Leaving Spain behind, after Madrid and Seville, I ventured into Portugal.
I knew nothing about the country except that I onced almost dated a portugese mix, ate portugese egg tart and drank port.
So it was a delight that I landed myself in one of the most pleasant hostels I've ever stayed in.
This was my room, called "White Dream". Perfectly suited for me since I'm a pieces, dreamer at birth. LOL
love the writings on the wall... enticing~
Met up with a friend who flew from London and this was his room. Super love as well! Though I still prefer mine. :p
It's so neat, clean and pretty that it didn't feel like an ordinary hostels, more like a boutique hotel, with the advantage of a cozy living area and kitchen where people actually USE.
I could walk into the kitchen and make myself some free toasts with jam and some milk tea. Felt exactly like home, in a foreign land, with a foreign weather. lol
I also loved this odd barber's chair sitting at the corner seemingly so out of place.
In most evenings, there would be one guest picking up the guitar and started strumming in the leisure room, and everyone would sit and hum or sing along.
It's such a surreal feeling staying there, in winter in a foreign country that I knew nothing of and speaked none of its language. But yet it was perfectly alright, and perfectly at ease.
Living Lounge Hostel in Lisbon, Portugal.
However, on a whole different note, I do know one thing about Portugal.
You know all those authentic portugese egg tarts most Malaysians have been claiming they've eaten in Macau?
Honey, it ain't authentic if it ain't from Portugal.
It's called PORTUGESE eggtart, d'oh.
Originated from Lisbon, Portugal in fact.
Where I was at. Where I ate one.
Now that's... one good tart.
