Voyage of the mind

Rossio seemed to be the epicentre from where I got a sense of city beyond the centre: low rise barrios clinging to steep hills of helterskelter streets. Wandering further on I came to Praça do Comercio where I spent a sobering hour or so looking at a selection of crash-mangled vehicles, each with the story of its tragedy displayed on a plaque. Some had walked away, others had been taken away by ambulances and a few in wooden boxes. Understanding enough of the written Portuguese to comprehend the horror, I thought that similar displays should be set up in other cities to foster respect among road users.

Later on Alfama felt like a fishing village and a rickety wooden tram groaned to a halt in a square almost devoid of people at dusk. Not fancying a twilight zone walk back to the centre, I boarded it to shoot across the square and begin a steep gradient climb up a narrow street. The tram followed a circular route, not unlike a fairground ride, with ups, downs and levelling offs. At one point, we ground up a street so narrow that I could see through a window to a family sat round the urn of soup on the dinner table. After, twenty minutes of this fun, I rang the bell and hopped off in Rossio.

Next stop in the fairground was a huge lift up to Barrio Alto. Here, I climbed further past bars and restaurants, looking for somewhere to eat, dismissing places for no good reason other than that they did not feel right. In the end, I plopped down in a small family run place with two other single diners and a couple of old men at the bar. With a menu in front of me, I ordered soup, followed by grilled cod and a jug of vinho branco.

The next day, on a whim, I made my way to the Cais do Sodré and paid the strange sum of 37 cents to board a ferry across the Tajus to the bustling key at Cacilhas. After checking the bus timetables I realised that an onward journey would leave me with little time to see the rest of the city. So after a café com leite and a Pastel de Belem, I decided to visit the place where this creamy sweet delicacy originated. So it was ferry back across the river and a wonderful tram ride swishing through bustling old barrios and designer-edged new developments to Belem. The fading sun shone off the huge Jeronimos Monastery as I walked through the gardens to the sit by the whimsical Torre de Belem, perched on the edge of the estuary. A giant cruise ship was making its way up river, a modern day version of the great explorers returning from new worlds.