The White City Upon Seven Hills
Lisbon is a beautiful city built upon seven hills. Situated at the mouth of the Tagus River, it has long flourished as a gateway to the Atlantic. The white walls and orange roof tiles weave together a landscape that glows under the Mediterranean light.
Within this city, the glory and melancholy of the Age of Discovery quietly linger. This is the port town from which Vasco da Gama set sail, where countless adventurers entrusted their dreams. Through trade with Africa, Asia, and South America, the city reached the height of prosperity, only to lose much of it in the great earthquake of 1755. Yet the cityscape that rose from that destruction acquired a unique beauty all its own.
Fado, the music filled with sorrow, was also born here, intimately connected to the city’s complex history. The word itself comes from the Portuguese for “fate,” and fado sings of longing and the pain of parting, resonating deep within the listener’s heart. The blue decorative tiles called azulejos adorn street corners and building facades, carrying the influence of Islamic culture into the present day.
And above all, it is the gentle and warm nature of Lisbon’s people that deepens the city’s charm. In a place where there is no need to hurry, I decided to begin my two-night, three-day journey.
Day 1: Yellow Trams and the Rhythm of Cobblestones
After a long flight from Narita, I landed at Lisbon’s Humberto Delgado Airport around nine in the morning local time. The late June air was refreshing, and a dry breeze brushed my cheeks—so different from Japan’s rainy season. I took the red metro line to Alameda, transferred to the green line, and arrived at Baixa-Chiado station. From there, I headed to my hotel to drop off my luggage.
Walking along the cobblestones of the Baixa district, I felt myself being enveloped by the city’s distinctive atmosphere. Most of the buildings had been reconstructed after the great earthquake of the 18th century, forming a unified and beautiful streetscape. I checked into a hotel facing Rossio Square, and my exploration of Lisbon truly began.
In the morning, I decided to wander through the Chiado district. As I climbed the cobblestone slopes, I could hear the yellow tram number 28 creaking past. That sound was like the heartbeat of Lisbon itself. Along the way, I stopped at a small pastelaria—a bakery and café—and ordered a pastel de nata and a bica. The egg tart had a beautifully caramelized top with a creamy custard inside that was simply exquisite. I sprinkled a little cinnamon powder on it, and when I took a bite, a simple yet profound flavor spread through my mouth. The elderly shop owner asked me in broken English, “Is it good?” When I answered “Muito bom,” he smiled with genuine pleasure.
In the afternoon, I made my way to São Jorge Castle. Swaying along on tram 28, I watched the cityscape flow past the window—laundry hanging from balconies, old women chatting in alleyways, boys kicking a soccer ball. This wasn’t just a tourist destination; it was a city where people lived their ordinary lives.
The view from São Jorge Castle was breathtaking. Layer upon layer of orange roof tiles stretched out below, and in the distance, the blue surface of the Tagus River sparkled. The 25th of April Bridge was visible through the haze, and the town of Almada on the opposite shore was equally beautiful. I sat on the castle wall for a while, simply taking in the scenery. Each time the wind blew, the distant sound of church bells reached my ears.
From evening onward, I walked through the Alfama district. The maze of narrow alleyways felt like stepping back into medieval times. Azulejos gleamed against white walls, and from small windows drifted the aromas of dinner being prepared—olive oil and garlic, the smell of grilled fish. It was a moment when I could sense the breath of daily life.
At night, I visited a small fado house to listen to live music. In the dimly lit interior, a woman dressed in black filled the room with her mournful voice. I couldn’t understand the Portuguese lyrics, but through the melody and her expressions, I could feel the longing for home and the pain of lost love. The audience listened in reverent silence.
The delicate sound of the guitarra portuguesa accompanied the singer’s voice, weaving around it gently. After each song, quiet applause arose from the audience. At the neighboring table, an elderly man’s eyes glistened with tears, and I understood how deeply fado is rooted in the Portuguese soul.
The vinho verde I drank at the fado house was light and refreshing, perfect for this city’s night. The bacalhau croquettes were also superb—crispy on the outside, soft and warm on the inside. By the time I returned to the hotel, the night had grown late, but as I listened to my own footsteps echoing on the cobblestones, I felt the depth of Lisbon’s embrace. On just the first day, I was already falling under the city’s spell.
