When you think of a nation’s capitol, what comes to mind? Skyscrapers? Smog seeping through the hustle and bustle of a downtown scene? Sometimes, this is not always the case. When walking the cobblestone streets of Lisbon, you find yourself in a maze of pastel colored buildings lined with beautifully painted tiles and a sea of people flooding around you. The energy here is alive and vivid. 

Tasteful architecture overwhelms the city with sensations of culture and history. The atmosphere is not just propelled by design and city planning, but also the communal and casual sense of the people. When the weather is suitable, people are out walking or relaxing. Park and city kiosks are the central locations where youth and elderly alike gather and down shots of espresso while enjoying the national treat of Portugal, Pastel de Nata (Egg Tart)

I found myself lounging the most at the “Jardin de Estrella.” With its multiple cafés, mixed crowd, local population of ducks, and engulfment of trees, this park feels like a local sanctuary. I enjoyed strolling through the grounds, taking in my surroundings, and then sitting at the tables and making conversation with locals. On one late afternoon I was engaged in dialogue with a couple of University students about the transgender rights protest in the city center a couple kilometers away. My Portuguese is terrible, so I am lucky that English is widely spoken in Lisbon.

 As the sun started to set, I walked back towards the lively neighborhood Barrio Alto, and noticed a new crowed surrounding a different kind of kiosk. This time as people stand and chat, the small cup isn’t filled with coffee, but a strong and sweet cherry liquor called Ginjinha (or Ginja). Sometimes with a couple boozy cherries at the bottom, or in a cup made of chocolate, this delicious beverage goes down all too easy. Enjoyed by both locals and tourists, Ginja keep the nights loose and the conversation easy.

Slowly, as the crowed disappears down the cobblestone alleys to different restaurants or bars, the sound of Fado, a sad Portuguese style of music leaks out into the night. I wait for the slow moving yellow tram no. 28 to take me back to the old neighborhood of Alfama where the narrow shadowed streets are quieter than in Barrio Alto. I slip into a cozy restaurant where an older woman is singing longing songs of sailors fishing on the dark stormy Atlantic Ocean. As the glass of tawny port in front of me slowly disappears I can’t help but appreciate the romance of Lisbon. Under the tough layer of skin that decades of a grueling fascist regime have hardened, the Portuguese in Lisbon know how to lead a great life.