Belated Postcards from Lisbon. . . – Materfamilias Writes (2024)

Let’s pretend that while in Lisbon last month, I scribbled on the back of a few postcards and sent them off to myself, as memory prompts for when I got back home and my time in that hilly city began to fade into busy days here. . .

And then we can pretend that I scooped a handful of these postcards out of the mailbox the other day, after a morning sorting out over the phone how to access our home-insurance account online; making bread and a big batch of soup; doing a few loads of laundry; then out for a walk, listening to a podcast and stopping to do a few errands on the way.

If you’ve been reading my blog for a while, you won’t be surprised if I make myself a pot of tea before I sit down to look at these cards . . . Why don’t you make yourself one and join me?

As I rifle through them, mug on the table nearby, I’m intrigued to see that somehow each features the colour “Red.” I flip the first one over, the card pictured just above, and I see I’ve scribbled a note to my back-home self: “After our morning workshop in Jardim do Principe Real, I’m enjoying a small beer with my sandwich and listening to a singer-guitarist. A warm day, but it’s cool under the trees. An artisan market draws crowds on the sidewalk surrounding the park, and just beyond the cafe tables here, a small girl balances her way along the huge roots of a big old tree. Wish you were (back) here?”

Looking closely at the card now, I see what I hadn’t noticed while in Lisbon — that little girl’s posture, the colour of her hair, her independent spirit manifest in the way she’s claiming the tree roots as playground, all remind me of our oldest granddaughter about ten years ago. I close my eyes to sit with this connection for a moment, then open them to reach for my mug, sipping the hot tea carefully. And I pick up the next card.

Ah, yes, I remember now. I snapped that kiosk as I walked back to my hotel after my lunch. I’d intended to try sketching it later — either coming back to draw on site or using the photo as subject back home. It will have to be the latter now, won’t it?! What I notice most about the photo today is the sunlit portion of that red t-shirt on the left, which then draws my eye to the relaxed posture of the wearer. He’s either a customer waiting for his order, or, I think more likely, an employee on a short break. . .

What else about this photo? I really like the contrast between the sunlit red and the red in shadows, not quite sure why, yet, but something about illumination, about chiaroscuro.

I was only in Lisbon for a week, but this corner was one I passed often and I lunched twice under those trees, listening to Brazilian jazz, enjoying the dappled shade. I sketched in the park with fellow workshop participants under the guidance of our instructors; bought a concertina sketchbook from these Portuguese bookbinders at the market another day; discovered an old fountain trough for horses at the other edge of the park; and learned that there is a very nice public washroom just across the road and down a set of stairs. . .

As for the red in this third postcard . . .

Those red numerals refer to the 25th of April, which is the day (in 1974) that the people of Portugal achieved freedom from an authoritarian government. This year’s celebration marked the 50th anniversary of that Carnation Revolution. . . and the plaza pictured above was set up days earlier with that stage for live music performances. I walked past it numerous times, usually slowing to enjoy the tunes for a minute.

Let’s pretend I’ve addressed this postcard to my husband, and on the back of it, I’ve scribbled, “Can’t believe it’s 50 years since this inspiring event. The world could use this kind of action now, more than ever! Also, tickled that we’re celebrating our 50th this year, along with Portugal 😉 . . . Maybe we should come to Lisbon for our 60th!

And later that week, I snapped a few photos of those red carnations flowering in windows all over the city. Sent a postcard of this one, my favourite for the way it layers architecture and books together, and those oh-so-meaningful red blooms.

Then my last morning in Lisbon, sitting in the cafe at Santa Appolonia train station, I grabbed one last postcard and dug down in my bag to find a pen.

I turn that postcard over now, back home in Vancouver, to read what I’d written on its back:

“Yikes, the alarm on my new iPhone didn’t go off this morning. Guess I haven’t figured out how to set it properly. Luckily I woke in time for my 6:30 taxi. Beautiful sunrise lighting up the Tagus as I arrived at Santa Appolonia station with an hour to spare. Got a croissant breakfast sandwich and a cappuccino, found a corner table, and people-watched. This couple caught my eye — her sequin-sparkly lace skirt and bold red sweater; his carefully groomed hair, beard, moustache more salt than pepper, distinguished in his own way. They held themselves apart from the crowd, somehow. Reminded me of the old couple with string-tied bundles singing on that train through Provence 30-odd years ago . . . “

Sigh.

You know I didn’t really send those postcards to myself. Or rather, I didn’t send actual postcards, didn’t write my hasty observations on their back nor stick Portuguese stamps on them and find a letterbox to mail them from. Didn’t scoop them out of the mailbox here and sit down with the cup of tea to read them.

But I see now that I did something like that every time I framed an image and clicked my iphone in its direction. And here at home sifting through those images, if I allow myself time I can almost read what I might have written. Too many images to decipher and interpret each one, but something about that red would not be ignored.

As well, this week I sent off postcards and other snail mail to grandkids — which got me imagining a bunch of images and words sent to me, by me, from Lisbon. Hope you enjoyed reading those imagined words over my shoulder. I’ve also been polishing and updating the sketch journal I worked on there and will have a few more pages to share with you soon.

Comments always welcome. I’m keen to know whether any of you still send postcards when you travel. If so, to whom? Do they ever get to the addressee before you’re back home? Have any got lost on the way? In my experience, it’s increasingly difficult to find stamps, and recently, on several trips, I’ve just abandoned the search.

Have you ever sent a card to yourself? I have one pinned above my desk, sent to me from that workshop in Sicily two summers ago, a card I’d sketched in the spacious courtyard surrounded by old stone farm buildings, shaded by a huge umbrella from the June afternoon sun. The workshop hosts gathered our cards and arranged to send them to us — such a sweet reminder when they arrived, weeks later. Perhaps I’ll include that next post, along with the message I wrote to myself.

Meanwhile,

xo,

f (who was in Lisbon and has been back in Vancouver for over a month now — Time and Space, up to their old tricks! 😉