The River Between Us: Almada Between Memory and Masterplan

Almada has always lived across the water from Lisbon—close in distance, but far in opportunity. Once a hub of naval industry and working-class resilience, the city has in recent decades become a place of slow decline and quiet reinvention. Now, as the government prepares to launch Parque Cidades do Tejo, an urban megaproject with an investment horizon of 15 billion euros and a 50-year timeline, Almada finds itself on the edge of transformation—or erasure.

Officially presented by Prime Minister Luís Montenegro at the 42nd PSD Congress, the project envisions a unified metropolitan region—"a vibrant and cohesive Lisbon"—stitched together by four axes: the Arco Ribeirinho Sul, the Ocean Campus, the redevelopment of the Humberto Delgado Airport site, and the creation of a new Airport City in Montijo and Benavente. Almada, alongside Seixal and Barreiro, plays a leading role in the first axis.

But what exactly is at stake for Almada? And what does this say about the future of urban Portugal?

The Arco Ribeirinho Sul: From Industry to Iconography

Spanning 519 hectares and a 15km waterfront, the Arco Ribeirinho Sul is the largest and most symbolically charged component of the Parque Cidades do Tejo. For Almada, the centerpiece of this transformation is the defunct Lisnave shipyard—58 hectares of steel, rust, and river views—soon to be reborn as a mixed-use district of housing, commerce, and cultural infrastructure.

The crown jewel? The proposed Ópera Tejo, a national opera house rising from the dry docks, like a monument to gentrified memory. Alongside it, developers and planners envision leisure parks, coworking spaces, and boutique services. The past is being preserved, but also rebranded: industrial memory as aesthetic motif, not lived experience.

Yet this does not need to be a zero-sum scenario. There are ways forward. Community land trusts, cooperative housing, and publicly funded cultural centers co-managed with local associations could anchor the transformation in shared benefit. By involving Almada's citizens in design, programming, and decision-making, the city could write a different narrative: one where renewal does not mean removal.

The Tunnel from Algés to Trafaria: Connection or Invasion?

One of the most discussed infrastructural projects is the underwater tunnel linking Algés (Lisbon) to Trafaria (Almada). This subfluvial passage promises a seamless, car-friendly commute—reducing travel time, boosting logistics, and redrawing regional proximity.

But for many Almada residents, it also raises alarms. The risk is not just traffic congestion or environmental degradation; it's the arrival of capital without consent. The tunnel may bring Lisbon closer, but will it bring Almada into the conversation—or simply into the market?

To shift this dynamic, the region could adopt participatory planning councils—gathering stakeholders from both margins to shape shared policy goals, transportation equity, and environmental safeguards. Localized mobility hubs and bike-ferry interfaces could ensure the tunnel serves people, not just investors.

Urban Planning Without Participation

Much like the Parque Expo before it, the new public company Parque Cidades do Tejo, S.A. is designed to fast-track bureaucratic hurdles. With €26.5 million in initial funding, it is tasked with overseeing coordination across eight municipalities. But unlike the Expo '98 process, this time there’s an eerie silence when it comes to public consultation.

So far, local associations, grassroots movements, and Almada’s artistic and civic communities have not been invited to shape the vision. Urbanism here is technocratic and centralised—decided in boardrooms and presented via maquettes. It's a model that risks replicating the failures of past megaprojects: hollow development, gentrified displacement, and a sanitized cultural identity.

This, too, can change. By opening planning processes to civil society—through digital platforms, open assemblies, and community charrettes—the state can move from consultation to co-creation. Urban regeneration must not be imposed from above but emerge from within the social fabric.

The Myth of Balanced Growth

The government speaks of 25,000 new homes and 200,000 new jobs, citing an increase in public transport use from 24% to 35%. In Almada, the Metro Sul do Tejo will expand westward. Ferry lines will be upgraded. And the broader network—including the LIOS system, BRT corridors, and the Lisbon-Madrid high-speed rail—will place the city on a new axis of mobility.

These are not bad ideas. But they are not neutral, either. Transit systems are political. If built for developers rather than for the commuting class, they risk entrenching inequality rather than reducing it.

What if Almada became a test bed for community-first transit? Imagine free municipal transport for low-income residents, mobility vouchers tied to job access, or local transport cooperatives that hire and train youth from the neighborhoods they serve.

Moreover, the project’s sustainability rhetoric—circular economy, green corridors, public space—sits uneasily beside its massive carbon-heavy infrastructures. Two new Tejo crossings (including the 3-billion-euro Chelas-Barreiro bridge), a tunnel, and a new airport with capacity for over 100 million passengers do not speak of ecological restraint.

Almada could push for green architecture mandates, heat-resilient design, and zero-displacement guarantees. With its rich activist tradition, the city is well-placed to demand climate justice at the heart of development.

What Kind of City Will Almada Become?

To walk Almada’s riverfront today is to encounter contradiction. Graffiti-covered warehouses meet make-shift pop-ups. Empty plots used by dog walkers and fishers are marked for demolition. On Sundays, local kids still ride bikes through the ghostly remains of the shipyards. It is a city caught between narratives: industrial ruin, cultural resilience, and speculative promise.

What Parque Cidades do Tejo offers is not just transformation—it offers a new myth for the region. A Lisbon that no longer stops at the water’s edge. A south bank that is no longer just a bedroom community. But myths require authorship. And for now, the people of Almada are not holding the pen.

Yet they could. With participatory frameworks, inclusive zoning policies, and cultural investments rooted in local memory, Almada could become a flagship of equitable development—a place where heritage and future are not at odds.

The challenge isn’t whether this project will happen. It’s how—and for whom. Will Almada be a canvas for sustainable, inclusive redevelopment, or just another page in Lisbon’s real estate fairytale?

Only time—and perhaps a bit of resistance, and a lot of vision—will tell.