Too long, too long.

On the family vay-cay in Lisbon. I have eaten my body weight in pastel de nata. Re-defining “sugar high”. Some things are worth suffering for.

I first came to Lisbon about 15 years ago, for work. I don’t remember a lot of details from that time. However, my over-riding memory is how comfortable I felt. I remember not feeling like a tourist, but like a welcome visitor. I remember noting how diverse the city appeared to be (unlike other places in Europe I’d been to) and that I didn’t feel like an oddity.  I don’t know how the Portuguese regard all the colonials who have come “home” to roost. Black Africans from Angola or Mozambique, Chinese from Macau, Indians from Goa – they’re all here, mixing and mingling. They are Portuguese – in my eyes, anyway.

*paranoia alert* We are staying in a pretty upmarket hotel. Full of the Euro-rich. The only other black people here are the cleaners. Really. I mean – it’s 2015, right? And then, you head into town and we’re everywhere. And THEN – my youngest son (12 yrs) and I go to the contemporary art museum today, stop for lunch at a restaurant where – I kid you not – ALL the wait staff are black woman. Like the owner/manager had made a conscious decision. This is where I question my level of paranoia. It was odd. To me. And a bit icky. Oh – I was the only black person in the restaurant. Boy no.3 (youngest) said, “Hey mum. Let’s play that game where whoever spots the most black people wins. You! I win!”

2015, right?

Don’t get me wrong. I’m enjoying myself. I’m in food heaven and the sights are glorious. Weather is amazing and my children seem to have stopped arguing. I think that’s what constitutes a vacation.