It's weird how memory works, isn't it? When I had just come back, I could tell you exactly what I did every hour of every day of my last week. What time was when my friends Tomáš and Jara rang at my door, coming back from their trip; what we had for lunch the next day, when we visited Maria in Santarém; what we cooked on Valentine's day, what we had for lunch on the second to last day, how many glasses of wine we drank on my last night out. Now everything is starting to fade. Our first dinner in Alfama on 8th of September. You can read the pain in my eyes because Fado was being sung in the background (but the singer was actually good). People keep asking me how is to be back and most of the times my reply is a plain: "kinda fine". It is true, though, that, most of the times I got this question, it was during a dream, in which I was back in Lisbon and the next question they asked me was: "so, when are you going back to Italy?" - to which I could...
Not all those who wander are lost. Except me, I usually am (and I love it).