It seemed that the more I re-read the exciting tales, the more the itch in my soul, and the insatiable curiosity became aroused.  Of course radio programs like The Lone Ranger, Captain Midnight, Tom Mix and many others before the coming of television, didn't help the situation any either.  By the time I managed to make it to the sixth grade, I was a chronic daydreamer, with a capacity to wander to most any place on the planet I wished, if only in my imagination.  It would be years before I would ever be able to realize any of my whims.

     Bills, jobs, and family responsibilities all have a damping effect on even the strongest urges to roam.  Damping but not killing.  In fact, it seems to me that the longer I waited the stronger and more determined the whispering became. Finally, the yearning could no longer be denied, and we were off.

     There is an old saying that you will never forget your first big trip.  Peg and I certainly won't.  Even back then, we traveled as we still do after thirty years and over twenty-five countries. We make most of our own arrangements and wander alone. We learned long ago that there was a marked difference between being a tourist and a traveler. Watching tourists being herded around from one touted site to the next, with never an opportunity to explore and experience the real country, meet and mingle with the native people, just didn't seem like the way to go to us.

     There are of course many tours and reasons for taking them that make them necessary and helpful.  For example, we often take city tours to get a "feel" for a new place, but we learned early on that the greatest benefits of travel were to be obtained from just wandering in and out of side streets, hopping on local busses and going off to small villages.  In this way we met some wonderful people, and have made international friends that we still communicate with.

     That first trip to Spain and Portugal over twenty-five years ago, is still vivid in our memories, and a place near the top of our list of "places to return to".   Coming in over Lisbon at dawn, the sight of the white plastered buildings with orange tile roofs had an effect on our wanderlust like throwing a lighted match into a pail of gasoline!  It created an excitement and desire in our beings that to this day still is our motivation for every trip we take.

     We wonder if the Alfama has changed much - we doubt it. After over a thousand years of inhabitation those places don't experience much modernization.  Besides, there isn't a whole lot that could be done unless the entire place was rebuilt.  The narrow, winding streets, some places only a few feet wide, leading up the hill to St. George's Castle aroused stirring images in our minds, and we envisioned donkey carts, medieval knights and ancient conquerors passing over the same cobbled stone byways we now trod.   Quite likely Henry the Navigator had frequented this same area, as it was from here that he embarked on his journey of discovery so long ago.  Climbing the hill, and glancing into the interiors of small apartments with open doors gave us insight into how the local residents lived, and probably have lived for hundreds of years.

     The view of the city from the ancient battlements was magnificent but what caught our eye was the river Tagus, passing beneath us like a ribbon of silver shining in the mid-day sun. Watching for a few minutes, it became obvious that small boats, probably ferries, were traversing the stream of fluid at regular intervals.   I looked at Peg, she at me as our minds simultaneously asked the same question. I wonder what's over there?

     All the nagging what ifs popped up into our minds. Thoughts like: What if the ride costs too much? What if we can't get back? What if it's dangerous over there?

     What if ... what if...?

     It didn't matter. The calling was just too strong, so down the hill we went and explored the waterfront awhile, seeing local vendors selling their wares varying from tourist items to fish and local vegetables. We purchased a few souvenirs and then boarded a ferry to satisfy our urge to explore the unknown.

     What we found on the other bank was riverside warehouses and commercial sites.  Back a few streets we wandered in and out of narrow byways, and were enchanted by small cottages, each surrounded with white painted fences.  Into each postage size lot was crowded an assortment of flowering plants and shrubs, many planted in olive oil cans. We supposed that the meticulous bungalows were occupied by fishermen or sailor's families.

     Returning to the riverside, we were elated to wind up in front of a restaurant. The stairway that led up to the second floor establishment was lined on both sides from floor to ceiling with seashells imbedded in the plaster.  The stairs seemed to beckon to us like a magnet to iron.

     "Im hungry", I told Peg.  She agreed and up we went.

     What a magnificent discovery!  The dining room had one wall of nearly all glass that offered a view of the river, and the traffic passing by.   In addition, the city could be equally observed spread over the gently rolling hills.  Of course we could read very little on the menu, but between our limited Portuguese and the waiters faulting English, we managed to pick our meals. When they arrived, we were delighted with a fabulous local seafood delicacy.  But all the cuisine did was to awaken an unsatisfiable desire for more, and more. A desire that even to the present cannot be squelched.

     Whether it's fish & chips in London, a plate of vegetable stir fry in Bangkok, fresh shrimp in South Carolina, paella in Spain or mousaka in Greece, experiencing the local victuals is certainly a great part of any trip, and an enjoyable way to expose the traveler to the country that has become their host.  To us, to travel thousands of miles and spend mega dollars of our hard-earned money to eat at an American style 'burger joint' is just unthinkable!