Fiona, Celia and I emerged from the metro station, squinting into the Lisbon sun. Its strength reflected off of the porcelain tiles and white walls of Portugal’s capital city. It might be December, but Lisbon was a 57 degrees and sunny, and after four months in Galway, we were so grateful to both see and actually feel it.
The three of us chose Portugal purely economically. We each picked a relatively warm country and looked up RyanAir flights, and Celia won with Lisbon. Frankly, this turned out to be the best decision of the term.
Beauty is easy to find in Lisbon. The famously tiled city is capped with red roofs sparkles in the sun, infusing everyday life with art and culture. And to top it all off, everything was done up for Christmas, with big Boas Festas and Feliz Natal signs everywhere. We made it a point to stop at the Santa Luiza viewpoint first for a look at the city, enjoying the view, the music from buskers, and the warmth.
Then we visited the Castelo De São Jorge, a medieval castle and gardens which watched over the city. The castle operated kind of like a park, with lots of paths and places to walk along the turrets and grounds. We stood on the tile, absorbing the warm sun filtered through olive trees and evergreens. Ending up at the top of the turrets, we marveled at the scene below and joked about the lack of safety measures. It was incredible, that a city could be this gorgeous.
For dinner, we decided on A Provinciana, a traditional Portuguese restaurant run by a husband and wife team. Tucked away in an alley off of R. das Portas de Santo Antão, the meal had some of the freshest, most affordable, most delicious food of the entire trip. We started with olives and a jug of sangria, then split entrées and dessert — with espresso, of course. We ate dinner early, by Portuguese standards, and got a table easily. But as we ate and talked, a line was forming outside the restaurant and stretching back towards the main road.
On the way back from dinner, we noticed a large group of people standing around red metal high-top tables, sipping from tiny cups of red liqueur. We stopped inside the shop, called Ginjinha Sem Rival, and got three shots of Ginja, complete with a few sour cherries at the bottom as a treat.
Talking to the man behind the counter (who sounded and looked like a cousin of Adam Sandler), we realized he was an expat from Connecticut. “Just stay here, guys,” he said. “I loved it. You’ll love it. The way of life here, it’s great.”
He wasn’t kidding.
The next day we took a train to Cascais on the advice of Fiona’s friend’s sister. The tracks ran along the coast, and with the huge windows it was a gorgeous hour to soak in more vitamin D and listen to music. The music found you, not the other way around — it was less than half an hour on the train before buskers started rapping with a beat behind them, walking up to people and trying to get them to engage. We didn’t, and I wish I knew what they were saying, so I could tell if I could like the music or not (not doing another Yelle debacle).
Cascais was gorgeous. A beach town at Christmastime will always be my happy place, and this one had palm trees and poinsettias as far as the eye can see. We stopped at the beach and ran to the water. This ain’t the Jersey Shore — the water was truly blue, the sand orange. There weren’t many shells, but I was still able to snag one, and leave a washed-up purple shovel out for the kids, before we went to find food.
On the Portuguese coast, there’s really only one correct lunch option: seafood. The three of us split two huge bowls of mussels and topped it off with gin and tonics, discussing how to recreate the flavors this holiday season. We decided that the Christmas G&T, inspired by my canela e zimbro selection, would include a cinnamon-juniper syrup and sparkling water in lieu of straight tonic.
Back in Portugal that night, we stopped by our Ginja man for recommendations. We needed some food, of course, but the plan was to go out. We were directed to Jam Club. It proved to be the right choice for a straight-out-of-a-movie experience.
Jam Club was a small bar in the heart of São Bento. Consisting of about eight to ten tables, the manager made sure to ask where we were from. He knew state capitals, symbols, the whole thing — almost more than we did about our own homes. And this information didn’t go to waste. After some time had passed, he grabbed the microphone from the guitarist and introduced everyone in the room. There were people from Spain, Germany, England, and us.
With everyone introduced in such a small space, it suddenly became way easier to make conversation. We ate our tapas and chips and spoke to a couple of Spanish guys when the manager started handing out free cinnamon shots. Next thing I knew, the girls and I were behind the bar learning to make Brazilian drinks. They were pouring tequila in people’s mouths. It was insane.
We ended up leaving Jam Club and stumbling upon a tiny bar with about 40 people spilled out in the street in winter coats, talking. In the US, bars can be really cliquey. No one really talks to anyone but their friends, or if they do, they talk through the bartender first. It can feel a bit like a sixth-grade dance. But in Lisbon, everyone just struck up conversation with everyone. It was fantastic.
The next morning we needed some hangover food. That ended up being bifana and natal with lots of caffeine. At As Bifanas do Afonso, we grabbed hot pork sandwiches topped with mustard and chili oil with cokes and the iconic Portuguese pastry for dessert. Only after fueling up were we ready to take on the day.
Our next stop was a flea market. The market was filled to the brim with record collectors, antiques, and some really amazing clothes. Thank God it was cash only — who knows what would have happened if I was allowed to use my card.
Flea markets are my downfall. Get me to a sunny spot with friendly people and lots of cool, high-quality but semi-useless stuff, and I’ll suddenly find myself contemplating whether I actually really do need that vintage floodlight or antique women’s watch. The girls and I planned on a very Euro lunch and needed utensils, so I was able to haggle with a man for an almost-set of three antique oyster forks. These were later used for transferring our tinned fish to buttered bifana bread alongside coffee and a cigarette. Cue Nick Kroll.
After lunch, the three of us hiked up to the Miaduoro de Santa Lucia, one of the most popular lookout spots. Though it was a partly cloudy sunset, the view of the city was still spectacular. We looked in the windows below, choosing where we’d like to live and marveling at the fact that this is over 500,000 people’s life. Like, this is normal for a huge chunk of people. That’s amazing.
The next morning it was time to leave. We packed and said goodbye to the characters at the hostel and headed out into the Lisbon sun for the last time. But that wasn’t the end of the trip! My bestie Dahlia was studying in Spain for a few weeks, so she took a trip down to Portugal for a bit with her friend Sierra. It was so amazing to get to hug her after months of WhatsApp calls and Instagram Reels. We got breakfast and chatted before heading back to the airport.
Every amazing vacation has its price. For me, that tends to be the trip back. RyanAir from Lisbon to Dublin was an absolute death trap. A delayed flight, insane turbulence, screaming kids, and a backup in the bathroom. You name it, we battled it. After a scarily sudden landing, it was an absolute relief to hear Irish and English again at the Dublin airport. We made it through the best trip of the term. I’m already planning to get myself back there one day, hopefully with Fiona and Celia, too.
So that’s a wrap, folks. T-minus two days until I’m back home. I’m not ready to go yet.
It sounds like a movie and I’m positively green with envy