Lisbon has the architectural allure and patina of cities holding space in my memories. It is as if Trastevere in Rome, Cijangir in Istanbul, Mar Michael in Beirut and Le Marais in Paris were its confluents. With her haughty verticality and seven hills erected under electric skies, Lisbon is my new Casinha Irresoluta. Together we congregate towards unknown futures, rolling down its meander of toboggan-streets with a childlike laugh. The city is a playground for remote working, a place for who flees bad politics, a haven for dandy vagabonds combing the feathers they haven't lost in its Northern wind, La Nortada.
