; the time? No time. Only night time; the precision is of no importance.A 28 tram thunders its way around the bend in Rua da Voz do Operário, Alfama's main artery...
like a phantom. The ghostly forms of one or two passengers on the way up home to Graça can just about be seen.
And through the translucence of the tram (was it really there? Did this really happen?), like a scene in some weird dream, gleaming in cold, white light rises the bell-tower of the church and convent of São Vicente de Fora.
Everything besides the tram is inanimate. Empty streets, alleys, stairways. The tourist guidebooks would call it 'mysterious', 'enchanting', 'unmissable', 'unforgettable', or worst of all, 'typical' .
I just see it as Alfama, with its only means of public transport, on a deeply solitary summer Sunday night. Alfama where I love to wander about, in any direction, at any time of the day or night, getting lost, finding the way again, trying to peel away that unchanging skin. Alfama that actually denies the attempts of any tourist guidebook to describe it too simplistically, too superficially, too glibly.
This is the Alfama that I know....or think I know; what it almost always is, above all without the tourists , is poetic beyond any more words from me.
2 comments:
I lived for 2 years in Alfama, precisely the 2 first years of my marriage. I loved it so much I almost fear going back there. Wandering in those streets, listening to the echo of our steps, the bells of the various churches, the unpredictable at every corner - I loved it. I miss it.
This streets of Alfama have some magic about it... They look like stopped in time. I have some trams in my blog, but this one's is very good, looks like a phantom train...
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