I’m no longer a Lady of Leisure. I’m all business but without the powersuit. It’s So Med to look good all the time. So I’m making phone calls, cutting deals, and building dreams in a pair of Pedro Garcia flats.
Lisbon is all about community. It’s like Mr. Rogers’ Neighbourhood but without the cardigans and puppets and with better music (Sorry, Mr. Rogers). The homes house generations of tanned, calm, cool and sexy people. Everyone knows everyone’s name (and business). Laundry hangs over alley ways and people shout heartily at each other in Portuguese slang from open window sills. People are kind and every old lady is a surrogate grandmother to whomever passes by – giving an ear, a mouthful (for those raucous kids kicking soccer balls in the street), or a sweet affectionate tap without hesitation. Everyone is a child of the community it seems. Is this the way life’s meant to be lived? Yep, I think so…
I stepped into Lisbon like it was a rhythm and I already knew the tune. It’s just easy and timeless here. Half bohemian; half classic. And it just works. The city is one big art gallery – the stone mosaics underfoot are unfathomably gorgeous, the azulejo wall murals are stunning and the lemon yellow trolleys are something to write home about (don’t worry TTC, Toronto’s red streetcars are also things of beauty). Men’s shirts and women’s skirts blow in cool breezes. Lisbon is poetry in motion.
Naturally, it’s hard to stay focused. Good news: my resolve is ironclad and I can see my dream materializing. So as I enthusiastically stuff my face with pastel de nata (a girl should never deny herself egg custard tarts in filo dough), I’m also crossing things off my to-do list. “Dreams don’t work unless you do.” So I work… and eat and play and marvel.