Three Mornings in Lisbon

There is a particular light in Lisbon between seven and nine in the morning. It comes off the river, bounces against the pale tiles, and turns every ordinary street into something worth photographing. We did not plan around it. We just kept waking up early because the windows had no curtains.

Our apartment was in Alfama, up a staircase so steep the host warned us twice. The reward was a small balcony that looked over a tangle of rooftops and one stubborn lemon tree growing out of someone else’s wall. Coffee tasted better up there. Everything did.

On the second morning we found a bakery that had no name on the door. The woman behind the counter sold exactly two things: custard tarts and very strong espresso. We bought four tarts, ate them on a bench, and watched the tram scrape past close enough to touch.

If you go: skip the famous viewpoints at midday. Go at dawn instead. You will have them almost entirely to yourself, and the city will feel like it belongs to you for an hour.