Lisbon

Walked through tiny up and down streets near Santa Appolonia in Lisbon, following a trail of signs searching for Bonhito, a cat, clearly beloved. Blue tiles brighten the shady streets. Bought the ingredients for a cheese and sausage sandwich. Cheese was a mix of Goat and sheep's milk, immediately pointed to when I suggested "local speciality", but actually quite nice. Waiting for the train to leave I got crumbs on the nice green seats of the Intercidades.

Slept for a couple of hours after leaving Lisbon, having crossed the Golden Gate-esque bridge over the estuary that sits under the watchful gaze of Jesus, arms open ready to hug a long lost relative. The landscape is drier now but punctuated by heavily irrigated patches of vivid green. Sometimes these patches are themselves punctuated by vivid orange oranges.

Realising the only hope of avoiding interminable doze is to get to the dining car and converse over an iced tea, I do just that. My partners in concersation and Lipton were Guido, Tiago and Fillipa. They study accounting in Lisbon but hail from Vila Real de Santa Antonio, my starting point. Worryingly they don't speak English but perhaps their forte is numbers. I ask them what they do in their free time in their home town. "Nada" is the immediate reply. Also disappointing. We talk, mainly about football, but the conversation is continually interrupted by the necessity for long forays into the phrasebook.

Two Australian girls, who've lived in London for a couple of years and feel a five hour journey is a bit much, are slightly horrified at the idea of the trip. They work as corporate travel agents and hate organising trains, especially in Russia. They say if I ring and they hang up I musn't take offence.