Great expectations

Day 59 of the project,
somewhere between Prague and Vienna

To my beautiful San Francisco,

It is me again, your beloved expatriate. On yet another continent, I have met your older brother! Sure, Lisbon is not your official "sibling city" as defined by UNESCO or some other organization. But there are so many similarities. Like you, Lisbon has steep hills with stairs to match and sublime views from various miradoras. The trams and light rail rattle through his streets much like yours. Not to mention a (shorter) version of your Golden Gate Bridge...gleaming in the low light of sunset.

But unlike Valparaiso, my heart was not swayed. Lisbon is like an older, dignified but slightly shabby gentleman with the melancholy of someone who has lost so much. You can hear it in the fado sung in the streets late a night. You can see it in the political graffiti. The streets exude the passion of an empire whose colonial glory days are a distant memory in the harsh limelight of current economic struggles.

To be fair, I came to Portugal with expectations of being seduced. And all of the cities in Portugal were warm and charming. The wines I tried in Porto--dry and sweet--were incredible. Great food--especially the bacaloao, sardines, fish pates and cheeses--was available at every turn. There is a strong creative streak, especially in Lisbon. The beaches were rocky and beautiful and offered world class waves for the surfing community. History was around every corner. Beautiful and intriguing architecture at every turn. Castles to climb. World class art museums to wander.

Though I listened for a week, the siren song never came from Lisbon. Perhaps I was not looking in the right places. Maybe my heart was looking for something more raw and unrefined. Or perhaps it simply stirred a longing for my city by the Bay.

So my fair city, rest assured my heart belongs tucked into your hills and your international orange bridge.

Until next time...