Let’s start by saying that Lisbon is super CROWDED! And we were there in the off-season. I can’t imagine what the place is like during the peak summer season. I’m guessing it would be a very attractive, endlessly amusing, and rather pricy mosh pit.
The name Portugal derives from the Roman-Celtic place name Portus Cale. This was the ancient name for a settlement at the mouth of the Douro River, which evolved into the modern city of Porto and its neighboring town, Vila Nova de Gaia (historically Cale).
Food is always really important to most people when they travel. It seems to be one of the high points of any vacation. We don’t tend to care much about dining because we have found that, aside from maybe Japan, most restaurants serve local versions of generic fried food unless you take the time and money to sniff out the best places to dine. There is a uniformity to regional food, and it often seems like a calculated shakedown. I know there are many fine restaurants in every city, but we don’t travel to eat; we don’t want to waste our limited time. So, while Inna was much more picky and curious about food in Portugal, I thought the best places to eat by far were the small sandwich shops. Cheap, quick, authentic, and very tasty food.
And the undisputed champion of heavyweight sandwiches would have to be Portugal’s most famous sandwich, the Francesinha, a towering, ultra-decadent culinary icon that originated in the city of Porto. Translated literally as “Little French Girl,” it was created in the 1950s by an emigrant named Daniel David Silva. This massive creation resembles a molten, meaty casserole far more than a traditional handheld sandwich and is eaten with a knife and fork. It is built with layers of thick white bread stuffed with steak, wet-cured ham, fresh sausage, and linguiça (smoke-cured pork sausage). It is traditionally served sitting in a deep plate surrounded by a mountain of crispy French fries, perfect for soaking up the extra sauce. The entire structure is wrapped completely in sliced cheese and melted until gooey. It is frequently topped with a sunny-side-up fried egg. And then comes the secret sauce. Many aficionados would argue that the defining element of this kickass sandwich is a near-boiling, thick tomato-and-beer sauce poured generously over the top. Every restaurant protects its own secret recipe, which often incorporates whiskey, port wine, broth, and piri-piri chilis for a spicy kick.
Lisbon’s sandwich scene is a blend of deeply rooted traditions and a booming “new wave” of artisanal delights. To experience the best, you should look for the city’s “holy trinity” of traditional sandwiches: the Bifana (pork), the Prego (beef), and the Leitão (suckling pig), alongside modern spots specializing in house-smoked pastrami and gourmet toasties. The pastrami was amazing!
The most famous Portuguese foodie delight, praised by all culinary experts far and wide, is actually a humble pastry: the Pastel de Nata, the king of the pastry world. It’s a flaky, buttery cup about the size of the bottom of a drinking glass with a blistered custard center. There are long lines outside the shops that are hyped by trend-setting travel bloggers. Iconic shops like Pastéis de Belém in Lisbon produce and sell around 20,000 to 30,000 tarts every single day. The pastry is heavily tied to the tourism boom. I think they could put the custard on the national flag, and the Portuguese would probably salute. It struck us as much ado. We sampled them several times; they tasted okay, but nothing special.
We expected Portugal to be expensive, but we were pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn’t, especially given the topsy-turvy state of the global economy today. Our last vacation was to New Zealand, and it was way more expensive than our trip to Portugal. So was Ireland.
Wealth is understated in Portugal. If you earn $55,000 a year, you would be considered upper-middle-class to rich. Because wealth is heavily concentrated in the top 10%, a yearly net worth surpassing a million dollars would land you in the top 1% bracket, which is widely considered wealthy. Relative to the rest of Europe, it’s a double-edged financial sword. Portugal has a much lower cost of living, but is considered one of Western Europe’s poorer nations. Portugal’s average gross annual full-time salary is roughly $30,000. This sits well below the broader European Union average and represents a sharp contrast to high-wage Northern European powerhouses.
