Sardines, Saints & Celebrations: A Lisbon Wanderer’s Journal

By Michael L Weiss | Besorah: Good News from the Journey

Lisbon, Portugal — where every cobblestone tells a story, every pastry has a fan club, and every street musician seems to be auditioning for a Grammy.

We touched down in Lisbon with the energy of seasoned travelers and the ankles of weekend warriors. Our home base? The delightfully eclectic Bairro Alto Hotel, perched like a literary aristocrat at the edge of Lisbon’s historic core. A boutique gem with just the right blend of charm, luxury, and “Did we accidentally book a Wes Anderson movie set?” From its rooftop views to its lemon-zest welcome drinks, it was a pitch-perfect start.

Bairro Alto: Where Tradition Sleeps by Day and Sings by Night

Staying at the Bairro Alto Hotel isn’t just a lodging choice—it’s a front-row seat to Lisbon’s living history. This genteel and artistic district is perched high above the city’s central Baixa (downtown), flanked by the bohemian charm of Chiado to the east and the leafy calm of Principe Real to the west. The hotel’s location—on the boundary of these legendary quarters—feels like Lisbon’s beating heart in surround sound.

By day, Bairro Alto is deceptively serene. The calcada portuguesa (mosaic-tiled sidewalks) guide you past baroque churches, wrought-iron balconies dripping with jasmine, and shop windows frozen in a time before franchises. Praça Luís de Camões, just outside our hotel, is the square where poets and painters once debated the nature of truth—and where now, tourists photograph their pastries with equal passion. It’s a perfect place to sit with a coffee and watch Lisbon unfold around you.

Take a five-minute walk and you’ll stumble into Chiado, Lisbon’s literary quarter, once home to writers like Fernando Pessoa and playwrights who shaped the Portuguese soul. It’s where bookstores are still sacred, and even the mannequins seem more cultured.

Just up the hill is Principe Real, a leafy, aristocratic neighborhood filled with 19th-century mansions, quiet gardens, and antique shops that make you feel like you’ve inherited someone else’s elegant family history. Jardim do Príncipe Real, a park shaded by a giant parasol-like cedar tree, is where locals sip wine, children chase pigeons, and travelers like us pretend we live here.

Heading slightly east, we wandered through Miradouro de São Pedro de Alcântara, one of Lisbon’s most iconic viewpoints. It offers a full cinematic sweep of the old city—from the São Jorge Castle across to the Tagus River, with red-tiled rooftops in between. A vintage kiosk cafe, a string of street musicians, and bursts of bougainvillea make it one of those places where you lose track of time (and possibly your afternoon plans).

For a splash of tranquility, we also explored Jardim de São Pedro de Alcântara, the terraced garden just below the miradouro. With its statues, fountains, and views of the Mouraria and Alfama districts across the valley, it felt like the city built a front porch just for us.

And of course, there’s Elevador da Glória, the charming yellow funicular that connects the lower Baixa with Bairro Alto. It’s technically public transport, but with its rickety rhythm and graffiti-strewn charm, it feels like a nostalgic amusement ride with city views built in.

Walking on History (and Occasionally Slipping on It)

Bairro Alto itself is a living museum—if that museum included wine bars, graffiti with political philosophy, and 300-year-old azulejo tiles clinging to whitewashed buildings like aging rock stars refusing to retire. During the day, it’s mellow and picturesque; by night, the streets hum with Fado music, bursts of laughter, and conversations that stretch deep into the Portuguese twilight.

A Sardine-Fueled Family Memory

For those of you who have not traveled to Lisbon, be forewarned, the city is built on hills, with narrow sidewalks, lots of cars that believe it or not stop when you cross the marked but unlit cross walks and tourist and locals all trying to navigate in their own native languages. With my wife still recovering from two herniated disc, she decided to get off her feet to take a needed rest with some ice so my daughter and I decided to discover the country’s charming obsession with sardines and fish in a tin. We visited the exuberantly theatrical Fantastic World of Portuguese Sardines, a hybrid of carnival, museum, and souvenir shop where fish tins are arranged like a Broadway marquee floor to ceiling.

