Not dead yet...

First things first: Lisbon lasted longer than expected, three nights became five nights, I write you now from the airport on my way out.
I wish the reason for this was purely pleasure... :-/
When last we spoke, it was night two, I was watching Portugal beat Holland in a Eurocup match, and I had grand plans to leave to my next city, wherever that may be, in a day or so.
So what happened?
Portugal won, free beer for all--If Portugal wins, we all win--I ate a glorious hostel-family dinner (a proper 3-course meal, plus dessert and drink for just over the cost of a grocery store meal, this alone easily places my Lisbon hostel in my top five, a fierce competition indeed) met some lovely people, and, despite feeing out of sorts, went out on an adventure.
It was Sunday, and my new friends the CanadiAsians decided that shouldn't stop it from being party night, so we searched far and wide for the white whale, a club open on Sunday. A leap of faith, a 40 minute walk, and a sketchy bridge across train tracks/ wander behind a police station later, we found an Irish pub in which to watch the NBA game AND a club with agreeable music and no charge for ladies (a definite plus) we danced like mad people, we tired ourselves out, and we walked back to the hostel.
A good time was had by all, and I went to sleep with all reasonable intention of going on the walking tour in the morning, but this was not in the cards.
I did wake up in the morning...in full on flu-bug death mode. Fever, chills, pain, yeah, travel had caught up with me, and it was not pretty...it never is.
I tried to get myself out the door, but my body wouldn't allow it, it seemed my day was to be spent popping aspirin and sleeping. As much as I hate to do it, even the most dedicated traveler has got their off day, this was mine, and fortunately it paid off! After rescheduling my flight plans to accommodate illness and extending my stay in Lisbon for two more nights, my body recovered (yeah, it took a full 24+ hours of sleep and all the orange juice money could buy, but it was worth it to be back on my game by noon the next day) and all was well.
I decided to stop trying to make the walking tour and instead wandered my way up the winding roads, past the ruins of the roman theater (an unexpected bonus! They've uncovered about a third of it, it looks like a huge construction site in the middle of the street, but if you're nosey and creep through the gate, you realize that you can go in and walk around and read all kinds of informative tales of roman times) to the Castle of Sao Jorge. After deciding to spend the 8€ to get in, I made a full afternoon of it...got to get your money's worth, amIright? So I strolled around the grounds, stalked peacocks, napped in the sun on a particularly cozy portion of the castle wall, accidentally kicked my shoe off of said portion of the wall, ran down from my perch to fetch it (and succeeded, a good thing since I am only traveling with one pair of shoes and I'm not partial to hopping) got laughed at by a courtyard full of people, got photographed by the quintessential Asian tour group, watched a group of old Portugese men play poker, reveled in the simple science of periscopes in the Ulysses tower, listened to a fado performance, watched a feral cat slaughter a pigeon, and became the personal photographer for a French couple. After deciding that was enough adventure for one day, I made my way to the supermarket, bought nectarines, and made my way back to the shady elephant for a snack. I befriended a great dane puppy, gave a nectarine to a homeless man, got judged by a hip 4-year old, and, deciding I had earned a nap, returned to the hostel and passed out for 3 hours in the way that only a recovering sick traveller can (1 shoe still on, fully clothed, half vertical, probably drooling a little, completely unwakeable)
Fortunately: Lisbon does food late. I went downstairs and joined hostel family dinner, duck rice--like Portuguese pallella/jambalaya with chorizo, bacon, and duck...I will master this recipe and eat it regularly and be such a happy camper. Made new friends, caught up with old friends, and, feeling well rested from the nap and guilty for having slept a full 24 hours the day before, decided to join my hostel folks on the pub crawl. Bar one was good, bar two was too crowded, but not bad...UNTIL a bar fight broke out between the guys standing on either side of me (not people I knew) and one guy punched the other guy so many times that he passed out on the ground. Generally, this means you have won the fight, you let his friends help him up, maybe punch him once more for good measure, high five your friends and go about your life... Not in Lisbon... Apparently in Lisbon, this means it's time to CURB STOMP THE UNCONSCIOUS GUY. Seriously? How is that ok?? Security eventually pulled him off and I, still trapped in the middle, watched with bated breath as a bunch of people tried desperately to wake the guy who was down, eventually succeeding after a full 3 minutes (doesn't sound too long until you're me and think you've just witnessed a man get beaten to death/coma/whatever...then anything more than instantly is too much)
What's worse? The near-death guy is the one they kicked out even though he didn't throw a single punch. Deciding this was not an establishment I had any interest in supporting, I went outside to breathe, settle my nerves, and wait for the crawl to move along.
We walked to the next and last place, but no one really felt much like dancing, so half an hour later, we walked home.
I arrived home to an empty room (odd when there are six beds) and slept the restful slumber of someone who was so very glad she had not been curb stomped.
I woke up to a full house, planned my direction for the day, and peaced out for my last day of Portugese exploration: Belem Tower, not actually the golden gate bridge, Discovery Monument, Jeronimo Monastery, postcard buying/writing, and a nice long walk back along the river.
The actual sightseeing was quite successful, uneventful, and not really blog-fodder, but interesting and successful.
The story comes when I bought stamps. I asked for fourteen stamps and was buying 10 postcards, marked at .5€, I thought... In my mind, I approximated that this would cost about 19€ at the most...so when it came up to 30€, I was a little shocked, so I asked for a breakdown to which the woman said, "postcards 1€, stamps expensive. You want less stamps?" but I needed 14, so I just went with it. Upon arriving at the cafe to write them, I discovered the problem...I said fourteen...She heard forty...
That said: if I had your address, I tried to send some gloriously unconventional mail rather than buy more postcards...we'll see how far the Portuguese postal system will let me push it when/if things start arriving in a week or so.
Frustrated at my stamps, I decided a nice long walk was exactly what I needed... Only when I got outside it had dropped 20 degrees and a storm was blowing in... And I was just getting over being sick and without a jacket...I walked 2 blocks and then quit and took the tram home. I returned to the hostel, finished writing and addressing 40 pieces of mail, saw it was nearly shots o'clock, and decided to participate one last time...then shots turned into gooodbye beers, which turned into dancing, which became a great end to what started as a rocky evening.
Once all the darling hoodlums went out/to bed, I stayed up the rest of the night talking with Luis, who was working the night shift, about hostel life, it's ups and downs, about home, about travel, about people, and life experience--and even a little about music, Kanye, dubstep, and the internationality of club music.
As the rowdy drunk folk rolled back in, I knew it was time to pack my bags and say my goodbyes.
I kind of miss it all already :-/