International hospitality from Iceland to Bosnia
There’s so much more to love in Lisbon. I love the vintage wooden number 28 tram that takes you everywhere you’ll want to go (especially the evocative old Arab quarter, Alfama), guided by surly drivers, rattling along its tracks like some kind of emphysemic rollercoaster. I love the kiosks in the open spaces that sell Portuguese cheesecakes and recherché tinctures and cordials. And the wine bars, such as Chafariz do Vinho, that spring up in unlikely places like this old aqueduct with its miles of subterranean tunnels. Or the psychedelic dream interior of Pavilhão Chines. And I adore the ginjinha purveyors, teeny holes-in-the-wall that cluster round the main squares selling powerful cherry aguardente totally unique to Lisbon. You ask for it ‘with’ or ‘without’ – cherries, of course – and nobody bats an eyelid if you neck a few first thing in the morning. I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to get around to this enchanting city. But I’m so, so coming back.