I woke up this morning at 2:00am, overwhelmed by a delicious aroma of fresh croissants. The scent dissipated when I remembered I was in a 5th floor hotel room in Lisbon. Not a bakery in sight.
Ever since the Convento dreamscape, I have struggled to keep track of events while attempting to decipher reality from illusion. Perhaps that’s a bit too strong, but you understand.
Is Donald Trump really president? Did Los Angeles really burn? Was there a catastrophic plane crash? Was Joey now in a coma in the Bronx? Did my 99 year old aunt really fall and break her ribs? Was I taking a flight in three hours to Istanbul?
After my last update, friends from Lisbon joined us for dinner in Estramoz, we drove to the Algarve to spend a few days with our friends from France. Then, after diner with friends from Santa Fe, we went back to Lisbon for our flight to Turkey.
All of this has been “wonderful” (like our category of room at the W – an experience I’ll tell you about some other time). But all has been juxtaposed against a backdrop of chaos and misfortune. All of it seems quite unreal.