Day 2: Sea Breezes and the Silence of the Monastery
In the morning, I had a simple breakfast at a café near my hotel—a tosta mista and a galão to start the day. Portuguese breakfasts are modest, but the ingredients have a solid, satisfying flavor.
That day, I decided to venture a bit further and visit the Belém district. I boarded tram number 15 and headed west along the Tagus River. Through the window, I could see the beautiful scenery of the opposite shore, with morning light dancing on the water’s surface.
My first stop was the Jerónimos Monastery. Built in the early 16th century, this monastery is considered the finest example of Manueline architecture. Maritime motifs decorate every corner, telling the story of Portugal’s glory during the Age of Discovery. Walking through the cloisters, I couldn’t help but think that monks five hundred years ago had tread these same stones. The mystery of time’s passage washed over me.
The monastery’s courtyard was wrapped in silence, with only the sound of a fountain echoing through the space. Surrounded by arched corridors, I sat on a stone bench and spent some time in something like meditation. I could hear tourists’ voices from afar, but this space alone maintained an otherworldly stillness.
Before noon ended, I visited the nearby Tower of Belém. This tower, jutting out into the Tagus River, once served as a fortress to monitor ships coming and going during the Age of Discovery. From the top, I could see all the way to the opposite shore, and knowing that Vasco da Gama himself might have set sail from here filled me with deep emotion.
For lunch, I tasted the authentic pastel de nata at the famous Pastéis de Belém. Founded in 1837, this shop is said to carry on recipes originally created in the monastery. The freshly baked pastries had a different depth of flavor from what I’d had the day before—smoother custard, lighter pastry. Local people were lining up to buy them too, showing just how precious this sweet is to the Portuguese.
In the afternoon, I decided to venture a bit further to Cascais. From Belém station, I took a suburban train along the Atlantic coast—a forty-minute journey. The scenery from the window had a completely different sense of openness from inland Lisbon.
When I arrived in Cascais, the sea breeze was pleasant against my cheeks. This small seaside town has a history as a royal summer retreat since the late 19th century. Walking along the main street, gazing at stylish cafés and boutiques, I could feel the refined atmosphere of a resort town.
Strolling along the seaside promenade, I took in the magnificent view of the Atlantic. Listening to the waves crash against the rocks, I was struck anew by the fact that beyond this lay nothing but open ocean. Local fishermen were casting their lines, and people were walking their dogs—everyday scenes of coastal life.
At a marisqueira I visited during my stay in Cascais, I ordered arroz de marisco. The seafood risotto, generously filled with shrimp, mussels, and clams, was a dish that let me fully savor the bounty of the sea. The rice, colored yellow with paprika, was beautiful, and squeezing lemon over it added a refreshing brightness.
By the time I took the evening train back to Lisbon, a pleasant tiredness had settled into my body. Watching the Tagus River glow in the sunset through the window, I was struck again by Portugal’s diversity. Historic monasteries and modern resort towns, inland hills and Atlantic coastline—it’s rare to find a country with so many different faces within such a short distance.
That night, I enjoyed dinner in the Bairro Alto district. With small restaurants and bars lining the cobblestone slopes, this neighborhood is the face of Lisbon’s nightlife. At the tasca I chose, I ordered a bifana and vinho tinto.
The owner was a cheerful man who explained the food in halting English. “This wine is from the Alentejo region.” “The bifana has our special sauce.” His love for the food came through in every word. At a nearby table, young locals were chatting happily, and even from their conversation, I could appreciate the beauty of the Portuguese language.
Walking back to my hotel that night, I reflected on the day. The monastery’s silence, the openness of the seaside, the bustle of the night streets. Lisbon was a city that couldn’t be captured with just one face—it held complexity and richness.
Day 3: The Market’s Bustle on a Morning of Farewell
On my final morning, I decided to visit the Ribeira Market, also known as Time Out Market. Located along the Tagus River, this is Lisbon’s kitchen, where various ingredients and dishes come together.
The market was alive with energy. Fresh seafood, colorful vegetables and fruits, handmade breads and cheeses—I could experience the richness of Portuguese food culture all in one place. A fishmonger called out loudly to customers, while a vegetable seller chatted with regulars. Being part of this everyday scene as a traveler felt comforting.
