Fleeced?
So this may be my strangest set of blog entries yet: brief extracts of a twenty-four hour holiday written in the in- between places.
I feel like I just got fleeced, having booked a hotel at a dodgy port-side travel agent just as I got off the boat. I'm in the courtesy van right now, and it's not half as nice as the others around. Supposedly the Presidente is a four-star joint, but right now it has the feel of a place low-budget gamblers go to be near the much-nicer Lisbon, at a lower price. But I'll tell you when I get there.
Update: I did get fleeced. The Presidente greeted me with a small roach on the table and a view of construction. They're undergoing heavy renovation at the moment, and I can see why: if they're going to remain competitive with the nicer hotels in the area, having light switches that remind me of a 1978 Illinois Holiday Inn and a TV with no apparent remote control isn't going to cut it.
I went back to the agency, got my money back and headed over to the Lisboa. Now that's a top hotel, and worthy of it's own entry.