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Languid Lisbon

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Languid Lisbon

Next we were on to Portugal. We flew through Casablanca again and got into Lisbon mid-day. The taxi to the hotel took less time than getting our luggage. Bom Dia! We were in Portugal!

Four flights of stairs up to the Pensao Aljubarrota Lisbon–room 8. I was delighted with the old house, the ambiance of the room and its tiny terrace overlooking a quiet street. Despite the room being only about 10 x 10 ft, there were THREE sets of french doors in the room, a massive old armoire and headboard, a tiny dressing table and a shower, bidet, and sink en suite. The toilets were down the hall. It was a satisfying little daydream to imagine living in this tiny studio space with just the minimum amount of “stuff”. I liked sitting out on the narrow sunny, balcony–just enough space for two chairs and a small table. Lights were strung along the railings, and candle stubs melted onto the balcony floors. Other balconies across the way and down the street had flowing pots of flowers, drying laundry, and brightly painted chairs and tables.

Our balcony
Our balcony
Carol on the Lisbon balcony with Marrakech henna'd hand
Carol on the Lisbon balcony with Marrakech henna’d hand

It turned into a favorite thing to do…to sit on that balcony. We washed clothes in our sink and hung them to dry on the balcony. I sat out there with it, sipping cold cokes and eating crackers. I wondered about the people living behind all the other balconies’ French doors with flowing white lace curtains opening into unseen living spaces. Sometimes you’d see someone–a matronly woman stepping out to pinch back the flowers, a shirtless man sitting out for a morning smoke, a young mother–with a kid on the hip–hanging out baby clothes with one hand.

Lisbon Tiles
Lisbon Tiles

Lisbon was HOT. The heat made us lazy, too languid to even be cranky. We spent time at cafes outdoors–sipping cold drinks and watching tourists, pigeons, hash dealers, and the locals.

The bad part of our pensao was the “curfew”–the outside doors locked from midnight to 9 a.m…no getting in or out. There was no air conditioning, no fans, and a limited breakfast. Nights could be loud as the neighborhood came to life. It was like Rear Window on that balcony. But with the heat, the noise, and knowing you’re locked in…nights could be very, very long.

One night we went to Fado at Canto Do Camoes…expensive, but a delicious meal of salmon with hollandaise sauce, thin green beans, potatoes, and white asparagus in butter. Bryan had steak with mushrooms and garlic and lobster bisque and we shared two bottles of red Portuguese wine. We listened to the singers…this melancholy saudade–a sort of ethereal, aching, yearning for something lost or unattainable…Portugal’s “country” music.

We spent one evening walking up along the Miradoura de Sao Pedro de Alcantara. From there you have beautiful views of the crowded, red-roofed Baixa area below. One day, we walked up, up, up and spent the better part of the day on Miradoura de Santa Luiza–gazing below and getting the breeze and the view while eating and drinking and postcard writing. Peaceful. We walked in Alfama–laundry hanging across the narrow streets, school kids walking in packs, ladies standing outside windows talking to ladies inside their half doors. Narrow alleys, steps up and down and tidy balconies filled with color.

Lisbon's balconies
Lisbon’s balconies
Lisbon trolleys
Lisbon trolleys

Another night near sunset, we strolled up in Barrio Alto to the Praco do Principe Real, a very scenic area. It was an old neighborhood–colorful but peeling-paint houses and big trees with purple flowers. In the park, there was this massive old tree–cedar, I believe–supported all around with an arbor. The arbor held the tree up and open like a giant umbrella. The trunk was large and muscular, the branches gnarled and twisted through the arbor supports. Kids played, couples snuggled, and a chess game went on beneath its branches. We took the yellow Gloria trolley down to the plaza below and got ice cream at twilight. SO HOT back in the Lisbon valley!

Barrio Alto, near the big cedar arbor
Barrio Alto, near the big cedar arbor
The lilac tree
The lilac tree
Barrio Alto, Lisbon
Barrio Alto, Lisbon
Lisbon Cathedral
Lisbon Cathedral

One morning, we woke Guissepe up at 8 a.m. to let us out for coffee and the flea market. That was a good day. I found lots of little trinkets–a tiny rosary, a single delicate little port glass, old chandelier beads, a glass absinthe bottle, a cafe tin canister, and an art nouveau lady made of silver. All the little bits and pieces that I love and collect like a magpie collects shiny things.

Lisbon: view of Baixa
Lisbon: view of Baixa

On our final night in Lisbon, we spent the evening on the Miradoura, feeding the birds and watching the sunset. We returned to pack up and sat with Guissepe in his small, breezy evening kitchen–enjoying wine and cheese. He’d been open for four years now, but had lost his partner to leukemia three years ago. It was not the way he’d intended “the pensao plan” to go. I looked around the crowded space taking in the stacks of books, the photos taped to the walls. We had noticed Guissepe many times during our stay, sitting alone on his balcony smoking, or strolling, hands-behind his back, down the streets near his home–the working pensao. It was humbling sitting there in his tiny kitchen listening the dream and the reality.

Faded film Lisbon to the sea
Faded film Lisbon to the sea
Faded film Lisbon streets
Faded film Lisbon streets

The next morning, we took the metro–boarded at the Linha Caravela “C”/green line’s Rossio stop, changed to the blue, “A” Linha Gaivota at Baixa-Chiado to the car rental place around the Parque stop. We rented a little car and loaded up–bound for Evora and up to the north of Portugal.

Portugal Flag
Portugal Flag