For breakfast, I chose freshly baked pão de açúcar and fresh orange juice from the market. The bread was crispy on the outside and soft inside, with a gentle sweetness that was kind to the morning stomach. The orange juice was freshly squeezed, tasting of fruit that had soaked up the Southern European sun.
In one corner of the market, I found a small azulejo workshop. Watching an elderly craftsman carefully paint each tile by hand, I felt the depth of this traditional craft. The ships and flower patterns drawn in blue paint all had the warmth of handmade work. When I bought a small tile as a souvenir, the old man carefully wrapped it in newspaper for me.
At the end of the morning, I visited the National Azulejo Museum. This museum, where you can see the evolution of azulejos from the 16th century to the present, was the perfect place to deepen my understanding of Portuguese culture. Enormous azulejo panels covering entire walls depicted Lisbon’s history and religious scenes in beautiful detail.
What impressed me most was a panel depicting Lisbon’s cityscape before the 1755 earthquake. The arrangement of buildings, completely different from today, and the ships on the Tagus River—memories of a lost city preserved forever in blue tiles. It was a precious experience, feeling both the weight of history and the power of art.
For lunch, I savored my last Portuguese meal at a small restaurant in the Alfama district. When I ordered caldeirada, a hearty dish arrived in a large clay pot. Fish, shrimp, potatoes, and onions simmered in a tomato-based broth—a warm dish where the gifts of the sea and the earth came together as one.
Dipping bread into the soup, I tasted a homely gentleness. At the next table, three generations of a family were enjoying their meal together, with a grandmother teaching something to her grandchild. The Portuguese culture of cherishing family came through in such simple moments.
In the afternoon, after returning to the hotel to pack, I went out for one last walk. From Rossio Square to Comércio Square—the route I had walked many times over these three days—I now walked it with the feeling of saying goodbye. Familiar faces glimpsed on street corners, the ever-present sound of trams, afternoon light reflecting off the cobblestones. Everything was being etched deep into my memory.
At a café in Comércio Square, I drank my last bica while gazing at the Tagus River. Each time the wind from the river brushed my cheeks, memories of these three days in this city came flooding back. The nervous anticipation of the first day, the discoveries and surprises of the second, and today’s fulfillment tinged with reluctance to leave. It had been a short time, but I felt I had become part of Lisbon.
The time to depart for Japan on the evening flight was approaching. On the train to the airport, I tried to burn every last bit of the passing scenery into my eyes. Orange roof tiles, white walls, and the blue surface of the Tagus River in the distance. These colors would surely stay with me forever.
Looking back from the boarding gate, I could see the lights of Lisbon glowing in the dusk. The melancholy melody of fado echoed in my heart, and the smiles of the people I had met resurfaced in my memory. It had been only two nights and three days, but it was a journey that had surely etched the warmth and beauty of Portugal into my heart.
What Felt Real Though It Was Imaginary
This journey unfolded entirely within my imagination. And yet, the sound of footsteps on Lisbon’s cobblestones, the voice of fado, the sweet aroma of pastel de nata—all of it remains in my heart as if it truly existed.
Memories of travel are strange things. What we actually experienced and what we imagined become blurred over time. And what remains in the end are fragments of the emotions and impressions we felt in that place. The warmth of encounters with kind people, the wonder at beautiful scenery, the understanding and respect for different cultures—these feelings are equally valuable, whether from real experience or imagination.
The charm of Lisbon lies in the exquisite balance between its layered history and its modernity, and above all, in the human warmth of its people. The glory and setbacks of the Age of Discovery, the recovery from the earthquake, and the cultural continuity that extends to the present day—all of these harmonize to create a unique beauty.
The longing contained in fado’s voice, the blue beauty of azulejos, the rich food culture woven from the bounty of sea and land. If, through this brief imaginary journey, I was able to capture even a little of Portugal’s charm, then I am grateful.
When the day comes that I truly walk the streets of Lisbon, these imaginary memories will surely make the journey all the richer. The sound of footsteps on cobblestones, the creaking of trams, the feel of wind crossing the Tagus River. All of these, though imaginary, remain etched deep within my heart as memories of a journey that felt real.
