I ripped my pants in Portugal.

First things first: "Pants" in England means underwear, so by saying I ripped my pants my British friends think I ripped my underwear. This is not the case. I ripped my jeans. Clear? Okay. 

Sunday Jenny said "I'm going to Portugal on Tuesday; You should come."

Tuesday Jenny left, and I said "I think I'll go to Portugal." I booked a flight. 

Friday I flew to Portugal to meet up with Jenny.

I stayed four and a half days in Albufeira, Portugal, along the southern coast of the country. Our days included exploring local towns via train. We sailed on a Pirate Ship (the Santa Bernarda) in Portimao, and we spent a day exploring the cliffs and coast of Lagos. On the morning of our departing flight we climbed on the wrong train and headed in the opposite direction of our airport. We nearly missed our flight... and made it to check-in with six minutes to spare.

Following is an excerpt from my journal, summing up just one of the fun experiences we had:

20 April Sunday.

train: Albufeira to Lagos. 

11:39 a.m.

Crap. I ripped my pants. 

Jen and I were discouraged by the intermittent rain clouds in Albufeira so we decided to take a train to Lagos for the day. We naively managed to jump in a cab at the hotel without checking the train schedule. In the backseat of the taxi we looked at the train timetable and realized the taxi driver had 9 minutes to get us to the station --- otherwise, the next train wouldn't leave for 3 more hours. 

How do you tell a Portuguese taxi driver to hurry? "Faster? Rapido?"

Whatever we said worked because somehow we made it to the train station at 11:30... with our train to depart at 11:32. We dashed onto the first platform only to see the train, our train, across the tracks. We saw two old Portuguese men standing there and we pointed to the opposite train and said "Lagos?"  They nodded enthusiastically and replied with what I assume is "Yes" in Portuguese.

Unfortunately, the only way to get to the other train platform was to go up some stairs to a walkway that went over the tracks, and then back down some stairs. 

On a slippery, wet surface and in flip-flops, we climbed 40+ steps up  --- ran across --- and 40+ steps down. We jumped aboard the graffiti-covered train, and 20 seconds later it started rolling down the tracks. 

Phewwww. 

We sat down. Relieved. Victorious. I looked down at my jeans.

Somewhere along the sprint to catch the 11:32 train I managed to rip my jeans. Not once, oh no no, my friend. Twice. There's a tear along the inner seam and also a rip a couple inches down from my back pocket. The rips are perpendicular. And quite obvious.  I am awesome. 

Go back to the hotel and get new trousers? Not an option. 

Onward to Lagos. 

choo, choo!

(Afterthought:  We ended up having a great day in Lagos, exploring the beaches and cliffs around the city. I threw my jeans in a rubbish bin.)