LOVE BOMBING IN LISBON
My eldest son, Harry, was seven when we took our first ‘love bomb’ trip to Berlin (it was to the rather decadent, fashiony birthday party of my pal, US editor Laura Brown; let’s just say that I have been getting better at this).
I had been inspired by the writing of Oliver James, who in his book Love Bombing suggests such trips to ‘reset the emotional thermostat’ in your relationship with your child. Really, could there be words in the English language more persuasive to the frazzled, guilt-freighted working parent? I will leave the psychology bit to Mr
James should you wish to check out his estimable writings. But in the simplest terms a love bomb trip with your child is essentially a bit like an adult minibreak – the opportunity to reboot your relationship in two or three days of uninterrupted time together, away from the distractions of work and the emotional demands of other family members. As Harry might say himself: kaboom!
Lisbon is our third such trip (Portugal being the home of Ronaldo and pastéis de nata, it was easily endorsed as a cool destination); and when we arrive in autumn half term, the days are gratifyingly golden and balmy, allowing us to indulge in the first shared emotional pleasure of our love bomb together: feeling a bit smug.
We are staying in the picturesque Príncipe Real neighbourhood, in the ravishing and newly opened Memmo Príncipe Real hotel, which looks out over the rosy rooftops of the city from its steep perch. A more handsome designer bolthole you’d be hard-pushed to find, with its sleek terrace lap pool, cool art programme and fabulous fusion dining; better still, this contemporary luxe offering is delivered without pretension and fuss. To wit, our hip, handsome waiter appears just as happy to explain the difference between the rounds of peanut, cuttlefish, kimchi butter presented on a slab of slate to a nine-year-old as he might be to anyone else in the lush, dark-wood dining room.
GETTING AROUND: THE EGG-YOLK YELLOW, OLD-FASHIONED TRAM CARS ARE A FUN WAY TO TRAVEL
through the vertiginous Lisbon cityscape, though we mostly choose to walk.
On our first foray through the glorious Alfama district (all higgledy-piggledy medieval streets with Moorish influences everywhere) we climb up to Castelo de São Jorge with its extraordinary
360° views, before taking in the harbour and the Leviathan ocean liners. Everywhere we look is Instagram catnip (azulejos – the hand-painted ceramic tiles that seemingly clad every building are, we learn, 18th-century fire protection, which became a thing after much of the city was destroyed in the Great Lisbon Earthquake of 1755). Laid-back café culture abounds and we drink it in at Benard (Rua Garrett, 104) one of the fancier old-school fixtures, where I eat a zingy bowl of traditional Portuguese soup – poached egg, green herbs and garlic in a clear broth – while Harry opts for a burger.
Of course, it would be disingenuous to over-romanticise every aspect of our trip. There are some decidedly inelegant parental negotiations (“You come to Castelo de São Jorge; then and then only will I accompany you to the Nike shop”); of which Oliver James would doubtless
disapprove. But the brooding and sulking seems to evaporate more quickly than at home (both mother and son’s), as we stride forth on our shared mission of discovery. We both take equal delight in the beautiful black and white tiles, in different repeat patterns, that cover the city pavements. As we amuse ourselves taking ‘trainer selfies’ and (at Harry’s insistence) trying to make our journeys through the city stepping on black tiles only, I can feel us both allowing ourselves to relax from our busy term-time lives and identities.
ANOTHER OBSERVATION FROM MY MOTHER-AND-SON TRIPS
is that travelling without the protective bubble of coupledom takes me back to my early, slightly hapless, European forays with friends in my twenties. It is, of course, incredibly bonding to navigate a train station when you speak zero Portuguese and find yourself forced to point hopefully at phrases in a guide book, which is exactly what we do after deciding to squeeze in a quick day trip to Cascais, the surfing resort approx 40 minutes west along the coast from downtown Lisbon. We are not there to surf, as it happens, but to visit Casa Das Histórias Paula Rego, the art foundation of Rego, one of my favourite artists, which is housed in an extraordinary terracotta adobe building, its structure like two modernist pyramids. (Again, this requires negotiation, which results in me being allowed to look at the Rego paintings, while Harry borrows my iphone and photographs the drawings of another artist – Mattia Denisse – in a separate exhibition next door.) Back in our hood that evening, we venture out for early supper in Príncipe Real and settle on a buzzy Mexican joint, El Clandestino (Rua da Rosa 321), with a cool upcycled interior, which feels like it will probably explode into full-on cerveza-fuelled party vibes once we are tucked up in our beds.
On our final morning, our investigations of the neighbourhood confirm that Príncipe Real is just as charismatic and seductive by day. Historically a residential neighbourhood, old-fashioned pastry shops like Confeitaria Cister (Rua da Escola Politécnica), which is pure Wes Anderson, remain among the burgeoning boutique and restaurant culture. There’s an incredible ‘concept store’ Embaixada housed in a former Moorish mansion featuring a gin bar no less, which begs to be revisited on a more grown-up oriented minibreak. We take the Metro north to the palatial Museu Calouste Gulbenkian, which really merits a whole day’s visit, but it suits our mood to wander through the stunning modernist gardens and take in the architectural spectacle. Over our final meal, pizza on the leafy terrace at Zero Zero (Rua da Escola Politécnica 32), Harry and I discuss whether (Brexit permitting) Lisbon might be the sort of city he’d like to live in when he’s older. We’ve spotted quite a few ‘beard and bun’ types on our wanderings and also managed to glean that with its mini San Francisco-y feel, cheap rents and general mellowness, Lisbon is a hot spot for burgeoning tech start-ups. Inwardly, I am reflecting that our love bomb trips are going to become more important as Harry gets older. Without wanting to sound like a gushing book jacket quote, these one-on-one mini adventures have changed me as a parent. Might I return to the vertiginous tiled streets of Príncipe Real when my next boy is ready to enjoy his own love bomb? Absolutely.