On the d̶a̶r̶k̶ other side of Lisbon
Lietuvišką versiją rasite čia!
That other side of Lisbon… almost like the dark side of the moon, as a group of famous philosophers once said. Everyone knows it exists but hardly anyone has ever seen it or — heaven forbid — been there. OK maybe I am being a little over-dramatic here, but you gotta create intrigue somehow.
The thing is, even after daily explorations that lasted two months it is still difficult to wrap my head around it — it is truly the other side of Lisbon, not only geographically, but also in some other way which I cannot yet vocalize. I am talking here about Almada and its surroundings which, strictly speaking, is not Lisbon (it belongs to the district of Setúbal, another town in the neighbourhood), but I will overlook this inaccuracy for the reasons given below.
Almada and Lisbon have their noses dipped in the same Tejo river and most of the Almada residents have some kind of connection to the capital: they either work there or go out at night, coming back home only to sleep (or to look at the setting sun if they happen to live by the coast).
Lisbon — and Portugal in general — is now on the rise, and not only as a holiday destination. A lot of passers-by decide to stay here even if it is for a short while. This trend can be very well seen in the rise of accommodation prices — since 2013 the prices increased by almost 12 %. For example, last year I rented my room in Graça (on a crazy high hill but in the city centre!) for €260/month, now a similar room across the same street costs €375/month, how’s that for a change? Locals migrate from the city centre to the outskirts of the city, and houses in historical Alfama are being bought by fassbenders and madonnas. The lucky ones who decided to buy real estate there a few years ago are now renting out those places on Airbnb for dreamy dreamy prices.
Currently in the centre of Lisbon one is far more likely to meet tourists and Erasmus students than locals. Well there is also that last generation of Lisbon grandmas and grandpas keeping the authenticity intact. The question is for how long though.
Keeping all this accommodation trouble in mind it is no surprise that after some investigation into the Almada area it felt like fields of gold were being discovered — it was possible to get the whole place there for a price of a crampy room in central Lisbon.
Almada is a mixture of sleeping districts and quiet fishermen’s villages: from grey blocks in Cacilhas, tiny simple white houses in Trafaria or Cova do Vapor, to an eclectic selection of block houses and fancy villas on the Atlantic coast in Costa da Caparica.
Public transportation in the area is kind of mediocre and largely depends on the area you choose to live in. From Cacilhas to Lisbon you have a ferry every 20 min from dawn to… basically dawn; from Costa da Caparica you can easily take a bus to Lisbon; there is also a ferry from Trafaria to Belém (but this one takes you to the city as often as every other hour, sometimes even every two hours — and the last one leaves at 10pm); there are also some sporadic busses to/from the other small towns. Bike might also be an option if not for the huge holes on the bike paths and lonely trees in the middle of them. So in general it is not awesome, but tolerable.
When I came to Trafaria for the first time, I had a super nice 30 min open-air ferry ride (now the old rusty open-air ferries have been replaced by the closed modern ones). It might have as well taken me to some unknown world: colourful fishing boats rocking in Tejo, huge commercial ships floating around, strange reservoirs and chimneys used for I don’t know what. Tourists show up on weekends only, bike down to the Caparica beaches, bathe and watch the sunset, have some grilled sardines on the way and come back to their old town Airbnbs. The tempo of life here. Lento.
If you wander off while pedalling to Costa da Caparica, you might find yourself in a curious tiny town called Cova da Vapor, which is Steamer’s Cove in English. People say that it is a favela full of immigrant drug dealers etc, but all I noticed while cycling around were a few broken windows and old ladys ironing shirts behind them; wave catchers strolling around with their boards on the streets filled with sand. Well ok, there are some people enjoying fires in trash bins but overall it is a complete opposite of scary.
I have also heard that the french are buying land over here like crazy. Well to be honest it is not the worst idea to live in a place where sand creeps into the street, where you can no longer understand if it is the Atlantic coast, the town, fresh river water or mixed with the ocean salt already.
But then I would say to myself that I — in fact — do live here! Takes me only a few minutes if I feel like dipping my feet in the ice cold water, dye my hair or tan my skin in the sun, or take a look at the reflections of sunset on the wet low tide sand. The silence was a little scary at the beginning — to wake up and hear birds and constantly meowing cats instead of trams and morning street talks. Also that contrast when you come back home at night, Lisbon light gets lower and lower and humidity from the ocean hangs heavy in the air.
Or in the morning.
I had to learn that waves come in at intervals, that afterwards there comes a period of calm, and this is the time when you can run into the water and have a swim (or a dip, if you are an open water beginner as I am). Also if you want to keep your feet on the ground and not go rolling over when a wave comes, you have to bow to the ocean, i.e. stick your head and the upper part of your body right into the upcoming white water. Cause all the crazy energy is only on the surface.
Simple extraordinary things.
