. . . the first time I went to Portugal was in 1974 . . . the fascist regime had toppled with a little help from junior army officers and other progressive forces . . . my best pal at the time, Pedro, was a political refugee, who I met at college and we set off to join the party . . . exciting times!
We went by train that time . . . the following year Pedro decided to relocate to Lisbon and invited me to co-drive his Austin Healey Sprite, with his belongings somehow crammed in with the two of us . . . my request for holiday from my job driving buses in London was refused, so I went anyway and rang in sick from Lisbon . . . the drive was 48 hours, more or less non-stop . . .
At other times I have flown there, which is quick and convenient, though missing all the bits in between, of course . . .
This trip is different . . . there is no fixed mode, though car and train have already been involved and buses too before the day is over . . . plenty of walking ahead . . . a boat . . . lifts, trains maybe . . . and maybe not even arriving in Portugal at all . . . this trip has its own ideas and I am listening . . .
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