Lisbon

"300 euros? That's sounds like a lot!," I said.

"No, it's a good price." The hooker responded as if she'd heard that 10,000 times before.

But let's back up a bit.

I asked Hugo, the other concierge that I hadn't dealt with yet, where I should go tonight (Tuesday). He told me that if I liked good times (I do), then I would enjoy the White Elephant. It is, in his English words, "The best bar in Europe." Now, even if the claim isn't true, it's still quite a claim. I decided I needed to go. It opens at 8. I show up, stylishly late, at 9. There are 5 people there. The bartender tells me that everything starts happening at 10:30.

So I leave, walk around, get a beer at a bar smaller than my hotel room, and make a couple of calls (it's only 3 in Texas). When I show back up at 10:30, there are a ton of people there. Lots of single women sitting by themselves, which is a bit odd. And lots of guys by themselves. I start to think this is a strip club, since there are 2 stages (no pole, though).

When the lovely lady sitting next to me strikes up a conversation, it dawns on me. This Texas boy was a bit slow tonight. I am at what can only be described as a hooker bar. (Justin--remember Paris?) It's not a brothel, because you don't do "business" here. You negotiate and go to your hotel. So, I of course am fascinated. This is culture!! While all of the other US tourists are at Hard Rock Cafe, Lisbon, I'm talking to a hooker! I ask a few questions, and find out a lot. Apparently, this is very popular here. By 11:00, there are probably 50-60 single "women" sitting alone. Apparently, just like shopping...you find something you like, and you buy it. The one I was talking to (I felt a little sorry for her, because she didn't know I was NOT planning on purchasing her services; I was just very curious. She had already come down to 250 EU, without me asking.)

But she made me mad.

She asked if I would buy her a drink, and I said ok. So I bought her a 12 EU orange juice that she never touched. The scam here is that the prostitutes are freelance, but they need to somehow make money for the house. A prostitute needs to buy (or get bought) at least 1 drink (where they obviously have astronomical margins) per night. So I told her to find someone else.

I didn't want to leave yet. I had more unanswered questions! So, a blonde sees me standing, a bit bewildered and wide-eyed, and waves me over. I take a big drink from my beer and head over. I don't know why I'm scared to talk to her. She's a professional sex-er, and I am the well-educated, sometimes well-paid professional. (Actually, as it turns out, she speaks 6 languages, and after I quiz her and do the math, she earns a shitload of money, so so much for my 2 advantages!!). Plus, we're on her home court. Were we at Ninfa's in Houston, she'd probably be scared to talk to me, right?

Anyway, this second girl, Tarla, was from Brazil, and she had me read immediately. She knew I wasn't buying, but we made this agreement. It was never spoken, but we both knew. I would buy her a couple of drinks. (At least she was drinking scotch and not OJ.) In exchange, she would answer all my questions. And I had hundreds.

At midnight, I decided I would head home, very proud of this experience. Tarla tried to parlay our relationship into some additional business, but I say no. She is a 10, and I'm a bit buzzed, but still, I gotta go home.

So that's my story for now, secret readers.

It is now 7:14 a.m. Lisbon time, and I'm preparing for my flight to Barcelona in 2 hours. Starting this morning, my language studying had a violent shift from Portuguese to French. Starting on Friday, I will be in France (and Monaco) for 4 days, and my French at its best was bad, and now it is pretty much non-existent. But there is some time, non?

Au revoir mes amis!

-S