Listening to Lisbon

Imagine Europe’s capital cities lined up on a graph according to how self-satisfied they are. Paris, almost jealous of its own chic genius, heads the field at the far right. Lurking off the other end of the scale is Lisbon. For while it may mix lovely cafes and shabby old-world charm with breathtaking architecture, the refreshing aspect of what in Portuguese is called the “white town” is that it can’t really be bothered to shout about it.

If you want to search out Lisbon’s treasures, fine; if all you want to do is sip coffee while watching the world go by, that’s fine too. Lisbon is a city built for the ultra-relaxed, aimless flâneur, with its shuttered houses clad in beautiful blue and green tiling, and shimmering suddenly at the end of narrow streets a hilly vista of dusty red, blue and mustard rooftops, with the golden castle of São Jorge glowing atop one of the city’s seven hills. Many buildings are in an advanced state of dilapidation: cats enjoy leisurely tongue-baths in the windows of overgrown empty stone houses. As Portugal’s most celebrated poet, Fernando Pessoa, who lived nearly all his life in Lisbon, wrote: “All is scattered, nothing entire. / O Portugal, fog you are…” Continued →

Canoeing down the Zambezi

It is the sound of Zimbabwe at night that you remember. As you lie in your gauze-topped tent, canopied with uncountable stars, the insects play their symphony, a joyous, polyrhythmic nocturnal percussion of crickets, while in the distance the lascivious baritone chuckles of hippopotamus and an occasional lion’s roar offer meaty counterpoint. Somehow this wild, almost tangible clamour is the sweetest lullaby, sending you off to another blissful night of hard-earned sleep. You will rise at dawn for another day’s canoeing down the crystal-blue waters of the Zambezi. Life is good. Continued →