Lisbon is a very likeable city. It´s quaint. It´s quiet. It has trams. It´s cheap. It has all the benefits of a modern capital (efficient metro, modern art galleries, thriving nightlife) but none of the bustle, the stress, the pollution, the ugliness. It´s a half hour drive to the middle of nowhere. It´s a half hour drive to the beach.
Portugal is exceptionally poor. I remember being disgusted to learn that the mimum wage in Spain is just 570 euros a month (the government is aiming for a whopping 600). Just before jumping on the plane to Lisbon, I discovered that Portugal´s minimum wage is 380 euros. I was stunned. Part of Lisbon´s beauty is its antiquity. The vast majority of the buildings are old, low rise houses, either painted in sunny colours or tiled from top to bottom with signature Portuguese patterned tiles - azulejos. But many of the tiles are damaged, cracked, faded, or have simply fallen off the façade.
Portugal is exceptionally poor. I remember being disgusted to learn that the mimum wage in Spain is just 570 euros a month (the government is aiming for a whopping 600). Just before jumping on the plane to Lisbon, I discovered that Portugal´s minimum wage is 380 euros. I was stunned. Part of Lisbon´s beauty is its antiquity. The vast majority of the buildings are old, low rise houses, either painted in sunny colours or tiled from top to bottom with signature Portuguese patterned tiles - azulejos. But many of the tiles are damaged, cracked, faded, or have simply fallen off the façade.
A much-loved façade can be transformed into a true tapestry of mismatched azulejos, abstract patterns competing with floral swirls, powder blue backed up against sea green. But more commonly the space is left exposed to the elements, each rare rainstorm washing away the crumbling layers, the wind blowing away dusty cement. Pigeons wedge their way into the cracks and scratch away firmer footholds. Here and there an unsurpressable plant pushes its way through the layers, tearing the building apart from within.
It is beautiful, but also sad. Romantic as these scenes are, the lives of those who live there are surely not so rose-tinted. A short drive out of the city takes you past shanty towns, crumbling colonies taking advantage of the country´s empty spaces and escaping the city´s inflated rent. "What´s that?" I ask innocently as we drive north past a strange looking settlement, adjusting my sunglasses, ready for the beach.
"Slums" is the unforgiving reply.
If the Portuguese struggle, the immigrants really have to claw their way to survival. With former Portuguese colonies such as Angola, Mozambique and Cape Verde, there is no shortage of tenants for these impoverished kingdoms, exposed to the elements and the hatred of their native neighbours. If they pass thish harsh initiation, they will be rewarded with houses from the Portuguese government. Imagine the horror of the 380 euro a month Portuguese worker.
Back in the city the evening sun is low behind the Golden Gate-style bridge, spanning the river Tejo. Everything is golden. The city looks like it´s on fire, the sparkling azulejos catching the sunset and reflecting it back out like an enormous mirror ball with a million tiles. The Sao Jorge castle presides over this golden treasure; across the river Christ stretches out his arms to embrace the glowing city. And everything is forgiven.
It is beautiful, but also sad. Romantic as these scenes are, the lives of those who live there are surely not so rose-tinted. A short drive out of the city takes you past shanty towns, crumbling colonies taking advantage of the country´s empty spaces and escaping the city´s inflated rent. "What´s that?" I ask innocently as we drive north past a strange looking settlement, adjusting my sunglasses, ready for the beach.
"Slums" is the unforgiving reply.
If the Portuguese struggle, the immigrants really have to claw their way to survival. With former Portuguese colonies such as Angola, Mozambique and Cape Verde, there is no shortage of tenants for these impoverished kingdoms, exposed to the elements and the hatred of their native neighbours. If they pass thish harsh initiation, they will be rewarded with houses from the Portuguese government. Imagine the horror of the 380 euro a month Portuguese worker.
Back in the city the evening sun is low behind the Golden Gate-style bridge, spanning the river Tejo. Everything is golden. The city looks like it´s on fire, the sparkling azulejos catching the sunset and reflecting it back out like an enormous mirror ball with a million tiles. The Sao Jorge castle presides over this golden treasure; across the river Christ stretches out his arms to embrace the glowing city. And everything is forgiven.
