;God's blessed us all in many ways. This is the day we give thanks. It used to be to remember the harvest we'd taken in from the field. I'm not a farmer. So I don't know how we did in that area. But I know the ways God has blessed me here and why, for another year, I remain the luckiest man on the face of the earth. (With apologies to Lou Gehrig)

I'm alive. This is no small feat. In many countries, 27 is approaching senior-citizen status. It's well-over the median age here.
I'm healthy. Living internationally will take it's toll. But I've only been down to random stomach bugs and the like about one day a month. That doesn't stop the nationals from accusing me of having 'Swine flu.'
I'm close to being ready for the half-marathon. At 27, it's time to take taking care of this body seriously. Don't do it now, and I don't get to abuse it later.
I live in a tropical oasis wonderland place. Seriously, 83 today. On Thanksgiving. Mountains an hour away. Ocean three. Desert three. Waterfalls one.
And three Pizza Huts.
I have survived riding my bike in traffic baffles the mind of any civil engineer. It's definitely pray-before-leaving traffic.
I'm almost conversant in the local language. I always wanted to be bilingual—now I can say that I am (and rattle off enough to dare you to say otherwise).
I am so full. Our community of Americans made the most amazing Thanksgiving dinner—turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, lemon meringue pie. For those wondering if I'd be eating gruel on Thanksgiving, I'm willing to bet I ate better than most dinners out there.
I have friends that love me. Two visited this summer. My brother visited this fall. Two more are coming for their first Christmas as a normal married couple.
This is not to forget my family, by the way. Endless support from both immediate and extended.
I've visited two new countries this year. I'm hitting a third in December. Awesome.
I'm still a citizen of a country that respects it's people and opens doors to other countries. We've got problems. But we've got a lot going for us too.
I've got a glimpse of what may lie ahead. And it's got a shot to be pretty special.
And most of all, I've got the love of my Savior and the hope that He's given me both for today and all eternity. In the end, that's what matters more than anything. The rest will fade. That will remain.

One more thing: Take some time today to go to Kiva.org. It's a chance to help change someone's life even without much personal cost. If you've got much to be thankful for, you have a chance to share that with others.

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5:30 a.m.: I awoke to the bus arriving in the Seville station. I'd managed to secure a seat above the door--no reclining people in front of me--and also no one behind me. So after the lights of Lisbon faded in the background, I crashed for the whole trip back. I stumble out the door into, well, it's mostly quiet This is spain.

5:37 a.m.: Find a bathroom.
5:38 a.m.: Leave bathroom. Breathe again.

6:00 a.m.: I wandered to the nearest street, in the general direction of driving beat in the distance. But before I got there, I looked up and saw a woman riding a motorcycle sputtering to a stop. I walked up and asked if everything was ok. She responded (loosely translated), "All of my gas has spilled onto the street and my moto won't go, idiot." I'm not a mechanic anyway--definitely not with Spanish names.

6:15 a.m.: She gets off the phone. Cars are whizzing past, with only a few glancing in this poor woman's direction. I can't help, but I can't leave either.

6:30 a.m.: I inch farther away, thinking I might be keeping people from helping.

6:45 a.m.: A repair service shows up. The only person to stop was a repair service that had been called. Please, let me never have a car breakdown in Spain.

7:00 a.m.: I find the source of the music--a nightclub labeled "Casino." Outside are a pair of hotdog stands selling frankfurters slathered in cheese sauce. Please remember, it's 7 a.m.



7:15 a.m.: Left that area to find a Starbucks. When I arrive, it's completely abandoned.
To recap. Hotdogs at 7 a.m. are ok. Coffee is not.


7:20 a.m.: I settle down to wait.
7:30 a.m.: Someone shows up at Starbucks. They don't let me in.

8:37 a.m.: It finally opens. Starbucks is pretty precious in an area when you can't get it.

I actually found Mocha Arabian Sanani. It doesn't exist most places. It's the strongest and best blend they have.

9:10 a.m: More coffee. And a pastry. Right....no, no. Just coffee.

11 a.m.: I start wandering around downtown, looking for my hotel.
12 p.m.: I get the brilliant idea to check the map I have on my ipod. And it tells me that I need a bus.
12:15 p.m.: Get checked into the hotel. It's halfway between nowhere, a nice trendy hotel that forgot about the basics. Like shower curtains. Or functioning wi-fi. But the shower feels great.

12:45 p.m. I collapse on my bed
1:25 p.m. I roll over.
3:45 p.m. I wake up and try to figure out where I am.

4:00 p.m. Wifi is down. I'm too tired to use the gym. But I can still go swimming!

It's a lie. If the pool was deeper than five feet, I would have drowned.

