Fado is the national music of Portugal. Much like Flamenco in Spain, it originated among the working people who had left their rural lives and moved to the cities in the early 19th century. And being working-class music, it reflects the joys, pains, and griefs of people who left their homes seeking a better life, one that was often never attained. It’s performed by a trio, a singer, a classical guitarist, and a musician playing a “Portuguese” guitar. That instrument is quite old, originating with the medieval English guitar. It looks like a Lute, has 12 weirdly keyed strings, and in the words of the musicians is extremely difficult to learn. It’s played with two fingernails (instead of picks) and it’s argued that the shape of those nails is closely maintained and critical to a personal style.

There are two types of Fado, one from the interior city of Coimbra and one from Lisbon. Fado from Lisbon is performed by anyone regardless of gender and is about surrender when faced with hardships. Fado from Coimbra is performed exclusively by men and is about finding hope in the everyday hardships that people endure. Lisbon Fado is improvisational, whereas Coimbra Fado is highly rehearsed. Even the guitars are different the Coimbra guitar features a teardrop on the headstock (where the tuning pegs are located) while the Lisbon guitars have a scallop shell.

We passed a Fado hall in a back alley on our slog up to the cathedral. I’d planned on scheduling a show at a more well-known Fado hall but this one was far closer to our apartment and given the rigors of getting anywhere in this town I went home and booked two tickets.

We arrived early, but not early enough, and took 2 of the last 4 seats. Given the size of the hall, the only downside was the heads obscuring the classical guitarist. Each ticket came with a glass of Port Wine and once everyone was served the lights went down and the show began. I was a bit surprised to see that the ticket taker was also playing the Portuguese Guitar.

The singer was togged in a black sequined dress topped by a furry coat – it was noticeably chilly in the hall. Another aspect of Fado is spontaneity – the chanteuse tells the players what she wants to sing, and they comply on the spot. In the words of the guitarist, if we don’t know the song, we just make something up. She sang a few melancholy tunes and a few more upbeat songs before she took a break. We had a nice informational lecture on the history and details of Fado, and some amazing improvisational playing before she came back out for the second set. These songs were all more up-tempo and she asked us all to sing along and clap during the closing refrains. A one-hour show and a memory of a lifetime. We’ve seen a lot of Flamenco in our travels, and I actually enjoyed this as much if not more. (I’ve inserted two videos at the end of this post, one complete song and one showing the Portuguese guitar improvisation. Check them out.)

Of course, it was raining we left and the only viable option for dinner was all the way down by the river with the choice between wet cobblestones or slippery marble. A hundred steps into the walk, neither of us wanted to go on, MLW said “Enough” and as we turned to go back up we found ourselves facing a small restaurant. No outside seating (rain) and no menu posted, we went in anyway, figuring we’d find something to eat. Once again, the “Restaurant Luck” prevailed. Only 8 tables, one was available for us and the menu was interesting. Billing itself as “traditional Portuguese” I had a rice and duck dish, MLW had a cod casserole prepared in breadcrumbs and cream. We split a dish of sauteed vegetables. All three were superb. And it goes without saying – two more splendid Douro wines.

Spotting an interesting pie in the cooler, I asked the owner what it was. “A traditional northern Portuguese desert, Touchinho do Céu” was the reply. Translating as “Bacon from Heaven,” it got its name from the lard that used to be used to hold it together. Today it’s made with eggs, sugar, butter, milk, and pumpkin, and it is wonderful. It was clear that it was divinely inspired.

I had complimented him on the restaurant’s music – Brazilian jazz – and that kicked off a great chat with the owner, in Spanish, about his love of Mexico and Mariachi music. He talked about Cancun and Guadalajara and his Venezuelan wife and their travels. We praised him effusively on the food and ambiance. One of the servers came to cash us out, and MLW complimented the music again, she said it was from Barcelona and that began another conversation, in Spanish, as she was tapping my credit card, which did not work. I’ve been having problems with that technology all week, so I told her that it was “Mal” and that “No puedo entaparelo,” which cracked her up, it being a really goofy made-up word. MLW told her I was speaking “Spanglish” which she loved.

A great evening all the way around, and one characterized by the beauty of doing unplanned things.