It seems this alarm clock is missing a snooze button.
If you're going to get up before the fisherman might as well make the most of it with a stroll down to the lighthouse before breakfast.
Sorry folks, you voted to secede from this golden crescent of sand, send us an Instagram of your soggy fish and chips from Brighton.
This vantage point explains why Zara sells bikini tops and bottoms separately. You don't need both.
This whole no work thing is surprisingly easy when no one else works either. Pass the sangria.
Hang on, I take that back. Someone has to do the hard yards and pour the lads a drink.
A 5am start tends to do that to you. If you ask nicely Mommy might pour you a Coke. If she's still awake.
Last stop on the circuitous road to Lisbon, the uber-hip LX Market, a collection of reclaimed warehouses in the shadow of a hulking overpass. Because post-industrial shade is so much better than you know, tree shade.
Hey ET, you said you were going home, not to the third floor of a hipster bookshop to find some coffee table accouterments. Although in fairness your spaceship does sport some minimalist mid-century modern finishes that would pair well with a curated Franzen collection.
Malaysian-fusion inside a printing press? That must be the secret behind their wafer-thin roti canai.
Don't worry if you overindulge, you can always take a spin through the printing press on the way out.
Race you to the bottom. Same thing most readers of this blog are doing.
A one stop shop for all your hipster essentials: single-speed bike, record player, a box of spare Edison bulbs, and a reclaimed row of old cinema seats.
Daddy, are you a hipster? Son, don't make me wash your mouth out with handcrafted artisanal cruelty-free pomegranate-infused soap.
Finally after a long week on the road the ancient city of Lisboa offers welcome respite for the weary travellers. Magellan's modest circumnavigation has got nothing on getting a 16 month old from one side of the country to the other.
This tram-spotter has come to the right city. Which way to the Number 28?
Once again that New York time-zone comes in handy. The party only gets started once the sun goes down.
Must be the American accent.
Daddy, what's your best pick up line? Two words son: Toyota Corolla.
Daddy, what's the difference between a lager and an IPA? Son, it's the difference between turning pink and bright red.
Time for the Big People to go out and play.
Final day in Portugal. This might be the moment when Dad extends his vocabulary beyond obrigado. It's embarrassing that in this age of Google Translate Ryan knows more Portuguese than his old man.
If it's stood for a thousand years one more push probably won't hurt.
No Dad, when I said Number 2 I didn't mean a tram.
Aren't you a little red for a stormtrooper?
TramCam. Just keep your arms inside these roads were designed in the pre-selfie epoch.
The TimeOut Market, a curated line-up of the finest chefs in Portugal, each of whom flog their signature dish from their stall. It's like an All Star game, except actually worth going to.
Looks like somebody hit every stall.
Time to say goodbye to Uncle Devan. Can't give a Londoner too much sun or they're liable to get all cranky and vote for fog, mashed peas, and warm pints.
Here's hoping Ryan makes it back here sooner than the quarter-century it took Daddy to return.
How many times can you read Go, Dogs, Go in seven hours? About to find out.
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