Lisbon Diaries: Rainy Nights, Lost Tram Tickets, and That One Fado Bar
so here i am in lisbon, typing this from a cafe where the barista keeps giving me the side-eye because i've been nursing the same espresso for two hours. the weather's doing that weird thing where it's 14.3°C but feels like 14.32°C, which is basically a scientific way of saying 'bring a jacket you'll regret it later.' humidity's at 97%, so my hair's officially entered its own zip code. i just checked and it's...there right now, hope you like that kind of thing.
anyway, i landed yesterday and immediately got lost trying to find my airbnb in alfama. the streets here are like a maze designed by someone who thought 'why not make every turn a potential ankle injury?' but that's part of the charm, right? i heard that the best pastel de nata in town is at this tiny place called *pastelaria aloma, but honestly, i've had three different 'best' versions in two days and my jeans are starting to protest.
"you haven't seen lisbon until you've gotten lost in bairro alto at 3am,"
someone told me at a fado bar last night. and they weren't wrong. the streets were alive with people spilling out of bars, and i found myself in a tiny tavern where an old man was playing guitar so passionately i thought he might break it. the fado was raw, like the city itself - beautiful but with edges that catch you off guard.
if you get bored, porto and sintra are just a short drive away, but honestly, i'm not sure how you'd get bored here. every corner has a story, every tile on the buildings seems to be whispering something in portuguese that i'm too slow to catch. i've been trying to learn a few phrases, but so far i've only mastered 'obrigado' and 'onde é o banheiro?' - which, let's be real, covers most situations.
i did the tourist thing and went to torre de belém yesterday. it's one of those places where you elbow your way through crowds to take a photo, then immediately question why you wanted the photo in the first place. but then you turn around and see the tagus river stretching out, and suddenly it makes sense. the light here is something else - golden and soft, like the whole city is perpetually in the 'golden hour' filter.
"the trams are a scam, just walk,"
i overheard a local say. but i ignored that advice because riding tram 28 feels like being in a moving museum. sure, it's packed with tourists and someone tried to pickpocket me, but i also saw a grandma yelling at a teenager in portuguese and it was better than any street performance.
food-wise, i've been living off bacalhau* and regret. someone told me that portuguese grandmothers guard their codfish recipes like state secrets, and after trying five different versions, i believe it. each one is better than the last, and i'm pretty sure i've gained 3 pounds just from reading menus.
i'm staying in a neighborhood where the neighbors hang their laundry between buildings like colorful flags. it's the kind of place where you hear fado music drifting from windows at night, mixed with the sound of someone's yappy dog. authentic? absolutely. soundproof? not even a little.
anyway, i'm off to find another coffee shop that hopefully won't judge my loitering. lisbon, you're a mess in the best possible way. until next time, keep being beautifully chaotic.
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