tripping over cobblestones, ducking into a pastelaria and going to the beach?"

Probably sounds like a lot for the sun to say, but I swear, this is what I hear each morning. This is my life in Lisbon. Buildings covered in azuleijos, hand-decorated ceramic tiles. Pastelarias on every corner, windows stacked high with pastel de natas, a creamy custard tart whose taste defies description. Crossing cobblestoned streets to tiled sidewalks, worn smooth by the centuries so that they're almost kind of slippery. (Goodness knows what will happen when the "rainy" season hits in November...) Attempting to speak Portuguese, walking through narrow streets barely wide enough for one car and then being amazed as commercial-sized trucks squeeze past us.

Lisbon has a different beat than any city I've ever visited. In the United States, people always seem rushed. Rushed to get through a meal, to get through a line, to get through the subway turnstile or onto the bus. Here, we do not rush. We sit. We relax. We wait. We waited in line for an hour to get our subway passes. The people in line with us seemed perfectly content to wait. Why rush? Standing in line is the perfect time to chat with friends and window shop at Baixa Ultima, the Forever 21 version of a cheap metro store. We wait for the trains to come. Lisbon's metro system is much less extensive than a big city's and the trains do not come as often. But nobody is in a hurry, so why should they come every minute? We wait in plazas, people watching and listening to the music of street musicians. "Let's meet at 8" really means let's meet at 8:30. And maybe "wait" isn't even the right word. Maybe the word I'm looking for is "enjoy" or "relax." We relax at a cafe, enjoying the sunset with a cold Coke Zero for a few hours before we head to dinner. This is almost a necessary part of life in Lisbon; if we did not relax/wait/enjoy before dinner, there's no way we could be respectfully on time to dinner. If we did not relax/wait/enjoy, we would show up at the horribly embarrassing time of *gasp* 8:00. We eat late here. It's completely acceptable, even normal, to start dinner at 10:00. We Americans thankfully have the excuse of needing to get a big table, a feat that would be impossible at 10:00; showing up at 10 implies a wait and mandates a table for 2, maybe 4 if you're lucky. Unless you want to eat inside; I can tell you that you wouldn't want to. Not when the sunset floods the sky with color and the breeze rustles your hair so lightly that you feel automatically at peace when you step out of the door. Not when you hear the guitar strains of fado, Portuguese blues, drifting out of the fado club across the street.No, you would not want to eat inside.

The streets are the life of Lisbon. The sidewalks are patterned in black and white cobblestones, ranging from the simplest diagonal pattern in one color to intricate swirls and pictures and shapes covering the hills. The narrow streets connect neighborhood to neighborhood, requiring only a short walk to completely change the vibe of a certain area. On the way you pass the drunk bum, and the man playing Edelweiss on an accordian, and the woman drawing flowers, the men juggling flaming batons. You pass bronze statues; one sitting in a cafe, one handing out a lottery ticket, all to commemorate famous Lisboners. Of course you have to take a picture with these statues; what kind of tourist would you be if you skipped the opportunity to eat a pastry in the coffee shop where intellectuals defied the regime and hung modern art, even though it was against the law? What kind of tourist would you be if you did not jump on the electric (trolley) and take tram 28 up to the Castelo de Sao Jorge to overlook the entire city, from its medieval alleys to modern office buildings?

Naturally, we wasted no time in doing all these things. We headed up to the castle on our second day, taking advantage of a block of free time to take the electric and explore. The city is built on several hills, so any journey across town includes a lot of up and down. It was worth it. Even though our feet were killing us and we, or rather, I, had to worry about falling off the ramparts, the castle was SO cool. You could almost feel what it would've been like in the 13th century, minus the stench and drunk knights of course. Exploring the city by foot is wonderful but the transportation is also convenient and just plain interesting. Lisbon has 3 funiculars, essentially outdoor tram escalators. We took one down to the bottom of a big hill just for fun, not realizing a) that the funicular would eventually stop running for the night and b) that the hill was actually much steeper on foot. Needless to say, it was a good workout and I will not be walking at anymore 45 degree angles for quite some time. It's no more than 5 euro to anywhere in the city except the airport; the cost of the cab will be cheaper than the surgery we have to get when we break our ankles tripping up and down the funicular hill.

