Life at the edge of Europe
Narrow streets, red tile covered roofs, the smell of roasted chestnuts, tavernas and art-nouveau shops, “azulejos” walls covered in clothing that hangs to dry, “electricos” – the tram with mahogany chairs, “fado” – the song of sadeness and nostaligia for the lost love, the prettiest light and the most beautiful sidewalks in the world, this is the Portugal where everything has its own story.
The history laden streets and the guitar sounds send you back to long gone times when adventurers looking for new lands and fortune left the ports on their sailing ships. Freedom floats in the air, music sounds through open windows and women in flourished dresses seem to invite you in their lively coloured houses. I tasted a “pasteis de nuta” in the Antiga Confeitaria de Belem. I drank Porto wine, vinho verde, ginginha, capirinha and manny others that I don’t remember. I got lost on the streets of Alfama – the lucky quarter that survived after the devastating earthquake in 1755. In Ericeira I got a haircut in a timeless barbershop and in Evora I saw a bizarre room decorated entirely with the bones 5.000 dead people: The Capela dos Ossos.
Life at the edge of Europe
Narrow streets, red tile covered roofs, the smell of roasted chestnuts, tavernas and art-nouveau shops, “azulejos” walls covered in clothing that hangs to dry, “electricos” – the tram with mahogany chairs, “fado” – the song of sadeness and nostaligia for the lost love, the prettiest light and the most beautiful sidewalks in the world, this is the Portugal where everything has its own story.
The history laden streets and the guitar sounds send you back to long gone times when adventurers looking for new lands and fortune left the ports on their sailing ships. Freedom floats in the air, music sounds through open windows and women in flourished dresses seem to invite you in their lively coloured houses. I tasted a “pasteis de nuta” in the Antiga Confeitaria de Belem. I drank Porto wine, vinho verde, ginginha, capirinha and manny others that I don’t remember. I got lost on the streets of Alfama – the lucky quarter that survived after the devastating earthquake in 1755. In Ericeira I got a haircut in a timeless barbershop and in Evora I saw a bizarre room decorated entirely with the bones 5.000 dead people: The Capela dos Ossos.
