lisbon, not what you expected: a diy busker’s journey through sun-soaked mishaps and questionable life choices

turns out, lisbon has this weird charm. not the kind you plan for. the kind you stumble into after three days of backpackers asking where the trams are. i checked the weather and it’s 19.89°c-exactly like the app said. there right now, in the middle of this absurdly cheerful morning. hope you’ve got a meter for that sort of perfection.

i’m here pretending to be a part-time busker, which means i’ve spent three hours outside a café perfecting my ‘cool indifference’ while slapping crooked chords on a guitar held together by duct tape. the other buskers call it ‘vibe curation.’ locals call it ‘basic.’ someone told me that, and then handed me a smoke. fires up well enough, yeah.

the map shows me on some sidewalk near belém tower, but really i’m stuck in the alley between two cafés arguing about espresso. bulamar is the one with the ‘authentic’ pastéis de nata. i tried the other. it’s fine. like, marginally less holy.

shops here are weird. a vintage store with no windows called eel sells jackets for €20. a woman in my class of one last week described it as ‘tactical chic’ and looked thrilled. i’m still not sure if it’s a metaphor for liars or actual jackets that have seen wars. maybe both.

overheard gossip has some value. standing near lX factory, i caught snippets: '...this gent trip caused a bus strike last week...', 'don’t trust cabs here, take the metro unless you want a speech about the ’91-rebel-flora.' (?), 'if you get bored, sintra’s just a hop. or don’t. i won’t judge.'


the neighbors. camerense, maybe? not sure. doesn’t matter. if you need a day off, sintra’s just a hop away with its palaces and hippie markets. i heard the octopus there’s cheaper. skip recommen[...].

back to the busking. guy in high-vis gave me €5 to play a tune. didn’t tip. walked away. tourists here are like, ‘realistically, i’ve never seen real poverty’ while snapping photos of my Rickenbacker. dirty. but hey, the sun’s still nice, and the goats in the alleys are what they are-jumping on the pavement, smelling like singed regret.

i did find a bridge where the sunset hit just right. tried to sketch it. woke up the next morning with blue smudges on my hands and a headache. maybe art. maybe just a concussion. haven’t checked.

locals here talk about caldo verde like it’s scripture. i had it at restaurante da capela and it’s... greens, potatoes, and soffrito. basic? a local argued it was ‘multi-dimensional.’ i didn’t argue back. too busy dodging pigeons that looked like they’d rather be somewhere else.

i’m out of-seat on the metro again. the woman next to me was yelling at her phone. 'you told them to bring me a bank? seriously?!'*. i read her message. she was buying a pastel in the city center. it’s better than you think? she’s buying disbelief.

map’s here, in case you care:





tags:
- travel
- lisbon
- messy
- diy
- chaos
- sunburn

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