A Post-covid Microadventure

“There’s nothing better than just bucking trends and saying yes I’m going to do that.

Because really, it doesn’t matter. No one else gives a damn.”

~Wise words from a wise person.

In this case, she was referring to my recent decision to go solo across the seas, to the undulating capital of Lisbon, Portugal.

I was rolling along reluctantly on the 59 bus to work, wincing at the concept of another gruelling shift tackling the relentless post-Covid tsunami. The thought of going ‘back to Europe’ sprung into my mind; I immediately grabbed the thought with both hands before it could fly off. Clasped with a tight grip, I found some cheap flights to Lisbon and booked. There. Done. Eek. Yay? All before I got off the bus at Waterloo.

Fast forward two weeks; hostel booked, four night shifts done and I’m in the queue for my warm Prêt tomato and cheese croissant at Stansted. My pre-flight routine (we all have one) was dusty, and the first mouthful of that deliciously calorific pastry brought back in itself a flurry of pre-holiday anticipation. Washed down with a Weatherspoon’s prosecco, unashamed, I sat aboard and lifted off for my first new destination in two years.

I emerged above ground at metro stop Baixa-Chaida. One of the things to love so much about setting foot in a new city is the pure unadulterated lost-ness. A notoriously disorganised traveller, I had booked my hostel’s location based on…well….nothing, and here I was in Baixa-Chiada with no clue where it was or  what it meant. Turns out, it’s effectively the Oxford street of Lisbon, and instead of a wall of Portuguese, I was surrounded by French and English accents excited to buy their United Colours of Benetton jumpers and Zara trousers. The air was balmy, 20 odd degrees, and the aromas were distinctively foreign: the smell of warm sun bouncing off shiny limestone and fried sweet cashews. Immersive bliss begins.

The hilly streets of Lisbon 

My compass (google maps) pointed me East in the direction of Santos, so I rolled along awkwardly on the beautifully crafted (not for roll bags) mosaic pavement, shoulder yanking in and out of place with my excited pace, keen to get the Selina hostel logistics done sharpish. 

Many things about this trip were everything I had dreamed of over the past two years, not least the hostel. On arrival, I was asked for my vaccination status, swiftly given my keys with an ‘Obrigada’ and, as any child does, ran straight to the pool. Beer in hand, I sat and admired the bougainvillea shining magenta in the early evening sun and the sound of birds tweeting; not pigeons, not crows, but something else all the more high pitched and un-British.

A tiny splattering of rain arrived somewhat later (you can take the girl out of London), so I slipped and slid down the dramatic contours of Lisbon to Caìs do Sodre - a waterfront area on the edge of the large river Tagus that slices through the city. By the time I arrived, the warm evening sun reappeared and I was attracted to some exotic sounding music blasting from a warehouse on the river front. It seemed like a family birthday event with 100 people all singing and dancing to unrecognisable Portuguese songs - I’m sure the equivalent of ‘Come on Eileen’. I asked a local what the music was; he flared and said ‘samba’. I walked away with a spring in my step.

Sitting on the dock of the bay

After sitting on the dock of the bay listening to a band’s live rendition of ‘Sitting on the dock of the bay’, I decided to stop for a glass of Portuguese sweet wine and a Pastel de bachalau (posh term for cod cake). One beautiful part of travelling on your own is that you can literally do whatever you want, so I sat and sketched whilst observing the sky change colour from amber to peach to rose to mauve. The freedom felt so sweet. After an hour, a passing Swiss traveller asked to join, and so my company for the night was sealed. We moved to ‘pink street’ which is so-named rather originally because the floor is painted completely pink. For a Sunday night, the atmosphere was electric, with tables and stools covering the garish vermillion floor and people chattering 360degrees around in wildly varied languages. The double bass of some live jazz started at 9 and drifted out, soothing the flavour of our glasses of Green wine - a local delicacy probably not designed for the wine connoisseurs of this world, but interesting all the same. For dinner, which was served at a casual 11pm, I had Bachalau (local delicacy cod) steeped in olive oil and potatoes. Sated, I crept home for a well deserved sleep after 36 hours of nightshift/holiday transition wakefulness.

Pink street

Day 2

The morning of day two started with a tasty classic hostel spread of eggs on bread, surrounded by pointy-beard-wealding ‘digital nomads’. These people have all made the fantastic choice of moving to Lisbon to continue their careers whilst almost certainly telling their boss that they are simply “working from home”. A career choice we are all fools not to have made.

