Fadó Fadó ; (Irish) ‘ long long ago’

Fado: (Portuguese): ‘Destiny, fate’ / a mournful,lamentful folk balladry; slightly less dreary The Smiths

Voyages of discovery are hard. It takes vision, bravery, pluck and a Monzo card to avoid excessive international bank charges for purchases made. When Ferdinand Magellan was tasked with circumnavigating the globe, on his way to the spice islands of Molucca, he didn’t say “no need my guy, we have salt and pepper at home, tis tudo bem ” -he ventured forth into the unknown, didn’t he? He did die on the way back though, whereas I have in theory been to Asia and the Americas and back again and am still alive, so technically that puts me ahead in the Explorer stakes. And how could we forget Infante Dom Henrique, the Navigator, who rounded the Cape of Good Hope for the first time despite appearing to have been a baby! With these great voyages of explorations, the Portuguese inadvertently kickstarted the age of globalisation, only now to have the modern ills of Airbnbs, Tuk-Tuks and Digital nomads come back to bite them on the bunda. For the past 4 years, countless numbers of these Digital nomads have migrated West, shepherding their digital herds of photoshop client requests and slack channel inanity, settling them for the winter in Portuguese cafes whilst only buying one coffee over 6 hours and driving up local rents. 

Much like the Irish, the Portuguese footprint across the globe is substantial. Os Lusiadas are the also only peoples who have the same view as Ireland, geographically speaking, looking far out onto the Atlantic with nobody or nuthin’ in front of them for miles. After first starting with the Azores and Madeira, they went on to establish trading posts in West and East Africa, then into Asia with Goa, Macau, East Timor and finally Nagasaki, Japan. Much like the Irish pub of what which this blog is based on, this other wee Western European nation for sure has left an indelible mark on the globe. I forgot about Brazil as well which was a fairly big one. Over-priced mid-noughties Poultry -Peddlers Nando’s arrived via South African Portuguese emigres. The Japanese cooking style Tempura came from Portuguese temporada seasoning. And in the bizarrest facet of Portuguese expansion, multiple Lusitanian locals have taken to wearing Wolverhampton Wanderers shirts, as the team has tapped into an exclusive pipeline to the latest Portuguese export- footballers. 

So in honour of the Great Explorers of old, call me Vasco De Drama, as on this occasion we travel to the hill fest that is Lisbon, Portugal. I must confess this is not the first time I have been to an Irish pub here -that was on a proto-visit in 2016, one year before the acual birthing of Publican Enemy (so it wasn’t a canonical episode.) Having just broken up with my then partner, it was in fact the first solo trip I had ever taken in my life. Travelling alone, at least once, is a real act of self -love (not that) that I would recommend to all. In doing so, it spurred the creation of this very blog that you read, and while there, for the first time, heartbroken and in search of conversation and mostly alcohol, l found, by chance, O’Gilin’s Irish Pub. But this, fair reader, is not the most seismic event to hit this storied barrio. 

2 weeks before we arrive, Lisbon has an earthquake, 5.3 on the Shityourselfometer . Scary enough, but particularly harrowing when you read of the great Lisbon Earthquake of 1755, an earthquake so terrifying and epochal, it killed God. At least in the minds of the intelligencia of the time, such was its ferocity. The entire place was utterly devastated, left looking like Bray circa 1998. Famously, local bigwig The Marquis of Pombal, when asked what the feck do we do now, uttered the legendary words: “bury the dead and heal the living”, then put on some shades and rode off on a horse like a legend. In the reconstruction, the area of Baixa was among the first earthquake resistant areas ever built and the town was eventually reconstructed with great splendour. 

Lisbon is built on 7 hills. Some cities have none. This is greedy. As such, you can get your steps in and tone those arse muscles, or you can take one of those wee cable cars they have that cost €4 for tourists, putting the “fun” in “funicular vehicle”. Or the god awful tuk-tuks and little comedy clown cars that cost you both 20€ a go and a significant chunk of your dignity. A prominent feature all around Lisbon are the tell-tale hints at Portuguese craftsmanship. If you’ve ever gone to the Wikipedia entry for footpaths, as I have ( to give you a clue as to the profundity of research I do on these trips), the first one you will see are Lisbon’s. And theirs are arguably my favourite, unlike Brays, which were paved with the broken dreams of the local populace. These portuguese pavements range from beautiful artisanal mosaics to uneven slippery potholed death-traps. And I love that. Anyone can make level pavements. Not everyone can make beautiful ones. And of course, the famous Azulejlo tiles that adorn the walls

 Speaking of tiles, what of a night on them, as we segue in clumsily to this next bit. We are here on Business, so accordingly, we’ve got to check out the movers and shakers of the Irish Pub Scene. Up in the high bit of the town, is Barrio Alto, ( literally Uptown) ,a lawless realm of Brits and massive Dutch teenagers; we see one group queuing up in the street to slap a world-weary groom-to-be repeatedly on the arse. England and Portugal of course enjoy a lengthy diplomatic friendship, on account of neither of them being France. Overseeing this knavery, mere metres outside the Cafe Brasileira sits the solemn statue of Fernando Pessoa, Portugal’s James Joyce, a literary titan who lived unassumingly as a humble civil servant. Using a range of heteronyms rather than pseudonyms, he rose to posthumous acclaim, so maybe the Portuguese Flann O’Brien would be more apt. Who knows what he would make of the sockless hoards, but famously, he did befriend the Brit-on-Tour of the day self-proclaimed wickedest-man- in the -world, Aleister Crowley. The pair bonded over their love of the occult, the mystikal, and possibly Evanescence, before faking the later’s death in the first recorded social media hoax in an attempt to ditch Aleister’s lady friend who had realised he was a twat. Three pubs lie in the one street in Barrio Alto; The Corner House (Sinister Fish tank), The Meeting Point (pleasant authentic boozery) and “Cheers Irish Pub” (there is no god). But using my tried and trusted formula for pub foraging (explained below), it’s Lisbon’s oldest Irish Pub O’Gilins we want. 

