Not Ireland Vol. 5: The Time I Got Attacked By an Uber Driver in Portugal

I can only imagine the heart attack I gave my mother with today’s title, so I feel the need to tell you right off the bat: I was not physically attacked by a man in Portugal (unless you count the headache I had after listening to him talk). I was however, along with my friends, continuously berated from every angle by an unhappy man with a god complex to the point that if we had stayed around any longer, some physical damage may have been done.

 That being said I also feel it important to tell you I have never been in a fight in my life unless you count the time I almost got attacked (unprovoked) by a girl in the bathroom at a bar in Minnesota, but that’s a whole another story.

Where was I? Ah yes, Awful Man. Portugal.

Awful Man. Portugal.

Now in my Paris post, I made you read all the way to the bottom to get the answer to my clickbait title. Today is Friday though, the sun is out (or at least it’s not actively raining), and I’m in a good mood. Therefore, as a gift to you, I’ll get right into it:

The man was our Uber driver to the Lisbon airport to catch our flight back to Dublin. My friends were IrishJacqui, Curd Thief, Chappie, and Pasta Protector, and we were wrapping up the best girls weekend in Portugal.

The drive started with us getting in the car and the youngish, Portuguese driver saying, “Lisbon is (a bad word).”

We should’ve known then what we were getting ourselves into.

Lisbon is (a Bad Word)

Instead, we politely laughed. In return, we got unloaded on by this man who clearly has it out for the world. No topic was safe – he talked about how awful the country of Portugal is, how it is basically a dictatorship, how the city of Lisbon is overcrowded and disgusting, how the tourists are stupid, how it’s the worst place to live.

 I should mention this guy is a tour guide in Lisbon too. Imagine that.

After about 10 straight minutes of listening to him go off on his home country, I finally got fed up and countered with a, “So what do you like about Portugal then?” Granted, knowing me it probably came out more as a friendly “So what do you like about Portugal?” but at least in my head it sounded mean.

His response was, “I used to say the beaches, the food, and the people but the people are stupid so I guess just the beaches and the food.”

Then, once he really got in his groove, he switched topics from his home country to our home country. Yes that’s right, the good ol’ U S of A.

The Good Ol’ U S of A

According to this guy (who mind you has never been to America before), our politics make him laugh, our food is disgusting (we eat hamburgers and fried food for every meal), our culture is embarrassing, and he doesn’t understand why anyone would ever want to visit, let alone live there. Now, he chose the wrong audience for this particular conversation. Say what you want about the country, we were a group of five Americans who had been away from our homes for 4+ months. To us, those frustrating politics and disgusting food and awful culture were sounding pretty darn good.

Awful Portugal Man: In Summary

I could probably spend the rest of this blog post talking about how infuriating this guy was, but I think you get the gist. I’ll sum it up like this: our flight was delayed to arrive in Dublin at 2am, we ate McDonald’s on the floor of the packed airport terminal, took a Ryan Air flight, arrived at our apartments at 4:30am, and went to work the next morning. And I would still choose that over the 30 minute Uber ride. I rest my case.

The day was not a total bust, though. In fact, it was far from it. We got the most delightful brunch at a café in town (think avocado toast, pancakes with lemon ice cream, Huevos Rancheros, and iced coffee) and then a trip to the Lisbon Oceanarium. The highlights by far were the Sunfish (are they the world’s most unintelligent animal? The world may never know), the Jellyfish, the humungous Octopus, and the precious otters. We also flew in a sky taxi to the other side of the complex and I wasn’t even scared!

Now that we got that out of the way though, let me rewind back to the beginning so I can tell the story of Portugal properly. So naturally it starts with a 3:45am wakeup call for a 6am flight.

Portugal, Properly

Well, actually, it starts with me running with 4 days’ worth of luggage to the train platform and frantically buying a ticket only to watch my train depart from Sligo to Dublin without me as the ticket printed out into my hands. Then came a second, much later train into Dublin arriving at 11pm. Then came a 3:45am wakeup call to the airport. Chaos.

