Lisbon is a city that lies to you at first glance. It looks soft, pastel, relaxed. A little sleepy even. Then you start moving and realize everything is uphill, the streets twist like they have opinions, and your legs are suddenly part of the plan whether you wanted that or not.
This is not a city you conquer by ticking off sights. Lisbon is about logistics. About choosing when to walk, when to ride a tram, when to give up and take a lift, and when to stop because the view just appeared out of nowhere. If you move smart here, Lisbon feels generous. If you don’t, it can feel… unforgiving.
I learned this the slow way. Mostly uphill.
Walking, but not blindly
Walking in Lisbon is unavoidable. Even if you take trams, metros, elevators, you will walk. A lot. The trick is not to walk everything.
The old neighborhoods, Alfama, Mouraria, Bairro Alto, they are made for feet, not wheels. Narrow streets, stairs that Google Maps sometimes forgets to warn you about, sudden drops into tiny squares. Walking here is intimate. You hear kitchens, radios, arguments, laughter. This is where Lisbon feels alive.
But walking straight uphill for long stretches is a mistake. The pavement is beautiful but slippery, especially after rain. Cobblestones look romantic until your knees start negotiating.
My rule became simple: walk downhill, ride uphill. Lisbon rewards that logic.
Trams, small, loud, essential
Lisbon trams are not nostalgia rides. They are working transport, even if they look like museum pieces. Yellow, rattling, packed, sometimes late. They climb hills your legs will question.
Tram 28 is the famous one. Everyone knows it. And yes, it’s crowded, especially midday. Pick your timing carefully. Early morning or late evening works best. Otherwise, you’ll be pressed between backpacks and regret.
But Lisbon is not just Tram 28. Tram 12, 24, and even the less photogenic lines matter. They connect hills, viewpoints, neighborhoods that would take serious effort on foot.
Trams move slow. That’s fine. They give you a sense of elevation change, of how the city stacks itself. Watch how streets fall away behind you. That’s Lisbon revealing its shape.
Hold on tight. They jerk suddenly, and tourists drop phones more often than you’d expect.
Metro, fast but underground blind
Lisbon’s metro is clean, efficient, and mostly underground. It’s great for long distances, less useful for sightseeing. Stations are deep, escalators long, and when you surface, orientation can take a moment.
Use metro to move between zones, not within old neighborhoods. For example, Baixa to Belém, or downtown to Parque das Nações. Save your energy for hills.
Stations are well marked, signage clear. Trains run often. It’s easy, almost boring, which in Lisbon is not a bad thing.
But the metro skips the magic. You won’t see viewpoints, rooftops, or river flashes. It’s a tool, not an experience.
Elevators, Lisbon’s cheat codes
Lisbon hides vertical shortcuts in plain sight. Elevators. Funiculars. Lifts that feel random until you realize they’re lifesavers.
The Elevador de Santa Justa looks like an attraction. It is, but it’s also transport. It connects Baixa to Chiado without killing your calves. Locals use it, tourists photograph it, everyone benefits.
Funiculars like Gloria, Bica, and Lavra exist for a reason. Use them. Pride has no place here. A short ride can save you 20 minutes of steep walking.
Treat elevators as part of the transit system, not detours. Lisbon was built with these layers because the hills demanded it.
Viewpoints appear when you move right
Lisbon’s miradouros, viewpoints, are not always destinations. Many just happen. You turn a corner, climb a few steps, and suddenly the city opens.
Miradouro da Senhora do Monte is one of the highest. Getting there on foot is work. But arrive at sunset and everything makes sense again. Red roofs, river bending, bridges stretching out like calm lines.
Miradouro de Santa Catarina feels more casual. People sit, talk, drink beer, watch the light change. It’s not dramatic, it’s human.
The best views often come mid-route. Between tram stops. At the end of a staircase. Next to a random bench. This is why moving slowly matters.
Trains for escape and return
Lisbon’s train stations are efficient and easy to navigate. Cais do Sodré, Santa Apolónia, Rossio. Each has its role.
Trains to Cascais follow the river. Beaches, light, open space. It’s a reset route. Easy, cheap, frequent.
Sintra trains leave from Rossio, a beautiful station itself. The ride is short, but the shift in landscape is real. Hills turn green, air cooler. Just remember, Sintra has hills too. Lisbon prepares you for that.
Trains are where Lisbon stops being vertical and becomes horizontal again. Use them to balance your days.
Airports, smooth but distant
Lisbon Airport is close to the city, which feels like a gift. Metro connects directly. In theory, you’re downtown fast. In practice, give yourself buffer time.
Security lines can swell suddenly. Early mornings are busy. The airport is functional, not charming. Eat in the city before you go.
Arrivals are usually smooth. Baggage can be slow. But stepping outside and seeing sunlight almost immediately feels right. Lisbon doesn’t trap you indoors for long.
Routes over plans, again
Like Sydney, Lisbon taught me to plan routes, not lists. A good day here might be: downhill walk, tram up, coffee at a viewpoint, funicular down, train along the river, walk home tired but happy.
Don’t plan too many hills back to back. Alternate effort with ease. Let transport work for you.
Some days I barely used the metro. Other days I avoided walking altogether. Both felt right.
Train vs plane, Lisbon logic
Inside Portugal, trains win more often than planes. Lisbon to Porto by train is comfortable, scenic enough, and drops you city center to city center. Airports add friction you don’t need.
Planes make sense for islands. Madeira, Azores. That’s different geography, different logic.
Within the mainland, trains keep you grounded, literally and emotionally. You arrive less stressed, more present.
The rhythm of Lisbon movement
Lisbon doesn’t rush you, but it doesn’t carry you either. It expects participation. You climb, you ride, you pause. The city meets you halfway.
Moving smart here means accepting help. From trams. From lifts. From trains. And from benches when needed.
This is a city where logistics shape emotion. Walk too much and you’re annoyed. Ride too much and you miss the soul. Balance it, and Lisbon opens quietly, layer by layer.
By the time you leave, your legs are stronger, your sense of direction sharper, and your understanding of movement deeper. Lisbon doesn’t show itself all at once. You have to move with it, uphill, downhill, and sideways, sometimes all before lunch.