Our last morning in Lisbon was relatively unexciting. There were all the usual packing things to deal with, plus four of us to get through the shower. Finally, we were all ready and it was time to head to the airport. Well, except for C who was off to the train station for a few days in Porto. We bid him farewell, and headed to the airport. It turned out we'd allowed far too much time because checking in and dropping our bags off was pretty damned quick, so we spent a chunk of time wandering around the airport, and then ended up stopping off at Harrods(?!?!?!?!) for a bite to eat before our flight was called. Obviously, I took advantage of the opportunity to have one last custard tart.
|It was a liiiiiittle disappointing, to be honest...|
The problem with travelling in Europe when you're Australian? Chances are pretty good that you can get a work permit without too many problems, but travel's a bitch because you have to go through the "EVERYONE ELSE" queue. Which, at that particular moment, was approximately A MILLION PEOPLE LONG. Every time we managed to make something resembling progress towards the front of the queue, another staff member would go on break.
Immigration Santa: "Whereabouts in London is [C's address]?"
Immigration Santa: "Oooh, lots of lovely pubs around there! Make sure you check some of them out. [stamps passports] Enjoy your stay!"
It was magical. We headed through to get our luggage and I totally sprinted clear across the airport because I saw my suitcase heading towards that annoying little gate thing where you have to wait for it to come back the other side, and ain't nobody got time for that. We stopped off to get my poor gluten-intolerant mother something to eat and then spent 20 minutes waiting for a bus to the hire car place.
Despite having booked online, picking up the car took FORTY FIVE MINUTES. They had to up-sell us on practically everything, then dither about with the paperwork, then give us really vague instructions on how to find the car and how to actually get out of the carpark and onto the motorway and basically IT SUCKED.
|My face every time they asked for more information.|
And bless her heart, she bought me cookies to sustain me on the drive back to Portsmouth. We threw my suitcase in the back of her car, said goodbye to the parentals, and hit the road. It took us the better part of an hour to get to Portsmouth, and once we arrived we were only at Sara's flat for about 20 minutes - long enough to change and go for a wee - before we were heading out to birthday drinks for one of Sara's friends. We were both too cheap to order food at the bar, which is how we ended up making honey toast for dinner at 10pm and eating it in front of Gogglebox.
Yeah. We're the coolest.
Next time, Sara and I head to Bath, because JANE AUSTEN.