Over everything, though, I prefer the subway. And not because it's clean and well-lit and there's a fresh popcorn stand at Marques de Pombal that fills the whole space with a delicious warm smell (although that's a HUGE bonus) I like the subway because of our passes. Instead of swiping a card through like the new york subway or the metro, the Lisbon metro uses touch passes. All you have to do is get your card close enough to the scanner and BAM! The doors slide open. And it works through a wallet and sometimes even through a purse. So you pull out your wallet, slam it down on the reader and BAM! You're in. I could ride the subway all day just to swipe my card. It is quite literally the most exciting part of getting around the city.

Ok, that's a lie. But it IS pretty cool.

Other than daydreaming about my subway pass (kidding, again) my days are pretty empty. We started Portuguese language classes today. I'm not sure "class" is the right word here either. We were slotted for 50 minutes of class. After 20 minutes of required torture (introducing ourselves in Portuguese) we split into beginners and intermediates. Incompetent vs. semi-competent. Hopeless vs. hopeful. Our teacher for the beginner class believes that immersion is the key to learning a new language. Whether or not this was her excuse for speaking Portuguese to a bunch of blank faces, I will never know. But after a few sentences she switched to English. "You don't understand a word of what I'm saying, do you?"

"No."

It was a great class, really. We learned how to pronounce the Portuguese alphabet, which is hopelessly backwards from French or English and therefore counterintuitive to everything I have been taught for the past 20 years. Fabulous. I can only imagine how ridiculous we must have sounded, attempting to pronounce nasal sounds in unison. "Nao! Irmao! Poe!" (On a side note, if you have no Portuguese experience and can pronounce these words correctly, I will give you a special prize and be extremely impressed) Monica warmed up to us and explained that she would only give us homework for our benefit but the best experience is just to meet other people and really try. She told us that in one semester here we'd probably learn about 2 or 3 semesters worth of being at home and trying to learn the language. I'm tempted to believe her, but I'm hesitant because the giant palm trees outside the classroom window are leading me to believe that I might get distracted every once in a while. Or everyday.

It's hard not to daydream here. The sun is always shining and there's always a nice breeze. It's only about 30 minutes to the beautiful beaches of Cascais, where we spent all of Saturday soaking in the sun and European beach culture. Apparently nudity doesn't phase some people here. Neither does frigid Atlantic water cold enough to give you frostbite and temporarily cut off the circulation to your toes. No worries, it's temporary. After being dragged into the water and screaming for about 30 seconds, I started going numb and then it was quite easy. I didn't feel cold; I felt nothing! I floated, contemplating the oncoming frostbite, and watched as the waves gently broke on the beach and little kids through sand at each other. At least they didn't hit sunbathers with a volleyball like those annoying Americans...

...oh wait. That was us. Whoops. Some beaches didn't allow volleyball. I can't imagine why. We wandered along the beach, amazed at the different personalities each section seemed to have. I even found buried treasure--a necklace! with a star of David!--on one of the beaches, next to an espresso spoon buried in the wet sand. I should really have been a pirate, but studying abroad is cool too. My new talent didn't last far, since little Portuguese children (whose parents believed in nudity for the whole family) had claimed the digging rights for that stretch of beach.

I think the beaches capture the essence of the country. Everyone is relaxed, soaking in the sun. The crowd is so diverse. It's multi-colored, although we have a theory that this is more because people fell asleep on the beach in May and woke up in September with a fabulous tan. It wouldn't be hard to do. It was so incredibly relaxing. Nothing to worry about, nothing to fret about. Even our stuff was safe just sitting next to our towels as we knocked the ball around and pushed our friends into the ice floes forming right off the beach.

Ok, kidding.
Again.
Sort of.

I'm kind of happy that classes are starting soon so that we don't have these endless hours to fill with shopping, walking, going to the beach, hanging out in internet cafes, eating pastries, touring the city, taking pictures, meeting people, learning, trying new foods, exploring, living and experiencing such a cool place. There's just not much to do here...