5:00 p.m. They say the trademark food of Seville isn't a food at all; it's a portion size. Tapas, from the word covering, notes a variety of lively dishes that can be ordered for a low price. It's like a Pick Three special at Applebee's, but with more choice and no annoying commercial jingles. Anyway, it's my quest to find it.
5:30 p.m.: Arrive at the bus stop
6:00 p.m.: The bus arrives. Tells me I need to cross the road.
6:15 p.m.: The bus--possibly the same one--picks me up there. (On Monday morning, I would wait 20 minutes for another bus to the airport. I would see five of these exact buses on this exact route.)
6:45 p.m. Arrive back in the area near the big church. They are having mass. I stand in the back and watch for a bit. I don't understand any of it, but there is still a beauty in liturgy, in joining with the universal body.



7:30 p.m. I cross the river. Sundays in Spain, almost everything is closed. I'm still hoping for an authentic tapas experience though.



8:10 p.m. Found one. In a place labeled "Cerveza," or watering hole. They look a little disappointed when I order a Coke Zero. Also when I change my order midway through after figuring out their menu. But the food doesn't disappoint.
Hands down the best food I've had on this trip.


9:55 p.m. I'm in danger of missing the last bus to my hotel. I actually start running--after all the miles from the weekend--to get out of the square. Amazingly, I feel almost fast. I don't know why. I never feel fast.

10:02 p.m. The bus stop is deserted. I try to brace myself for the six-mile walk.
10:10 p.m. Two white guys ask me a question in Spanish. I don't understand and mumble, "Si." One looks down at my shoes, then goes, "Do you speak English?" Turns out they are both from Florida; they just don't go to random countries without knowing the language. I don't bother explaining that I know the language in the country I live in, that this is a short break. I don't bother explaining because they are already running to their next bus.

10:18 p.m. My bus arrives. Glorious sight.

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6:00 a.m. It's early when we arrive in Lisbon. Too early. Yet I can't wait to get off the bus. Not because I'm excited--because I've been wedged in among too many people for two many hours. I had the misfortune of a window seat crammed next to one big dude and behind the only guy in the bus who reclined his seat. Weasel. Three hours of sleep, tops. None of it any good. Even still, I miss my stop and get dumped off at the marina. Which, actually was perfect, because it allowed me to get a shot like this.



This part of Lisbon was pumped up for the 1998 World Expo something or another. Yes, I am making that up. I forgot what it was really done for.

6:20 a.m. Lisbon has a fantastic metro--four separate lines that run you throughout the city. Unfortunately, it only helps so much when you don't know where you are going in the city.

8:40 Looks like another non-breakfast day. I down a cappuccino in a little coffee shop in the classic neighborhood that looks a lot like this.


Actually, this was it. Block-and-a-half on the left. Had free wi-fi and a good bathroom so I could feel a little more clean. Could barely order in Portuguese, which is close-but-not-quite Spanish. Enough to be annoying.

10:00 They said they had an area that showed the Moorish roots of Lisbon. I just saw more tiles, and it took me two hours of wandering to get there.


By the time I found my way out of there, an hour had passed and I'd stumbled into a crafty-market. Like the one I live in, only without pressure or narrow streets or jacked-up prices or dust or sellers that don't speak English. So it was nothing like it.


1:15 Now I'm grumpy. Lisbon is a city built on seven hills. I knew this. I didn't know all seven hills lay between me and the nearest metro stop. And there are no signs pointing to it. I've been wandering uphill for the last 90 minutes without any clue if I'm even close to where I'm trying to get. I'm hungry, grumpy, and badly in need of a caffeine buzz.

1:55 Lisbon has the two largest malls in Europe. Apparently. I couldn't find one. But No. 2 had a huge food court. I learned two new phrases.
1. Chicken in Portuguese is Frengo. and
2. Bacon sounds a lot like Vegetarian.

Pri-Pri chicken is famous, spread by Nando's around thh world. I've eaten it in both Kenya and South Africa. I was hoping to find it here. But I settled instead for a bacon-chicken sandwich. At least, that's what I ordered. The guy made a veggie-chicken sandwich. As anyone on break from an Arab country will tell you, the two are not the same. I sent it back. They yanked off the veggies and slapped on two slices of bacon.

If I remembered the name of the restaurant, I'd tell everyone to never go back.

4:00 So there are two things still that set Lisbon apart still. They both are across the bridge from the main city. the first is the bridge, a duplicate of the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco.
Named Porte April 25, it commemorates the day Portugal threw off it's own dictator. The bridge was designed by the same architect that did the Golden Gate bridge.



The second is the Criste-Reio statue, Christ the King, a slightly-diminutive version of the Christ-the-Redeemer statue in Rio de Janeiro. It's 28 meters tall and stands 300 feet over Lisbon.


I spent three hours trying to reach them, only to be turned back around 200 feet shy. Bleh.

7 p.m. I have to be conscious of time. The bus leaves in 2.5 hours. It's time, but not a lot. Have to be 30 minutes ahead of schedule. And I still have to find pri-pri chicken. I race through the restaurant district. Italian food. Spanish food. British (?) food. Everything but Pri-Pri chicken. Finally find one guy who is apparently not trying to rip people off. Get the food. Eat it. Delicious.

Then I got the tab. He'd added bread. And olives. And a tip. Added up to €11.80--twice what was the original cost. Not so cool.




