Portugal: Land of Child Friendly People. [...And Other, Not-So-Child-Friendly Things.]

Worried about your kid tearing his way through a restaurant while not-so-subtly irritated patrons and staff give you 'the eye'? Don't be. Your kid eyeing another's toy/snack/make-believe game?  Wait around long enough and the parent will probably share it with you.  Need an airbnb with a ready-to-go crib, high chair, maybe even some toys?  Again, you're probably covered.  Portugal lives up to the promise.  BUT.  And here is a big, fat BUT, people.  Good luck (and I do mean that) getting your stroller in and out of most metro train stations, on and off of the bus or curb, or up and down these cobbly a** city streets without a spill.  You might need a separate stroller driving/navigation license.  Or maybe it should be a new olympic sport. 

This hit most acutely when I was on my first mom-Luca day out where we planned to take the local train into Lisbon from the nearby suburb where we were staying.  When we arrived (and this is a big central station right in the city, mind you), I realized there were no elevators or ramps to get off of the tracks - only two massive concrete flights of stairs and a broken escalator.  I was not feeling warm and fuzzy about leaving Luca at the top or bottom of one of these spaces to wait while I fetched the stroller, diaper bag, etc, given his, ahem, adventurous spirit in new surroundings plus the whole stairs/nearby traffic and train tracks thing. (I swear to you if there had been an immediate Amazon delivery option for baby leashes or even a thin scarf I could have tied around his miniature person I would have attached him to the railing like a dog to wait – this was the level of thinking, people!  Maybe an alternate title for this post could have been: “an argument for baby leashes: think you’re too cool/evolved/insert adjective? THINK AGAIN.)  But anyhow, I eventually, after a lot of wandering around and various attempted configurations of carrying baby in one arm plus diaper bag and stroller itself in the other, managed to get it all down in one trip - and up again, in a cruel twist of design fate! - to exit the station.  Sigh of relief.  But then came the task of figuring out how to cross this highway space, which again required you to go underground and up more steps!  Suffice it to say it all got done, but it wasn’t pretty.  

And I have no doubt that, had it been a more peak time at the station, someone would have stepped in to help me.  And if Juan had been there, of course we’d do what we always do - split the carrying of our live + non-live cargo.  But as it was I was flying solo and there were no helpful Portuguese or other faces around.  Luckily I met a new friend shortly after who helped me hoist the stroller onto the bus (again no ramp), and got me back to the station at the appointed time.  But damn, Portugal.  Let’s get a few more ramps.  Or I guess I need to build a few more muscles.  (Or a leash? Only kidding if you are.)  That is all.