63. My Brother Disappeared

Day 63
Location 15: Lisbon
Jan. 2, 2023

During the Salem witch trials of the 17th century, Giles Corey lived as a farmer before being accused, along with his wife, of witchcraft and sentenced to death by pressing. As in literally putting Giles in a human-sized version of those TikToks where things like Skittles or a Nokia are put between two pieces of metal and squeezed until their structural integrity gives out.

As the weight pressed down upon Giles, he uttered his now famous last words and the most badass thing I've ever heard: "MORE WEIGHT!!"

Anyway, the point of all that is my brother, Paul, likes to wear a t-shirt for a musical artist from Connecticut who uses the pseudonym Giles Corey. Paul wears this shirt a lot. In all my time in New York, Connecticut, Massachusetts, and Colorado I've never seen anyone else wearing any Giles Corey merch. So when I asked this Italian guy on my train to Portugal if I could take a photo of him, I was justified. Of course, he didn't know any of that back story, so when he was initially confused and a little annoyed, he was justified. And when TV historians look back at what show starred Timothy Olyphant in his career-defining role, it will be Justified.

Left: My brother (front, left) and co. at a Church during their cross-country trip (performing a satanic ritual, apparently).
Right: A guy in the same shirt as my brother (as far as I could deduce, he was not performing any satanic rituals).
 
Let's learn a little more about Paul. Here's a good story about him:
During a Colorado visit to see him, my oldest brother Josh, my mom and my stepdad Chris, we all go to Sherpa House, a Nepalese restaurant in Golden Colorado. (It was actually my birthday, and there was a surprise ceremony involving a mysterious white cloth which I wrote about here). After dinner, I head to the bathroom, but Paul beats me there and goes in first. After seven minutes of waiting, I move to stage two of bathroom etiquette: knocking. No response. Uh oh. A slight panic starts slowly crawling up my back. I knock again with added force. Still there comes no response. The panic crawling up my back continues to climb. I reach down and jiggle the previously locked door-handle to find it now unlocked. I push the door open just as the panic peaks at the back of my neck. Paul's not in there. He's gone. Y'all–he climbed out the fucking window. He had escaped minutes ago. After peeing and meeting everyone outside, I was met with laughter led by, deservingly so, Paul.
Anyway all that is to say that I stopped into the first tapas spot in Lisbon, Portugal I passed before even checking-in to my hostel (not a good decision). To my surprise, there was a table of 20 people who were on a food tour (oh, it was a good decision). A few minutes of chatting revealed that the family nearest me hailed from Golden, Colorado. "I love Sherpa House" I told Peyton, the daughter. "What? How do you know about that? That's my dad's favorite restaurant, you have to tell him!" Dude was hyped. "You must try the goat curry!" he prescribed for me like a food doctor. "Yessir. And that bathroom window is pretty tricky, huh?". He didn't get the reference: "what are you talking about, weirdo? I don't know what that means, leave us alone now." It was a wholesome moment.
 