Laurie R. King

I arrived in Lisbon towards the end of March, when it was still half winter,

(“I was thinking, perhaps, the botanical gardens?”)

and set out to explore the city. Lisbon is built on hills—correction: Lisbon IS hills. Residents plan their routes not on direct point-to-point, but following the contours around, or taking one of the little trolleys up the cliff face.

It has a grand harbor

with a castle on the top

(“Eighty generations of soldiers had nursed their chilblains on this very spot.”)

to which Russell and her film gentlemen, taking the tram up the side of the hill,
speculate about the scenery

(“The director listened with half an ear, busy framing with gloved hands an olive tree that looked like the play-thing of a petulant elephant.”)

and eventually end up in the Alfama district,

(“where the buildings at our feet grew smaller, their right angles grew skewed, and the streets, to all appearances, disappeared completely.”)

And there they find…

Next week: a trip to the Moorish Castle