Lisbon: The Enchanting Coastal Hub

Lisbon is an incredibly charming city, with every corner looking like a painting. The azure sky, the undulating hills, the continuous 30-degree slopes, and the mosaic-tiled sidewalks. The houses with low-saturation colored walls, red-tiled roofs, and balconies just the length of a foot are adorable. The culture and history of the Age of Discovery still influence the Portuguese today. The seaside is stunning, with the flight path to Lisbon Airport right overhead, and every five minutes, you can hear the roar of airplane engines. The bridge over the river connects the main island to the giant Christ statue on the other side. The upper level of the bridge is for buses and coaches, while the lower level is for clattering trains. There are always different boats passing on the river, including Viking cruises, various cargo ships, sightseeing boats, yachts, and slender sailboats. People stroll along the coast, some lying down or sitting, and the only recommended mode of transportation along the shore is the shared scooter. With a beer in hand, lying on a deck chair by the river, the sky splits into two: on the right is the sunset, with orange-yellow light spreading like watercolor; on the left is the full moon, hanging in the pink-purple night sky. The restaurant's DJ plays lively Latin dance music, and passersby hold the waiter's hand and dance together. It's another ordinary yet lovely summer evening. The most magical thing about Lisbon is its transportation. In the narrow alleys and endless slopes, all kinds of vehicles mix together: old trams and new trams, sightseeing buses and tuk-tuks, buses, cars, motorcycles, and pedestrians who never seem to look at traffic lights. It seems chaotic but somehow orderly. Lisbon's food is hit or miss. The famous century-old egg tart has a crispy crust but custard filling, so it slightly loses to Taiwan's KFC. The cream desserts are generally okay, not too sweet or greasy. The pork chop bun is delicious, even better with mustard sauce. The seafood risotto is average, cooked until it becomes soupy. The Portuguese grilled chicken is tender but salty, and the pan-fried cod with potatoes is tasty, but the fried cod chunks are ordinary (and the dipping sauce is Vietnamese sweet chili sauce?). In the church next to the Jerónimos Monastery, a black mother kneels at the altar praying. A little boy excitedly crawls over from the back. She stops praying and rubs his head with her right hand. It takes a long time to realize that the two feet sliding on the ground are always at the same angle. It turns out the boy is not crawling around out of playfulness. Perhaps because he is still too young, he smiles happily, as if nothing is different. On the main road leading to the tourist hotspot, an old man with his knees bent backward almost 90 degrees stands by the roadside with a bowl, greeting passersby every day. After passing by several times, I finally muster the courage to drop a coin. As it clinks, a white couple in front waves bills and shouts, "Hey, we are back!" They step back to the roadside, chatting with the old man for a long time. It occurs to me that perhaps the old man's needs are not just the obvious ones. Lisbon is adorable, with surprises at every corner: like stumbling upon the Vuelta a España in front of the Belém Tower, finding super chill deck chairs with a first-row sea view behind the cultural center, and discovering hipster shops in small alleys. My favorite is still every little alley, never knowing if the next road will be uphill or downhill. They are always long, with the blue sea visible at the end.