Portuguese

People say that Portuguese is close to Spanish, but I actually think it sounds like Russian. If I see the writing, I can make out what on earth I'm buying or eating, but listening, I got nothing. Currently in Lisbon, the capital of Portugal. Big city, beautiful architecture surrounded by old castles, mountains, and the ocean. I've been reassured by several people (after I answer and say shhh, don't tell anyone I'm American), that Portugal is the end/begining of the world. Once you leave land there is only ocean between Portugal and America, and that makes us neighbors. I arrived via a God awful 14-hour overnight (sitting up) train from Biarritz. The train ride was rough, but after the crazy guy was carted off the train (he didn't have a ticket) at least there was some peace and quiet. I spent the last couple hours of the trip speaking (attempt at least) Spanish to my two remaining compartment mates, one Spanish, one Portuguese, both fantastic people. The people here have been so nice, although a weirdo greeted me on the corner today by trying to put his baseball cap on my head--very strange and ewe gross, luckily the traffic cop waved me past so I wouldn't have to stand there with him. Nice traffic cop. The wonderful thing about Lisbon is that the sidewalks are all made out of small stones. Do you know what the best thing about stone sidewalks is? Yes, of course it's much prettier than cement, but the best part is that it's slippery as hell! Any type of shoe, slips and slides without careful steps, foot after foot, strategically placed. I smacked a guy while flailing my arms trying to prevent myself from wiping out; luckily he was attempting to save me so I didn't feel like a complete jerk. Then of course I scared a poor girl when I slipped off the sidewalk (in front of a packed cafe mind you). For those of you that have played softball, sloshball or sailed with me, or really anything that might induce fear, if you remember, when scared I inhale deeply, which creates a squeak noise. Sometimes louder than others depending on the level of anxiety. This poor girl was in front of me when I slipped and squeaked, she reached out her arms to grab me and shrieked a bit herself, but luckily when my foot hit the safety of concrete, I was stabilized. I always laugh attempting to avoid embarrassment and remind myself that I will never see these people again, but my face still turns red from humiliation. I'm hoping my next stop in Portugal is full of cement, otherwise I'm going to have figure out how to put traction on all my shoes.