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Baixa


Illuminated by streetlights, the rain looks like glass. It has not stopped for 24 hours and the neighbors are calling out for Poochie, who they fear has been swept out to sea. He is a street dog, however, and will eventually show up. Instead of joining their search, I will sit by a space heater, watch the new Paul Giamatti movie and write about Baixa (bye-EESH-uh), the name given to downtown ― that flat rectangular area that extends from Rossio down to the river. 

Its reconstruction after the earthquake and tsunami was guided by Prime Minister Marques de Pombal, a cold, forward-looking technocrat (as much as that description can apply to an 18th century politician) who ordered that the dead be buried, the living be taken care of and the city be reconstructed. In the short time I have been here his impact on modern Lisbon becomes more clear. By comparison, the king he served, Jose I, looks like an empty suit.

The 1755 earthquake also caused tsunamis in Morocco and western Ireland, but in eurocentric fashion it was always associated with Lisbon, so much so that the word "Lisbon" in the 18th century came to be used much as we use "Auschwitz" or "9/11" today. How did you feel on 9/12? To a fisherman as far away as Barbados, where tidal waves also hit, it felt like, well ... "Lisbon."

The city's very name was equated with "the collapse in the most basic trust in the world," writes philosopher Susan Neiman. Voltaire saw a divine punishment, declaring that the destruction confirmed a "sad and ancient truth, recognized by all men, that evil walks the earth."



De Pombal's reconstruction plan was simple: There would be no more crooked little alleyways like those found in Alfama and other areas where the quake and tidal wave did not wreak so much damage. Wide avenues would be built at right angles, and they would be lined with structures that can withstand earthquakes and fires. To this day, the result is a bit monotonous. Save for its gigantic windows and mosaic pavements, Baixa at street level just isn't that visually interesting.


 

During the rebuilding phase, organization was everything: the trades were grouped together, and even today you can find a good number of gold- and silversmiths on Rua do Oro and Rua da Prata (Gold and Silver streets). Starting at the Bandeira Arch there is a Rua dos Sapateiros ― Shoemaker Street. Shades of Istanbul!

I love that in the downtown of a great European capital there continues to be an almost provincial air, and you don't have to walk far to find an old-fashioned tasca, or tavern, where you can lean against the bar, order a fino, and listen to Portuguese people argue loudly, which they are fond of doing.


The problem with Baixa, if there is one, is that in a city that ought to be sponsored by Stairmaster, you are at the bottom of every hill that exists here. Which is why Raoul Mesnier de Posnard designed the Santa Justa Lift to connect the neighborhood with Bairro Alto. In its article about the Chiado fire, WaPo confidently stated it was built by Gustave Eiffel. Thirty-five years later, it is probably too late to ask for a correction.




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