One of the few pleasures left in modern travel is to visit an unfamiliar place and to attempt to feel its historical and cultural pulse — if it still has one. He developed the rare talent of being able to transmit that spirit to his readers — the long-dead voices of Alexandria, or the mythical deities riding the breezes of the Greek islands and Cyprus.
Two weeks ago I went to Lisbon for the first time. By accident rather than design, Portugal had been the only European country I had never visited. If I had to produce a few keywords to summarise my knowledge of the country, I might have come up short. I might even have mentioned Brazil. Sorry Portugal, that was about it. I was appalled by my ignorance of the ancient, imperial, and cultural history of a European nation.
Some of my travelling companions were American, reminding me of another dreary fact of modern travel. The Sintra coast road not only looks like the California Pacific road, but it attracts thousands of bikers from around the world including America.
It is one of the few relics of a murky medieval quarter that has survived. A vast earthquake and tsunami flattened Lisbon in and destroyed almost all that had been there before then. More specifically, we needed one of the fado houses located there. In Lisbon, fado music is unavoidable in the oldest neighbourhoods and is sung in many restaurants called Casas de Fado fado houses.
As the fado singer and two guitarists enter, the lights dim and the artists wait until all conversations stop. The silence is an integral part of the show; there is no chatting and no clapping until each song ends. The fado must be sung. And so, we slipped into the dim light and old-world elegance of Faia, one of many restaurants that combines relaxed eating with sets by fado singers between courses.
