A Night Out in Lisbon

- "Do I look Portuguese?"

In the middle of a pedestrian, bar-lined street in Lisbon, Ali and I had a 30-minute conversation with a couple of guys who were convinced I was Portuguese. "But I don't even speak the language!" I insisted. "You're just messing with us," they theorized.

In a jumbled blend of Spanish and Portuguese (Spantuguese?), we talked to the boys about economics, American politics, and how they were entirely too young for us. They disagreed on all counts. Suddenly, a fight broke out, the police arrived, and Ali and I bolted and hopped in a cab.

What's in a "Nom"?

I'm a travel blogger, so it stands to reason that I love travel. Or does it? What of those travel bloggers who hate travel?

I'm in freaking Beijing. I've been wandering around for three days, and I totally hate it here. Everything's different from back home, and they speak this totally incomprehensible language that only the one billion inhabitants of this country understand. I don't get it. It sucks. Tomorrow I'll be in Shanghai, and I bet that'll suck just as bad. I'll blog about that hellhole when I get there.