What is certain, however, is that Portuguese soldiers returning from service in the middle east brought the faith and early Christian writings (which didn�t make it into the New Testament) back with them, and that what is today Portugal was one of the first countries where Christianity became widespread.

True, the Moors ruled a large portion of the country, including Lisbon, for about 400 years. Their method of conversion, however, tended to center on tax incentives, and many people never did become Muslims. The North, in the meantime, spent less time under Moorish control and remained Catholic. And when it was decided to retake the rest of Portugal from the Moors, it was with a barely disguised movtive of creating an enclave of Catholicism to counter the wave of Protestantism engulfing Europe at the time.

Portugal remains Catholic today, even more Catholic in terms of pure faith, I suspect, than Italy. The Portuguese believe that God will protect them, take care of them, and nowhere is that more evident than on the road.

Portuguese driving is appalling. The only worse that I�ve encountered is the Turks, who have a rather fatalistic view of God and fate. If your number is up in Turkey, it�s up. Part of God�s plan, and who are we to question God? Inshallah. Which is why you get Turks approaching their cars with a very Klingon attitude: Today is a good day to die. The Portuguese, on the other hand, believe God will protect them, no matter what kind of idiotic things they do behind the wheel.

I, being Catholic, knew just what to do when I found myself hurtling down the highway with Mario.

I prayed. Then I buried myself in maps and real estate documents-- anything to avoid looking at the road, Mario, or both.

Mario is the official estate agent for the project, and long before we arrived he was christened Supermario due to his high-speed habit of talking on the cellphone, making notes and-or digging through the pockets of his jacket in the backseat, whilst steering with his knees. After undergoing the Supermario Experience, I can report that the legend isn�t strictly true.

He doesn�t bother to steer with his knees.

All this death-defiance has its upside, however: we may no longer be homeless, or at least not for long.

That, my friends, is a good thing. We�re scheduled to go meet our landlord tomorrow, and do check-in and inventories and all that crap. The agency is hard at work, arranging for a telephone and so forth. But, this being Portugal, we could get it swiped out from under us before you can say Vasco Da Gama.

But we�ll see. I�ll pray some more, too.

Couldn�t hurt.

And the hotel is getting worse and worse, or rather, my tolerance is getting less and less. It�s a cumulative thing. And they�ve been working on the rooms right next door, so it sounds like they�re coming straight through the walls. Elvis says "Shh, don�t tell anyone, but I think they�re trying to tunnel though to the bank." Which is a ways up the hill, but you never know. Probably get a better angle on the vault that way. But I, of course, know better: they�re trying to get me.

It seems to be working, too.

Due to general noise and commotion, I have been unable to put my nifty plan of dumping entries onto disks into action, and am writing this direct from the cyber-cafe, in very funky Chiado, on the very funky Portuguese keyboard.

Which, quite frankly, I just can�t stand anymore. And it�s making my wrists hurt; not very ergonomic, this place.

So, I�m off to read the stacks and stacks of other people�s diary entries that await me.

And to order another beer.