Kindness of Strangers

On the day we left for our trip, we bought a Sunday New York Times.  We were excited when we saw that the cover story of the travel section was on Lisbon!  According to the article, Lisbon is undergoing a major revolution, quickly becoming a notable arts and cultural center in Europe, as well as on the international stage.  Young Portuguese designers that once headed to London or Paris to develop their careers are choosing to stay closer to home.  The article mentioned the Fabrica Braco de Prata, which was recently converted from an old munitions factory to an arts space that combines theatres, cinemas, performance halls, exhibition spaces, and even boasts a restaurant, cafe, and bookstore.  We were excited to learn that the Fabrica was a short bus ride from our hostel, so decided to check it out. 

Our driver dropped us in a pseudo-industrial area:  like Lisbon itself, the neighborhood seemed to be in transition, the new mingling with the old.  The space is so new that few people know it as an arts space; referring to it as the old weapons factory seemed to garner more recognition.  We ducked into a small store to ask for directions.  “Fala ingles?”  “Nao,” responded the owner.  “Fala espanhol?”  “Nao, solo Portuguese.”  We didn’t have to get very far off the beaten track to find a non-English or -Spanish speaker.  Luckily, we had our map, and the owner kindly walked us to the corner, chatting in Portuguese all the way.  At the corner he gestured towards another neighborhood.  Still unable to locate it, we stopped another man, whom I can only describe as Portuguese Jack Nicholson, for directions.  He led us back in exactly the opposite direction, stopping at every block to joke with his friends; he was clearly the big man on the block.  When we finally got to the Fabrica, it was closed.  The posted hours were 8pm to 2 am, something I am still getting used to.  (We went to a nearby mall at 11 pm on our first night here and couldn’t believe how crowded it was.)  “Oh well” we said, and set back towards the bus stop, where weathered, old men stood next to young hipsters sporting black-rimmed glasses, colorful clothing, and chic shoes.

We continued along the waterfront on Bus 28, which deposited us in Belem, a neighborhood at the far outskirts of Lisbon.  Our first stop was the Fabrica de Pasteleis de Belem, a cafe and production center that has specialized in pastel de nata since 1847, where antique bakery equipment crowds next to modern cash registers.  After lunch, we stood at the factory window and watched a crew of African women popped buttery tarts out of metal molds.  Even the population is in flux:  Portugal is giving way to huge waves of immigrants, primarily from areas of the world that were colonized by Portugal, including some parts of Africa. 

Belem typifies the old marrying well with the new.  Crumbling buildings abut new construction.  New walkways are paved with light and dark square cobblestones, imitating the original ones found in the city’s core.  Modern trams zoom by their antiquated counterparts.  Belem’s greatest attractions revere old and new equally, where a 15^th century monastery sits next to the modern art center, making for an exciting and eclectic vibe.  My favorite part of the waterfront area is a gigantic monument, an architectural love song to Portugal’s seafaring past, where sculptures of kings and explorers crowd their way onto the stone facade. From a distance the shape of the monument looks angular and modern, but as you move closer, the figure’s faces look as if they could have been chiseled 500 years ago.  In the shadow of this stunning piece of modern arts, fisherman cast their lines into the water, just as they’ve done for hundreds of years.

We moved on towards the Torre de Belem, a World Heritage site that was once Lisbon’s primary watchtower to defend against invaders.  This great stone tower, which looks as if it belongs in the English countryside, is framed by verdant palm trees:  if you didn’t know you were in Europe, you’d swear you were in Havana.  As we made our way back towards the bus, I gazed back at the art center, which suddenly looked like a modern interpretation of the Torre de Belem.  Coincidence?  Not in this town.