It is.

We only have limited time in Portugal, so Matt and I were gunning to catch our tram to the Alfama, but Ross has not yet arrived at the hostel. At 10:30am, he is here but has not been checked in. We wait and we wait until somebody finally helps him and then he disappears again. At 11:00am, he is showered and ready to go. Apparently, the train had not been all that great here and he had not slept well.

We took Tram 28 up the Alfama, only to find that none of the stations were marked! Sable leaned over and asked her fellow passenger where Praca do Graca was and the lady answered with gesturing. Two elderly ladies in front of us objected to those directions and a verbal showdown ensued. Through the yelling and jabbing, another lady joined in, leaning under the jabbing arms and telling us something different. Embarrassed, we exited at the next stop, turning around to find arms flailing out of the tram to direct us in all different directions. We just turned down the next street to go with the flow.

Actually, nothing is marked in Lisbon. No streets, no building signs, no nothing. And nobody speaks English, unlike in Paris or Spain. We wandered and wandered until we came upon a Tram stop and an old man asked, "Castelo?" I nodded vigorously - yes! Castelo Sao Jorge was where we wanted to be and was at the peak of the Alfama. He gave us directions in Portugese but used very effective gestures. We came upon the largo he spoke of and took pictures of the seaside city. Finally, we arrived at the Castelo, which was weathered and overgrown with greenery, but still very beautiful. We split up to look around but met up on the turrets again, where we admired the view and took silly pictures in front of windows.

I tried to call the fat cats that slept around the plates - "Gato? GAAAAAATOOOOOOS!" - but to no avail. The horrible screaming you hear around the castle are the peacocks who live there. Who knew they made such racket?! We left and walked down the hill again, back to the largo. A large machine promised stamps and I fed it 8 euros before I realized I had been tricked! It was jammed and would not feed me what I wanted.

We could not find the correct tram to take us back to Comercio, so we walked down . Matt and I stopped at the hostel for some water and to find directions to the Oceanario. We took the Metro to Oriente, where the famous Vasco de Gama mall is situated. We walked around the residential neighborhoods, looking for the Oceanario and blindly following the signs. We came upon the Mathnasium! I mean - the Mathnasium :( Eventually, we reached the gigantic Oceanario with its towering waterfall, its whale made of pop cans and its facts about conservation. I loved every single little part, from the way they subdivided their exhibits by ocean to all of the wonderful creatures in the central tank who live in perfect balance. As in ... they don't eat each other. We marveled at the size and lethargy of the ocean sunfish. We met up with Sable and Ross at a video about the treatment of animals at the Oceanario and tried to coax the Vibrio to bioluminesce inside the organs of Japanese pinecone fish.

I walked away fully satisfied and happy that I could be there. We wanted to rent bikes and ride across the boardwalk along the River Tagus, but the rental place was closed. Instead, we just walked along the boardwalk, all the way from the Oceanario to the Vasco de Gama bridge. It is the longest bridge in Europe and spans as far as the eye can see! From the Vasco de Gama, we walked ALL THE WAY BACK to Oriente station. Matt wanted to stop in the mall to see if he could find a gift for his brother at Fnac - he did look! But no such luck. The Vasco de Gama mall is famous for the water that washes over the glass ceiling of the building. The water comes from the River Tagus and is actually cleaned and returned back to the river in better condition than it came!

Back to Bairro Alto we went, looking for a place to eat in the fading light of day. Two girls in unbelievably high wedge heels were walking along the shiny streets of Lisbon and walking down the incredibly steep slopes that I was having a hard time with in my flats! We wandered and settled on the same district in which we had found the Indian restaurant. The restaurant was in my handbook and affectionately named "The Fatboy II" or El Gordo II, as it was known here. The rastafarian waiter greeted us with an enthusiastic "Bom noite!" to which we just stared back in fear because our Portugese did not extend to greetings past the afternoon. His smile slowly faded and he cut curtly to English.

El Gordo II follows in the steps of its predecessor by offering almost American sized tapas. I ordered the asparagus risotto and garlic mushrooms, which were delicious and too much for myself. Everybody else was too full to share in my bounty either. They meant it when they named it Fatboy. Still, I had my crema catalana for dessert (even if it was a cheat to have it outside of Barcelona) and enjoyed yet another sweet custard. It's a bit like a creme brulee, really, but more cinnamon-y.

From there, we walked back down the hill to a posh shopping district. I stopped to buy underwear at "Women's Secret" and then walked into a nearby mall, where everything was open! I could buy bedsheets, shoes, dresses, underwear, food - you name it, it was open and full of nighttime shoppers! I browsed but stuck with my underwear purchase. It would save me some laundry later.

We walked over to a fountain which was in the opposite direction from our hostel and the River Tagus. I noted for the first time that Ross was wearing a t-shirt from Madrid. "Oh yeah - I bought it while you were gone. I didn't go to Seville." What's this?! Ross stayed back and secretly shopped?! Secret Shopper Ross. Collect all six!

Matt wanted to see the House of Vodka, so we went back to the hostel to put away our purchases and get ready. The hostel, however, was too comfortable. Ross checked his e-mail and played on his computer while Sable and I chatted, like normal. Eventually, we were laughing and having too much of a good time to leave but Matt wanted his liquor. With much reluctance, I left the comfort of the hostel to go out into the busy night. On the map, it doesn't look too far to the House of Vodka. I can reassure you, however, that it is much better to catch a taxi or perhaps the Metro than to walk all the way from the River to the House of Vodka. Maps. They lie.

We walked along dark, deserted alley ways with the most narrow sidewalks we had encountered in Europe yet. We had to twist our bodies to get around corners and around the cars that parked alongside the sidewalks. Eventually, we reached a lively district with people walking away from bars. After some confusion, we found the blue-lit House of Vodka. We walked in and the bartender nodded, before politely telling us that they were closing. Dejected (and I somewhat annoyed), we left and tried to walk back a less shady way. Not really possible in Lisbon, since their unlabelled streets just wound around and around hills that were alternately populated and completely deserted. Eventually, however, we reached our hostel again and I just went to bed. Sable and Ross went downstairs, presumably to check their e-mails. And I fell asleep to an uncharacteristically silent Lisbon night.