Portugal

Castles & Cobblestones - Walking Through Lisbon

The sky is a bright postcard blue and the air, cool and crisp as a new note crackles alongside as I walk on cobbled stones. I am in Lisbon, Lissabon, Lisboa, capital of Portugal, city of seven hills, a river, a sea and a history of more than twenty centuries. Portugal is the first stop on our holiday in the Iberian peninsula. Unlike its more touristy neighbor, Spain, with the almost clichd images of matadors and flamenco dancers, Portugal is still a blank canvas in my mind, one I can paint with the colors of my own experiences. My husband and I have taken a local train from suburban Carcavelos where we are staying with friends to Cais de Sodre to begin a walking expedition of the city. The best way to become acquainted with a place is to get around on foot, to imbibe the throb and hum of smells and sounds and sights. We walk to Praca do Comercio, one of the main squares of Lisbon and find it almost empty. It is 10.am in the morning. There is a feeling of leisure and calm here, none of the frenetic pace associated with large cities at the beginning of a busy weekday.

We locate Jose at the corner near a yellow Lisbon sightseeing bus with a couple of other tourists. Jose looks like a student. He is young, with a sparse beard, brown sandals with an easy slow smile. He is our guide for this walking tour and promises us an interesting morning. We start our walk at a rather nondescript church of Our Lady of Concepcion, a 16^th century edifice which was destroyed in the 1755 earthquake and painstakingly put together later. Lisbon is a city of saints and churches and no tour is complete without visits to the cathedrals that sprinkle its skyline. Jose points out a small statue of St. Michael, the patron saint of commerce at the entrance of the church. This is the only transvestite saint in the whole world declares Jose. Intriguing. We peer closer. The statue, he/she, wears an enigmatic smile and to me, seems rather androgynous. Jose tells us about the Jews, who in the early 15^th and 16^th centuries were forced to flee Portugal or convert to Christianity. Some of these new Christians still covertly practiced their old religion and looked for ways to retain their identity through their craft. The statue of St. Michael was the secret revenge of one these converts!

We move on to the House of Diamonds; Dos Becos ,whose facade is a wall with small diamond shaped protrusions. It is unlike any building I have seen, unique even among instances of modern 20^th century architecture. Constructed by the prominent Albuquerque family in the 16^th century, it is now a government office. We stop at the Se Cathedral, with colorful stained glass windows that light up its murky interiors. The patron saint of Lisbon is St. Vincente, the favorite, I suspect, is St. Antony who receives prayers from young unmarried girls hoping for a good husband. The Se Cathedral pays homage to both. We hear of the magical ravens which escorted the body of St. Vincente as it was taken on a boat to guard him from harm. The boat, flanked by the ravens, is now the official symbol of Portugal. From the Church, we pass the castle of Sao Jorge , a typical castle built by Visigoths, with turrets and stone slab walls which can be seen from almost any part of the city.

House of Diamonds

We walk towards Alfama, one of the oldest districts in Lisbon. Alfama, the Al, a legacy of the moors who lived here once and fama being the spring or fountain, is a 16^th century neighborhood which is almost exactly as it was four hundred years ago when it was occupied mostly by Jews. Narrow streets lead to stone walled houses with roofs which almost touch each other. We pass by a factory which has existed for over 200 years, still bearing paintings on the blue tiles that look fresh and clean. There are no cars here, the roads are too narrow and steep, built in an era when automobiles didnt exist. An occasional bicycle whizzes by, bumping precariously on the cobbled stones. Old women lean out of windows or stand in doorways, talking in comfortable, familiar tones. I suck in the warm, convivial air and notice signs of festivity across the neighborhood. The next week is the Festival of Popular Saints.Red, green and gold streamers already seem to sway in anticipation of the celebrations ahead. You must stay for this, says Jose but I sigh with disappointment. We have two days more in Lisbon. As we walk across Alfama, we are treated to snippets of information about Lisbons history. The Phoencians came into the Iberian peninsula more than 2000 years ago, followed by the Romans who were in power till the empire collapsed. After a few centuries marked by frequent battles and uncertain rulers, Lisbon fell into the hands of the Moors whose legacy can still be seen in the art and architecture of Portugal. It was King Alfonso, who conquered Portugal for the Christians in the 12^th century, driving out the Moors and Jews who had been an integral part of the citys cultural fabric.

