I Spent 48 Hours in the New 'Dark Tourism' District of Lisbon

I booked a flight to Lisbon in early July specifically to visit the new 'Museu da Resistência' — a restored political prison from the Salazar dictatorship era that opened to the public in May 2026. The reviews were polarizing. Some called it 'essential historical education.' Others called it 'trauma tourism.' I wanted to see for myself.

The museum is located in an old police station in the Aljube neighborhood, about a 15-minute walk from the tourist crowds of the Água district. The building was used between 1928 and 1974 to hold political prisoners — journalists, union organizers, students, anyone who opposed the regime. The cells are tiny, maybe 6 feet by 8 feet, with concrete walls and a single iron cot. The walls are covered in graffiti left by prisoners. Some of it is heartbreaking. 'I will not forget,' reads one message in Portuguese. 'They took my voice but not my soul.'

The Controversy

Not everyone is happy about this museum. I talked to a Lisbon historian named Dr. Ana Moreira who told me that the site was controversial even during the planning stages. 'Some survivors of the regime wanted these spaces to remain closed,' she said. 'They believe that turning a torture site into a tourist attraction trivializes the suffering.' Others, she explained, argued that the museum could serve as a warning — a physical reminder of what authoritarianism looks like.

The museum's director, whom I spoke to after my tour, acknowledged the tension. 'We walk a fine line every day,' he told me. 'We're not here to entertain. We're here to educate. If someone comes here for a selfie, I hope they leave with more than a photo.'

I saw plenty of people taking photos. Some were respectful — quiet, contemplative shots of the cells. Others were not. I watched a tourist pose with a thumbs-up in front of a cell door. Another group laughed loudly in the 'interrogation room' — a space where a replica of the original equipment sits behind glass. I felt my stomach turn.

The Experience Itself

The museum is divided into three sections. The first covers the history of the Estado Novo regime — the political context, the censorship, the secret police. The second section is the prison itself, with the cells, the solitary confinement block, and the 'recreation yard' where prisoners were allowed one hour of sunlight per day. The third section focuses on the Carnation Revolution of 1974, which ended the dictatorship.

The most powerful moment for me was the 'listening room' — a small, dark space where you can hear audio recordings of former prisoners describing their interrogations. The voices are played through headphones. One man, now in his 80s, described being beaten with a rubber hose for three days. 'They wanted me to name names,' he said. 'I gave them fake names. They beat me harder.' The recording ends abruptly. I sat in silence for a few minutes afterward.

Is this 'dark tourism'? Yes, technically. But I think that label oversimplifies something more complex. There's a difference between voyeurism and remembrance. The question is: which are you doing when you visit?

The Ethical Dilemma

I've been thinking about this for days. On one hand, these sites preserve history. If Portugal's dictatorship is forgotten, it's easier for similar regimes to rise. The museum is also a source of income for a neighborhood that's historically poor. The ticket price is 12 euros, and the money goes to maintenance and research.

On the other hand, there's something uncomfortable about paying to see a space where people were tortured. The museum tries to mitigate this with signage that asks visitors to be respectful. 'This is not a theme park,' reads a sign at the entrance. But commercializing suffering is still commercializing suffering, no matter how tastefully it's presented.

I talked to a young Portuguese couple who were visiting. The woman said, 'My grandfather was held here. He never talked about it. Coming here felt like understanding a part of him I never knew.' That's powerful. But I also saw a group of teenagers taking a group photo in front of the solitary confinement cells, laughing. The experience depends entirely on the visitor.

What I Recommend

If you're planning a trip to Lisbon, should you visit the Museu da Resistência? I'd say yes, but with conditions. Go on a weekday morning when it's less crowded. Give yourself at least two hours. Don't take photos inside the cells — it feels disrespectful. Read about Portugal's dictatorship before you go, so you have context. And afterward, take a walk in the neighborhood and reflect.

The museum is open Tuesday through Sunday, 10 AM to 6 PM. Tickets are 12 euros for adults, 6 euros for students. The guided tour is worth the extra 5 euros — the guides are knowledgeable and handle the subject matter with care.

But here's my honest take: I left with more questions than answers. Is remembering the same as honoring? Can a place of suffering ever become a place of healing? I don't know. But I think asking those questions is important.

Lisbon is a beautiful city — warm, friendly, full of life. The Museu da Resistência is a reminder that beneath that beauty lies a history of pain. It's not an easy visit. But maybe that's the point.