Sublime Lisboa

I’m not an especially sloth-like creature. If anything, I’m the kind of eager beaver explorer who’s keen to make sure they haven’t missed a single must-see, which made it an even greater luxury (and surprise even to me) to sleep-in so outrageously late during our stay at this sophisticated townhouse. 

The reason? Breakfast is served at whatever time Mr & Mrs Smith desire it. 11am, 3pm, you name it and the strong coffee, freshly baked goods and perfect eggs are served! 

It might not sound revolutionary but as Mr Smith and I discussed the myriad merits of lazy lie-ins over said breakfast, we realised how utterly ridiculous it is to ever set an alarm on one’s holidays. Especially on this rarest of occasions, a three-day escape from our little tykes who love to rise with the sun, if not before it.

Fully rested and full of pastry we step out into the elegant Amoreiras district and the blinding sunshine, gulping down fresh air – and life with it. It’s early Spring and the first time us Londoners have seen that yellow ball in the sky in a month or three. 

We stroll up to the Calouste Gulbenkian Museum and soak up some of the mind-bogglingly broad permanent collection from macabre Egyptian artefacts to an entire room dedicated to René Lalique’s exquisite jewellery. 

We pick up fresh juices from the café and enjoy them on the grass in the peaceful park that surrounds the Barbican-like building, plotting our next move. 

Whilst the historic streets of Lisbon are a joy to explore on foot, the city is built on seven hills so it can prove something of a workout. The iconic yellow trams provide a nippier way to tick off the sights but the one we aim to jump aboard is overflowing with over zealous influencers – and besides, we want to set our own pace. 

So it’s eBikes for us adventurers. We speed past ancient buildings and impressive ruins and are tucking into Petiscos in the hipster Alcântara district in no time. 

We take the scenic route and whizz along the seafront before pulling up our trusty steeds for a (non-earned, the bike’s electric innit!) pitstop at Javà, a rooftop bar proffering panoramic views over the city and the Tagus River. 

It’s Wednesday but with the sun shining and the spritz’s on tap, the mood screams Friday. However, I’ve had one thing on my mind all day and so we hotfoot it back to our Lisboa room…for a soak in the delectably deep sunken bath. As I descend under the bubbles Mr Smith orders signature cocktails to the room and I’m in heaven.  

Our room is a high-spec haven, spacious for a city hotel and beautifully designed (big windows, bright colours, high ceilings and clean lines); everything works and is exactly where it should be, which sounds obvious for a luxury hotel but is in fact far rarer than it should be. 

Pampered and preened it feels right that we pop out for a cocktail before sitting down to dinner at Davvero, the hotel’s rather special restaurant. So I nip to see my old friend Renato on reception. 

(Spoiler: he’s not really my old friend, the hotel concierge WhatsApped me last week offering to assist with requests for our stay – a few messages later and all sorts has been sorted for us, with friendly emojis thrown in for good measure. The most pleasant and efficient concierge service I’ve ever known. Now That’s What I Call Service.) 

Renato has just the ticket (of course he does, the man’s a legend!) and waves us off down the road with strict instructions on how to find a clandestine cocktail bar. A loud knock on an unmarked door and we’re soon propping up the bar at the somewhat whimsical Procópio where we’re purring over tantalisingly frothy pisco sours. 

Mr Smith gets chatting to the landlady, noting the bar’s similarities (Seventies kitsch with a big nod to art nouveax) to one of our more eclectic local boozers back home. ‘Ah yes’ she says, ‘my father founded this place 51 years ago, inspired by the pubs of London… and the brothels of Paris.’ Take that for a ‘concept’, Hackney!

Onwards, to Davvero, which I’m delighted to find has nothing in common with a brothel and is instead brimming with elegant-looking, well-dressed, wine-sipping guests. 

The menu might be Italian but the vibe is New York, unsurprising considering the chef hails from Cipriani in the Big Apple. We settle in for an evening of top drawer service and stupendously good food – from piping hot pea and mozzarella croquettes and whipped salted cod with crispy polenta to the buttery caper-covered wild seabass, washed down with a delightfully quaffable vinho verde. 

Portuguese produce is at the fore and, better still, much of it hails from the garden of the hotel’s sister property in Comporta. I’ve had my eyes on Mr Smith’s majestic looking lemon meringue pie all evening but the wildly moreish shoestring potatoes got the better of me and I can’t squeeze another morsel in. And so to bed. 

Even out of season it’s easy to see why Lisbon’s the word on everyone’s lips lately and our faultless stay at this new hotel made us the greatest converts. As we twiddle our thumbs in the light-filled hotel library the next morning I stumble upon Assouline’s Comporta Bliss – and by the time we’re in airport-bound in a taxi I’m Googling that sister hotel in Comporta ‘surrounded by undulating pines, wild sand dunes and pristine white-sand beaches’ – which really does sound Sublime.