Escadinhas de São Miguel

I’ve just ordered a 20 year oaked Port Tawny, as the thought cracks me up that this wine got maturing at the exact same time as when I first visited Lisboa. We meet again old friend! Saúde! I was so young then, barely starting to discover this brave new world out there and my own place within it, when I signed up for an Erasmus project at the Lisbon University. 20 years since then.. Fuck me, I’ll drink to that!

The Escadinhas de São Miguel are basking in that late afternoon sunlight. Bright yellow, with reflective shapes bouncing off the Igreja de São Miguel, a play of shadows throughout the ages. The church itself, reflected in white, stands sturdy and proud. A testimony of its resilience throughout time, much as the feel of Portugal as a whole. I can just make out Lady Justiça emotionlessly judging me from top of the façade, scale in hand, ready to weigh my good with my bad. She’s got her work cut out for her.. Good luck!

No clouds pierce the sky and the heat is falling down mercilessly now. It’s relatively quiet, safe for a handful of brave tourists, puffing and sweating their way up the stairs, taking photos of the old church and curiously halting at the improvised Ginjinha stand, operated by an 80 year old Alfacinha just up the stairs to my right. She’s sweet as her liquor, but persistent in her sales as the lingering of the cherry on the tongue. “Muito bom”, she exclaims! “Só 1,5 in a chocolate cup! Muito bom.” Her accent resonates with the old time character of the Praça. She’s been slinging her fortified cherries longer than any can remember and she has become an integral part of the scenery that is called Alfama, Lisbon oldest Bairro.. 

The flavour of the Port hits my lips gently and ferments the moment.. Sweet, though powerful! I’m drinking now till I forget. I’m not sure anymore what I’m supposed to forget, so maybe it’s already working. The Café Antù offers a welcome shadow under the wineranks that span the terrace and gives it that Southern vibe, with a sleek modern twist. I’m a sucker for that kind of romantic set-ups.. From here, I got a great view of the people passing by. So that is two for two on the guilty pleasures.. 

People of all corners of the globe trot the Escadinhas, engulfed in that old time charm, flanked by the little house stacked 3 or 4 stories high. Through their typical small doors, no modern gringo can pass without a humble stumble.. Or out of respect. The little windows left and right host some older men smoking or some ladies survey the passing of time. If two of these Alfama originals make even the slightest eye contact a familiar shouting back and forth starts with sounds resembling Portuguese, but yet the exact words I can never retrace in my ever growing vocabulary. Ooohhllaaaa, Marriaaaaa.. Aaaiiiieeee. Esttáááá, oiieeeeeee. I pride myself these days of having got to a certain level of Portuguese, yet the lingo here in Alfama will be forever lost to me in translation. Or time..

Still, this place remains.. You feel a certain energy here.. It evokes a real gratitude in me to be part of a bigger story than myself, if only for a brief window here this afternoon. I need little checks and balances from time to time. Alfama is Alfama. You don’t want it to be different, you just need it to be.. It will.

A startled pigeon escaping the daunting footsteps of the inbound waiter flaps just shy of my head. I nod slightly to the right on instinct. My winged companion has to temporarily suspend his scavenging activities around the little French bistro-style tables that make up the small Terrace. And as it does, time is just evaporating. I sit in silence and let it.. With an approving nod only I’ll signal the garçon for one more! Why not.. I’m in Lisbon on permanent holiday. No need to stop my flow..

My eyes meet the only 2 people on the terrace behind me as I turn to follow the waiter going into the bar to get my drink. A German couple, sturdy, upright and symmetrically seated almost, sharing my silence almost as if there are no longer words needed to compliment their sweet Vinho Verde. We have all embraced the peace of the moment and the afternoon here and just sit back as we take it all in.. We are in agreement..

Suddenly my attention shifts all the way to the left, just up the Escadinhas, to the sweetest laughter. The high pitched giggles are bouncing off the Igreja wall as three girls are putting down their bags against the old church. School is over. Their laughter is reflecting outwards now into all spaces and is infectiously making me smile along, unbeknownst of the topic of banter. They are on their own little island, amidst the scenery of Sao Miguel, continuously going back and forth and exchanging jokes and one-liners at an accelerated pace. Faster than my reality can handle.. But it’s contagious, and light. It warms me, even more than the subsiding sunlight. They seem unaware of outside influences , young and vibrant, free and innocent almost. As I shift my focus towards them I direct my vibration to speed up and get level with theirs.. I try to focus in on their conversation, but they are too distant and talking way too fast, bouncing from one punchline to another, impossible for me to pick up the stream of words. The only thing that becomes increasingly clear as I involuntarily try to determine their language first, filtering words and intonation, is that they are Brazilian. Dji dji dji, the dancing sounds of spoken music fill the space and are unmistakable.. Dji dji dji.. It’s almost like the samba itself, swelling on a rhythmic percussion with tones that make you sway, tones that make you move. There is something about the cadence that draws me in, makes me want to join in and breathes a slight envy in my proto-programmed Belgian soul. To feel a bit freer of programme and etiquette, not to be too stiff and rigid. Sometimes you just got to dance to the beat! And they are dancing now.. Dancing with words. Dancing in their space, dancing in this place far from home, dancing shadows on the church, dancing with the spectators eyes, dancing with the city, dancing with me..

Then all at once the moment halts, the peripheral obscures and all my hastily impressions fade out, but then in, as my full focus tightens and magnetizes around a girl descending the strairs. Swift, intentional, full of purpose and graced by momentum. Her gold spun hear waves up and down her neck with every step she takes. Controlled motion, balanced and secure. She is sleek and tall, fitted in her colorful sundress, that drapes her as her motion continues downward. Full of vigor, life and flow.. Her skin is tanned, perpetually sungraced. She is tied to this place and the elements around her invigor her lines because of it. Her head is bowed, as if to search the way, but she needn’t look, she knows the steps, one by one, as they have always been, light in light. She can descend them on instinct, as if they were built by her for her, by a romantic daydreaming her through time. She invites my entire gaze in towards her, my complete focus shifts and I’m fixed on her moving physique ever descending. Her left arm is loosely directing her bag, white linen with too big straps, she gently guides down her arm without clinging to it. 

As I’m sitting there, visually drawing the silhouette of her tender figure, following the downward movement, she turns and directs all of her youthful stare to meet mine. Her eyes pour all of her into me. And in that moment I seem to dissolve my existence into hers. I’m descending, down the stairs, like her, with her, as her.. I have seized. 

As unexpected as my spirit shifted away from me, it folds back, a second later as she releases me, while moving ever so down. With one little step she breaks my heart and leaves me there. Just as I was, but never the same. She has turned the corner, away into that absolving maze that is Alfama. Gone. And all I’m left with is that clear imprint of her green eyes on my soul. A girl, my love.. Forever descending the stairs of Sao Miguel..

There are worlds within worlds that coexist in one and the same city. Always next to each other, almost touching, but never embracing..

All of us here, yet distant.. Living together, but worlds apart..