Somewhere between the waterfront Praça do Comércio and the hotel, behind the Plaça do Rossio in Lisbon, we stumbled across Tuna ForTuna, the band of the Nova School of Business and Economics.
Soon enough, I imagine, most of the 28 band members who regaled shoppers and tourists with traditional, contemporary and self-written songs accompanied on a variety of instruments will graduate and go in search of work. That search may take them beyond Portugal, such is the economic crisis that engulfs their country.
In between playing tambourine and showing off some neat dance steps, Ana "Valhá" Fernandes collected coins from onlookers and explained to me that they were raising money for a forthcoming festival. I am sure they do some course work from time to time, too.
The band had bags of youthful exuberance, and much charm in a slightly old-fashioned way.
And Lisbon is a city that has abundant charm but of a faded variety.
Buildings, even proud, historic buildings look in need of a wash-and-brush-up. Graffiti, some of quite good to be fair, and high-rise apartment blocks stretch for miles and miles from the heart of the capital to the pretty toytown village of Sintra.
On everyone's lips is talk of crisis. "You can earn as little as €450 a month and pay €400 for a single room," said Nina Mello, a delightful and enthusiastic tour guide we had to ourselves, as we took in a half-day stroll around city centre points of interest.
We arrived on Valentine's night and took our pre-booked places in the top-floor restaurant of the Hotel do Chiado with its splendid views of the city.
The food was not exceptional but it was good and plentiful, and the wine - a lovely, unpretentious red called Ermelinda - flowed liberally. And we paid only €61 for two. "The crisis," a waiter told me when I popped back for a drink over the weekend. "You cannot afford to price it too high."
We took in most of the obvious sights, from Sintra to the church of San Domingo, its interior still scarred from a 19th century fire, and enormous Jerónimos Monastery along the river at Belem (it was a Monday so closed, along with neighbouring museums, to visitors).
There was also fada, the mournful music of Portugal. My main image is street art honouring Amália Rodrigues, one of its greatest exponents and especially loved for some reason in Japan. We caught a superb family of fada singers at their less than superb restaurant (supposedly grilled cod swimming in a little lake of oil).
But it's a city I'd return to. And I'll drink to recovery.
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