I walked along the river-front, which felt like a sea-front as the river was so gapingly wide and covered in a fog, to the expansive Praça do Comércio. The extensive plaza boasts a huge bronze statue of an ancient King who fled the city following the devestating 1755 Lisbon earthquake which was arguably the most defining point in modern Lisbon history. Although the king reappeared from his hideout to unveil the statue 20 years later, he didn’t realise that they had positioned him walking away from the city. A slight of hand by the sculptor that he never noticed. 

A tilted coffee and tram 28 in Alfama

I passed though the square and bumped into the wall surrounding the ancient Alfama district of the city. Again, not being organised and with no one to tell me otherwise, I hadn’t quite grasped that this wall was the circumference of the most interesting and beautiful part of touristic Lisbon. When I passed through one of the small stone entry passages, the city changed. It changed from bustling cars and wide roads, to quiet, slender, hilly, cobbled streets sprouting off in all directions. Alfama, I found, is where to spend your first day in Lisbon. 

I passed through a couple of churches, bowing my head to the stunning ancient architecture that the ecclesiastical power used to conjure up for itself, and settled down for a sunlight-dappled coffee sitting at an awkward angle on a hill. Obviously, I hadn’t realised that this café looked over the tracks of the famous tram 28 which you see on the front of every postcard depicting Lisbon. As I was stirring my coffee, I had the surprise pleasure of hearing the tram clattering towards me and trundling past, filled to the brim with mask laden tourists hanging out of the windows to catch breath. Later that day I had the (dis)pleasure of taking said tram back to the hostel. Three words: Hot, close, uncomfortable. Would have been quicker to walk. 

Bougainvillea at an Alfama vista

After my coffee, I stumbled across a vista-point of the city, where a (British) busker was playing Jamie T style Brit pop in the background. It made for quite a nice sound-track for a stunning view. Alfama is based on one of the seven hills that dot the Lisbon skyline, so the uphill walking is relentless, but rewarding. At the top, I found the São Jorge Castle, sniffed at the price tag, turned-tail and promptly ordered some gazpacho, peixinhos da Horta (deep-fried green beans) and a glass of wine. Arguably a poor choice of how to spend the same amount of money, but again, solo travelling allows for whatever you like..! No review of the castle here, therefore, but I have heard that it is worth the views.

In the afternoon I did a free walking tour, which is always an excellent way to get your bearings on a city, both geographically and historically. The guide, Josef, was a born and bred Alfacinha (Lisbonite), who gave himself over to a compact but effective description of 5000 years of Lisbon history. My TLDR* is as follows; Portugal resents being at the far and expensive end of China’s Silk Road. On the rise of boats, Portugal taps into African resources and becomes the start of its own ‘silk road’. Portugal becomes pretty much the richest and most powerful empire in the world at the time, conquers loads of it. Portugal falls from grace due to its own inability to sustain its greedy conquerings, countries gradually return to native rule. Slowly under poor leadership, Portugal loses its foothold in most of its colonies, and on April 25 1974 the Carnation revolution overthrows the stinky greedy government and now it is just Portugal again. With a lot of history in its wake, and a really nice bridge called ‘Abril 25’, which connects the two sides of the river. 

We meandered after Josef for a few hours learning about the earthquake which changed Lisbon’s future by destroying 80% of it, being rebuilt IKEA-style over 20 years and introducing seismic science which toppled Christian thinking. He took us through the streets of Alfama, made us stop to appreciate the silence at the heart of such a buzzing metropolitan, telling us the woes of the 600% price rise on Alfama housing since the Airbnb monopoly began in 2015. Gentrification at its most heartless and ravenous. Finally he landed us, at sunset, at one of the the view points looking over the castle. A nice trick; I mean free walking tours are never actually free unless you’re callous, but this one was potentially one of the more expensive…

Free walking tour at sunset

In the evening, I went for some drinks in Barrio Alto with a Finnish-Londoner who I had met on the walking tour, and a friendly Israeli who I had met at the hostel. We listened to some Fado, the local sombre warbling music that is a ‘must’. It was certainly well sung, loudly, over the whole meal. Not the best conversation facilitator. But the fresh sea bass was firmly enjoyed with yet more green wine and some good company. The streets of Barrio Alto are rumoured to be the most buzzing streets in Lisbon, so after our meal, we headed out down the restaurant lined alleyways to a street packed with beer bottle wielding locals and tourists alike. It was still buzzing when we sauntered off at 1am. On a Monday. They do it right in Europe. 

