Benfica’s equaliser comes eight minutes later, greeted by a huge roar and much twirling of scarves. Ajax are ahead again within three minutes through Sébastien Haller but the din is undimmed, not least from the fan behind me who encourages any Benfica player in the final third to “Shooto!”, followed by “Oooosh!” should he miss the target. In front of me a young brother and sister, attending with their dad, clap in unison when a strong challenge puts the ball out for an Ajax throw-in; they already recognise the value of stoicism in the face of adversity. They see it too in Ukraine’s Roman Yaremchuk, the scorer of Benfica’s second equaliser.

On my walk back to the hotel after the game, I enjoy the sight of aeroplanes flying low over the city above me, and the lamplight glinting off the ubiquitous limestone cobbles below me. I pass a young couple walking home arm in arm, a Benfica scarf around the boy’s neck. And around every corner another small, tucked-away restaurant with a whole family taking over its outdoor seating, relishing dinner together. 

The next morning I have time to explore the city a little more before my plane home. First I head to the Bairro Alto, the city’s old town. I pass through a small, beautiful square called Praca da Alegria, where a central fountain is the focal point for a few keen souls doing their morning workouts. Walking along Rua do Norte, I look up to see an old woman hanging washing off her balcony; on another corner, I pop into a grocery shop to buy some fruit. Then I make a delicious discovery: a place called Vegan Nata selling plant-based pastel de nata. I get a coffee too, which comes in a cup you can eat when you’ve finished; there’s magic in the air this morning.

Next, I make the trek up to the Castelo de São Jorge, which has been here since BC times. It’s said that Lisbon is built on seven hills and, if that’s the case, they must have all been on the route I took to get to the castle. It’s a great walk though, with unexpected staircases and intriguing alleyways to savour. Bring comfy shoes, mind.

The castle itself, despite its bloody past, is a remarkably peaceful spot today (especially if you head there early like I did, not long after it opens at 9am). As I wander around the ramparts, the sweet fragrance of sarcococca fills the air, as do conversations between the resident peacocks. A fascinating archaeology site reveals the layers of history here, literally piled one on top of the other. 

It gives me pause to find a bench and look down upon the city, with all its pastel colours and orange roofs. That said, it’s a city with hard edges too; there’s cracked plaster and peeling paint in among the beautiful azulejo tiles. But that’s what they come for: entire Dutch families, friends sharing bifana, young couples walking home together after the game, all soaking up the imperfect spirit of Lisboa. 

In fact, when I left the Metro on my way to the game the night before, I spied a Benfica banner displaying the message “De todos, um.” It’s worth looking up.