There are some shiny spots, like the oceanside town of Cascais, which sort of resembles Monaco or Nice, if you squint your eyes. The old-money enclaves in cities like Sintra have lost their luster and need a fresh coat of paint. Being slightly dilapidated seems to be a part of some time-honored tradition in Portugal. To us, it just seemed like the rich were running out of money and couldn’t afford to fix their homes anymore.
Lisbon’s iconic cobbled sidewalks and squares, known as the Calçada Portuguesa, are handcrafted mosaics of limestone and basalt that transform the city’s ground into an open-air art gallery. These pavements are more than just walkways; they are a national symbol of Portuguese identity, created by skilled master craftsmen called calceteiros.
While nearly every street in Lisbon’s historic center features these shiny stones, certain squares are world-famous for their elaborate designs. Rossio Square, the most famous example, features the dizzying Mar Largo (Wide Sea) wave pattern that pays homage to Portugal’s seafaring history (and the tsunami that almost destroyed the city). The wave patterns found in many Portuguese cities can be very disorienting, like walking through an M. C. Escher drawing that appears three-dimensional.
The cobbles are standardized, 2.5-inch cubes of white limestone and black basalt aligned in handsome designs. In some areas, rare red or yellow stones are added for extra detail.
Common images include caravels (ships), armillary spheres, stars, waves, fish, and other elements from the Age of Discovery.
The stones can become extremely slippery when wet or worn smooth by centuries of foot traffic. Basically, Lisbon is an ice rink.
Because the stones can loosen or become uneven, they can be challenging for those with mobility issues or for anyone wearing high heels.
The high contrast of the black and white stones is most striking in the morning light or just after a light rain, which makes the colors pop.
Lisbon’s tiles, or azulejos, are basically the city’s structural canvas. They have been around for over 500 years and are steeped in the past. They aren’t just pretty; they’re the ultimate multitaskers of the architectural world.
Lisbon is a giant mosaic comic book. Before everyone had a smartphone or even a book, churches used these tiles to tell stories of saints and to stage biblical dramas, making them the 16th-century version of a graphic novel.
The name comes from the Arabic al-zillij, meaning “small polished stone”. It’s a centuries-old aesthetic originally brought over by the Moors from North Africa and later supercharged by Portuguese kings who fell in love with the vibe in Seville.
The Moors got the tile game going in Spain around the 8th century. But they didn’t introduce it into Portugal even though they ran the show there for over 400 years. In the 15th century, after a visit to Spain, King Emanuel I brought tile work into fashion. They mimicked the Moorish tradition of geometric, rather than representative design. It was the politically correct way to go.
The transition from geometric Moorish patterns to figurative storytelling tiles began in the mid-to-late 16th century.
This shift was made possible by the introduction of the Majolica technique from Italy, which enabled artists to paint directly on a flat, glazed surface, as if it were a canvas. Previously, Islamic influence had restricted designs primarily to non-figurative geometric and floral motifs.
The Christians added their own curious twist. Legends suggest the artists decided not to strive for creative perfection because that would be arrogant and an insult to their Lord. So, they always placed one random tile upside down. We encountered several misplaced tiles, so it was definitely done, but it was only practiced occasionally.
The main reason the tiles caught on was utilitarian, not artistic. Their glazed surfaces were the high-tech solution of the 1500s to protect buildings from dampness, heat, and noise while looking absolutely fabulous.
Blue and white are the dominant colors, thanks to the 17th-century hype for Chinese porcelain. The Portuguese loved the look so much they decided to DIY their own version on a massive scale.
The Alfama District, the oldest part of Lisbon, is the ultimate “living gallery,” where narrow streets are lined with weather-worn facades and colorful patterns. The houses are stacked upon each other, their orange-tiled roofs forming a jumble of colorful delight.
Since 2013, it has been strictly illegal to demolish tile-covered facades in Lisbon, so these artistic skins are here to stay.
I can think of no other city in the world with such lovely sidewalks and Delft-style buildings. Lisbon will leave you with a smile on your face and a glide to your stride.