Fado and a fabulous mullet

Day 3

There are a couple of well-documented day trips that you can do from Lisbon, and my last day seemed like the perfect day to get out of town. One of the best things about the big cities that I have visited in Portugal, is that they are only ever a short train ride away from the sea. Cascais is one of said destinations; a small fishing village an hour to the East of Lisbon.  

As the train approached it on the coast, I could immediately see its appeal; neat, coved bays dotted with fishing boats and bordered by dramatic rock faces cut by centuries of salty sea spray. I was washed off the train in a wave of tourists ready for their day of beach combing, and headed straight for one of the coves. The sea was a cool 22 degrees, as one Aussie  described ‘the coldest sea she’s ever swam in’. She’s obviously not been to Scotland. A summer of cold water swimming back in London had prepared me, so I bobbed in the fresh cool water, turning my back on the expansive ocean to get a beautiful panorama of the fishing bays. The briskness of the water meant I was largely on my own, which was a pleasing change from the highly populated beach.

Cascais fishing hub

Slightly claustrophobic on my return to land, I chose to worm through the shiny stoned back-streets of Cascais in search of some seafood. Seafood I found, in one of those crisp white linen laden restaurants where the first thing you get is warm-out-of-the-oven bread with homemade crab pâte. The ultimate coastal European dream. This, washed down with cool white wine and, yes, sorry, oysters. Pretentious solo traveller that I am. 

The heavy head that follows such a meal was blown awake by a walk down to ‘Boca so inferno’, also known as The Devil’s Mouth, so-called because of the great yawning hole that has been naturally carved into the rock face to the east of the town. Into this, the undulating ocean waves lap, creating the image of monstrous jaws and a thrashing tongue. They have marketed the hell out of it, mind, so if you ever go, please prepare yourself for commercialisation of nature at its most grim. 

Boca do inferno

I headed back to Lisbon clutching not one, but two famous Pastel de nata. I must say that I’m historically not a fan, the little custard tarts reminding me of what might be perceived as a sweet omelette. But those are the sorry soggy messes you get in the back of Brixton lidl. The real Pastel de Nata are crisp, layered, salted butter pastry cups with oozing warm thick custard in the middle. Yeh, they’re ok. 

I stopped off via a new development in the north of the city, a hipster nirvana better known as LFX. Originally built in 1846, this fabric factory was until recently an abandoned emblem of the by-gone industrial revolution. Recently (so recently in fact that it’s not yet finished), it has been converted into a mammoth food and shopping district. It certainly makes a good stop for those wanting to find some more quirky items, whilst sipping on strikingly tall skinny pints of whatever is Lisbon’s equivalent of Camden Hells.

LFX hipster heaven

As my time in Lisbon was winding down, I spent the last evening having another sun-dappled swim in the pool with a Sagres beer and a vague plan to escape a bunch of too young too fun ‘across the ponders’ who’d swarmed the hostel. I chose to go with my new Israeli buddy to Time out Market, a 10 minute walk away in Cais do Sodré. I must say, I was a little sceptical about this because of the flagrant sponsorship deal with what I know to be an average London magazine. But as we waited for our London/Finnish friend to arrive, I couldn’t help but be taken in by the atmosphere of the place. With maybe 30 different food counters of all different varieties, vegans, kangatarians, paleo-dieters and me, all would be satisfied. It was a great end to an excellent micro-adventure. 

Time out market

Lisbon is the perfect cocktail of history, metropolitan life, coastal haven, nighttime naughtiness, and café culture. I highly recommend to anyone wanting a refresher course on Europe at its best.

Finally: Please, if you can, do it once, travel by yourself. Because really, there are some serious pleasures to it and frankly, you don’t always need other people to do things!

Cheers

My top solo travel tips:

Book accommodation ahead, that unplanned trawling the streets of a new place that can be fun with a travel buddy is just plain not when you’re by yourself.

Stay in a hostel. You can always get a private room. It allows for you to search out company if you start to feel lonely.

Scared of eating by yourself? Firstly, don’t be. But secondly, trial a lunch time meal first - everything seems more acceptable in the day. In the evening maybe a market or some takeaway food would be better enjoyed when you’re starting out. Thirdly, if you are going to go for it, read a book or sketch something. It’s particularly mindful time, enjoy it. 

Always have a back up credit/debit card option. And some spare cash just in case. 

Call home, there’s always people around if you hit a lonely moment. 

No rules but your own! Enjoy that freedom!

*Too long don’t read