Allison O'Donoghue. Editor. Journalist. Travel Writer. Blogger. ABN: 49 619 105 040: SPAIN

A brief visit to SPAIN

A long stay in

LISBON - PORTUGAL

Gaudi's Sagrada Familia

Story and photography by Allison O’Donoghue

Lisbon

I've been reluctant to write about Spain and Portugal, as I didn't have great experiences in either country. I was robbed and I became very ill with the flu and I couldn’t get a flight back to the UK for ten days. No fun being sick in a country where English is not their second language. And the weather was hot, hot, hot only adding to my febrile state.

This story starts in Spain. The day I arrived in Barcelona, I was forewarned of things to come. I was very excited about visiting Spain, a country I had always wanted to visit. The weather was hot and dry, very similar to Australia, so I was prepared. When I hopped on the train at the airport I had no idea where I was going to stay. I hadn't booked ahead and was into winging it mode, which had worked well thus far bar one mishap in Rome which was easily remedied. The train was crowded but I managed to find a seat. Just as we were about to depart a Swedish family of four forced the doors open and pushed their way in. They were separated. The father and son went into the middle of the carriage while the mother and daughter stayed close to the door. Ah safe, they made it. Not so fast!

Barcelona

As the train stopped and picked up more passengers, the carriage became more claustrophobic, oxygen sucked out of our lungs as the air-conditioning became less effective. I noticed two guys squeeze in. They looked like locals. They had coats draped over their arms. I thought this odd as it was so hot, but then again maybe the temperature drops suddenly at night. Who knows? I was starring into the middle distance not giving anyone eye contact, as you do, when suddenly a familiar accent I recognised started yelling out, “Be careful of your bag!” An Aussie woman was trying to get the Swedish mother’s attention. “Watch you bag!” she pointed and became more frantic and shrill but the Swedish mother couldn’t understand her. I watched with interest to see where this situation was going. People were looking at the Aussie lady like she was mad, but I could see that the two men that had gotten on earlier had split up, one of them had positioned himself in front of the Swedish mother and from the Aussie’s vantage point, she could see he was trying to get into her bag. Hence the coat draped over the arm. Now it makes sense, nothing to do with the weather and all to do with a tool to facilitate theft.

The two guys glared at the Aussie woman who was nearly standing on her seat. Her husband grabbed her arm and told her to sit down and keep quiet. The Swedish mother looked distressed and confused. The two guys jumped off at the next stop and everything seemed to settle.

I got off at Barcelona Sants, as did the Swedish family and the Aussie couple. Then all hell broke loose. They had been robbed. Not the mother, as she had a false lock on her bag and he couldn’t get into it, but the father had his wallet stolen, which had all their money, credit cards and hotel reservations etc. How uncanny. When the two guys split up, one hovered around the mother and one hovered around the father. They could not have known they were a couple. The Swedes were in tears. The Aussie’s consoled them and tried to be helpful. And I kept thinking - I bet they wished they hadn’t forced the doors and waited for the next train. Somehow it seemed destined to happen but I took it as a warning.

Barcelona

Barcelona city

I don’t know why I got off at Barcelona Sants other than it looked like a very large train station and had to be a destination point with hotels nearby. There were heaps of hotels but way too expensive for me. I found a 2 star hotel not far from the station and settled for the best I could do at the last minute. I planned to find another hotel the next day, but everywhere I went they were booked out.

Barcelona Sants train station

I spent three days in Barcelona and felt very vulnerable. I must have had a flashing neon sign that read Single White Female Travelling Alone, as I was followed everywhere and not by possible paramours. It was the only time in my 3-month world tour where I felt less than safe.

I didn’t know it at the time but the Spanish have a deep-seated resentment toward the British for buying up properties and almost invading their country. However, my feeling is the Spanish ought to be grateful that the Brits were contributing to the economy, starting businesses and bringing their families to start a whole new life. Then again, I do understand protectionism and the right to retain their culture and lifestyle. Although I think there was more to this story. Mass immigration has become a huge problem for Spain and like France, is unsustainable. To put it bluntly, the Spanish are fed up and cannot hide their discontent under a veil of politeness anymore. Due to the 2008 GFC, the Brits have stopped coming but the immigrants keep flooding the country. They are not bringing in money or buying property or contributing to the economy, on the contrary, mass migration is exhausting the Spaniards, draining them of their good will and normally convivial hospitality. Eventually all countries will merge as one universal nation. It may be the only way the world can move forward.