We decided on a mission: choose eight commemorative tins, each stamped with a birth year and or historical fact. We laughed, debated over decades  should we pick out our birth dates or some milestone year. In the end we picked 1956 or 1999 tins of sardines our birth years, and basked in the décor of this most unusual shop. Equal parts silly and sincere, it was a moment of pure travel joy—proof that memory-making can be as simple as picking out designer canned fish. While shopping we came across a lovely couple visiting from Japan where we just last year we spent two months touring. What began as a short introduction conversation turned into 30 minutes of discovery, laughter and connection. In the end, we left with 8 tins of fish and some newfound friends. After the unexpected conversation, we returned to our hotel, where Cheryl was waiting pain free (or as free as it was going to be) and we departed for our first meal in Lisbon.

Market to Table: A Taste of the Sea at Sea Me – Peixaria Moderna

Dinner found us at Sea Me – Peixaria Moderna, a standout seafood spot tucked into Lisbon’s buzzing Time Out Market area—the city’s culinary playground where Michelin-starred chefs and artisanal bakers coexist like rockstars at a food festival.

Sea Me blends traditional Portuguese fish fare with bold, modern flair. And here’s the catch—literally: you can handpick your fish from the interior fish market that’s part of the restaurant. Imagine a glistening display of ocean treasures—magnificent prawns, lobster, rock fish, sea bass, Tuna, Snapper and other freshly caught delicacies. It’s like walking through Poseidon’s grocery store.

We selected beautiful scarlet prawns, razor clams, octopus, and sole for our main course, guided by our cheerful server turned fishmonger who seemed genuinely proud of the morning’s haul. Moments later, it was filleted, grilled to perfection, and placed before us like a minimalist masterpiece—crisp skin, flaky interior, garnished just enough to let the sea speak for itself.

The grilled octopus—charred, tender, and the magnificent scarlet prawns tasting like the Atlantic got a PhD in flavor. Paired with a bottle of crisp vinho verde, the meal was a love letter to the ocean, inked in olive oil, garlic and lemon.

The setting buzzed with energy: communal tables filled with locals and travelers, the scent of citrus and garlic in the air, and the pleasant chaos of plates arriving faster than we could post them. It was fresh, interactive, and unforgettable—proof that dinner can be equal parts performance, tradition, and joy. 

Monastery of Jerónimos: Stone, Sailors & Soul

The next morning, we traded sardine tins for spiritual awe with a visit to the Mosteiro dos Jerónimos, the 16th-century monastery that’s part fortress, part lacework fantasy, and entirely overwhelming in its grandeur.

The monastery that feels more sculpted than built. Commissioned by King Manuel I to honor Vasco da Gama’s voyage to India, the monastery embodies Portugal’s Golden Age of Exploration. Construction took over a century, funded by the spice trade and marked by the uniquely Portuguese Manueline style—a blend of Gothic height, Renaissance order, and maritime symbolism.

Inside, every arch, column, and cloister bears homage to the sea: twisted ropes, coral carvings, anchors, and celestial globes. This was a place where sailors once knelt before the unknown—men who didn’t know where they were going, how to get there, or whether they’d ever return. The walls seem to whisper their courage, their faith, and the gravity of their missions.

Pro tip from your slightly smug narrator: the line to get in looked like a Taylor Swift ticket queue, but we had a private guide. Not only did she sweep us past the hordes with a wave of her laminated badge like a priestess of cultural efficiency, but she also knew the stories behind every sculpture, scroll, and ceiling boss. If you go—and you must—hire a guide who can bypass the line. Trust me. You’ll want to spend your energy admiring the Manueline architecture, not arguing with the sun while waiting for entry.

LX Factory: Grit, Graffiti, Good Coffee & Exceptional Chocolate Cake

We shifted gears and eras with a visit to LX Factory, a 19th-century textile complex reborn as a hub for creatives. Street art wraps the old brick buildings like urban tattoos. Inside: indie bookstores, eco-fashion boutiques, co-working spaces, and cafes that serve espresso with oat milk and postmodernist manifestos.

