The air is crisp and cool when we leave the apartment. Already feeling accomplished as we finally figure out how to use the light in the stairwell and manage to find the electric release latch on the door to the street, we walk with confidence into the unknown. That is short lived. When you walk in Alfama, you will get lost. Gps in hand…you will get lost. Streets wind in near circles. Stairs can go nowhere (into rock walls and even into someone’s living room). All road choices sometimes lead to the same spot. You feel like you are in a fun house.

We walk with confidence down escolas gerais only to find that we need to turn on rua escolas gerais. Then we need to turn on beca escolas gerais….the bico escolas gerais. And so on. Each street has connecting streets that share part of the same name depending on whether it is stairs or an alley or a plaza or…

We giggle as the gps reroutes us for the 29th time. We gasp when we see the length of a stairwell only wide enough for one person with no way to pass someone coming up if you are going down. We meet dead ends and have to backtrack several times. A final long staircase and a shooing of pigeons and we reach the waterfront. The road is a bit confusing and it takes a minute to find a crosswalk to clear several lanes of traffic. But the Tagus is in front of us in all its glory.

The sun shimmers on the water. Fishing boats drift in and out of the dock. A cruise ship arrived in the night and sits looming over the riverfront. Cafes line the water with brightly colored lounge chairs. We see benches along the inner dock ledge and head toward them. The benches are more like curved beds and we stretch out and turn our face to the sun. It is warm and wonderful. I can see Palm trees and sea birds. Feelings of happiness well up. We take a few photos to send to our work colleagues, and then move on.

After a stroll down the river bank we reach the Terreiro Do Paco…also know as the Praco Do Comercio. The plaza is huge with ridiculously large buildings on three sides. A large statue of King Jose 1 stands in the middle. He is crushing snakes underfoot and there are symbols for each continent that the Portuguese explored and conquered. A large arch leads to the Rua Augusta, a pedestrian shopping street. It is here that I get my first Vasco de Gama sighting. He is everywhere in Portugal. I can’t determine if Lisbon has more churches or Vasco de Gamas.

The sheer size of the Praco de Comercio is overwhelming. What used to be the center of government is now a meeting place in the city. Tourists take photos. A giant dancing panda and a man with a bubble machine entertain children. Police mingle with youth mildly protesting something, although I can’t figure out their cause. We wander the square and find a cafe for lunch.

Menus are available in Portuguese and English. We select a seat on the plaza facing the water. There is only one waiter and it is busy. We wait. After 15 minutes we begin to squirm. We are Americans and we are hungry. We are getting cranky. I observe the leisurely pace in which others are eating and talking and check myself. The pace here is different. We will need to embrace the slower lifestyle. The waiter explains that we need to move sections if we want lunch. White paper placemats indicate the section where food is served. So we leave my seat facing the water because I am hungry. My salad is delicious. Before we know it an hour and a half have disappeared.

We decide that our first tourist stop should be the Lisbon story center. The small museum provides an audio tour outlining the history of Lisbon, starting with the discovery of the city by the Greeks. Roman occupation, disputes with Spain, maritime adventure, commerce… are all woven together. The earthquake room commemorates the great earthquake and tsunami of 1755 that destroyed the city. On a Sunday morning when most of the city was in church, the entire center of Lisbon was flattened. Inside the simulation, the floor shakes while a wrap around video screen show scenes of devastation. We agree that the Story center was a great first stop to get a since of the history of Lisbon.

We walk through the Arch and up the Rua Augusta. You can climb up inside the arch for a small few. We see no sense in paying to climb more stairs. We have climbed several thousand already. We see a small church, the Igrezia de Santa Maria Madalena and go inside. There is a prayer service in progress. Though we don’t speak Portuguese, we sit and participate. The Spirit moves in any language and I pray for friends and family facing health challenges back home. The church is ornate, almost gaudy. But the prayers are simple. Upon leaving, I press a small coin into the hand of an old women begging at the doorstep of the church. (There but by the grace of God….)

We wander the area, taking in the elevator de Santa Justa. This elevator is a fantastical iron tower that carries passengers up to the neighborhood near the convent do Carmo and can prevent a long walk uphill. The line wraps around and around so we walk on. We see elevator signage on the outside of a tall building near the church. We walk in and see free elevator lines. I get in line. My husband reminds me that I have no idea where I am going. I agree and get in line anyway. After several stories, we exit the elevator onto a street. We are starting to figure out that unless we want to walk long distances uphill both ways, we are going to need to learn the short cuts.

As afternoon sunlight starts to fade we wander through Rossio square and encounter O Mundo De Fantastico Da Sardinha Portuguese. Rough translation the fantastic world of Portuguese sardines. The entire store is sardines in decorative cans. You can buy sardines in cans labeled with the year of your birth and in cans that look like gold bars. There is a carousel and a sardine throne. Of course I take my picture with the sardines. A very nice girl does her best to sell us sardines. Alas, we don’t care for them. So we say our goodbyes and head for Martim Moniz to catch the 28 tram.

Good news! A tram is in sight. I try to enter only to discover that the driver is on his break. He points to the other side of the square where the tram line is already 30 people deep. We walk to the line. It is a sea of people with multiple bus and tram stops. We are overwhelmed. Gps says we can walk to Graca in 15 minutes. Since we need to buy groceries in Graca we decide to head off. After a few blocks we come to an outdoor escalator up the hill. Yay! This won’t be bad after all. After a few more blocks we see a giant hill. Sigh! We can do this. We huff and puff our way to the Jardim da Cerca da Graca. Beautiful views on a beautiful terrace. I am enchanted and explore the park. Meanwhile my husband and travel partner has been assessing our location and correctly assumes that we are only halfway up the hill. He begins to protest, but there is no remedy but climbing on . . . So up we go to Graca. At the miradouro dos barrow (a miradouro is a scenic overlook) we find young musicians playing fado (Portuguese blues) in the park. It is wonderful and haunting. We collapse against a wall and listen as the sun sets. Some climbs are worth it.

After a rest, we walk to the Pingo Doce, our local grocery store. We pass through the gate and walk past the security guard and begin our shopping. It is hard to find vegetables and food we are used to. Lettuce and carrots go in the cart. Wine is plentiful and cheap. So is dried and salted fish. I use google translate to read labels and manage to find what we need for the next few days. We realize at check out that we need our own shopping bags. I go back through the store and find two sturdy bags to purchase. We carry the overloaded bags the half mile downhill to our flat. Food tastes better when you have to carry it home, or maybe we are starving from the multiple hills we have climbed.

My husband makes our first dinner in the apartment. . . Tacos. We laugh and linger over dinner. A great day. He settles in to watch television and is surprised to find several American programming options. I begin to prepare a bath. The water isn’t hot, so I boil water on the stove and in the kettle to add to the bath water. I am just getting ready to get in the tub when the power goes out. We are in total darkness. We can see lights along the street. We try to call our hosts, but the call won’t go through. We locate the fuse box to no avail. Internet is down. I take my bath using the flashlight on my cell phone. I am tired and more than a little stressed. We finally reach the owners of the apartment who send us hunting for a master fuse switch in a hidden location. I flip the switch and we are back in the 21st century. I go to sleep thinking about all the things I learned in the last 24 hours. I have a whole month to encounter Portugal and now that I have electricity I feel confident that I am up to the challenge.