If life is all about reflection, then my short time exploring a Lisbon squat left a unique after-taste. The house in a side street on the edge of the Bairro Alto practically buzzed with activity. Young people were scurrying in and out with ladders, cement bags and paint cans. If one doesn't count Jarrad and myself, no tourists were walking past. It felt good. I had a strong desire to have a look-see so went inside looking for permission. After startling a young man and proving I can't speak Portuguese, he found a girl who could communicate with us.
Alice was a beautiful girl with tight, ringlet curls and a Laura Ingles Wilder face. She seemed to enjoy our intrusion and gave us a little tour. There was a common room with a couple of sleeping dogs, an art room, a walk through collection of communal clothes and even a soap-making room. Everything had the feeling of new life mixed with serious dilapidation. Alice explained that they had taken over an old building that had been left to rot. The owner had come past and violently attempted to evict them however they know their rights and demanded that he produce documentation of ownership. Apparently that's harder to do than I thought as he hasn't been back. They expect him to have reinforcements the next time he comes. The urgency of the situation had them working like bees.
I couldn't help wondering why a young girl like Alice is involved in this form of radical social rebellion. I tried as delicately as possible to find out her circumstances but she was getting shy. What she absolutely isn't is homeless - I guess none of the inhabitants are. They seem educated and mature and well aware of the gravity of their decision. It seemed easy to like all of them yet there's no way I could do what they are doing. Alice explained that they were having a fund-raiser on the Sunday evening and we would be very welcome. Unfortunately we had to leave for Madrid on the Saturday night so missed out on a wonderful chance of deeper understanding. It was clear that Alice felt a strong solidarity with her comrades and wanted to get back to work. I left them a small donation for materials and Jarrad and I walked slowly away. We could hear their activity from the old staircase down the road. We could also hear the tell-tale sounds of tourists wafting up from the streets below us. A strange juxtaposition of cultures, mentalities and dare I say, senseless wealth. I felt a stronger affiliation with the squat we'd just left. Time to find a non-tourist cafe and reflect a little.
