In the Tagus estuary, in the middle of the Palha Sea, the river delta far exceeds the size of the eye to the horizon line. That is why in Lisbon it is also possible to see the sky rise over the sea. That’s what I showed Maria when she landed in Portugal for the first time — ten years ago —, after she had already visited all of Europe and never set foot in Portugal. This is even more beautiful than Caraíva… You’ll see.
God was good to Mary. He gave her a fancy crib, a neat upbringing, nannies in white, name in Paulistano, vacations in Ilhabela, debutante party, car at 18, farm in the countryside, penthouse in Jardins, skiing in Austria, college in Switzerland, Italian boyfriend and plan of health with the right to the Syrian-Lebanese.
The TAP flight arrived early, at 6 am, and it was necessary to make an impression. At the end of November in Lisbon it is still dark at this time, the sun rises around 8 am, and the idea of going to see the sun rise was perfect.
Born in Sampa, in the last quarter of the 20th century, in the heart of the farming elite in the interior of the state of São Paulo, Maria was used to the aroma of coffee and the smells of the Lusitanian horse stables from a young age. But she never linked the breed’s name with its geographical origin.
Their culture was the opposite of the idea that there was a visitable place called Portugal. We got into the car, parked at Portela airport, which today is called Humberto Delgado, and headed out, still dark at night, towards Lisbon. At that time, progress was landing in Portugal, and high-quality modern infrastructure would forever change the face and fame of the Portuguese country.
But even so, Maria had arrived upset. For her, Europe was the lights and buildings of Paris, the elegance of Big Ben and the skyscrapers of the City, the fashion stores of Milan, the restaurants in Rome, the ski slopes in Zermatt and Verbier and, eventually, a or another reverie to the east; caviar in the Kremlin or some secret delicacy in the thousand and one nights of Istanbul. From Lisbon, she didn’t even know she was closer.
It would be one of those clear winter days. The previous night’s rain had cleansed the air of all impurities, and Lisbon’s atmosphere, distilled from the dry cold, was finer than Bavarian crystal. Daylight began to draw, on the facades of the buildings and in the organization of the streets, a calm and welcoming city.
Stopping at red lights —which the Portuguese call traffic lights and inexplicably place them over their heads instead of on the street in front of them—, I realized, in the smile that scared away the fatigue of the transatlantic trip, that an epiphany was being lived there.
A light and safe city, prosperous and homely, close and cultured, was drawing more clearly by the minute. Later, Maria, would tell me that this first impression was like a magical memory that brought her a déjà-vu of childhood and youth in São Paulo, in the 1980s.
Today, many Portuguese cities, such as Coimbra and Porto, for example, are an example of this: the modern memory of a happy youth. Perfect places to live. Maria, are you watching the sun rise over the sea?
