Lisbon's colours by day and night

As we sat on the tram’s wooden benches, looking out at the colourful tiled façades lit up in the March sunshine, a young woman dressed in a cotton print dress and straw hat burst into poem. The carriage fell silent to listen. I could only recognise the odd word, but was fascinated by the sounds and rhythm of the Portuguese language.

The short descent down the steep, narrow street from Lisbon’s Barrio Alto to Praça dos Restauradores allowed time for just three poems to be recited by her and her friends, who sat on the window ledges at each end of the carriage. It was a lovely gesture to mark World Poetry Day (March 21).


This linguistic surprise was one of several highlights during my long weekend in the Portuguese capital. Another was the country’s fado music, which literally means “fate”. It took a while for us to find a fado club we were happy with, finally plumping for a small, basement one in the Alfama district. Most of the audience had clearly made an entire evening of it, dining, drinking and listening. We went in for a nightcap and an hour or so of the beautiful, doleful music.

Two old men played guitars – one a simple, rhythmic line on a Spanish guitar, the other a more intricate part on a 12-string guitarra. To this accompaniment, a voice sang its words of love, sorrow and yearning. A set of about 15 minutes by one singer was followed by a break of a similar length to allow time for chatter and drinks, and then another singer would take to the floor. The three performers stood in the middle of the room, with the low, vaulted brick ceiling above and the audience seated at tables all around.

The minor key, the melancholic voice, the traditional black dress and shawl of the female singer, together they created a sombre, dark mood, far removed from the bright colours of the daytime and yet just as much a part of the Portuguese culture.