Lisbon: Finding Fado in the Alfama neighborhood

Last night was our first night in Lisbon. 

We had just arrived after a journey of about thirty hours, and we were sitting on the balcony of our apartment in Alfama, looking out over the terracotta rooftops that slide down the steep hill toward the Tagus.

We were completely finished.

Then, from somewhere in the alleyway below, fado started.

We had chosen Alfama partly because of fado; the neighborhood is where the music comes from, and we have loved it for years. But knowing this and then actually hearing it drift up from the street on your first night, while you are sitting on a balcony in the dark looking at the river, is a different thing entirely.

We went out to find it. A woman was standing in the doorway of a café a few streets away, eyes closed, singing to guests who had gone completely quiet. We stood outside and listened. We could not understand the words. It did not especially matter.

Fado is mostly about loss; lost love - lost time - saudade, the Portuguese word for longing that has no real equivalent in other languages. 

On this particular night it felt less like loss and more like arrival, which is either a contradiction or exactly the point, depending on how you feel about Lisbon at midnight after thirty hours of travel.

We walked back to the apartment. The rooftops were still there. The river was still there.

We are going to be here for a while.