Gaudi's Sagrada Familia

The crunch came after visiting Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia (see blog post: Gaudi’s Gaudi Masterpiece). I had a mediocre lunch at a café across the road, while quietly enjoying a cold beer I suddenly hear, ‘beep, beep, beep, beep’ which got louder and louder, closer and closer. Surely it’s going to stop! But no - ‘beep, beep, beep, beep’ as a truck reversed up against the grass reed hedge, knocking my beer off the table and sending customers running for their lives. Time to go back to my air-conditioned hotel room. The temperature was reaching 40 degrees, too hot to enjoy anything other than a lie down.

Gaudi's Sagrada Familia

I took the Metro. Oddly, I was the only person at the train station. As I waited, two men came down the stairs. At first I didn’t really acknowledge them but I began to feel very uncomfortable when they split up. One sat on a bench to my left and the other sat on the bench to my right. I thought here we go, and I’m alone. Please someone walk down the stairs right this minute. How come it’s so quiet? Internal panic! Then suddenly the train arrived. I got on. So did they. They didn’t take their eyes off me. I instinctively knew this wasn’t going to be a happy ending, so I hopped off. So did they. I quickly hopped back on and thankfully the doors closed and they couldn’t prise them open. And to my utter surprise they shook their fists at me, as if to say “How dare you out smart us”. Seriously, it was like a scene out of a movie, but this actually happened. This was real. God only knows what could have happened. At the very least, I could have just been robbed, but the imagination does have a tendency to get carried away and think the worst.

Gaudi Metro

Later I realised it was so quiet because of Siesta. The Spanish go home for lunch and then have a sleep before going back to work later in the day when its cooler. We have the same weather conditions here in Australia with over 40 during the summer months - why don't we have siestas?

That’s it. I’m done with Barcelona. I was followed everywhere I went. I felt very unsafe. It was time for me to move on, so the next day I got a train ticket to Madrid then onto Lisbon, Portugal.

Replica of Golden gate Bridge in Lisbon

I waited for three hours in a queue at Barcelona Sants train station to get a ticket to Madrid, for a couple of hours stop over. When I got to the window the lady behind the counter said she didn’t speak English. I told her I didn’t care we’ll just have to get by. Her supervisor came over and asked what the problem was; she took my passport, spoke to her work mate who then could suddenly speak English. What was that about? Why make it harder? If I could have done a crash course in French, Italian, Spanish and Portuguese before I left, I would have. Interestingly, a ticket to Lisbon cost 53 euro - a 12 hr journey however a ticket to Madrid cost 106 euro for a three hour journey. Go figure!

Time to head off to Lisbon.

Lisbon

Marble Arcade - Lisbon

Lisbon

I winged it again, arriving at the train station in Lisbon with nowhere to go. Luckily old timer, Roberto from the Santana Hotel was spruiking for business. “Come, stay at my hotel, plenty rooms, very cheap, come.” So I did. What the hell. It was close to the city centre and the metro. The room was basic but presentable. I didn’t really care; I wasn’t going to spend much time in there. It had a café down stairs that I ate at often. And strangely, no matter what I ordered from the menu, the same meal would arrive every time. Steak with a fired egg on top, fries and rice. Every time, without fail. I’d say, “Hang on a minute, I ordered blah, blah,” and he’d say “Yes” and walk away. I got tired of the same food so ventured into the city for something a little different, however it appears to be the stable diet of Portugal. I eventually found a lovely sandwich bar and had several refreshing salads and it was always full of tourists also seeking good food.

Cable car

I know it’s a little redundant eating Western food when in another country. I do try out the national dish of the country I visit, but there is a limit and I wasn’t alone in that thought. I went back to the sandwich bar a few times and often saw the same faces, Americans, Italians, French, Canadian, Aussies and Brits. It seems Westerners would gather at this semi western café for sustenance.

Cascais Beach

Cascais

Another unique thing happened at the little café under the hotel - the price of coffee. To start my day I would have a coffee and pastry. Portuguese pastries are delicious and I ate one or two every day. Then after a long day of sightseeing I would grab a coffee before heading upstairs. The price mysteriously went up by 1 euro every time. It started at 1 euro and steadily went up to 3-4 euro. I soon put a stop to that. I put 1 euro down on the counter, he'd look at the euro, and then look at me, as his English was not very good he would say “Hey” I’d reply “Hey”. Eventually we came to a truce and he stopped ripping me off, but it took a bit of persistence.

