I keep the balcony’s sliding glass door open to the breeze, which washes up from the Atlantic down the hill. Thank goodness they aren’t picking me up til 6 pm, I think, as I roll over again in the stiff white cotton sheets on the twin bed in the Eden Estoril. I’m up on a high floor, and the view outside comes close to unbelievable. Who knew Portugal meant these long stretches of beach, tempered by the same milky light that so finely bathes the northern California coastline? Okay, of course people did, but when first touched by that light, I fell for it instantly.
I find the fridge under the desk, and open it to a meagre stock, but one including two cans of the Portuguese beer, Sagres. My stomach bubbles again from the jet lag, and the abrupt awakening of the alarm by my bedside rousing me for dinner. There’s no sparkling water, so I take a chance and pop the tab on one red-and-silver can. I pour out the cork-colored lager into a glass, just half of the can, and, as I lift it to my mouth, the fresh scent of wheat in the sun hits my nose and somehow soothes me…as do the bubbles when they hit my temperamental tummy.
Dinner doesn’t seem such a stretch of the imagination anymore. Bring on the percebes!
The gooseneck barnacles don’t look it but are tender inside…an acquired taste beloved in Portugal
In the glow of the bedside light, next to the euro-socket and a plastic plant, sits my sour stomach’s salvation