Damn Mediterranean Nations and their stupid sexy people and stupid sexy buildings and stupid sexy attitudes to life. Makes you just want to pack it in and go live in a rooftop apartment with pretty views of an ancient and historical city whilst smoking big cigars and drinking fortified wine.
We arrived, well I arrived, in Lisbon at night, the orange and white city lights sprawling out below the plane as it came down, contrasting against the deep impenetrable black of the sea that borders it. My arrival in Lisbon was a surprise to my fellow travellers who had already had a day to walk around with their mouths hanging open and going ‘ooo’ at beautiful buildings, and so it was without much fanfare that I entered the city. And boy what a city. Even at night you can see the vibrancy of it, the life that flows through it, the streets loud, the shop owners still hawking their wares, the bars teeming with both the young and the old shouting and laughing at one another. Little did I know that this 9pm vision of the town was in fact the calm start to the evening.
As with my previous travel posts I have no intention of giving a day by day breakdown of what I did. Rather I want to give you a feel for the city that we dipped our toes into, or rather dived headfirst into without a plan or a care.
Lisbon is a slightly confused city. Turn down one street and you’re in southern Italy it seems, tall orange stone houses, old Ladies hanging out of windows smoking and checking to see no one’s misbehaving, scooters rushing past you at high speeds firing on half a cylinder. Then you turn right and suddenly you’re walking down a road in a Swiss skiing village; small cottages and beautiful chalets lining the road as an expensive looking black Mercedes sweeps by elegantly with some frightening looking man in a pinstriped suit staring grimly ahead. The architecture is a reflection of the language too, at times romantic and flowing with the soft Mediterranean lilt to it that I’d grown accustomed to in Italy, but then suddenly careening off to the left somehow to become far harsher and more Northern European, almost Saxon or Germanic in its throaty consonants. This eclectic and often a little jarring clash of cultures in Portugal can be attributed to its vibrant and rich history as a nation of intrepid explorers. Men and Women from Portugal have discovered more unknown regions of the globe than any other nation save maybe the British, and in doing so they’ve brought back aspects and elements of those cultures to their small strip of land on the farthest West of Europe. They celebrate this desire to explore at every turn; monuments to legendary figures such as Columbus, Dias and Magellan litter the streets and buildings, even in modern architecture such as the striking ‘monument to Navigators’. Their diverse culture is one they happily celebrate, and the desire to explore and adventure still bubbles away there.
It was certainly bubbling away for us when we set out one morning to try and see as much of the city by foot as possible, which is a good thing to do because it turns out that you can actually see most of the city by foot without too much trouble. You will however be sacrificing the structural integrity of your calf muscles to do so. To say Lisbon is a hilly city would be putting it mildly. It’s is so uppity-down that the ancient and beautiful trams are on interesting canters, tilted at odd angles so that the people inside them aren’t constantly sliding around inside with gravity. The hills however have two great benefits for the wandering tourist; firstly it means that you are permanently in a state of surprise, as every time you come over a rise you are greeted with some new and beautiful sight, be it an ancient cathedral, a quaint little square, a statue to Columbus or just another hill. The second, and perhaps obvious benefit, is the views. The views in Lisbon are truly incredible, and we were lucky enough to be there on some very clear days.
One particularly breath-taking view was the ‘Miradouro da Nossa Senhora do Monte’ (Miradouro meaning viewpoint). From up on this high hill you can look down and survey the entire old-town, sprawling out before you in that beautifully unique European manner. No city planner ever sat down and dictated those streets, they are pure organic vibrancy, cropping up where needed, tight corners and narrow roads spinning uncontrollably between wildly leaning buildings and baked terracotta roofs. To the left is the great Castle of Lisbon - or more aptly St George’s Castle - the imposing intimidating presence of its walls now softened with rows of trees (and bizarrely, fairy lights that outline its shape at night). In front of you the city spreads away before hitting the banks of the estuary, a sudden defined line between buildings and blue water and beyond that the towering monument to Christ the Redeemer stands watch from across the bay. Also, a very notable sight in the city is the suspension bridge over the estuary, a bridge that is so similar to the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco that you have to do a double, even triple take. It confused many an American Instagram friend that’s for sure. In all it’s one of the most incredible views of a city I’ve ever seen, despite there being no majorly ‘world famous’ monuments in Lisbon, the city itself is such a dominating and stratospherically beautiful sight to behold that it doesn’t really need them.
Orthanc
The sights don’t stop beyond the confines of the city limits either, two honourable mentions have to first go to Belem, a district further down the river closer to the Atlantic, and to Sintra, the nearby mountain town famous for being the ‘Rich man’s retreat’ from the heat of the city. Belem is a peaceful spot, renowned for the enormous monastery, an Ivory palace that spreads out over several city blocks. I was hangover as balls when we went there so I missed out on the Monastery, but we did experience the two towers. Not in a Lord of the Rings kind of way, although parallels could be drawn between Orthanc and Barad-dur but I’m going down a nerdy rabbit hole there so perhaps let’s not. The first is the monument to the navigators, a towering concrete monstrosity in true brutalism style; it juts out over the water, semi-fascistic statues of Portugal’s greatest explorers leering out of the stone in a celebration of Humanity and manliness. It’s all a little patriotic and over-the-top for me (so perhaps Orthanc is an accurate description?) but you can climb it (or take a lift thankfully for my poor hungover feet) and the view from the top looks out over the sprawling monastery and the second tower, as well as the bridge and the hills behind the city. It is truly fantastic, if not quite as breath-taking as the Miradouro. The stiff breeze coming off the ocean also helps to clear a foggy head I found.
