Who
knows when we’ll get back to the ocean, Lucy and I agreed, trekking toward the
train to Cascais around noon. By 13:30 we’d parked our lunch, bathers, towels,
notebooks, cameras close to where we’d parked on Sunday, maybe up the beach a
bit where the tide couldn’t get us. Lucy, not yet burn-proof, spent a quarter
of a bottle of sunscreen on herself. I opted for 3 bottles of Sagres which,
like the Mexican beer, seems brewed for beach days, when you can down a few and
get more refreshed than hammered, but hammered enough. At about 14:15 we
shifted a bit and did our other sides.
After
a while we walked east along the promenade toward the next beach—Estoril,
pronounced Shto-REEL—and caught the
train back from there. And thank you, bank machine in Estoril, for finally
getting it right with my bank card and handing over some cash.
For tonight,
Lucy’s last in Lisbon.
Who
knows when we’ll get back to Praça do Comércial. Might as well jump.
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