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It was the same in every small town we went through. Sometimes we had to cruise the streets and back alleys, often a chore to find bread. We would ask for pan. The bakeries were often down back passages and sometimes upstairs, second floor back, in what might be a private home. And I can remember looking for gas canisters and finally finding them in a medium size town, and glad of it.
We stayed at a city campsite in Lisbon and when we pulled in, there was utterly not another soul there. It was a big round bowl like amphitheater, trees here and there, with a higher tier of sites all the way around. We just picked a spot on the lower level, put our gear down to reserve the sight, left and went sightseeing. We got back in the late afternoon and we found we had neighbors. Of all the camp-sites, dozens and dozens in a space the size of a couple of football fields, someone camped in the site next to us. They like we had, left there gear and took off. This was something we didn't understand or maybe it was mostly me. I never did get it.
I moved our stuff to a site as far away from them as I could get. Maybe they were just friendly or maybe they thought there was safety in numbers. Well they might be nice people or they might be a pain in the ass. Less rude to move immediately than have to go through the dilemma - to move or not to move when they are present. It was the same with my back-packing in later years.
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