Inspired by Andrew Bird's concert at Aula Magna in Lisbon, I decided to use my weekend to check out the city. When traveling by yourself, time stretches and fills itself with all the minute details of a new city. Without the distraction of conversation, the compromising and coordination of traveling with friends and family, I was able to really soak in the people and culture around me.
Being a single woman is an adventure in itself, and traveling as a single woman in Latin countries exaggerates all the little annoyances and joys of being young, single, alone, and... well... me. Although I suppose most women (especially in the US) grow up with poor self-esteem, I have begun to realize how low my self image really was before now. What makes me realize this is the absolute shock that I experience when anyone hits on me. It's a dangerous thing, because it makes me believe that I should be grateful for any attention I get and reciprocate in kind. However, there are plenty of men out there who do not deserve my gratitude or my attentions. And yet, I still said yes to drinks with the waiter from dinner the first night.
The waiter had filled my wine glass to the brim and then asked if I'd meet him later for drinks. He spoke Portugese and I would respond in Spanish. I enjoyed the puzzle of meaning and finally wrapping my head around the challenging sounds of Portugese. He enjoyed showing me off to all the off-duty waiters at the little terrace bar down the way. He sat back in his chair like a man of importance and introduced me to everyone that came by. I felt like I was on a date with a mafioso, the way he slapped hands and gave those manly one armed hugs and said cryptic thinga I couldn't quite understand in ruso-sounding Portugese. I chatted with a friend of his, Ricky, giving relationship advice and correcting his English grammar. I practically ignored my date.
But eventually, you can't ignore a 25 year old man who thinks he just won the tourist lottery.... he took me away from the distractions of his kind friends (I was beginning to think his friends were much more interesting and subtle than he). As we walked to Placa Comercial and the waterfront, we chatted cheerfully in Portugese and Spanish and I began to truly notice the quiet vagabonds around me. My feet and my mood kept changing as I would pass a grizzly man eating food out of a garbage can, a sleeping form in the nook of a shop window, as we helped a shaking and frightened woman who had lost her train money and lived far out of the city. I felt the gravity of the economic crisis, the gravity of the unemployment problem in the Iberian penninsula. Though I have noticed the increase in sad homeless faces on the streets of Madrid, they are the same faces I see every day in the same places. Lisbon late on a weeknight belongs to the destitute. I felt my good fortune like a brand across my chest.
On my way back to the hostel, feeling sad and confused, having left my waiter on the sidewalk, I slipped into the cozy luxury of a cab. The driver, an older gentleman, welcomed me with warmth and sweetness. As he spoke to me in a mix of Spanish and Portugese I finally felt my body unwind all the tension of being foreign and female and I sank happily into the cushions. For the first time in fifteen years I felt like I had a grandfather--such a strange and wonderful feeling!
Obligada, Lisboa. Thank you for the fascinating mix of emotions and thoughts you evoke. Thank you for the beauty and generosity of your people and culture.
The waiter had filled my wine glass to the brim and then asked if I'd meet him later for drinks. He spoke Portugese and I would respond in Spanish. I enjoyed the puzzle of meaning and finally wrapping my head around the challenging sounds of Portugese. He enjoyed showing me off to all the off-duty waiters at the little terrace bar down the way. He sat back in his chair like a man of importance and introduced me to everyone that came by. I felt like I was on a date with a mafioso, the way he slapped hands and gave those manly one armed hugs and said cryptic thinga I couldn't quite understand in ruso-sounding Portugese. I chatted with a friend of his, Ricky, giving relationship advice and correcting his English grammar. I practically ignored my date.
But eventually, you can't ignore a 25 year old man who thinks he just won the tourist lottery.... he took me away from the distractions of his kind friends (I was beginning to think his friends were much more interesting and subtle than he). As we walked to Placa Comercial and the waterfront, we chatted cheerfully in Portugese and Spanish and I began to truly notice the quiet vagabonds around me. My feet and my mood kept changing as I would pass a grizzly man eating food out of a garbage can, a sleeping form in the nook of a shop window, as we helped a shaking and frightened woman who had lost her train money and lived far out of the city. I felt the gravity of the economic crisis, the gravity of the unemployment problem in the Iberian penninsula. Though I have noticed the increase in sad homeless faces on the streets of Madrid, they are the same faces I see every day in the same places. Lisbon late on a weeknight belongs to the destitute. I felt my good fortune like a brand across my chest.
On my way back to the hostel, feeling sad and confused, having left my waiter on the sidewalk, I slipped into the cozy luxury of a cab. The driver, an older gentleman, welcomed me with warmth and sweetness. As he spoke to me in a mix of Spanish and Portugese I finally felt my body unwind all the tension of being foreign and female and I sank happily into the cushions. For the first time in fifteen years I felt like I had a grandfather--such a strange and wonderful feeling!
Obligada, Lisboa. Thank you for the fascinating mix of emotions and thoughts you evoke. Thank you for the beauty and generosity of your people and culture.
Sintra
I arrived in Lisbon to mist, rain, and general gloom. I decided to get the hell out of there and try to find the sun. Walking in the rain down Avenida de Libertade (a gorgeous boulevard with beautiful trees and mosaic walkways) I found the train station and headed toward Sintra. The rain only increased, and I sloshed my way around Sintra looking for some place warm, solitary, and with the smell of warm pastries and coffee. Every place was packed with tourists trying to get out of the rain. You couldn't see much and I kept stepping in puddles. I finally found a table, ordered a coffee and had an awkward conversation with another solitary traveler (a delightfully geeky German fellow who could have been a cartoon character in another life). With only two days in Portugal, I was pretty discouraged by the weather. But hey, the walk from the train into Sintra was gorgeous: lined with modern sculpture and overlooking a valley full of vegetable gardens and old homes. Through the mist I could barely make out the towers and spires of the castle and old mansions. Very romantic.
