lixa cafés in lisbon where digital nomads spill secrets over pastel de nata
lost the train that was supposed to bring me back to almada after work, so i’m here, in the chaos of santa cruz, hunting for the weakest wifi signal and a decent espresso. checked the app-weather’s 14.21 here, feels like 13.31 when the wind cuts through. blue-sky days are just a distraction until i need to pack for the beach. my co-working space is a mess of laptops and half-empty coffees, but the guy next to me dropped dry advice at 3am: _’sao bento station feels like a ghostbusters scene at 2 in the morning-crowded but basically haunted by tourists.’_ i laughed, then spent 20 minutes confirming on tripadvisor that yes, they’re renovating the tiled floors there. seems legit.
walked instead, bumped into a guy selling olive oil in a "lazy" branded pool that’s probably not even real. yelp says it’s a tourist trap, but the smell hit me right-earthy, bold. ordered a biftek sanduíche from a stall run by grandma who never leaves, her apron stained with decades of collard elephants. she said the meat came from up in alentejo, which is where everyone east of the gorge complains about the manners. not my first time in a place where locals are a protected species.
found a spot on the alameda by the fountain, mouse-clicks of keyboards drowned out by fado music from a statue three blocks over. tried to join a group booking tour to cascais, but the guy running it looked like he’d rather wrestle a hippo. turned around. found a cinnamon roll in a bakery window that screamed _"don’t trust the pasteis de nata here, ask for canacheira century,"_ whatever that meant. grabbed a juice instead. turned out to be dragon fruit and mint, which made me feel like i’d cheated on my coffee snob tendencies.
someone whispered in the cafésound that the trams 28 route has a ghost driver. not true, but i can’t argue with the hype. went anyway, had to negotiate with a pickpocket who claimed he wasn’t one. gave him a euro. felt weird. by 7pm, i’d wandered into quercavel and realized the sunset was a forgery. too many tourist selfies blurred into the sky. booked a flight out of sturmer brussels next week. at least the dell was loaded. for now, this city’s my temporary fourth screen.
neighbors include porto (for the wine and the weirdos who swear it’s not bitter) and evora (where everyone’s either an archaeologist or a stoner pretending to be one). overheard that the local market on ruelle de tempo sells cobras in disguise as sangria. not confirmed. but hey, at least the figs are free.
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