8:10 Street musicians--black woman and white man in dreads playing some African-sounding music. Sounds impressive.
8:30--Race back to the subway. Wait for four minutes. I've got 30 minutes to be back to the bus station.
8:41 I overshoot the stop by one. I race around the side and wait on the other side.
8:45. No subway.
8:47, No subway
8:51 Subway finally shows up. Longest wait of the day.
8:58--Get off the subway. Race up the hill. Wait 15 minutes for the bus back to Seville.

One more day...

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Friday, 7:10" After only 5 hours of sleep I left to work, met up with my boss, then found out that he'd already left the meet up with me at my house. I had to kill an extra 10 minutes, but I still made it to the airport.

Friday, 7:30: I was the only person in line to check-in for my flight two hours early. Why in the U.S. do we have this guideline, yet international flights in other countries have no problem? It's inefficient. Anyway, I make it through the whole conversation in Arabic...until she asks me for my hand baggage. I don't know hand baggage. Almost had someone convinced I spoke Arabic.

Friday, 8:12: Just saw girl probably displaying her hair dye Henna. There are 2 types but usually the dark henna used on tourists is made up of nothing but hair dye. As long as they don't know the difference, it's an easy way to skim some money. But it makes someone look like an easy mark to to the locals.

Friday, 1:30 p.m. (Seville time): Airport ATMs are such rip-offs. To get out of Seville, you have to take a bus that costs €2.30. If you don't have euro, you have to find some. The ATM ripped me for an extra 10 percent commission. When I tried to cancel out, it gave it to me anyway.
I hate ATMs.

Friday, 3:30 p.m. A website said Starbucks in Spain had free internet. The website was wrong. But there's no time for that now. The cathedral is just around the corner.

Friday, 3:43 p.m. They say this is the largest church in the world and, having seen Saint Paul's in London I really can't argue. How big is exactly you say? Well, on one corner of it they have a Starbucks and on the other corner, they have another Starbucks. OK, maybe that's a bad example.

Friday, 4:07 p.m.: Smoothie time! Europe on a budget is tough. You have to pick and choose your spots. For example, this smoothie was lunch. €2.65. And I got to sit inside for 30 minutes. But I'm too restless to stay too long.


Friday, 4:11 p.m.: Still in the restaurant when the radio starts blaring, "Hey now, you're an all-star, get your game on, go play," Who knew 90's American music would still be haunting Spain in 2009? (And now it's in your head too.)

Friday, 4:27 p.m. The cathedral bell tower was converted from a mosque built in the 1200s. I've seen its duplicate in Marrakesh. Seeing this one now, it just doesn't look quite right, kinda like a new set of clothes on a person still badly in need of a diet.
Compare:

With this:

Friday, 5:15 p.m.: So I'm walking to Avenue Kansas City when I pass by this park with a statue. I really think this is something to do with Christopher Columbus largely because it says Christopher Colon on the very top, but I don't know what. Maybe if I sit here for a long time, I will figure it out.



Friday, 5:21 p.m. Time to get a little concerned about the Spanish work FAQ: All the pharmacies say "Open 12 hours"--What are people supposed to do the other 12 hours?

Friday 6:30 p.m.: Here, after a kid's meal, a Burger King double barbecue chesse burger, I stopped by the local ircuit City. Did you know to leave a bag in spain at one of the check-out places, you need to leave three Euro at the counter to make sure you return your lock?

Friday 7:10 p.m.: Kansas City is a sister city with Seville. I don't know what that means or how it started, but one of the main streets is Avenienda Kansas City. It made me feel a little bit like home. Better barbecue would have helped, though.

Friday 7:25 p.m.: It's a long walk back to the square. The bus station seems like a distant memory. My wit is gone, burned up along with my leg muscles. I have to start remembering to budget for transportation.

Friday 8:00 p.m. Crossed the river, found an un-touristy cafe for another cup of coffee--and a bathroom break. Things you don't plan for until you need them the most. Whew. It's kind of a slower Friday night, and I'm limited in what to do until my bus leaves. This place doesn't really come alive until after I'm gone.

Friday, 8:30 p.m.: Paying for my coffee was a little harder to do. I don't know how to say bill in Spanish, and I wanted to give a little bit of tip, because it's the only reason American aren't viewed as the worst people in the world right now, because we tip a little bit. All I had with the exact change or €5, I'm not paying 5 euros for a cup of coffee. I put the money on the table and start walking off, but the waitress ignores it. It takes her five minutes to pick up the plate, and only then can I leave. As an American ambassador, I apologize.


Friday, 9:45 p.m.: In Madrid, it seemed stores never closed. I was out past midnight and had no trouble finding a place to buy gum (no toothbrush that night). Here, it's not even 10 p.m. and I can't find a place to buy a bottle of water.

Friday, 9:58 p.m.: Found one. The line stretched to the back fo the store. Maybe some other store should get this idea.

12 a.m. The bus took off, only 30 minutes late. I'm wedged in a small corner. Not sure about sleep quality. It could be a long seven hours to Portugal.

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