My wife and daughter discovered handmade jewelry, ceramic tiles, and breezy linen dresses. I found a bookstore with a poetry section and a surprisingly flattering linen shirt. We all left smiling—modern-day explorers of culture and commerce with bags in hand and a few Euros lighter.

Tucked within the graffiti-splashed alleys is a bakery that doesn’t shout. It whispers, like a closely guarded family secret, passed down with care. The sign simply reads: Landau Chocolate Cake. It is, quite literally, all they make.

And it is all they need to make.

There are no glass cases of pastel de nata. No distractions of croissants or coffee drinks named after opera singers. Just one singular offering: a dense, dark, hauntingly rich chocolate cake so exquisitely balanced, it feels less like dessert and more like a sacrament.

Each slice is served in minimalist fashion—no garnish, no swirl of cream, no flamboyant sauce. Just a gleaming triangle of cake that seems to absorb the light around it. The outer crust is matte and crackled, yielding to an interior that defies categories. Not quite a torte, not quite a mousse, it is both silk and soul, with a texture that melts, then lingers.

The first bite is a revelation: 70% cocoa content, no flour, no frills, no forgiveness. It is unapologetically bold, yet somehow graceful—like a Beethoven sonata played on a single violin string. Bitter notes bloom into sweetness. The finish is dry, almost contemplative. You do not eat this cake. You encounter it.

The bakery is a tiny, chapel-like space—bare walls, a glass display, and the scent of dark chocolate heavy in the air. The staff speak softly, as if raising their voices might disturb the delicate chemistry of the cake. Locals come in pairs or alone, always with a sense of ceremony. Tourists stumble in and leave changed.

Behind the brand is Yael Landau, an Israeli pastry chef whose commitment to purity borders on monastic. Inspired by a family recipe and a philosophy that chocolate should not be diluted by distraction, she has crafted what may be one of Europe’s most iconic cult confections. 

A full cake, boxed in minimalist matte-black packaging, costs around €35 and makes a superior gift—if you don’t finish it in the cab back to your hotel. A slice, served on a paper plate with reverence, will set you back just €4. But be warned: it will ruin you for other chocolate cakes.

In a world that often equates indulgence with excess, Landau offers the opposite: depth, restraint, devotion. It is not a dessert for the impatient. It is a meditation on what chocolate can be when nothing stands in its way.

Park Views and Prideful Vibes

Later, we strolled through Parque Eduardo VII, a stately expanse of green rolling gently toward the Tagus. The park offers one of Lisbon’s best views—a long visual sigh that opens to sky, water, and terracotta rooftops.

But it was at Miradouro de São Pedro de Alcântara, one of Lisbon’s iconic overlooks, where we stumbled into something even more vivid: Lisbon’s Gay Pride Festival. The terrace pulsed with color, joy, and music. Rainbow flags fluttered against tiled churches. Drag queens drove tuk-tuks filled with cheering tourists. Grandmothers handed out hugs. Grilled sardines sizzled beside vegan burgers and a book stalls lining both sides of the park. Yes in Portugal, people still read books!!

It was exuberant, authentic, and inclusive—the kind of celebration that reminds us why we travel: to witness humanity at its most alive.

Final Reflections: Faith, Flavor & Finding Yourself Abroad

Lisbon is a city that doesn’t posture. It wears its soul on its sleeve, blending sacred and sensual, ancient and edgy, grand monuments and grilled fish. Between the laced stone of Jerónimos, the industrial poetry of LX Factory, the leafy calm of Eduardo Park, and the sheer joy of Pride—not to mention a father-daughter sardine adventure I’ll never forget—Lisbon taught us that beauty comes in many forms: architecture, ritual, family, community, and love.

On our final evening, sipping espresso on the Bairro Alto rooftop terrace, the sun dissolved into the Tagus like a golden prayer. We didn’t want to leave. But we knew we were taking something with us: a reminder that the best journeys are the ones that change how you see—not just a city, but yourself.

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Michael L Weiss is a writer, consultant, and explorer of faith, history, and humanity. He chronicles his travels at Besorah: Good News from the Journey.

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