A Walker in the Suburbs

To be atop this edifice, to see the splendors of Seville spread out below, well, it passes the prickles-down-the-back-of-the-spine test. And if you happen to be strolling around the nosebleed section  of the Giralda when the bells begin to ring, then the thrill is complete. 

Seville’s Alcazar Palace has been a royal residence since the 10th century, which means there’s been a fair amount of redecorating through the years. The ornate Moorish carvings that grace the first floor gave way to Renaissance arches on the second. 

Four hours on a train and three hours on a bus have brought us to Seville, the capital of Andalusia and, from our few hours here, a magical place. So I am interrupting this travel(b)log of Portugal to bring you a taste of Espana. 

This is my first trip to Spain, first trip to Portugal, too, though Spain is perhaps the odder country to have missed. It was worth the wait, though, given the introduction: a slow stroll through the Barrio Santa Cruz with its narrow lanes, lively restaurants (one with hams hanging from the ceiling) and active street life. 

Tomorrow there will be a walking tour and a palace visit and, I imagine, a few stops along the way.  Because I can already tell that Seville is a city meant for savoring.

There are so many windows into a culture, so many ways to discover and enjoy a new country. There are landscapes, people, food and wine. And then, there is music. In Portugal, that music is Fado. 

If you listen to Fado in Lisbon, you hear women croon mournful tunes.  But if you listen in Coimbra, as I just did, you hear men serenade women and sing songs that celebrate the places they love. 

Played with a special 12-string guitar and accompanied by passionate vocals, Fado has been called the soul of Portugal. And after tonight, I’d have to say I agree. 

Tucked away in the hills outside Coimbra lie a network of schist villages. Originally built to house shepherds and animals during the summer grazing season, these houses rise up in tawny browns and tans, almost indistinguishable from the rocks that surround them.

They are made of schist rock, thinly layered, like sheets of phyllo pastry, and some of the oldest have no mortar at all between the stones. 

It’s almost dark in Coimbra, the university town north of Lisbon. The tangled medieval streets have quieted down, and the swallows that were darting about have roosted, perhaps in the crumbling stone of a 12-century church.

I’ve tried to capture the charm of this place with my camera, but the lens doesn’t record the surprise of spying a flower-decked arch in a hidden square. Or the warmth of the light that touches just the top of a medieval belfry.

So let me add some sound effects. Imagine them all with the clink of a glass, the strum of a guitar, and an open-mouthed traveler murmuring “ahhhhh.”

It’s been four days and I’ve yet to gush. But the restraint ends now! Maybe it’s the weather (perfect), the views (spectacular) or the people (friendly and accommodating). But I think it’s more than that—it’s the city itself, which is more than the sum of its parts.

When Portugal ruled the seas, Belem Tower was the last sight Portuguese sailors glimpsed as they left their native land. It sat in the middle of the water, protecting the harbor.  When I saw it today, I thought about the courage it took to sail off into the unknown. What fueled it? Curiosity, greed, necessity, faith? Probably all of the above, depending upon the sailor.  

Less than a mile away, the Monument of the Discoveries celebrates Portugal’s seafaring tradition and the famous explorers, like Vasco de Gama (who’s buried in the stunning Monastery of Jeronimos located nearby), who made it happen. It’s a grand display. But far more moving to me is Belem Tower. Many looked upon its ancient stones, shed tears and mumbled prayers. Some of them returned, but many did not.

This morning Lisbon woke up and went to work. There was a down-to-business hustle-bustle that was missing on Sunday. Men in dark suits gathered across the street in front of what I just realized is a government building with an official-looking crest to prove it. Shops threw open their doors and displayed their wares.

Tourists have to work, too. We set the alarm for 8 a.m. to make a 10 a.m. walking tour, which we did, with time to spare. 

Our guide, Marta, not only showed us panoramic views all over the city but also clued us in on little “cheats,” such as taking public elevators to avoid walking up stairs in this hilly town. As a special treat she delivered codfish cakes and custard tarts (more on these later) to revive our flagging energy.  It worked! We reached Commerce Square revived and ready to visit a museum this afternoon. 

Touring Lisbon: It’s a tough job, but somebody has to do it.

This walker got a late start this morning — I’ll blame jet lag — but once we got going, we made up for lost time. From Chiado and Bairro Alto to this panoramic view at Maradouro de Sao Paulo de Alcantara where one of us (not me) ate the much-lauded national dish of grilled sardines. 

From there down the funicular trail to the neighborhood of Baixa, Lisbon’s “downtown,” where we saw Rossio Square, the Riverfront and the Arch of Triumph. 

Lisbon was destroyed by a powerful earthquake, fire and tsunami in 1755, and much of what we saw today was built after that catastrophe. But one place survived the quake: the church of Sao Roque, which was built in the 16th century and named for the saint that provides protection against plagues and disease.  It seemed like a good place to spend some time today … and that’s just what we did.