My Portugal Diary: Day 3

英国病人 @ 2004-07-26 16:01

Day 3 Thursday 17 June, 2004

Journey to Portugal starts. Realising that I know almost nothing about the country, I bought a copy of Lonely Planet's "Portugal" before boarding TP353 for Lisbon. Recalling in Chaplin's "Autobiography" the caption under a photo says (roughly): every morning I come to the sight having no idea what to shoot today. I'm getting more and more artistic.

The flight was delayed by (only) half an hour (more like the Latins), which means I'm not too sure any more if I can make it to Coimbra to watch the Switzerland game on the big screen outside the stadium, and hopefully to celebrate with the fans there. It could take me more than two hours to get to the town from Lisbon's main railway station. Better off probably just pop into a pub and watch the game on the telly. Before closing this diary for landing, I'm whispering in my heart to whoever is up there listening to me: ENGLAND, HERE I AM, COMING ALL THE WAY FOR YOU. DON'T LET ME DOWN!

4 Hours Later, 7:00pm

I'm sitting in a bar in the centre of Lisbon, enjoying my dinner.

Realised I'm in Portugal as soon as I stepped out of the airport. Fewer cars are flying flags, and on top of those who do, the St. George's have given way to the Portuguese red and green. Found the Residencial booked at the Tourist Information at the airport. The room is ultra-small but brisk-clean. The landlady couldn't really understand English, but by accident I found that she speaks perfect French, which became our language of communication and put me to a very disadvantaged position. However, I suppose anything other than Spanish would endear me to the locals. Had some difficulty in finding a pub to watch the game though. Spotted a chap wearing an England kit in the street, and was directed to a bar where a big screen was set up. Not too crowded inside. A pint of local beer kicked off the game for me. England started so nervously. Then, a star was born! How I hate to admit that he's from Everton! Well, at least Michael Owen was the provider of the last pass—Merseyside connection after all. Second half was started in the same nervous, nail-biting fashion, and nail-biting was literally what I did. Then Wayne again! The nerve was settled, and I could even afford the leisure of exchanging text messages with my friend back in China, teasing her to come over here to carry me back to the hotel if I went over board by drinking too much beer. Then Stevie got this redemption by scoring the third. That was it! 3:0! England are back on track!

Very fast the streets are swamped by singing England supporters—luckily I am not wearing my England kit. Sitting next to me in this bar, which, ironically, is called Suica, are a group of young lads and a father and a son, all wearing the Three Lions. A chap wearing Switzerland jersey passed in front us, and was inevitably taunted by the sneers, but he responded in good manner by squaring his shoulders and giving a wry smile

Decided to come back to my hotel to get some of the second match. France equalised by a hand-ball unspotted by the referee, and then almost fluffed it at the dying seconds. What an irony that would have made! Anyway, we have to beat the Croats at the cracker on the 21st, the game I come for.

Before that, though, I have to find a place to sleep tomorrow night.