The first crunch of pastel de nata at Lisbon’s city-centre hotel, Martinhal Chiado, is a sensory experience—the crisp exterior dissolving into warm custard, tiny flakes soiling the top of your shirt, sugar clinging to fingers, making it hard to dust off. That sensory surrender was further amplified with Lisbon easing into its evening spirit. The melancholic tunes of Fado glided through the cool winds, seamlessly giving way to the metallic sounds of cutlery as nearby restaurants readied for a busy Saturday night. In the distance, the rattling of a tram and murmurs of people walking uphill to watch the sunset at Miradouro de Santa Catarina filled the evening air. The city felt alive, yet still.



