Lisbon, Portugal

Downing a couple cold beers while listening to an African band on a terrace above the city as the sun sinks.

Roaming Lisbon late at night with its many ghosts.

Archangels working overtime get me safely home.

Prince Henry the Navigator guards this portal of Santa Maria de Belem.  For four hundred years an order of monks in the adjacent monastery prayed for the eternal soul of  King Manuel the First and provided the last spiritual sanctuary for  explorers leaving from Lisbon.  Patron saint of sailors Saint Vincent is entombed here and the patron saint of sailors and the city, Anthony was baptized here.  

Imagine the many full hearts over nearly a thousand years pouring out their worries and petitions. 

Just outside the door of my accommodation.  Only five-star for me.  It's the way you really get to feel a place.  At some points the sidewalk pinches to nonexistence and avoiding getting crushed by a trolley can be a bit tricky.  They are not as friendly as they might appear.

Note the street lamp holders.  The branches and cones are yuletide decorations slung across the city street that will glow in brilliant colors once the sun descends and darkness covers the town.  The town is spread across seven hills.  Many streets are decorated with unusual, fascinating holiday lights.  And yet high in the hills the steep cobbled brick alleys remain enshrouded in dark mystery, their grand old tile mansions surely occupied, but unlit.

Lisbon maintains its elegance. 

New and remodeled buildings maintain the tiled exteriors.

The sidewalks and streets are made of a cobbled brick with interwoven patterns, many hearkening the sea.

Standing here on sea legs, my shadow reveals that I am after all just another lighthouse.

Beckoning seafarers home.

The metro incorporates the tile and hearkens the sea.

Entering a ship's hold.

Looking through the porthole.

Lisbon, Lisbon, take me in.