The second tower (Barad-dur) is Belem tower itself. This ancient fortification defended the mouth of the river, dominating any shipping that came in or out to the trading port. It is a beautiful sight, the architecture both gothic and yet the stone a glistening white. You can’t help but imagine weary sailors making their way home having spent years or more out at sea, trading or exploring or doing a war and finally see that glistening tower, the white stone glinting like a beacon on the horizon in the Portuguese sun. It must have been the greatest relief. It ment home. Beyond the towers, Belem is generally a nice spot, quiet, green, it’s an afternoon well spent out of the hustle of the main city. Another spot worth mentioning is on the way to/from Belem you can stop for a spot of food in the hipster commune-esque spot of ‘LxFactory’. Bookshops in old Print Houses, pop-up vegan street food, fake birds, it’s got everything the aspiring insta-influencer would want to take badly filtered photos of. Myself included.
The second out-of-Lisbon spot is Sintra. As I mentioned, Sintra is the spot where the rich came to escape the summer heat of the main city up in the densely wooded hills nearby. The king of Portugal had his summer home/castle here and the Moors used it as their seat of influence when they invaded. It’s a particularly mythical town, green trees, steep hillside construction, the bizarre mixture of northern and southern European designs magnified here on an even more severe scale reflected in the dramatic mansions and villas that lined the cobbled streets. The centrepiece of this historic town though was the Quinta da Regaleira, the immense garden of the palace known as "The Palace of Monteiro the Millionaire”. Built in the mid-1800s, it mirrors the dramatic Renaissance gardens of Italy built by overly showy cardinals. This garden though attempts to go one better than its older more delicate Italian cousins and in fact the attractions so over the top and beautiful it’s now been designated a UNESCO World Heritage site. The most astonishing part of the garden is probably the world famous ‘Initiation Well’, a deep well with a walkway round the outside, sometimes called an Inverted tower. There are several wells throughout the park, all of which are linked by intricate tunnels and cave systems, with references to Tarot Mysticism and various dodgy aspects of the Christian Church. The entire garden is steeped in myth and mystique, with grottos tucked away, secret chapels and mystic alters dotting the heavily vegetated land around the Palace. Now I’m not much of a believer in anything mystical at all, but I can tell you that if i was, I’d feel very close to it there. There’s much more to see in Sintra but sadly traffic conditions and a witch’s curse meant we weren’t able to see much more, save for a hectic ride around town in an electric buggy and a fleeting visit to Portugal’s emo-answer to Disneyland and so I leave the rest of the exploration up to you.
I didn’t have any pictures of the Fireworks because they were too pretty. So here’s sme fake birds.
I would be remiss if I neglected to talk about the nightlife in Lisbon, and boy what a night we experienced it on. The main idea for our trip was to get out of London for the 31st of Jan, because London is Hell on steroids then. Lisbon… well that was quite the opposite. As I previously mentioned things don’t really start in Portugal until about 9pm, if that. Generally a good night out seems to involve a long meal, lots of small courses, whether traditional tapas or something a bit more fun along with a whole lot of red wine. From there the city is your playground, and on New Years that really was the case. The entirety of the Old Town was effectively a giant street party, live music on all corners, bars overflowing with people, locals shouting and dancing with tourists on the cobbled roads. The entire city was electric. More than electric it was breathing, pulsating with a relaxed excitement that had to be felt to be believed. This was exemplified and magnified by the enormous festival-esque stage that had been set up by the local government on the Comércio Plaza, the large seafront square used for public events. The vast bass speakers rocked the buildings for miles, creating a heartbeat that the whole city fed off. Come 11:30 a mass exodus occurred, the bars emptied, restaurants vomited their patrons, and families tumbled out of doorways as every single resident of the city ran for the seafront. Luckily there is so much seafront that this was easy to do without being too squashed in, it was more friendly than any large crowd I’ve been a part of, everyone giving each other a respectful few metres of space. Then, suddenly, fireworks.
The most colossal and breath-taking pyrotechnic display burst from the river, hidden barges belching fire and light into the perfect vanta-black sky. Volley after volley of stars burst over the onlookers, the usual contained ‘ooos’ and ‘aaahs’ that you get in a British show substituted instead for cheers, raucous applause and huge, ear to ear grins. The display was mirrored around the bay, as every one of the towns and cities in sight competed to light up the sky and the faces of their happy onlookers. Breath-taking is a cliché I’d like to avoid using again, and besides it doesn’t begin to portray the pure awesomeness of the feeling that every one of our travelling group felt, watching that display, seeing the beaming faces of the locals, revelling in a single glorious moment shared with the whole equally glorious city. There came a moment then, more so than later in the terrible club we ended up in that night, more so than in any of the impressive monuments or views, even more so than any magical mystical gardens we got lost in, it was in front of that display, laughing our faces off at the sheer brilliance of it all, that we realised we’d fallen just a little bit in love with Lisbon.
To see more of my photography from Lisbon, click here.