Mooching

Unpretentious cafés are my bag. I found one this morning along Príncipe Real, occupying the corner of a building that could once have been a much grander emporium, now home to cluttered chairs, cheap pastries and austere elderly women dealing briskly with customers. Portugal does these places excellently.

I spent today mooching around the Alfama and Graça areas of the city. Trams trundling past, bowls of açaí eaten along the way wherever possible. It’s easy to lose yourself in the labyrinth of stairways, alleys and tumbledown streets of this part of Lisbon.

I also lost myself in foodstuffs that I don’t access so easily in Africa and so I forget they exist. Greek yogurt. Chewy medjool dates. Bread rolls with bits of chorizo in them. I resembled a stuffed pig by evening.