What happened at Bieber.

Taken in Colmeal, Portugal. Photographer, Katie Babb.

So last week I visited Portugal, my second time in 10 years. The stakes were high, I hadn’t seen my Dad in more than half that time and I had never seen Justin Bieber. Who was I more excited to see, were they even really comparable, should I even have this comparability as a thought process. Maybe one of them was a perk of the trip, I wouldn’t really know yet but all I did know is that I must have spent way too much time in my own head already.

When I arrived in Lisbon, I was literally starving. I decided to consciously bypass the airport convention of continuously eating throughout the journey milestone’s that be; to the airport, at the airport and in the air. I couldn’t decide which of these warranted an overpriced meal, so I settled for beer I’d bought from Tesco beforehand, drinks for the road, typically called “rodie’s” in Australian slang.

Before landing, I took the bus from work, rodie in hand, high in spirits but actually still seeking to elevate them. The bus to the airport needed a few Bieber songs en route to satisfy the level of excitement I wanted to achieve, not to mention to bury the nerves from seeing my Dad for the first time in years.

https://youtu.be/_Lf2VoPrYCA

My Dad planned to meet me with his partner, Margaret, from arrivals so I wondered what could help this anxiously anticipated moment become slightly less bizarre and being an expert in this field, of course, I knew the answer – just film it and replace my overly processed, travel built-up worries with the friend held around my neck, my camera.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IpEQvwghoM8

Settled in Whatever Art Hotel, we took to the outside table and chairs which acted and felt a lot like a balcony although we were no higher that the hotel entrance. Perhaps a great invention for people scared of heights who still wanted the superior seclusion el fresco.

We drank wine and the host made us toast, the poshest toast I’d ever seen. Sliced into perfect squares, laid on the plate arranged perfectly, butter melting with a cover to keep the heat in but lose enough to allow us to enjoy the comforting smell. After feeling like I’d eaten a meal fit for a king it all came to an end when my attempts to go to the all night bar failed, so we parted ways to say “hasta manana”, the closest I’d gotten to Portuguese my entire trip.

I was gradually awoke by the stiff pain fermenting in my neck which was the method I preferred to believe I woke up in opposed to the natural sunlight beaming through the crack I’d left in the curtains. I got up for breakfast which was already prepared in the organised area, just Margaret, my Dad and I unsurprisingly as we were the only guests to occupy the hotel. Options of various cereals, rolls, croissants, ham and cheese’s were amongst the chosen breakfast items made available for us.If I was going to backtrack on the diet I’d been on for my Australian body, I was in the right place, with great decor a bonus. However, I opted for freshly made scrambled eggs with their rendition of coffee.

We got ready to leave and this is something I haven’t mentioned thus far, I presented Dad and Margaret with the custom made t-shirts I had designed for us, Justin Bieber originals I’d knocked up on Photoshop. I chose to wear mine from the morning ready for the concert but actually this sentence is slightly deceiving because I also worn mine on the plane, a top I could wear for 3 acceptable occasions  was an achievement in my eyes.

 

Touring Lisbon, Margaret and my Dad admirably showed me the city in a way that showed their consideration and how much they wanted to educate and benefit my trip. This was great, but I had Bieber brain, not only that but I wanted a Bieber beer brain. We stopped along the way and had beer-stops, time for chats and guzzle the local lager. I came to a point where I felt very tired from walking, food deprived but at the same time a strong desire to reach the destination in fear I might be missing out. Feeling like Miss Moody and in serious danger of becoming one part brat-pack, I accepted their kind offer of food and a pit-stop before we left for the location of show.

A burger, a delicious juicy burger with friends we called fries were the only things standing in the way of Justin and I. After inhaling my kids meal and secretly admiring the ketchup smiley face on my bun, I had a drink I normally save for a nightclub at 3.00am, whisky and lemonade.

Making our way to the concert..I felt hazy, the concoction of anxiety and the excitement I’d been feeding all day was in full force and I was ready. We arrived, we were here, the crowds winded down multiple paths all around the arena, like tentacles attached to an Octopus. Tactically, we located a bar that overlooked one of the tentacles and Margaret and my Dad changed into their Justin Bieber originals.

T-shirt’s on, make-up laid a little thicker than usual, we were set, all we had to do was cleverly predict the right time to join the queue. The wine and conversation’s were going down easily, so we decided to avoid tampering with our experience and waited 30 minutes before the show started to float straight in. After all, I was a little too old to be blended into the flock of screaming girls circulating the arena like seagulls.

We were in and not even like sardines, more like wotsits in a grab bag. I think this was a benefit of watching artists abroad, the arena’s were smaller, slightly less people but something I couldn’t confidently associate as universal, was the brutal-ness. I predicted the next day, Lisbon would suffer an epidemic of torn muscles from all the human walls barricading you from entering the crowds.

Pushing my way through and at some stages, putting my full body weight against the wall, we were making progress. This progress came to an end when I bumped into THE viscous fan, Portuguese and probably older than me, her eyes looked black just like how I expected her soul to be. After desperate attempts to try and pass go and avoid jail, another girl was trying to get through the gate-keeper. She had gone to the toilets and her friends in spitting distance, but no, she was also denied access even with me fighting her corner. Who the hell was this horrid person.

As Justin Bieber emerged and was being lowered in a transparent box, I thought this distraction was enough and pushed one last time. Beer in the air I began to walk, she aggressively pushed me back and hit the drink out of my hand towards me, I turned to my Dad covered in my own beer. He was really shocked but little did he know, it was me who tried to pour the drink over her first but tactically she threw it back in my face, literally.

Waving the white flag, we started to enjoy Bieber and in turn, annoyed a lot of fans by my Dad giving me a piggy back. The show in distance, was entertaining, probably better up close, it was nothing to write home about, just to blog about.

Leaving for Porto, where my Dad lives, I could not believe my eyes – we turned the corner on the lonely road surrounded by beautiful nature, and right before us, was a double rainbow. The cosmic universe gave us an uncommon vision that represents the movement of earth to heaven, a sign or future success and transformation. What an symbolic way to to end our first trip and drive off towards our next adventure.