A sidenote on The Corner House- while the original venue looks akin to a two way mirror into a holding cell, in the nearby night market they have established a wee Irish Pub wooden stall, decked out with the finest Irish pub tat. The gals running the stand are on fire ” this Guinness is the real deal, its super creamoso” they beckon, so who could resist. “You can’t drink it yet, you have to wait till its settled” says an older Portuguese bar-lady, clearly schooled in the fine art of pouring ” If you want, you can put your hands on the Tap for a photo” a bizarre request that I accept. The Guinness is very cremoso ,tarnished by being in a plastic glass. 

When not enjoying cremoso pints, in my defence as a person who travels abroad to visit Irish Pubs, I am aware it is crucial to try the local specialities, of which there are many. One of my favourite things ever of all time are the Ginjinha booths, where for 1 euro you can pop in off the street and get a shot of sweet cherry liquor, down it and go. How is this not a thing anywhere else? It’s sublime and I make a point to sample these booze hatches whenever I spy one atop a particularly arduous incline. Next, to have a pastel de nata in Belem is like one of those experiences where you have the thing in the place from where the thing comes from. I was poised to be disappointed – nothing in life is as good as the hype demands, and yet these are a transcendental experience, fresh from the ovens where they’ve been churning them out by the hundreds for centuries. I did wonder if Portuguese people say that natas don’t travel, or if they never order a nata outside of Portugal because they don’t know how to pour the custard. These Porter Geezers even have their own Super Bock stout, which is not a Guinness clone but a very refreshing light and fizzy number that I thoroughly enjoyed. Perfect for washing down a Francesinha- a light apperitivo consisting of steak and ham and bacon and sausage and egg and cheese smoothered in a rich tomatoey beer sauce.

On our last day, we trip to the nearby coastal town of Cascais, famed for the being the bolthole of European Aristocracy during WW2.(Casino Royale was apparently based on the one here in Estoril). But there’s no time to even shoehorn  a James Bond pun in, as we come across the idyllic O’Luain’s Irish Pub. Luain is the Irish word for Monday, and I’ll tell you why I do like Monday’s as this place is a real delight, and Bella instantly declares it her favourite Irish pub ever. There is much to like. Their Google reviews state that it’s the best pint outside of Ireland; lofty claims but it is certainly the finest I have tried in the Iberian peninsula and accompanying autonomous regions, so their word is their Bond.. The finest imported Taytos are served; purple flowers wind around the façade , shaken but not stirred by the cool breeze wafting  through the alley in from the nearby sea. While Inside, its giving cottage, homely and snug  and for some reason has a fantastic poster of the 80’s golf comedy “Caddyshack”.

Back in Lisbon and after 8 year and a 93- Irish pub interim, I return to Cais do Sodre to O’Gilins, my preferred pub of choice. It was built back in 1995, long before the invasive tuk-tuks, when this area was the dodgy portside red-light district. According to lore, the owner rebuilt it by hand salvaging the wood panels, and signs are all promising as it has 5 of the key signs of a legit Irish public house, which are, in no particular order; 

1. Sponsoring the local GAA club

2. Named after a Real person. Take note, “Cheers Irish Bar” 

3. Has the old Guinness taps

4. Has the Proclamation somewhere on the wall

5. On entry, you are assailed with ninja-esque precision by the waitresses getting you your order before you’ve even sat down

If prompt service is a cornerstone of any Irish pub, then these gals are navy seals level. As soon as you merely contemplate the possibility of getting another drink., they appear beside you ready to dispense their hooch. The pint is expensive, at €7.35, but admittedly it was muito bom. See pics. Quickly the place becomes rammed, and there’s no possibility of going around taking pictures of the wall tat as is my wont because it’s poppin’ off. A trio kick off the music; initially dreading another Amy Winehouse cover band debacle; reassuringly the band are on a funk ting, playing Stevie Wonder, Outkast and Earth, Wind and yes even Fire. They make for unlikely heroes; The rotund drummer with his micro-kit sings the hits even though it becomes apparent he may not know the words, more the sounds. The lead guitarist is skanking on his strat, while the elderly keyboardist is playing jazz chords in a trilby at a jaunty angle. Within minutes, the place is gone mad, and old, young, even the on- Tour Indoor bowls team from Dusseldorf are getting into it. There’s no room to move but somehow, through a gap between someone’s elbow, the waitress gal magics her way through- “you want one more?”. In a jam-packed pub, I don’t have to queue for the bar once, which is incredibly impressive. This being Portugal, its only really kicking off at about 1:00 AM.  A mix of Irish Bar know-how and Lusitanian zest means it’s one of the best nights in an Irish Pub  I try to record a video  to capture the moment but each video is drowned out by the hordes belting out Oasis and I am too drunk . So, on return I had a fine time in O’Gilins and it rightly deserves its full review on this website. On leaving, I see on a sign that the pub, located by the nearby Tagus estuary is firmly inside the tsunami hazard zone, unlike the dodgy dives of Chiado up the hill. What a disaster if this fine specimen were to be lost beneath the waves. But if a 10 ft wave crashes into us, to drink in this bar, is such a heavenly way to die.