Lisbon, Portugal

I got into Portugal this morning after a terrible evening in the Madrid airport, trying my best to sleep and having absolutely very little luck.

Internet is not cheap here, so I will keep this post short and sweet. Lisbon is beautiful and exciting, like a more realistic Spain with chipping paint, but not quite. The hills are steep and views of the ocean are common. The air is salty and the people seem somewhat raw and real. I love it.

Morocco ended for me in a picture perfect fashion. The afternoon was a genuine microcosmic copy of my entire view of the country.

On the way to the airport, cops on motorcycles came racing down the road in the wrong direction. They were soon followed by black Audis driving at an equally absurd speed in an equally incorrect direction. I asked the taxi driver to explain, and he did in very blunt terms.

"Criminals," he told me, "mafia."

He continued to explain, answering the questions that I had not yet asked.

"Government ministers, friends of the King, every one of them all the way up to the King, they are all criminals."

I guess that free speece is alive and well in Morocco, at least when in a taxi and talking to a foreigner.

At the airport, hungry, I went looking for something to eat at the only cafe. They had run out of sandwiches, so I sadly settled for an overpriced bag of Corn Nuts. A nice healthy meal.

The young guy working the cafe called me over a few moments after I had finished licking my salty fingers. "Take this," he told me, handing me a plate with half of a sandwich and some french fries.

It was half of his dinner, and he would not take no for an answer.

More soon.