Plan B

Standing here, breathing the southern air we already know it smells home. It smells like a windy evening, roasted chestnuts, salty water, just baked pastry, like lilacs.
It sounds like jangling of the old electrico, an anxious Portuguese whisper, fado, street singers worth falling in love with.
And it feels saudade.
If you've got the same feeling you are in Lisboa.
It’s the 4th of April, our city is crowded, full of always happy Spaniards, old-fashioned Germans and noisy Italians who came here to celebrate Easter in a slightly extraordinary way.
It is 8 a.m. We couldn't sleep any longer with these terrible thoughts of coming back from the place which immersed us into its narrow, hilly streets almost 2 years ago. Living in Lisboa is living in the different times which have never existed in any of well – known epochs. Walking down the pavements of Rossio in the cool fresh morning we are already at the place : a regular pasteleria that has been visited by us every morning since 3 days. We are looking odd wearing shorts and tops while everyone else looks like the winter fashion was about to last forever. The mocking smiles of the men selling us our favourite, warm, aromatic croissants dripping with blancmange tell us everything.
We are sitting outside drinking cappuccino, pretending that the annoying barbs of passers-by don’t bother us. That’s all right. This is Portugal and a price of being as they say “the eastern European girl” has always been high in these areas. We are going for a bicycle trip; we look sporty, not provocative. Almost no shade of make-up at our faces and the silly looking hairdos shouldn't evoke so much interest.
The breakfast is eaten. Our full bellies not ready to move further had probably nothing to do with a strike of railways discovered by us couple of minutes ago. Plan A was to head to Cascais, take the free bikes and cycle to Guincho- one of those windy, wild beaches with enormous waves regularly conquered by surfers. We were about to sit there long hours and admire these brave boys
Sweet and yet warm pastries eaten in front of Torre de Belém . It was plan B. We are watching Ponte 25 de Abril standing out on the horizon when the sun rays are dancing on our faces . All these things made us forget about cycling.
Once I said that I would marry this bridge. Maybe this should be plan B.