campo de ourique in loco
L
ate on Saturday morning, I go to the market in
iche glistens with a watery silver sheen, mixed with
Campo de Ourique, a square that occupies an
an almost imperceptible layer of fat still on the sur-
entire block and has entrances at each of its
face of the skin, an unmistakeable sign that they
cardinal points. It smells of fruit and vegeta-
were freshly caught that day. Autumn’s morning
bles, still moist with soil, it smells of onions,
sun floods unobstructed through the tall windows of
of coriander, of apples and of oranges: no supermar-
the market and reflects in the eyes of the fish, which
ket smells like it. No piece of fruit is ever the same as
lie on the counters as if still alive. And it is the most
another, you have to choose them one by one, because
wonderful fish in the world, this true luxury that
some are rotten and others aren’t, some are overripe
is still left to us: turbot, sole, red bream, red mul-
and some still hard. I savour this pleasure of choosing
let, sea bream, pilchards, John Dory, grouper, stone
the fruit and vegetables, salads and herbs, without hav-
bass, squid and cuttlefish still with their ink: I pity
ing to buy, or being able to choose, pre-filled packets
the rest of the so-called civilised world where people
of antiseptic and standardised fruit, vegetables that al-
don’t even know what the different fish are called!
ways taste the same brought from Spain in HGV trucks
A neighbourhood that’s worth living in has to start like
on the motorways that we build to smooth their way.
this: with a market that is a feast for the senses, a
There are even pears from Alcobaça, big and brown,
return to the tastes and the smells we grew up with.
which you have to pick up delicately so that the juice
Campo de Ourique starts like this and continues with
doesn’t run down your hands, tangerines and oranges
everything that makes this neighbourhood almost a
that don’t come from Israel, with their labels stuck to the
miracle of perfect urban design: broad streets, filled
peel, but from the groves that still exist around Lisbon;
with couples, prams and maids on their lunch break;
there are late season grapes, but real muscatel and
traditional and friendly shops, some of which are still
Dona Maria varieties, and not those monstrous grapes
known by the name of their owners – the florist, the
that taste of absolutely nothing, that come from South
hairdresser, the pre-prepared food shop, the electri-
Africa and which you inevitably find, as a welcome, in
cian, the optician, the ironmonger, the stationer-to-
hotel rooms all around the world. And there are dried
bacconist, the locksmith, the surf shop; and the cafés,
fruit and nuts sold in bulk and by weight: figs, raisins,
occupying space stolen from the pavement and from
sweet chestnuts, prunes, peanuts, pine nuts, walnuts.
Millennium bcp, with their newspaper stalls whose
And real olives and lupin seeds, for heaven’s sake!
owners know us so well that the days couldn’t even be-
Then I visit the marble counters of the fishmongers,
gin without an exchange of good mornings. Campo de
where the early morning fish from Sesimbra or Pen-
Ourique has all of this, plus its central park, its small
8 · Campo de ourique & estRela con vida