Quite possibly my favorite graphitti ever.
After returning from Sintra, the rain abated and eventually the sky began to show the promise of some blue. I wandered up into the Chiama district, which has a reputation of being chic, artsy, and beautiful.
Chiama
I loved this little Chiama plaza. I walked right to it after returning from Sintra. Strangely enough, this beautiful plaza was also home to the one attraction in Lisbon that I really didn't want to miss: a church whose well designed skeleton survived the devastating earthquake of 1755. A solemn monument to the 15,000 people who died in the quake as well as housing a modest but very interesting collection of artifacts, I felt so lucky to have stumbled my way here. Inside the silence was both melancholy and peaceful. The grass growing where pews once stood, the sad sweep of the frame for the long missing rose window... I soaked in the otherness of a European church without its trimmings and splendor.
Baixa
After weaving my way down the Chiama hill, I found the Plaza Comercial, where the palace stood before the earthquake. The plaza overlooks the river and is so large and open it hardly feels like you're in an old European city anymore. Oh, that Age of Reason! The lower part of the city was rebuilt after the earthquake (and the tsunami that followed) in orderly lines and structured grids after the principles of the Age of Reason.
Walking around the port I found some seedy areas as well as some beautiful and crumbling buildings. And I will always love the look of fresh laundry hanging out windows.
The beautiful tiles reflect light, often making the buildings shimmer and sparkle.
Alfama
The Elevator, inspired by Gustav Eiffel.
Alfama
The Alfama. (The hill opposite the Chiama.)
View from my table at a little terrace in the Alfama. There was a band playing really fun music and I ate the most amazingly decadent chocolate cake layered with dulce de leche and topped with chocolate sprinkles. I sketched, wrote, and sipped my coffee until I couldn't resist getting up to photograph the band.
I tried to catch his more contorted expressions. No such luck.
Belem
Just like real-life cleavage, I can't tear my eyes away.
Yummy little custard tarts at Pasteis de Belem. They're served with cinnamon and powdered sugar.
Oh, how I love a little Gothic with my Classic and Renaissance. I am such a dork.
King Henry, the Navigator, is holding a ship at the prow of this monument. The monument was errected in 1960 to commemerate the 500th anniversary of his death and honors the Portugese explorers and discoveries.
Heck yes!
Halloooooo down there!
Super windy on top of the monument! I had a lot of fun trying to get a good picture of myself. It was almost impossible to keep my eyes open in the bright glare of the overcast day and the wind kept whipping my hair in my face. Together with my wish to have the monastary in the background.... This picture cracks me up.
Hilariously, it was very windy. The waves crashed up and flooded the walkway, making it tricky to get up to the Torre. After I crossed the drawbridge (yes, that's right) the wind became a little more out of control and I needed to pay for the entrance. But the wind kept blowing my dress up and I had an embarrassing few minutes digging for money, holding my skirt down, and enduring the tittering old docents waiting to take my ticket. Good grief.
The second level. Gorgeous.
More Torre Belem. So pretty.
Cloisters of the monastary.
More cloisters.
This church, Santa Maria, survived the earthquake with aplomb.
Back in the Center
Rossie station. I love the doors, Starbucks, and the smell of roasting chestnuts at the stand outside.
The view from my seat at Aula Magna. I was one of the first people there. Apparently a 21h concert really means 22h. 
DePedro opened for Andrew Bird. His music is fantastic.
The first time I ever heard Andrew Bird's music I was driving with my college boyfriend in Missoula, Montana. With new music, often it takes a while to get used to the style or sounds. However, with Mr. Bird, I was smitten from the start. I felt like I had been listening to his music for ages. I sang along with the chorus and found myself humming his tunes long after we'd parked the car. Weeks later I began referring to Andrew Bird as "my future huband." Totally joking, of course, but the feeling I get when I'm listening to beautiful or powerful music is so close to the feeling of being in love I have trouble discerning between the two.
Andrew Bird's concerts are always very different. I've been to concerts of his where he transitions between songs with more music an improvisation so that he's played 2 hours straight without stopping to chat with the audience. I've been to concerts where he tries old or new songs and laughs at his mistakes and has the audience remind him of the words. This concert, with the comfy front row seat and his casual attitude, felt like I was sitting cross-legged in his living room. He talked to the audience as though we were new friends and he shared with us music that he'd just written during his two week stay in Lisbon (we were the first to hear the songs!!!). He talked about what each song meant and where he's going with his music. His stubbly beard and wrinkled suit and the way he'd kicked off his shoes during the first song... I felt myself becoming one of those crazy female fans who fantasizes about having that singer all to herself. Sigh....
Andrew Bird's concerts are always very different. I've been to concerts of his where he transitions between songs with more music an improvisation so that he's played 2 hours straight without stopping to chat with the audience. I've been to concerts where he tries old or new songs and laughs at his mistakes and has the audience remind him of the words. This concert, with the comfy front row seat and his casual attitude, felt like I was sitting cross-legged in his living room. He talked to the audience as though we were new friends and he shared with us music that he'd just written during his two week stay in Lisbon (we were the first to hear the songs!!!). He talked about what each song meant and where he's going with his music. His stubbly beard and wrinkled suit and the way he'd kicked off his shoes during the first song... I felt myself becoming one of those crazy female fans who fantasizes about having that singer all to herself. Sigh....
