It’s a bumpy ride along the river with a name that still eludes me. Our driver explains some stuff to Rita but I can’t hear him. We pass buildings and more buildings and reach an enormous square surrounded by what I think is a palace. I saw something similar to this vision of architectural opulence in Vienna ten years ago, but I know little about European palaces so I don’t assume anything. Rita asks if we can stop and walk around. The driver says it’s impossible to find parking and he can get a ticket if he stops to let us get off the tuk-tuk, and, so, he continues up charming streets that slowly become narrower and windier until he finds parking and we get off to walk around.
The first building I notice has a big banner above the entrance with the words “Fado Museum” printed on it.
In hindsight it seems now that my gamble of telling Rita that Fado was a real thing in Lisbon has paid off. I get a point for knowing something. It might help me be treated as something more than an afterthought or a tolerable addition to the group in the coming days. The museum looks closed as no one is standing in front of it apart from a couple of scooters. We proceed to an old fountain decorated with a horse’s head on each side.
Water spouts out of the horses’ mouths and we are told that the fountain was used as a trough in bygone centuries. Expressions of awe are shared, a selfie and a couple of pictures are taken, and on we go to explore the Alfama Quarter.
We climb narrow alleys and go down others, admiring the beauty of the old neighborhood. The small cafés and restaurants are mostly empty of patrons, and the hole-in-the-wall shops cater to tourists who might be interested in colorful scarfs and Portuguese memorabilia.
We learn that in the past, Jews used to live in the picturesque stone houses and walk the narrow streets until they were expelled from Lisbon. I feel a bit sorry for the current residents who have to endure the endless stream of tourists such as myself, but knowing that our presence supports the local economy—as tourism seems to be one of the main contributors to Portugal’s GDP—helps alleviate my guilt.
From what I’ve seen so far, I can tell that foreigners are an important source of income for the country. We actually had to pay a small tax to spend the night in the city. Not that I’m complaining. Furthermore, the moment I stepped out of the airport, I saw a giant billboard advertising land and properties for sale to foreigners. I also know about many Israelis who received Portuguese passports after they proved to the government that their ancestors had lived in Portugal, and now they buy real estate like there’s no tomorrow and settle all over the country. I can’t even dream of getting a Portuguese passport based on my ancestry because the last name I was endowed with at birth couldn't have been anything but Polish.
At the end of the Alfama loop, we are again hoisted up into the tuk-tuk to continue our expedition. We stop at a church to admire the amazing artwork inside the sanctuary, and climb to a vista point above the city where we take more pictures but receive no explanations from our guide. He leaves us and goes to smoke a cigarette with other drivers slouching on their tuk-tuks and waiting for their clients to finish admiring the view. From there we merge into the afternoon traffic that carries us to several plazas in which hundreds of Jews were hanged, burned, stoned, and tortured during the time of the Inquisition, according to our learned guide, who provides specific numbers of deaths at each plaza we pass. For some reason, he can’t resist the urge to share the gruesome details with us. If we were a group of Jew haters we would have probably appreciated the information, but we are three women of Polish-Jewish descent and Anna, a British expat who moved to Israel. There is no need to shove this information down our throats. I don’t tell him any of that though, because of my vow of silence. Instead, I ignore the past and try to enjoy the present surroundings.
The tour comes to a blissful end in front of our temporary residence. We thank our driver and make the ascent to the fourth floor, where we can relax before we commence with the evening entertainment program. Eat something, make a cup of tea, freshen up the lipstick.
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