Section B: Narrative Text

1

The plane descended through the clouds, rumbling and shuddering to a halt. I strained to discern the scene beyond the porthole. We were at a desolate airstrip, seemingly paused by an unseen command. An announcement over the crackling intercom informed us that disembarking was not permitted. A small team of airport authorities shuffled through the plane, strutting down the narrow corridor and meticulously verifying passports – I had to present mine three times. Beyond the porthole, obscured by shadows and streams of light were the ebony arms of the airstrip clock, indicating each minute between 8:30 pm and 9:30 pm. What on earth was causing such an extensive delay? The reason remained a mystery, but eventually, our aircraft shuddered back into motion. The darkened outlines of the surrounding terrain became nearly invisible.

2

When the plane finally touched down in Lisbon, I was drained from eleven hours of journeying. A cab whisked me away to the hotel where my companion awaited. It was a charming edifice, situated at the end of a tree-adorned boulevard in a plaza that was once the boundary of the ancient city walls. It was nearing 10:30 pm, an apt hour in this corner of the globe to venture out for supper. The evening breeze was rejuvenating, and I was immediately prepared to delve into the wonders of this captivating city.

3

Market stalls bordered the pedestrian avenues. We enthusiastically surveyed the verdant pathway with its vibrant hustle and fusion of residence and trade. The boulevard led directly to the marina, a hub of transient interactions and drifting crowds. I revelled in the invigorating display of hues, sounds, and bustle. Lisbon was readying itself for its nocturnal revelries. Clusters of locals engaged in animated conversation, their voices echoing jovially. Cafes and eateries were filling up, set against the relentless drone of the city’s traffic. It was time for us to determine our dining destination.

4

The eatery was bustling with content and anticipative patrons: families, couples, student assemblies, and tables of executives clad in costly suits. The piquant, tangy scent of lemon-drenched calamari sautéed in olive oil filled my senses. We navigated our way through the diverse crowd already settled, directed to a table while catching glimpses of an array of tempting, vibrant dishes. In the expansive open-concept kitchen, large heaps of molluscs and other spiky, unfamiliar sea dwellers were prepared on the grill and deep-fryer. I realized I was famished. A formally dressed waiter in a black vest and starched white shirt presented us with menus. When our meals arrived, we were far from disappointed.

5

Over the course of the weekend, my companion and I traversed miles, exploring broad downtown streets that boasted whimsical, fantastical architectural designs. When my friend’s work commitments called her to Rome, and after she departed early on Monday morning, I caught a bus to Cascais, where my own assignments beckoned. I felt a reluctance to remain in the city we had so joyfully uncovered together.