The Portuguese in its heyday controlled the world. Today its legacy lives only through Brazil, the colony that will host both FIFA and Olympics in upcoming years as it vies for world-class status. (It itself has problems of a third-world country but growth of the first-world.)

Portugal has remained outside of relevance. It resembles Spain of decades ago. It is poor, unconfident, unaspiring. It is the underperforming but not exactly misbehaving student in the class (until last week, at least, when the courts stopped dead any attempt at austerity). It has a tiring hatred of Spain, the bolder big brother that, if not for the banking and housing crises, would be a leading European country. After the dictatorships ended, Spain pulled away from Portugal in a most apparent pace. Portugal today is Spain thirty years ago. In many ways Portugal is like a Catalonia, but one that got away.

It is the last bailed-out country on my trip (Ireland, Spain, Greece; it would have been the full set had I predicted Cypriot troubles). It is probably the most concerning. The cheapest alcohol on my exchange came in the form of 500mL of wine for 2€. It has none of the vitality of its Spanish neighbors. The national dance move seems adequately summarized by the Portuguese phenomenon “Vem Dançar Kuduro” or "Oi Oi Oi".

The food remains peasantly. Bread and water are forced upon you, some worth it and some not. Twice recommended Ramiro Restaurant, was on the sketchy "Green Line", and run by a chubby, smiling, conniving man out of some mafia movie. I had no mind to enjoy the food. Redemption came at Tasca da Esquina, the multi-coursed outfit of celebrity chef Vitor Sobral. A mix of squid, calamari and goodies from the sea stays classy amidst the generous dole of mushrooms and a mouth-filling eggplant puree. Four courses require no contemplation at 18€. Taberna Moderna had the best covert despite being free: an exploding impaled diced tomato covered with salt and herbs. Iberian ham (14€) is topped with potatoes and red peppers in grimy, home-cooked goodness; it is reminiscent of the forward flavours of Barcelona, though the Portugese chefs would never admit it.

The coolest strip in Lisbon is LX Factory. Read a book in Ler then get a delicious euphoria-inducing slice of chocolate cake at Landeau. Go over to Belém. for a look at the palace and, more importantly, creamy custards (a Portuguese specialty adulterated by Chinese dim-sum restaurants). Centre Lisbon has a stately Rossio square, a tilting Chiado (see the 5-star Toronto restaurant) and a harbourside promenade. Nearby, a fashion and design museum, Mude is a free visit. Stare at a bottom-dwelling flatfish with protruding eyes, or a feisty shark, or an innocuous (half annoyed and half unimpressed) turtle with the whole cast of Finding Nemo at the aquarium. Finally, go up the castle for a view of this glued-together city.

Further south, life grinds to halt. Adult men play billiards midday on a Monday. Shops and attractions close for lunch or a siesta, not sure which. The Vodafone store is largely incompetent and cost me an exchange leading 27.50€ to stay connected over five days. An unnerving line of patrons developed, of all shapes and sizes. An unsmiling, despondent server calls her co-worker, sick from home, to fix the issue.

Tourists seem to go there for the relaxed pace of life, or for the cheap sangria (500mL for 6€). It is relaxed because there is some acceptance of the situation. It is cheap because of the situation. At a rally in Chiado, a poster decries the 0.1%. This is the most specific stratification yet. I feel deeply empathetic towards the other segments of the 1% who were too poor to be included. It is a sultry country with a less than sultry life.