Postcard from Lisbon

Our first trip in Lisbon was to a cafe near the water - and already we had entered the city´s literary history. Restaurante Martinho da Arcada saw the poet Fernando Pessoa sip absinthe here every evening while writing. His table is still set out for him, with his books, his glass and coffee cup. Another table is dedicated to the Nobel prizewinner Jose Saramago, a regular diner.
I´ll be back, maybe trying absinthe for the first time, thereby discovering why Pessoa hid under the table when lightning flashed.

Off to Sintra yesterday, called Eden by Byron in his ´Childe Harold´. Past a house where Hans Christian Anderson lived as well, on a walk up to the Moorish Castle shrouded in cloud in true romantic mode. Real worl Disney, though the National Palace from the 14th century was surprisingly fine, clean lines and wondrous 3D tiling.

The sun shines. Lisbon appeals hugely. One of the finer aspects is the tiny shops. Rent agreements mean all those places forced out by vast rent hikes elsewhere still survive here. Ive just bought a paper from my favorite paper stand anywhere in the world, a small vaulted corridor with a painted ceiling, dark yet filled with gilt mirrors and plaster swallows perched on old telephone wires along the ceiling.
Drinking, eating magnificent fish dishes, learning to appreciate Portuguese wine and Brazilian cocktails, unwinding. Aaaah.