i'm still jetlagged while i'm standing at the ticket kiosk. there are so many different fares but eventually i find the seven day ticket. i'm staying for five days, it's probably not the cheapest solution. the four hours sleep on the floor of a middle eastern airport (i can't remember which right now) is the only i've had for two days. optimising seems risky. the thick paper ticket feels more solid than i expected in my hands, it soothes me.
having arrived a short while later at the central station, it's time to find my hostel. it has 'central' in its name. i hope it's telling the truth right now. my phone figures out the way, it's not far.
it's bright and cool outside. the wind is fresh and slightly salty. looking around i begin to take in the city, and the main thing i notice are the wide, cobbled footpaths. the buildings are older, low rise apartments with ornate railings. i pick out my direction and walk.
the wind carries the smell of several food stalls along the street as i walk, along with some of the smoke. it smells vaguely nutty. a few metres later i see the cheery chestnut seller who gives me a slight wave, and i smile back. expecting a bit of hawking i tense slightly, but nothing comes. he was genuine, much appreciated. there are several other small stalls nearby, including a few news and coffee stands, and a souvenir shop selling gaudy, bright tiles. it makes me cringe. i'm sure locals cringe harder. there's a place selling indian food which i catalogue for later with some effort.
my phone tells me i should turn left next. the street name has the word miradouro in it, which none of the others have so fa . i wonder what means just as i get to the corner and turn left, and see a steep, cobbled hike ahead of me. turning the other way takes me downhill to the estuary. this must have something to do with miradouro. i spot some rails in the middle of the cobbles, the street seems too difficult for a tram though, so i'm not sure how that would work. trying to roll my luggage up doesn't quite work, and carrying it sounds like hell. then a vehicle clatters past me down the hill, a grinding sound coming from below the pavement. realising i can take this funicular up the hill i pull out my ticket and wonder whether it covers the funiculars. i look up the street again and suddenly become aware of just how much i'm arching my neck, mostly because of the angle but also because of the flight. i decide i don't care if the ticket covers the funiculars and descend slightly to the nearest station.
the same carriage comes back in a few minutes time. it's a pleasing dull yellow colour with wooden frames and seats. the compartments are offset vertically by a half a foot because of the hill. the doors open automatically, i wonder if it's electric or hydraulic because of the obvious age of the carriage. something to look up later.
the carriage starts to move at surprising speed up the hill. there's no one else on it. a few open windows keep the air fresh inside. i love this place already. i'm forgetting the problems i was running from.
the carriage stops at the top the hill with a soft ding that snaps me out of my thoughts. i have to scramble a little bit to get out of the automatic doors as a result. i regard the hostel, which is next to the station, and hear the carriage clatter downhill on its return journey. central? close enough. there's an open window facing the street on the second floor of the hostel. don't let that be my room. i look back down the hill and see a patchwork of red roofs set against the dark blue of the estuary at seemingly random heights and angles. the fresh breeze soothes my face. do let that be my room.