Abigail Olivais Brothel ❤️❤️

About Lisbon

So, brothels—been around forever, yeah? Oldest gig in the book. Ancient Rome had ‘em, called lupanars—wolf dens, how badass is that? Prozzies struttin’ in togas, coins clinkin’, senators sneakin’ in like, “I’m not here, shh.” Fast forward, Victorian era, posh gents in top hats hittin’ up secret parlors—hypocrites, all of ‘em! Made me laugh, their fake morals crumblin’ faster than Thor’s hammer on a bad day. Even now, places like Nevada got legal ones—Bunny Ranch, heard of it? Cash flowin’ like Jordan Belfort’s Quaalude stash.

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Looking for original places to drink on our visit to Lisbon, I discovered this old brothel, converted into a pub, which keeps the essence at home corner.

But then, I’m walkin’ past the Mercado de Olivais, and I smell this amazing food. Like, I’m talkin’ grilled sardines, fresh bread, the whole shebang. I’m like, “I need to eat!” So I grab a bifana, and it’s the best thing ever. Juicy, spicy, just what I needed. But then, I spill some sauce on my shirt. Ugh! I’m like, “Great, now I look like a mess.”

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