Fashionable Lisbon by Maxine Jones

Lisbon was a mystery city to me. I had no idea what to expect. Portugal I only vaguely differentiated from Spain, recalling that (pre-Celtic Tiger) it always came below Ireland in the poverty stakes. I had heard rumblings about Lisbon becoming fashionable - the new Prague, the new Barcelona - but that seemed to come from a media desperate for fresh lifestyle copy. Yet as I gazed down from a night sky, I had a sense of a magical, whimsical city lying in wait. Pinpricks of light, haphazard and looping, festooned the hills on which Lisbon is built. Across the black mass of the river Tagus, beads of light marked out a suspension bridge, decked as if for Christmas; on the south bank a huge floodlit monument, then the illuminated football stadiums, the players visible as black ants scurrying round the pitch, then the lights of the runway and a smooth touchdown.

The first surprise was descending into Olaias metro station the next morning to find myself in what seemed like a museum of modern art. Huge coloured glass structures hung from the ceilings and the marble-tiled floor was as clean and shiny as a skating rink. Olaias lies on the new Linha Oriente leading out to, and built especially for, Expo '98, Lisbon's hugely successful world fair which attracted 10 million visitors and revitalised a derelict part of the city. The terminus, Gare do Oriente, is a striking building, where narrow white pillars and a vaulted glass roof give the impression of interlocking palm trees.

Now, however, I was heading in the opposite direction, into downtown Lisbon. Smartly dressed commuters, their skin tones reflecting every shade from black to white, filled the train. At Rossio I emerged from the Metro into the heart of Lisbon and was immediately won over. There was not a concrete paving slab or high-rise in sight. The square was laid out in small black and white cobble stones, the black forming geometrical patterns against the white; in the centre was a black statue of a horseman. Ornate, art deco cafes lined the square, along with dark, old-fashioned tabacconists. Tiered on the surrounding hills rose terracotta-roofed buildings surmounted by the beige crenellations of a castle.

Off the square ran straight, elegant traffic-free streets where at twenty to nine on a February weekday morning workers strolled to shops and offices with no hint of hurry or panic. This is a city at ease with itself. On the homebound metro there was a hold-up. The passengers accumulating on the platforms chatted with no sign of tension and accorded the train a round of applause when it eventually arrived.

Wandering round the hilly, compact city I was struck by the easy friendliness, courtesy and good humour of the people of Lisbon. If I asked the way I would invariably be given some additional information or told of something else worth seeing.

Architecturally the city is a mixture of medieval Moorish and elegant 18th century. Everything is tinted with sepia charm. Most surprising and pleasing of all are the 'azuelos', the handpainted tiles, usually blue, white and yellow, which cover many of the old buildings from top to bottom, some purely decorative, some depicting religious and historical scenes. Immersed in this time warp it is no surprise to see wooden trams come rattling by straight out of the 1920s and still an active part of the city transport system.

Heading up towards the castle, it is hard to imagine yourself in a city at all as the streets turn into steep narrow steps where you can touch the walls of the buildings on either side. Overhead, women hang out their washing and chat with the neighbour opposite. As you veer east into the Alfama area, the oldest part of the city, the streets become a kasbah-like jumble and the sound of traffic gives way to the twittering of caged canaries hanging from balconies. I came across a square where women were doing their washing over stone sinks and carrying the wet laundry home in black binbags perched on their heads. Children make their way to school alone, safe in their own locality where shopowners greet them by name and danger from traffic is minimal as few streets are negotiable by cars.

The layout of the whole of Lisbon would have been something like this up until 1755 when an earthquake destroyed most of the city, particularly the lower lying area, the Baixa. The 14th century Igreja do Carmo, like most of the churches of Lisbon, was packed with worshippers at 9.30am on all Saints Day when three major tremors struck in the space of 10 minutes. The white, gaping shell of the church, its ruined Gothic arches open to the sky, are visible from any high point in the city, a reminder of the day when 40,000 of a 270,000 population died. Fires spread from church candles and those who sought safety on the seafront were swept away by a tidal wave. The destruction of the city, at the height of its colonial glory, shocked Europe. Voltaire wrote of it in 'Candide'.

The man who has most made his mark on Lisbon, as any taxi driver will tell you, was the Marques de Pombal who got to work rebuilding the Baixa area in a style which was probably 100 years ahead of its time. In stark contrast to the Alfama, the streets are wide and laid out in a grid, with traffic lights every 50 yards or so to allow pedestrians to cross safe from the hurtling trams and buses. The central Rua Augusta is pedestrianised and runs down from Rossio to a square by the riverside, Praco do Comercio, entered through a stately arch. Parrallel is Rua do Ouro where an industrial-age iron lift, 45 metres high and built by a disciple of Gustave Eiffel, leads up to the Bairro Alto, the high area to the west. There is no exit at the moment from the top of the lift, but it's worth going up for the view alone. If you can't face the steep walk, three funicular trams ply the gruelling route.

What struck me most about Bairro Alto was the number of tiny, dark restaurants with room for only half a dozen white-clothed tables. Small window displays built into the outside walls show enticing arrays of fresh fish and shellfish. Here your plate will be piled high for next to nothing, dry white port will be offered as an aperitif, and vinho verde, a light not too potent wine, is a common accompaniment. Lisboetas eat out as a matter of course and lunches can easily last three hours. The food is plain, alluring and (with the exception of the popular 'bacalhau' - dry salt cod) so fresh that the fish are usually swimming shortly before being served. At night the Bairro Alto comes alive as the fado houses open, cafes where the haunting strains of fado (fate) music can be heard. A quintissentially Portuguese art form which some find grating, it has its origins in the wailing laments of Moorish and African slaves. The best-known exponent is Amelia Rodrigues, an Edith Piaf type character who is a national heroine.

Stagnant under a repressive regime until the 1974 revolution, Portugal entered the EU in 1986, marking a turn in its fortunes which culminated in Expo 98. More than £2 billion pounds were spent on transforming a disused industrial site on the riverfront east of the city into a gleaming concrete and steel showcase. As well as extending the metro, a new 18 km long bridge, the Vasco da Gama, was built. What has most boosted Portugese confidence is that these massive projects (the bridge alone employed 40,000 workmen) were completed on schedule. While most Expo sites close when the show is over, Lisbon's is to become the centre of a revitalised eastern area, now called Nations' Park. Along the river and the new marina, museums, concert halls, theatres, hotels, shops, offices, houses and appartment blocks are being built. The centrepiece is the Multipurpose Pavilion with room for thousands of people to attend sporting and cultural events. The Oceanarium, Europe's largest aquarium, is also on the site.

In line with this urban regeneration, 16 kms of depressed docklands have been turned into a trendy bar and club area. These keep going till six in the morning. At the Salsa Latina, people of all ages dance to spine-tingling live music on a terrace overlooking the river. While the old Lisbon is wonderfully preserved in aspic, the new Lisbon is taking off in all directions.