Street in Alfama

Street side Painting in Alfama

I hear music from one of the houses. A lady is singing in a sweet plaintive voice, a song which, though I can cannot comprehend the words, seems to speak of secret longings and silent sorrows. It is Fado, the quintessential Portuguese music whose origins are attributed to the yearning songs of slaves brought in from Africa or lovelorn girls whose men were traveling across the seas. We have walked for more than three hours but I still dont feel tired, only a little hungry. Jose leaves us at a miraduoro, a viewpoint with a small balcony from where I can see Alfama spread out like a checkered quilt. From now on, we are on our own, with only a map and our instincts to guide us. We grab a sandwich and walk through the streets of Chiado and Barrio Alto, picturesque old districts, stopping to ask for directions. The people are friendly, helpful, most manage some English and steer us towards our destination. As we head towards Rossio, I notice a group of tourists cluster around what seems to be a large tower. It is the Santa Justa Elevator which rises up among the older buildings in a straight defiant line. The Elevator was built by a French architect who was a student of Gustav Eiffel to connect downtown with this area. We walk back through the Rossio square with the elegant theatre and astonishing modern sculptures of irreverent cows, amidst cafes and street stalls selling souvenirs, scarves and paintings of Portugal. I buy a square tile showing a street scene in Lisbon ; women walking below dark red buildings, tramlines arching across windows and the ramparts of the Sao Jorge castle looming among the clouds.

Rossio Square

We walk along the banks of the River Tagus. Tagus is derived from the word Tagi which means nice fishing and there are some fishermen here who are still patiently watching over their rods. A large statue of Christ, Cristo Rei, overlooks the river from the opposite bank across the suspension bridge. As we move along, I am surprised by an enormous modern structure that looms ahead. We are heading towards the Torre de Belem, a medieval tower, but this is a 20^th century edifice. We have discovered the Monument to the Discoveries, Padrao dos Descobrimentos, an ode to the great sea faring traditions of Portugal, built to commemorate the 500^th anniversary of Price Henry the Navigator. It is a monument that depicts all those who made the sea voyages possible, from Price Henry himself to common ship builders, poets, painters, artisans and merchants. The monument is shaped like a three sail ship ready to move into the sea. By now, I am tired and my legs are starting to feel like clumps of lead. While my husband searches for good camera angles, I sit down with the world at my feet, literally. I study the large mosaic map of the world on the ground in front of the monument and locate the Portuguese colonies scattered across the seas from Brazil to Macao. I note Goa and Calicut on India and remember from my long ago school history lessons, stories about Vasco Da Gama who set out to discover the sea route to India . Those were the days of the intrepid explorers who marched on without convenient maps, Lonely Planet Guides and Travel Tips downloaded from the internet. I am inspired. I can walk more.

Monument to the Discoveries

I trudge on towards the Torre de Belem, one of Lisbons most famous landmarks, the spot from where Vasco Da Gama set sail five centuries ago. The Tower is surprisingly small, stocky and sturdy with plain interiors. It has been used as a prison, fortress and watchtower and now is a tourist attraction. I peer out of the third floor window and see a lovely street flanked on both sides by trees bearing an abundance of purple blossoms. It is a quiet peaceful afternoon in Lisbon and I think I can sit forever on the stony window seat and look at the view. Across the road is the San Jeronimos Cathedral, an imposing Gothic structure with tall spires. We walk out of the Torre towards it. The monastery and cathedral were built by King Manuel in 1502 in what has come to be known as the Manueline style of architecture. The cathedral is like any other, dark and peaceful with ornate gilded altars and luminous stained glass windows. Jeronimos also holds the tombs of Vasco Da Gama and Luis de Camoes, the national poet of Portugal .

