Week 18: Resilience, Part Nine (Belém)

A cool breeze from the Atlantic wafted over us, a welcome change from the heat earlier in the day.  We were on a rooftop garden, sipping drinks and discussing research, the banquet room to our west providing shade from the setting sun.  Below us, people explored the geometric gardens and fountains of the Jardim Praca do Império (Empire Square).  Jesus, in the form of a 260 foot stone monument, watched over us from just past the 25 de Abril Bridge.  And to our south were the Padrão dos Descobrimentos (Monument to the Discoveries) and the Tagus River.  We were at the Cultural Center, a combined performing arts, exhibition and conference center originally constructed to accommodate Portugal’s European Union Presidency, for the Symposium’s banquet.

The Cultural Center is located at the mouth of the Tagus, in the parish of Santa Maria de Belém.  A natural lagoon, the harbor historically provided safe anchor for mariners, and the lowland fishing and agriculture fed the nearby city of Lisbon.  Construction of the Jeronimos Monastery, a blocks-long complex just north of the Cultural Center, began in the fifteenth century, and, as the Manueline style structure matured, it came to represent Portuguese expansionism.  After the 1755 earthquake, the royal family evacuated to a large estate on the hills above the monastery (and much of Lisbon to its grounds).  Over time, the buildings were expanded and renovated and, in the late 19th century, became the royal palace. Today it is the President’s residence; and this night, the cabbie who drove us to the Cultural Center had explained, its salmon-pink walls were guarded by extra police and soldiers due to a state dinner.

As the sun set, we drifted inside, again organizing by geography and shared language.  The American table quickly filled and I ended up a stray at the Scandinavian table.  There, a kind gentleman from the cruise ship industry took pity on my language skills and included me in the conversations.  Dinner was a local fish, rice and veg dish, followed by an ice cream confection.  And, of course, this all came with a hearty offering of local wines and port.

Fortified with good food and budding friendships, we broke for the evening to make our way back to the hotel.  We were told that if there were no taxis outside the building, we should make our way to the far side of the square, where a taxi line was available to take late evening revelers to their destinations.  The near sidewalks bare, we made our way around the water fixture of the garden to a lonely ‘taxi’ sign on the designated praca (street).  Here also, no taxis, just a long line of black town cars.  Worse, as we waited, the taxis we did see would not stop.  Our hotel was a good ten miles away, what were we to do?

We stood, tired, on the corner, considering our options.  Should we continue walking?  Should we ask one of the palace guards?  Then it hit me; the limos were waiting for the dignitaries at the state dinner.  The locals knew this, and were staying away.  I also knew security would not want a bunch of tipsy tourists loitering in the area, distracting them from their mission.  I pantomimed to one of the drivers, asking him to call for cars for us.  A few moments later they appeared like magic: three taxis for our group of twelve.  We piled in according to our destination (four in the backseat, two in the front of the one to my hotel) and were on our way.

It was with bittersweet relief my head hit the pillow: relief because I was so, so tired; bittersweet because tomorrow would be the last day of the conference.

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