Evora is a walled university town about 2 hours east of Lisboa. The streets are laid out like the spokes of a wheel, with the hub being the main square and the wheel being the stone wall that surrounds the place. Jon and I got there in the late afternoon only to find that the place seemed a lot more quiet than we were expecting out of a university town. Like Amherst, the place obviously settles down before the school year starts. We found a place to sleep fairly easily, as all the pensions and residences are marked clearly on the tourist map. Residenca Garibaldi cost us 32 euros a night for a double and was adequate, but by no means as nice as the el cheapo place we stayed in Lisboa for a mere 15 euros. Garibaldi's caretaker is a strange man from South Africa who enjoyed spending time telling tourists how Evora has no life and how the Portuguese people paled in comparison to the South Africans and their zest and passion for life.

 

After roaming around the streets for a few hours, hunger got the best of us and we headed to an Italian place to eat, which was pretty ironic given that Evora is supposed to be a center of fine Portuguese cuisine. I did, however, end up with a nice place of spaghettic carbonara and Jon with a tagliatelle con funghi, though the pizza was lacking.

 

Still a bit puzzled at the dearth of people, Jon and I wandered around the main plaza for a bit until we spotted what I immediately recognized as a pair of Mormon missionaries. Funny how Mormon missionaries are always unmistakably so, in their matching black pants,white shirt, and ties, each clasping a copy of the Book of Mormon. Since most Mormon missionaries, we assumed, are American, we called after them and ended up having a conversation. One was indeed American from Utah and the other from Mozambique. I think they were fairly excited to talk to us, people their own age. I could tell because the one from Mozambique insisted on taking a picture with us. That is, unless we just look like a strange pair of tourists.

 

After the Mormon encounter, Jon and I set off on our own mission- to find ice cream. By now it was nearly midnight and all the shops were closing down. The employees at the local ice cream shop decided to close an hour early on account of poor weather (what they think is poor weather I have no idea because it certainly wasn't either cold or rainy). They recommended that we go to either a bar or a disco called Praxis. We had passed by Praxis earlier but discovered only a metal shed door and a few people milling about. That, and a rather imposing sign that said that you had to spend 150 euros minimum. Talk about a budget travel deterrent!

 

Still not satisfied, we asked a rather large man standing in front of Cafe Diana in the main square where we could find something to drink. Rather than tell us where to go, he took us there personally. After a few minutes of conversation, we discovered that Dias grew up in Evora and currently works as a bodyguard around Europe. He returned that night from a several week stint in Milan and Paris. His buddy, Francisco, who owns Cafe Diana, came along with us to a place called Egoista. Now, if we hadn't gone along with them, we never would have discovered the huge nightlife that is hidden in the heart of Evora. The streets were so quiet because everyone was inside having a merry old time. Dias knocked on the abandoned looking door of Egoista and presently a yound man opened the door. It was instant recognition and welcome for Dias and his guests, and free drinks all around. Somehow, we had stumbled right into the local celebrity, the bigshot in town. After an hour or so of terrible karaoke (Jon and I did a rather pathetic attempt at R.Kelly's Ignition) and dodging whizzing darts, we headed off to Club Praxis. By now it was 2AM and instead of going to bed these people go to the nightclub which apparently was just starting up.

 

Good thing we went with Dias and Francisco, because apparently Club Praxis is rather exclusive. Walking outside, you would never know that the place is enormous with 2 dance floors, 4 bars, huge gargoyle and dragon statues, and strobe lights flashing. In fact, you would never know that there was a place at all, given that not a bit of sound traveled past the stone and concrete walls. For those of you who know Mather House at Harvard, think of Mather situated in a tiny, cobblestoned little town with tiled roofs and winding streets. It just happened to be ladies night and in Portugal ladies' night apparently means free entrance for the ladies and strippers. I don't know why every club I've been to so far feels the need to have strippers on ladies night. So us ladies were ushered into a private room where several men stripped for us. The routines got very boring very quickly and pretty much consisted of a well toned man who was probably gay anyways wiggling around in his suit or cowboy outfit, grinding on a woman of his choice on a chair in the middle of the room, and stripping down to his little black or shiny pink thong. Exciting indeed. After these festivities, the club kindly provided some female strippers for the men's entertainment. By now Jon and I had stripper overkill and decided to head home.

 

Oh, and we did find ice cream that night just as we were leaving for Egoista. Funny how you look for one thing and find another.

 

The next day we met Dias et al. for a coffee at Cafe Diana and then took of for the church of Sao Francisco, which boasts Evora's only ossuary chapel. 3,000 skulls and innumerable body parts can be found here, stacked high to form walls and to decorate the ceiling. Apparently 3 Fransiscan monks built the place to reflect on the human condition, though I am not sure what they were thinking.

 

After looking at dead people for a while, Jon and I decided to live it up a little and go bike riding. At the fanciest hotel in town we rented mountain bikes (mine was pink and Jon's was turquoise) for 3.50 euros for 3 hours and went on an adventure. The streets are scary with zooming cars, especially outside the town where they go about 10 times faster, if that's possible. We over hill and dale, through olive groves and herds of cattle. Eventually we ended up at a soccer field and played frisbee with the soccer team watching with quizzical looks on their faces.

 

Upon our return, we discovered that Francisco was still sitting at his cafe. He treated us to a round of Sagres, Portugal's very own beer, and some very salty legumes that everyone eats with drinks. We met his uncle Manuel, who is actually 6 months younger than himself, and a few other people who happened to be around. How we managed to make friends with a bunch of people our parents age, I don't know, but it was certainly nice to meet the locals. When they started teasing Jon and me about how we could travel together without being romantically involved, we decided that it was time to leave and so returned to Lisboa and to Rute's which is now our temporary home.