lisbon

the tourism board for lisbon touts the city as “europe’s sunniest capital.” sure, there’s plenty of sunshine to go around but i would learn in my 6 weeks there that lisbon has much to offer beyond sunny skies.

after two months in barcelona, lisbon seemed like a shrinking violet compared to the obvious beauty of her more glamorous iberian sisters. the city looks depressed. many of the buildings have peeling facades and the tall, thin houses on either side of the narrow streets block the sunshine that’s supposed to be the city’s big selling point. portugal is poorer than its neighbors and you can tell right away; everything in lisbon is cheaper, from a cup of coffee to a cab ride to property prices. i got the feeling that lisboans were sad and almost embarrassed about their current state, having fallen a long way from their hayday of intrepid explorers like vasco de gama and magellan. you can hear this sadness in fado, the mournful music of the portuguese people, that’s often blaring from old school barber shops and traditional cafes.

even the food in lisbon seemed to mirror the national identity. the rustic preparations of seafood are full of heart and soul but never fancy or pretentious. one of my favorites is a dish called açorda, a casserole of mushy bread studded with large, plump shrimp and copious amounts of garlic and olive oil. arroz de tamboril is another homey dish similar to a soupy risotto with big meaty chunks of monkfish. most of the traditional portuguese restaurants in lisbon serve whole fish grilled over big flames and you can smell that smoky charred skin for blocks around. if you’re not smelling grilled fish, you might be smelling bacalhau, salt cod which in the dried form smells like o-jing-uh (korean dried squid). if you’re not familiar with that smell think of day-old cat pee.

oh and speaking of cats, the apartment i was renting was surrounded by stray cats. i’d hear them having cat fights when the sun went down. one night, i awoke to the sound of what i thought was a woman in distress. it was haunting and persistent and scared the bejeezus out of me. i later realized it was the yowling of a big tomcat because i caught him making the same noise as he was humping another kitty.

my apartment was in a tiny alley near the bairro alto (one of lisbon’s hip neighborhoods). yeah, it was NEAR it but not in it. my street was so obscure, no cab drivers recognized it. i’d have to rattle off a few of the nearby street names before the location registered for them. i lived in a bustling working class neighborhood that had plenty of little workshops. there was one adjacent to my building and although i could look right into it and hear the old man whirring away all day, i had no idea what he was making–that is, until one day toward the end of my stay i saw a small truck pull up to it. on the side of the truck it read, “laminas para guillotinhas.” that old man was making guillotines?? if my life were a movie, i’d probably be falsely accused of a capital offense and be executed in one of his handcrafted guillotines.

i have more to tell you about lisbon (and pictures to show you) but i’ll get to that later.