Despite the customary travel mayhem that seems to follow wherever I go, Pasta Protector and I made it on the plane with no problems. From there we departed for Lisbon, our home for the next long weekend! The others were meeting us later Friday night, so we had the first day in the city just ourselves.

Lisbon Day 1

After a disappointing Starbucks trip (but what else is new) we made our way to our accommodation for the weekend – Sant Jordi Hostel. Historic building? Check. Cute garden backyard? Check. 6 bunk beds in a room and shared bathrooms and showers for the whole floor? Check and check. Pasta Protector and I decided to pretend like we were in college again; naturally that meant changing, fixing hair, and doing makeup in the public bathroom on the first floor. When we were done we felt like new women. We also felt too old to be getting ready in a public bathroom.

Post-bathroom transformations, we walked around the city, had a lovely brunch, and then sat by the water for a very long time just getting caught up on each other’s lives. When we started to get hungry, we found a restaurant along the street. We ended the night with ice cream and live music in the cutest little light-strung courtyard. The perfect ending to a wonderful first day.

The rest of the gang finally made it to the hostel in the middle of the night after suffering a barrage of travel delays. Being the kind hosts that we were, Pasta Protector and I took one for the team and let the others sleep in the next morning as we also caught up on much needed rest.

Lisbon Day 2

Once everyone was alive and awake, we got brunch (are you sensing a theme yet?), went shopping, and then once again made our way to the waterfront to relax and take in the Portuguese coast.

To be honest by this point I was fading quickly. I was tired, hungry, and a little grumpy and I just wanted to sit and continue to be tired, hungry, and a little grumpy. When IrishJacqui suggested a spur of the moment boat tour, I was not enthused. Sensing my resistance, she gave me the little push that I needed to return to my chipper self and finally I said, “okay.”

Well, am I indebted to IrishJacqui.

Complete with snacks, wine, and the beautiful coast of Lisbon, the boat tour ended up being my favorite part of the entire trip. By that point we were all a little delirious, and I couldn’t tell you the last time I laughed as hard as I did on that boat. It was beautiful sites, it was friendship, it was lack of sleep. It was amazing.

We rounded out the day with a trip to a 1940’s Pharmacy-themed tapas restaurant (aptly named Pharmacia Felicidade) and a good sleep in our little bunk beds in preparation for the day to come.

Day 2 (3?)… Day 2.5 was Sintra Day!

Sintra Day!

A town about a 45-minute train ride from Lisbon, Sintra is home of beautiful green hilly landscapes, a palace, a fortress, and a massive garden featuring that spirally staircase thing you see on all the youths’ TikToks these days.

As we were getting ready for the day, there was a collective nervousness when we checked the weather forecast and saw thunderstorms and rain… all day. Not to be deterred by a little water (we’re Irishwomen now, after all!) we donned our waterproofiest shoes and hoodiest coats, ready to embrace what was thrown our way. That is, everyone except Curd Thief. Dismayed at the forecast, Curd Thief had only brought white platform tennis shoes that were coming apart at the seams, clearly very functional footwear for the day ahead. She was fine with it, however, as she said they were old and she was planning on throwing them out after this trip anyways. Crisis averted.

 Not only did the weather end up being perfectly sunny and beautiful all day, but the charming city was everything we hoped for and more. If you are ever in Portugal, I highly, highly recommend a detour in Sintra. A piece of advice, though, book your tickets in advance and show up on time! We were running a bit behind schedule and while it ultimately all worked out, there were some sweaty eyebrows as we awaited our fate handing our tickets over to the castle guards.

Buckle In, Sports Fans

Once returning from the best day trip, the team had big plans to take on the town, aka, find a local bar and finish off the lovely evening. The plan? Stop at a grocery store to pick up water bottles for our room, make a quick detour to the hostel to freshen up, and then head out to explore the famous Lisbon nightlife. To be honest, I don’t even know if Lisbon is famous for their nightlife but it sounded poetic so we’ll go with it. Unfortunately, though, we never got to find out for ourselves. Dun. Dun. Dunnnnnnnnnn.

