Vaguear em Lisboa

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Bussing into Lisbon, it seemed to me as if Costa Rica and Rome had suddenly pinched the map and merged. The language was near unintelligible so I couldn´t hope to commune much with the people, but the real appeal for me was in folky, crumbling hills that bordered stately plazas-cum-tourist meccas.

The first night, A and I met up with Ruby, who was on holiday from her job in Austria. We didn´t know much about the place, but it turns out we didn´t need to-- as a poetic Lisboan practicing his English said to us while were wandered, (quoting his own writing), I go where my feets take me (mis pés!).

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La alfama, the hilly eastern part of town, was ripe for our group´s tipsy curiosity after a filling dinner at the restaurant near the Catedral de Sé, called the Tasca de Sé. Mosaicked paths brought us to winding lanes where jaunty, crumbling homes played theater to nightly Fados on the ground floor. All throughout, colorful garlands were strung across each street (almost too narrow for cars to pass) that invited us to get even more lost, so we followed. I wanted to get some fado in while there, but that night, we were a little late. Even though it was for all purposes still light outside (past 10), the fados had already started.

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The next night, a group of us ventured out to the western hills (the Bairro Alto/Baixa) where we dined while serenaded by the powerful, sorrowful voices of two seasoned portuguese fado singers. Fado, or fate, is the nostalgic national music of lamentation and longing. The music was so revered that if you talked during, you were hissed at -- and that ended up causing quite a delay in getting our bill. We ended up staying for three passionate rounds. By the end, the group of us -- Ruby, A, myself, and two hostel-mates, were quite tired and ready to go. Fado, at least to the Portuguese, was worth the cost.

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Also in the area was Castel Sao Jorge, where we wandered around on top of crenelated towers guarding the residence of the first modern Portuguese king, Henriques. A and I also checked out Belém (portuguese for Bethlehem) which had an awesome Monastery that was a prime example of Manueline architecture. I didn´t know until I went what that meant -- but the carved details positively swarm over the arches and towers. We took it all in while delighting in Pasteis de Belém, a phillo-encased creamy custard morsel recommended by Ruby (and the rest of the world, who tried to crowd in the shop that afternoon). The city deserved more of my time, and I´m sorry I didn´t have it to give. The beach will have to wait.

Caitlin