Portugal
salt air, sunlit tiles, endless discovery
Portugal surprised me. Not in the way I expected, but in the way that lingers.
As a lover of colour and ceramics, I was drawn to Lisbon’s architecture. The city itself felt a little uninspiring at first glance, but then I looked closer. The ceramic tiles, the painted facades, the way colour clung to every surface, it was a quiet kind of beauty, a collage of culture and craft that spoke louder than the skyline.
Leaving Lisbon, we wound through forests and quaint towns until we reached Sintra, a village that felt like it had slipped out of time. Perched on the side of a small mountain, it was misty, mysterious, and utterly enchanting. The kind of place where stories feel possible.
Cascais greeted us with grey skies and quiet streets. It wasn’t bustling, but it had a calm charm by the water. We continued on to the beach, where Portugal’s famous waves rolled in, powerful, rhythmic, and mesmerizing. The weather was gloomy and humid, and maybe that coloured my impression. I think I expected something different. But sometimes, travel isn’t about fireworks, it’s about noticing what’s quietly beautiful.
Portugal didn’t shout. It whispered. And in those whispers, ceramic mosaics, misty forests, and crashing waves, I found something worth remembering.