I stayed a week at the Santana Hotel then I went to Cascais – a beach side suburb 40 minutes out of Lisbon. I booked into an apartment above an art and craft shop @ 50 euro a night. It was right on the tourist strip of souvenir shops, cafes, bars and restaurants. The manager, Gutenberg seemed friendly enough while the landlady, who I negotiated a price, lived with her son in the bowels of the apartment that deceptively went down three stories. Soon an Irish troubadour who sang cover songs at local bars moved in. I went to see him one night as he belted out a few good tunes, often drowned out by drunks having fun. I don’t think he really cared. He hadn’t been back to Ireland for 10 years. He has spent his life travelling from one tourist spot to another singing his way around Europe, following the summer sun and making a modest living. He seemed happy with his way of life.

Cascais

Apartment above art shop

Cascais is a lovely tourist spot with beautiful architecture, interesting marble wave patterned, slippery pavements and the constantly changing blue hues of the ocean. I was happy to be here. Happy to wonder around the winding little streets, eat at tourist friendly restaurants and cafés and sample the nightlife.

Music festival in Lisboa

That inner peace and tranquillity was shattered when I ventured back into Lisbon for a music festival to witness legends like Bob Dylan, Rage Against The Machine, Ben Harper, Neil Young et el. When I got back to my room, I had been robbed. I deliberately left my credit card and extra cash locked in the cupboard hidden within a compartment in my suitcase, just in case I was robbed at the festival. Who ever stole from me needed time to do it. I reacted immediately. I summoned the manager Guttenberg, who up until then spoke perfect English – suddenly he didn’t understand a word I was saying. I then demanded the landlady address the issue, she also lost her grasp of the English language. I rang my credit card company and immediately cancelled my card. Eventually the landlady’s son came up to ‘deal’ with me. I demanded a refund and demanded we go to the police station to report the theft. The landlady and her son protested, Guttenberg had snuck away in the flurry of the moment, however I stood my ground and refused to give back the key until I was given 150-euro I had paid up front.

Cascais Beach

As we traipsed down the stairs, the landlady’s son begrudgingly lugging my suitcase behind him, the Irishman returned with bags of groceries in hand. He asked what was going on, I told him and he remarked, “I suppose we’re all suspects.” And he was right but I had no proof, I didn’t point the finger at anyone, although Guttenberg was looking pretty good at this stage. They could have both been in on it. It could have been a scam. He not only sang for his supper, he stole. Who knows?

Lisbon

Theatre in Lisbon

The mother and son duo directed me to a police station that was closed. However, I had done a lot of walking as per usual and knew there was another police station around the corner. It was open. It was full. The police were quite intimidating to look at, dressed in riot gear carrying machine guns and wearing bulletproof vests. In Australia the riot squad only come out in public when there is a riot. I told my story. The landlady and son continued to protest but to my surprise the police, who spoke perfect English, were on my side. They told her to refund the money immediately, gave me a form to fill out for insurance and escorted me to the train station back to Lisbon.

Cascais Police station

I don’t flatter myself by thinking the police gave me extra attention. They were on a PR campaign since the disappearance of Maddy McCann (the little English girl who went missing from the Algarve) to reassure Western tourists that Portugal is a safe place to visit. Had this happened prior to that event, I doubt they would have given me the time of day.

Cable car in Lisbon

I rocked up to the Santana Hotel at 10.30pm. Roberto to the rescue. He gave me my old room back. The next day I booked a flight back to the UK, however the earliest flight was in 10 days, which I had to catch from Oporto. And then I came down with the flu. I spent the next 7 days in my little room watching the only English-speaking program the BBC news channel, as I was too ill to go anywhere.

Fortified castle

Portugal is an impoverished country with huge immigration problems, like everywhere in Europe. Africa is so close you can almost see it. They arrive in small boats under cover of darkness and melt into the community with relatives ready to harbour them. They must look at someone like me and think ‘rich bitch’ but little do they know I’m not rich at all, I sold my property to do this once in a lifetime holiday and in effect I was homeless when I got back to Oz.

The next time I go to Spain it will be with someone who speaks Spanish and I’ll plan ahead. And don’t make the mistake of speaking Spanish in Portugal, they wont take kindly to it. They do not speak Spanish and fought hard to get their country back from the Spaniards, so learn a little Portuguese before you go, as they don’t all speak English. It was an interesting trip and it is a shame I am left with this tainted feeling. Regardless, I am grateful for the experience. And will one day go back to both Spain and Portugal again.