Part 1: The Water Bottles

It started with the water bottles. We picked up a six pack of rather large water receptacles which Pasta Protector generously offered to carry back to the hostel. And when I say she generously offered, I mean she refused any and all help that was offered to her so she could have the opportunity to continuously lament on the struggle she was enduring. By the end of the walk, while exhausted, she made it her personal mission to finish out the journey, pack of waters perched on her shoulder.

Then came the fall.

Part 2: The Fall

Two separate things happened that day that led up to the tragic climax that I am about to tell you. The first was the shoes. Remember when I told you about Curd Thief’s broken platform sneakers? Yeah, that was on purpose, I wasn’t just going into acute detail about outfit choices for the heck of it. The second was thing was my fault, a part in this story I am not proud to have played.

Side Story for Context

Quick side story for context: Chappie and I have experienced the unfortunate pattern of witnessing people fall in front of us every time we go on a trip together. I know that sounds strange, but I swear it’s true. The first time it happened was in Iceland when we were hiking to the active volcano, which to this day I am still shook that that was something we just casually went and saw, like what?!

Sorry, getting distracted.

The trail was pretty rocky and as we were hiking through, a woman in front of us tripped, hitting her face on one of the rocks while she fell. While she ultimately ended up being okay, it was extremely scary in the moment, especially since we were miles away from any type of medical help. But then things like that happened again in Donegal, and Dublin, and Paris and by the end of it, we couldn’t help but think that we were the common factor among all these falls.

I feel like you’ve probably figured out where I’m going with this.

Part 2: The Fall (For Real This Time)

Come the evening of our last full day in Portugal, probably a quarter-mile from our hostel, I turn to Chappie and say, “I think we broke the curse! We made it through this whole trip and no one has fallen!”

I would just like to say I take full responsibility for what I’m about to type.

We are now not ten feet from the door of the hostel. Ten feet to safety. Pasta Protector is ahead of me making a beeline for the opportunity to put down her grievous load (the water bottles) so she doesn’t have the obligation to complain about them anymore.

All of a sudden I hear a loud crash behind me.

I whip my head around to see Curd Thief splayed out on the floor, kind of like one of those crime scene tape outlines of a person on the street.

We see pretty immediately that this was not just your run-of-the-mill fall on the street. The combination of her precarious shoe situation and the uneven cobblestone of the Lisbon streets made for a hard fall, a busted knee, and a whole lot of blood. We get her off the floor and walk her the ten feet into the hostel, which is where IrishJacqui captured an iconic moment in time, a picture that will go down in history and tell the story of the water bottles and the fall for ages to come.

Part 3: The Picture

The scene: a distraught Curd Thief, grappling with the reality of a fall that I accidentally caused by my loose lipped lamentations, blood splattered across her fabulous green flowy pants. If you look closer though, the whole picture comes together. In the background is Pasta Protector, water bottles on shoulder, utter desperation on her face. How dare Curd Thief get hurt when Pasta Protector is suffering the ultimate sacrifice, the true hero of the night?

Obviously we (Pasta Protector especially) were all extremely concerned for Curd Thief and she took the incident like a champ. Now that time has passed we can look back on the situation and find humor in the chaos that ensued and the priceless picture that will live on in our memories forever. And the white shoes? Well, let’s just say it’s a good thing she was planning to throw them out anyways because they were more red than white by the time they made it to the trash can.

So while we didn’t quite get to take on the town or experience the (maybe) magical nightlife of Portugal, we did have a good laugh at everything that had just happened. I know spending that time just hanging out in the room was more valuable than anything else and will be something I remember forever.

Lisbon Day 4: Back to the Beginning

That takes us then, finally, to the delectable brunch and the Oceanarium (where I pushed Curd Thief around in a wheelchair for the day) and the Sunfish and the Sky Taxi and finally, the Portuguese Uber driver who verbally assaulted us with his barrage of self-absorbed commentary.

And that’s the story of Portugal.