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Published: April 14th 2011
We had to finally leave our dear friends the Verdade's. With a bag of fresh oranges in hand, we boarded one of the super-fast (like, 220 km an hour) trains. The journey took 1 1/2 hr. By car this same journey would take 4 to 5 hr depending on traffic.
It was not long before we landed in Lisboa (Lisbon). This is a big city mixing old and new,with a love of architecture prominently displayed.
The train station Orient is a marvel of eloquence, the steelwork representing palm trees and the massive concrete infrastructure signifying strength and simple mathematic power.
But, we left that and headed for the suburbs. These areas (as we will detail later) are fascinating in their own sense of development, the modern held at bay while the forces of globalism work to alter their time honoured rhythms.
A cab drove us from the buzz of Lisboa to Camarate (an area named after a variety of grape common to the region), still a busy place yet slow in its local energy. Here is evident the new Europe, as former colonials (Angolans, Mozambiquans et al.) claim ground for themselves (and so they rightly should) and the
exotic becomes common as new impulses inform old settlement.
In the middle of this lives Maria's auntie, Fernanda. She is truly a lovely person, one who you wish to immediately claim as your own.Walking down the street with her is a good way to get to know everybody in town. She is always scheming to do good, feeding you at a moments notice and talking Portuguese to the waiters so she can pay the bill.
Happily, I failed in my efforts to thwart her. Her goodness was too much for me. Yes, I was pampered and bamboozled. I owe this dear woman more than I can ever repay.
Tia Fernanda lives in a very well-maintained apartment built in the late eighteen hundreds, with an old and very typical Portuguese garden.
At this point, may I offer some thoughts on the Portuguese garden:
The Portuguese notion of a garden is different from the Canadian notion of a garden. There is far less.......intervention. The most popular plant is kale (couves), followed closely by favas (faves) and the potatoes (batatas) . Plots are often tilled by hand, and once things are established they are left to fulfill their cycle
and go to seed.
Nature is left to hold sway, and often, nature does a pretty good job.
Ancient walls sprout beautiful bunches of tiny orchid-like blooms. Old gutters become home to snapdragons. Nasturtiums tumble down the faces of ambivalent surfaces. Abandoned tile roofs invariably become elevated beds, and whatever has been planted locally will find its way there. Soon the old structure is drooping with vines and flowers, graciously returning to the ground from whence it came.
The Portuguese live with nature in a far greater harmony than do we. Clothes are routinely dried outside. Cobblestones sprout weeds. In homes, natural light is used at all possible times. Energy is expensive and conserved with care . Their gardens, above all, express this comfort with the natural order of things.
The other colours of Lisboa are less organic yet far more intentional in their presence, being painted on the walls by talented and prolific artists.The train ride in was a veritable gallery of works, and even at 220 km/hr, they made quite an impression.
Graffiti throughout Portugal varies quite a bit and reflects local efforts and styles. In Porto there are what would appear to
be solitary painters (the one using the motif of the Portuguese Gallo my personal favourite) and many who write messages or scrawl simple tags.
Coimbra presents a more intellectual style. Stencils are common, with artsy black paint presenting political statements or an appreciation of various cultural trends.
But Lisboa is something else altogether. You have everything from Old School Bubble Letter to the latest angular schemes with the pop-out shadow techniques. Lisboa is blessed (or cursed) with a plethora of abandoned buildings, some coerced into the expression of four storey murals, obviously the work of crews. My favourite (and believe me, the competition was fierce)
consisted of a huge depiction of a very white European sucking the riches from Brazil through a bent and twisted straw designed to serve his wishes.
I can't help but feel that the richness of Lisbon's street life comes from the wealth of African immigrants. These are beautiful people, stately in their traditional garb and always, ALWAYS, clustered in groups at various squares that have been designated as appropriate places of meeting and commerce.
Surely the young of their people (who depict themselves in fantastically realistic graffiti self-portraits) cooperate in similar groupings
and strive to create the collective efforts that adorn the walls of this place, both so relevant and old.
I think the general acceptance of graffiti in Portugal stems from the love of tiles used to adorn Portuguese residences. The tiles are practical (ceramic, thus insulating and reflective of summer heat at the same time) but wildly decorative, turning even the simplest home into the mirror of a larger psyche and a reliquary of dreams.
Even under your feet the street beneath is hallucinatory, with swirling patterns painstakingly set with coloured stones. The feeling of suspension between here and there is ever-present in Portugal and Lisboa is the centre of this volatile culture. Lisboa was first founded by Phoenicians in 1250 BCE and has since ever been the home of foreigners and dreamers and speculators.
In light of this, people express their hope through the use of gentle pastels in the cloaking of their homes. I suspect an optimism among this lot, the hard won knowledge that short-term disappointments do not thwart the trajectory of a great people and their great city.
When I first saw the River Tagus, I thought that I was looking out
into the sea. Only with some effort can one see the opposite shore. The Vasco de Gama Bridge crosses this great body, requiring 18 kilometers to accomplish the task. In 1755, an earthquake left most of the city flat. But Lisboans believe in picking up and moving forward. Though the rush of people spilling into the suburbs speaks of this restlessness, the core of this dynamic place
is resilient and not subject to the vagaries of time.
Please scroll down for more pictures and go to page two and please leave us your comments.
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Skyfire24x
Sam Levin
Thank You!
I wanted to thank you for this entry, especially your comments on the street art and the street mosaics. I've been living in Porto for about 7 months now and I completely agree with you that there's something missing from the street art scene here. Although, I know exactly what gallo you're talking about (in between Aliados and Sao Bento I believe). There are a couple regular artists here that I've noticed and they have made their way to all parts of the city. One is a strawberry tag and the other is a gem stencil (sometimes a sticker or a tag as well). There is also a smilely face artist, but s/he only works downtown. Lisbon wins, hands down. If you liked the mural that you mentioned above, make sure to go to the Marques de Pombal rotunda and take the street that runs North. On the right after a block or two you'll see three abandoned buildings completely covered. They're incredible. And I love that you call it "Africa Square!" I lived in Guinea for two years, and when I stumbled upon that exact spot, I saw a woman selling kola nuts and nearly screamed with joy. It's interesting because the square has been rededicated as the place of tolerance (once upon a time, many people were killed there, so now Lisbon is reclaiming it). I thought I heard someone speaking one of the Guinean languages I know, so I asked him. He was from Guinea-Bissau, but said, "hold on!" and within 60 seconds, I was surrounded by 8 Guinean men telling me stories about their life in Portugal in Pular. I know this may not be interesting to you, but your post made me so excited. Thank you for noticing all the little quirks of Portugal that mean so much to me.