Saturday night in Lisbon

Saturday night. The sound of the accordion escapes the room beneath the white wooden door but the spell cast is all kept inside. In the last room of the tiled corridor of Fábrica do Braço de Prata (Factory of the Silver’s Arm), the characters of bohemian Lisbon enjoy the music of their new best-kept secret.

Indoors the scene is surreal. Mismatching iron-made tables and chairs, looking one hundred years old, share the space with hanging miscellanea imported from a never-happened past. The artist in the centre shows his smiling teeth not getting any younger as he stretches the boisterous French accordion. And the audience of no more than 40 boggling eyes gazes his washed-out sailor hat. Only the cat of glass in the table refuses to turn his head from me.

The Fábrica, to be one-year-old next month, is indisputably Lisbon’s most bizarre bookshop. The building, located in the abandoned East sector of the Portuguese capital, used to be a powder factory producing rifles, cannons and bullets for the armies of a decadent colonial empire. Nowadays, it crafts culture in industrial quantities.

There are books: 40 000 of them asking to be taken off, leafed through and talked about, in the shelves and tables of the room devoted to Nietzsche. There are also petite concerts, independent cinema showings or themed photo-shootings every evening from Wednesday to Sunday, around the other eleven rooms of the converted factory.

The first dozens of the Fábrica’s visitors, dissidents of the predictable Bairro Alto, ended up dragging here certain hundreds. “Today it is a meeting point for nameless artists daring to show their works and starving intellectual Lisbonners who want more than a drink when going out at night”, says José Pinho, one of the owners.

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