the portugueses/ lagos

(From last week...)

I write from a hostel/bar called Three Monkies, where the drinks are cheap, the internet free and the party is alive. good music too. Even dogs frequent this place, and I have always trusted their judgement on these kinds of things.

we are here in Lagos, situated in the very far south of Portugal in the Algarve. and things here have been a wee bit rocky, but doish, we're okay. I am going to have Michael narrate you through some of our adventures, because to be honest, I don't even quite know where to begin.

Hello again and welcome to the only show in town. Lagos, so far, has left me with a slightly bad taste in my mouth. That being said, everything can be healed with time, and beer.
Before we left Seville we booked two nights a a little place called Dinas Guesthouse. It seemed like a good situation, we were the only guests, private room and use of the kitchen, it was really as if we had our own apartment. We liked it enough to extend our stay by another 5 days, although she didn't speak much English, she assured us we had the room, and that we could pay her in the morning.
The Portuguese, while being a little like the Spanish, have a strange language with many 'Poi-sh' and 'Doi-sh's in there speech. Dina seemed to begin and end every sentence with Poish. Anyway, after the deal, Rose and i went to the market to load the fridge for our stay. But that night, little did we know, Dina was going to betray us like Judas Iscariot, Bennidict Arnold or Yoko Ono. She came up to our room at 10pm and informed us that a group of Americans had booked the WHOLE place and that we had to be out in the morning. She apologized, 'Poish-ed' and left. That little whore had us wandering around all night looking for hostels, including a rather charming one across from the cemetary. I didn't sleep well that night.
Not to worry though, we got up the next morning bright and early and found a great place run by a charming old french woman. Her husband is hilarious. He chain smokes all day and must go through at least 3 packs. The funny thing is, you can hear these vomit-inducing coughes from all over the house. At first i thought a dinosaur was loose in the house, but not so - just a cartoonish Frenchman who is basically deaf, must watch 'Futbul' with headphones at about 60, smokes like a chimeny and refuses to speak anything but french. I think i want him to be my new great uncle. You know the one that is so mean that he would tell a bride she looked fat on her wedding day. A real asshole - and a gentleman.
That night we went out and painted Lagos red, made some friends at the bar and on the way home i pushed in a bunch of car mirrors - even one with the owner in it. He didn't really like that, He jumped out and yelled something at me like, 'Poish, Doish!'