Torre de Belem

It is evening when we walk out of the Jeronimos monastery and we still have one last thing to discover in the area of Belem. The Pastiche de Belem figures in the list of top ten things to do in Lisbon and I am eager to try it. It is easy to spot the blue awning and sense the buzz of people around the Antiga Confetaria De Belem. The pastiche is a Portuguese delicacy and this shop is known to make them from a centuries old secret recipe and sell more than 10,000 of them in a single day. The waiter,a grizzled middle aged man with an imposing mustache, doesnt speak English but we manage to order Dos pastiche and caf pingada ( coffee with milk). While we wait, I look around at the two hundred year old establishment with its typical blue tiled walls and atmosphere of noisy intimacy. The pastiche is brown and warm, the size of a lemon tart, flaky and crisp on top, and after the first bite, it gives way to a soft sweet custard that oozes gently into my mouth. I have another and now am satisfied with the passage of the day. We trudge to the station and head back, ready for more the next day.

Cathedral of San Jeronimo

Sintra- UNESCO site, picturesque, historic town is a forty five minute bus journey from Lisbon city. The Romans made Sintra into a site for the cult of moon worshipping and Sintra is derived from the name of the moon Goddess Cynthia. I know Lisbon is at sea level and I am now surprised to see the bus climb up steep roads and take the winding curves that belong to a hilly terrain. We walk down the Sintra streets towards the tourist office and pick up a map. Sintra is a fairy tale town with fairy tale palaces. Lord Byron spent some time here during its travels and described it as an Eden. Almost every building looks historical and even the town hall which dispenses with mundane municipal matters is a majestic structure. We first head towards the Castelo dos Mouros, the romantically named Moorish castle. The castle was built in the 8^th century by the Arabs and was a strategic military point. Now, it is a ruin, though the walls and highest turrets still seem resilient. It is slow tiring climb up the castle steps but the view from the top is marvelous, the sky is a dazzling metallic cobalt hue and air is so clean and fresh that you can inhale it like a rejuvenating drug.

Moorish Castle

Near the castle is the Penna palace which reminds me of a Disneyland castle with its rich colors and soft white trimmings. It is supposedly a consummate specimen of Portuguese romantic architecture built by King Ferdinand II of the Saxe Corbury dynasty. The rooms and living quarters have been lovingly recreated inside the palace with authentic period furnishings, vessels, artifacts and even real bread in the baskets on the 17^th century tables. We walk around the gardens, lush, green with red and pink roses over which small bees flutter madly. We take a mini bus from the palace to the town . There are more churches to see, which we pass in favor of lunch. The Portuguese love sea food and all cafs advertise the delights of sea bream, bass or mackerel. I scan through the menus, past the carne and pescados and stop at the Batata Fritters and Pao. This is one of the pleasures of travel; finding the familiar in the midst of the unknown, the faint whiff of Mumbai street food in suburban Lisbon-the vestiges of the Portuguese occupation of Bom Bahia. We order the Batata Fritters (only the Americans call it French Fries), a Pizza Margarita with a pitcher of Sangria- which is the only vegetarian meal we can find in Sintra. I feel languorous and am content to spend some time on a road side bench, my senses dulled by the sun and wine, watching people walk by. Later, we stroll over to the NationalPalace and look at its incongruous twin chimneys that rise above the kitchens and dwarf the rest of the buildings. We take the bus back in the evening. The bus takes a new long and winding route and we find ourselves at the Cabo da Roca, which is the westernmost point of Mainland Europe. It is also a popular view point and the bus driver allows us a minute to take in vistas of shimmering sea and steep cliffs. I am almost asleep by the time the bus reaches Carcavelos.

Penna Palace , Sintra

National Palace , Sintra

The next day or half day is our last in Lisbon. We decide on a promenade along the sea. Estoril and Cascais (pronounced Cashcaish, sounding like a bag of money) are popular resorts barely twenty minutes from the center of Lisbon. Estoril has one of the largest casinos in Europe along with some excellent golf and luxury hotels. Cascais is the posh expatriate suburb, a place far removed from the narrow Alfama streets. Here, the houses are large, painted mustard, ochre or pink with bougainvillea fences and olive green shutters on windows. Small blond children are wheeled along in strollers and shops have notices in English. We drive towards the sea and walk along a promenade flanked by the beach on one side and cafes on the other. White sail boats float like toys on the ocean. On the beach, old women, young men and bikini clad teenage girls arrange themselves on the sand and soak in the sun. It is Thursday morning but it seems like one long holiday here. We stop at a bus stand near the beach and take the shuttle bus to the airport .