It’s not by chance that I prefer staying at a campsite over a hotel.
I debated whether to take a hotel in the heart of the city, but in the end, I chose the campsite located about 10 kilometers from the city.
Lisbon.
“Where’s the reception?” I ask. “Over there,” a young guy points.
I approach the middle desk. “Hello, I have a motorcycle and a tent.”
“Twenty euros per night,” the clerk tells me. “Just one night?” he asks.
“Yes,” I reply.
The clerk places a sheet with a map of the campsite. “Turn right here. Pick any spot you like. The showers and restrooms are over here to the right,” he says.
I choose a spot among pine trees, offering shade throughout the day—not too far, but not too close to the showers. I unload the gear from my motorcycle, and I turn the motorcycle’s case into a table.
“Hey, hello,” says a young guy with two dogs as we start a conversation.
“I’m a chef, but right now I work here at the campsite and live in a tent with my two dogs,” he says.
It’s 5 PM, a good time to get organized—after all, I’ve been on the road for a month. At the manual laundry station, I wash my dirty clothes, then take out my clean clothes from the bag and neatly fold them again.
At 9 PM, Nelson, my neighbor, walks by.
“Nelson, I’m heading into the city. Where should I go?”
“Baixa Alto. You’ll have a great time at this hour.”
“Perfect, thanks,” I say.
I check the map—23 minutes away. Riding through narrow streets that feel like they belong to another era, I arrive in Bairro Alto. Wow, what a surprise. Narrow alleys with cobblestone roads, restaurants, and bars housed in old buildings—real, vibrant life! The streets are bustling, the bars and restaurants are packed, and the atmosphere is cheerful and colorful.
And me? I sit at a bar playing Portuguese music, constantly reminding myself I’m not in Brazil. It’s already 1 AM, and it seems like the night is just getting started, but I’m feeling tired—it’s time to return to my tent.
At 9 AM, water is boiling on the stove, and I’m enjoying my first coffee. I wonder if I should stay another day. Of course, I will—it’s great here.
I head to the reception office, where there are three desks. I approach the one on the left. “Hello, I’d like to stay another night. Yes, it’s me with the motorcycle and the tent.”
“Twenty euros, please,” the clerk says.
Meanwhile, a new neighbor arrives—a woman from Germany. “Hello,” she says.
Her name is Anna, and she tells me she’s between jobs and decided to take a vacation. She pulls a built-in tent from the roof of her car, and within half an hour, she’s set up her little room.
Where should I go today? I open the map. The city is massive, but the old district by the sea looks interesting.
I hop on my motorcycle and head into the city. A boardwalk along the sea, narrow alleys, bars, music—wow, what a sight. Beer stalls, food stands, music everywhere. Should I keep riding? How can I? I park my motorcycle on the sidewalk and stroll along the boardwalk, then venture into the alleys. Cafes, restaurants, bakeries—all within the old district.
On my way back to the motorcycle, what do I see? A band playing? That’s something I love. Of course, I go to watch. A street band playing Brazilian songs surrounded by a real party.
It’s already 11 PM? How time flies. I head back to the campsite, but not before wandering the city streets on my motorcycle. Riding through alleys I don’t recognize, I come across a narrow, beautiful street and decide to stop for coffee. I sit on the restaurant’s terrace, where the streetlights create a pleasant atmosphere.
In the morning, I wake up, deflate my mattress, and fold my sleeping bag. Just before packing up the tent, I pause. Why rush? I ask myself. I have no answer. Another night? Another night! I unfold everything I had packed and reinflate the mattress.
“Good morning, Anna,” I say.
“I just woke up,” she replies. Over coffee, we exchange tips about points of interest.
“See you this evening,” I say as I leave for the city. Where to? To the food market, of course. On my way out, I stop at reception. Which desk? The right one, of course.
“Another night, please.”
“Oh, it’s you with the motorcycle and the tent?”
“Yes,” I reply.
“Twenty euros, please.”
I head to the food market. After breakfast, I cross the alley to a nearby café. Coffee, pleasant music—it puts me in the mood for writing.
Today, I’ll stay in Lisbon.
