A test of faith: Montreal to Albufeira

Time Warp

Our journey from Montreal to the Azores is supposed to be routine—just a quick transit before continuing on to Lisbon. We believe we have a comfortable two-hour window between flights. Plenty of time… or so we think.

We are fully aware that we are flying to a different time zone. As soon as we disembark we look for the restrooms leisurely. Then we look at the clock. What a shock! We only have 40 mins left since our previous plane was late. Very late, indeed. Suddenly, the generous two-hour cushion shrinks to a breathless forty minutes. Forty minutes to find the gate, and board again.

We are close to the gates. The numbers are clearly marked—until they aren’t. The sequence marches along the corridor… but ours is nowhere to be seen.

Orderly lines snake away from other gates, passengers waiting patiently, while we peel our eyes desperately for our own. Finally, we ask someone already standing in line. With a casual gesture, he points toward a number hidden completely from our view—concealed behind a thick pillar.

What a relief. We slip into the line just in time. Moments later we are airborne again, and the flight to Lisbon is a welcome contrast to the frantic dash that preceded it.

A stroll becomes a trial

We arrive in Lisbon, retrieve our luggage, and step outside the airport, heading toward the underground metro that will take us to the intercity bus terminal. 

The pedestrian path is mosaic paved in beautiful but treacherous Portuguese fashion—artfully crafted with uneven, broken tiles. Charming to look at but brutal to my suitcase and my feet. The luggage wheels catch and jam every few feet, forcing me to hoist and heave the stubborn thing forward. My footing isn’t much better. The polished tiles seem determined to send me sliding and tripping.

After what feels like a strenuous expedition, we finally reach the station entrance. Our train ride will only take about fifteen minutes—but catching the bus afterward is critical. Intercity buses, we’ve learned, leave exactly on time, and we still have no idea which berth ours will use.

Obstacle courses

The metro is underground but one level above  our underground exit from the airport. Fifty steps to climb up  into a cavernous ticketing area. I take a look at my suitcase and carry on. It's a definite killer. Luckily a gentleman comes to my rescue.he deftly lifts my suitcase and in no time at all deposits it at the top. I huff and puff after him.

We reach the ticketing machines at last, breathing hard but hopeful. But that is premature because the machines stubbornly refuse to accept our credit cards.  My companion still has a railway card from a previous trip with money left on it, but the machine stubbornly spits it out. I try to buy a one-way ticket. The interface seems determined to confuse rather than help. Precious minutes tick by. At last we manage to extract the ticket we need. The train ride is comfortable.

But Lisbon isn’t done with us

At the bus terminal we discover we are underground while the bus bays sit at ground level. The thought of hauling our luggage up another punishing staircase is almost unbearable. Then we notice a row of circular elevators—our salvation. So we hope.

A new head scratcher emerges: which elevator leads to the correct bay? The bays stretch in a long line above us, and the last thing we want is to drag our bags up and down them searching. We try the first elevator. Out of order. The second? Also out of order. The third? Got the gist?

Now there are only two left at the far end. Do we risk the long walk, only to discover it’s broken too? Ha! The first elevator that actually works! We jump in without hesitation. At least from there only one bay stands between us and where we need to be.

We step out  and immediately see buses lined up along the opposite perimeter of the terminal.For a moment it feels like another dead end. 

But after squinting at the destination boards, scanning name after name, we finally spot our bus. With barely a minute to spare, we shove our luggage into the compartment below, climb aboard, and are ready to collapse into our seats. But wait. They're occupied! No one speaks English but waving our tickets in front of them does the trick. At last.

It's getting dark. As we cross the famous Lisbon bridge we get a goose skyline view of the city we have visited twice  before. The ride is a mere 3 hours but enough to take in the countryside – the farms, orchards and vineyards. Its an over

We arrive in Albufeira