Portugal Travel Day to Night Discoveries in the Land Five of us, all girls, took a couple of maps of Portugal Travel for potential orientation crises, a list of two or three "musts" to see and do, plus the bare necessities for the night, then headed for the city center. It was early in the afternoon. We had just arrived from the Azores and had to stay in Portugal Travel in Lisbon until our next, ridiculously early, flight for Rome the following morning. With a mixture of Before Sunrise revival and "what's the point in wasting money on a hotel room when we'll only sleep a couple of hours," we decided we'd rather walk around Portugal Travel in Lisbon all night. Having left our backpacks in the 24-hour luggage deposit we bought a one-day ticket on the Aero-Bus, which links the airport to the city center. This ticket was a real bargain: for the price of 2.35 euro; it allowed us to travel on every tram and bus for the whole day, plus night buses. As the airport is inside the town (when you fly from another European airport, the wings of the plane almost skim over the rooftops), the bus arrived in no time at Praccedia dos Restauradores, a busy square near the city center. As we drove in, Lisbon looked like any other south European capital, full of sunlit, tree-lined avenues and tooting traffic. As soon as we got off the bus though, we found ourselves in front of a building covered with beautiful azulejos, ceramic tiles decorating the faccedilade, and immediately realized Lisbon has its own unique beauty. We walked down Rua des Portas de S. Antao, full of wine shops selling port and restaurants with tables outside. There were also a couple of fishmongers selling bachalau (salted codfish), the typical Portuguese dish. I was devastated to learn that all the codfish was imported, mainly from Iceland. How something imported becomes a typical dish is a Portuguese culinary mystery to me. At Praccedia D. Pedro IV we couldn't resist stopping at one of the many shops selling wine. It was a tiny place with just enough space for four or five standing customers, a huge counter, and bottles stacked up to the ceiling. Black-and-white photos were hanging in the few portions of wall not occupied by bottles. The shopkeeper asked us if we wanted to taste some port; it was 0.50 euro per small plastic white cup, and we accepted. The port had a sweet scent from aging in wood barrels, and the warmth of the wine softly flooded our palates. Lisbon had already conquered us. Our next stop was in Rua A. M. do Alegrete, behind Praccedia da Figueira, where the fun really began Lisbon by tram. We had discovered that although there are organized tours of the city there is also a charming tram, No. 28, which, rattling and screeching, covers virtually the same itinerary. There's obviously no guide, but instead of being surrounded by other tourists you can sit beside sedate Lisboetan old ladies or stand like sardines in a precarious balance next to businessmen and students. Besides, with the one-day ticket it's possible to hop off and on again whenever one chooses. Tram 28, wrapped with Coca-Cola advertising, has a few open windows for taking pictures when it comes to a halt, or you can lean outside, an experience which could blow your mind, especially if you don't pay attention to the traffic lights and signals in the narrow streets. The tram passed through the Baixa neighborhood with its large avenues, cafes, and designer shops, and through Chiado, where all of a sudden I saw a child looking at me from the other side of the window while holding on tight to a metal bar outside the tram. I guess he had no ticket and was just hanging for a free ride. As I looked at him with startled eyes, he stared back with the confidence of a child who's already an expert at doing illegal things. Tram 28 crossed Bairro Alto with its banks, newspaper headquarters, and taverns, went up to the Estrela, and then back again through Bairro Alto, but this time descending towards the Tagus river. The streets narrowed, the bends tightened. In some places people had double parked and bartenders and shopkeepers would come out to help the tram driver pass. Not that he could maneuver off the tracks anyway, but everyone wanted to help direct with windmill gestures and animated cries. We finally got off the tram near Praccedia do Comercio, walked by the river, and then into Alfama, the only quarter spared by the 1755 earthquake. When we had asked at the tourist office if there were any areas that as a group of five girls we should avoid, they told us that the docks were not very safe at night and that Alfama would be okay for dinner but not to afterwards. As sunset was approaching and little light made it onto the narrow alleys, we saw their point. Still, the air was full of appetizing kitchen perfumes. In fact, it was almost time for dinner, and we ventured through these alleys full of Arab history, with worn out azulejos decorating the facades, peeping inside the various taverns where preparations were hectic for the coming night of fado singing. Fado is the song of Lisbon. It expresses a sentiment of fate and saudade (melancholy) that's typical of Lisbon and especially of Alfama. The tavern that inspired us the most was A Baiuca, and fado vadio (amateur fado) is sung there Thursdays to Mondays. We sat at a table with two benches we soon shared with other guests. There were dozens of bottles displayed on the shelves, brightly colored ceramic fish on the walls and comic portraits of singers who had performed there. At 8 p.m. they brought us the usual Portuguese appetizer of cheese, olives, sausage, bread and butter (no need to order it, they bring it anyway) and the music started. Lights were dimmed, the only illumination provided by some Christmas-tree lights strung across the walls. When the first singer finished, the lights were turned on again and our roasted fish with rice and vegetables was brought (my tip on Portuguese food is to eat fish roasted if possibly as they otherwise tend to exaggerate with sauces and batter). Many more singers, casually sitting at the other tables, sang that same night. During their performance a religious silence was required. Some singers were absolutely fantastic, in other cases their fado vadio was a little too vadio. It was in general a beautiful experience, especially as we were almost the only foreigners and it felt like we were part of a family gathering where all the members would stand up in turn and sing. Not to mention the raisin-scented port the owner offered us at the end of the dinner (which was around 12 euro including house wine). At around 11 p.m. we left the fado tavern, and as we walked towards Baixa the dark alleys grew into immense streets paved with a pale stone that glowed golden under the street lamps. In Chiado the aroma of coffee and the sound of people laughing enticed us into the beautiful Liberty-style cafe A Brasileira, where politicians and artists, including Portuguese poet Fernando Pessoa, used to meet at the beginning of the 20th century. We sat inside and drank a short and deliciously bitter espresso, surrounded by Liberty-style chandeliers, golden stuccoed wood decorations, and a huge mirror that ran from one end of the room to the other. Drinking coffee in Portugal is indeed a social institution, something you're meant to enjoy, no gulping allowed. They say Bairro Alto is full of nightclubs, but to be honest we didn't see any or perhaps at 1.30 a.m. it was too early for Lisbon's nightlife. We walked down a steep street toward the Tegus river and found ourselves by chance at Miradouro de Santa Catarina, one of Lisbon's most famous vistas. At first we were a little put off by the police patrols, because of drug dealing we thought, but then realized it was probably the safest place in town. In fact, next to the belvedere a kiosk selling refreshments was crowded by locals. Couples stopped to view the river, the ships sailing by, and the starry night; others brought their dogs for a walk or played cards while I could almost hear the soft tunes of Madredeus' song dedicated to this scenic spot in Wim Wender's Lisbon Story. At 2.30 a.m., after 10 hours of descending and climbing Lisbon, we caught a night bus back to the airport. We didn't have to check in until 6 a.m. but the Lisbon night had been so perfect that we felt trying to prolong it might have spoiled the magic. Or maybe it was because the seven steep hills of Lisbon had worn out our knees and legs? Photos by Vitor Vieira, Izzet Keribar/Loney Planet Images, Slawka Scorso