As you may notice the layout for this issue is slightly different. Well so is this issue.
    We were in Portugal this summer (97) and decided to make an issue of our trip. There for this issue will contain no interviews or reviews of what so ever. Just the story of our tripp told by us and some poetry send in by our readers. But we will be back with Astral Realms, an issue in our familiar style, the 20th December.

Leaving South

When it was finally decided that we were going Portugal and not Italy I was struck by the fact that I actually knew exactly nothing about that country. Well, I knew that it bordered to Spain, I guessed it must be pretty warm there. Well, warmer than Sweden. And I also remember two guys I had chatted with, from the days at IRC, Undernet, who lived there. But that was about it. Except for that I didn't know a squat.
    Niln. Zilch. Nada!

There was a show on TV, I remember, about Portugal. Normally I do not enjoy this kind of programs very much. Tourist information can be really boring when you're stuck at home and know you are not going there anyway, because you are broke and do not have any money, so why watch it? But now I knew I was going there and suddenly it all became interesting.
    I learned that the fishers pull up their boats directly at the beach where people are sunning and swimming. This wasn't correct, at least not in Albufeira. Not that I did mind, of course. It wouldn't be fun to be lying in the sun and then suddenly have to do an agile maneuver to the left just to avoid getting hit by a boat, which should have been in the water in the first place and not in the sand.

I must admit that Portugal was nothing of what I had expected. I still remember the first day as we were dropped off high up on a hill with a marvelous view over the ocean, from where we also could see the shaggy hotel where we would be living for two weeks. They made us walk down the hell-stairs (as I call them now) and I was only happy that they didn't make us carry our luggage down with us.
    I remember as I walked through the corridor, which smelled of chlorine, inpatient to see my room.
    I remember the refrigerator, which must have had an average temperature of 12 degrees.
    I remember the band, which used to play at nights at a pub just outside the hotel and I used to stand there and listen together with a bunch of people who also must have liked their music. Although they were a cover band, they were very good. I just wished they'd had some own songs too.

And I remember being happy when I got home to Stockholm. It was a tripp to remember and I sure enjoyed myself but home is home and will always be the best place to be at.

I'm not sure what I expected of this totaly new country for me. I can't say I was disappointed, all I can say is that it sure did not correspond to my expectations. Strange... things seldome those.

Portugal was a whole new exeprience. We were there. We had fun, sun, drink and music. Burned cash and skin. Still it feels like we were there and back in an instance.

This fast, vast, a bit noir, techno-entropic, a bit s/m, futuristic, a bit bondage, very chick house/techno club was called Kadoc. Standing outside the gates we were about to see something we'd never seen even close to before. Come on in. Thursdays are foamparties!

And they whisper and they scream. And we want to hear. We want to read and see, and feel. Here goes some poetry submitted by our readers. Enjoy!

We did not know who they were. We did not know what they wished from us. There they were. And though we are not sure they probably were... conmen

Night city life starts late in Portugal. But slowly, slowly the streets are getting more crowded and we sit at our balcony observing those who pass us, while enjoying a bottle of sangria. So don't just stand there, but join the talking. Get a glas and pour it up 'cause we've got plenty.

Big man, strong man. Fearless man. Show what you can. Show me you dare. Show your strenghts in a bullfight