Lisbon's Rainy Days: A Love Letter to the City and Its Struggles

Lisbon in the Rain

Rain falls in Lisbon, and worse than the rain is the lack of light. The monochrome Lisbon is the anti-Lisbon; anyone who has lived here or visited on a sunny afternoon knows that much of Lisbon's magic is reflected in its inimitable light and intense blue sky, mesmerizing like the eyes of a beautiful woman.

For us Brazilians and other immigrants with darker skin, drawn by the shine of the South Atlantic jewel, the shadows of Lisbon feel like a kind of marital betrayal. It’s as if, in our desire to live alongside Lisbon until death or deportation do us part, the pale, rain-soaked girl shows no interest in us.

Lisbon, viewed through the eyes of Capitu from Machado de Assis, leaves us, the poor Bentinhos, questioning: did she betray us or not?

Meanwhile, the man on television announces a new depression, adding to our gloom. Hermínia arrives, sweeping the streets of Lisbon with her cold breath, torturing umbrellas and bringing chaos to the clotheslines.

An orange alert flashes on the screen, as a reporter in a heavy coat stands against a glacial backdrop. The alert is orange, but depression Ivo, cold as the clouds he carries, closes schools and dampens children’s spirits.

Calm down, Hermínia, calm down, Ivo. Times are tough, and the temptation is to further mess up the hair of the leaders of hate. But there's no need to be so gloomy.

Let Lisbon smile. It rains in Lisbon, and the Lisboetas bravely fight against the ongoing depressions while the chronicler, safe at his desk, faces the storm within.

Winter in Lisbon, for a hot-blooded chronicler, feels like a sad cyclone in a parliamentary pulpit, trying to blow him back home. There, the rain comes with tropical aggression but passes quickly, allowing the sun to dry our spirits and warm our souls.

Writing about the weather can be cathartic. In Brazil, during the stormy times of the generals, newspaper articles about the weather replaced other subversive news, often struck down by censorship.

A strong gust of wind rattles the window and my nerves. I shudder at memories of cloudy days when military attire was in vogue all year round. But that’s behind us, and what matters is that we are still here.

Let it be a lesson: it’s not for a general or admiral to guide a nation. Meanwhile, the sad anchor on television speaks of maritime agitation in the coming days, and the information acts as a tropical anti-cyclone, dispelling bad weather.

But a warning for sailors: if the sea stirs in early February, it’s not a depression, it’s Iemanjá, the queen of the sea, arriving at the shore. Hail to February 2nd!

Four shells fall on the white cloth, alafia, everything is good, there’s nothing to worry about, for Iemanjá will guide us through life’s turbulent waters. And the rain in Lisbon will pass, calming all our anxieties.