Tiles, Breezes and the Portugal Sky

When we touched down in Portugal, we needed a rest from hustle and bustle, seeing as we had just finished our whirlwind tour of Paris. The heat was oppressive, so we clambered into our rental car with a GPS (who we affectionately named Penelope) and drove.

As we crossed a huge golden-gate-reminiscent bridge my father read us passages about the history of war and peace in Portugal's capital from a guide book published in the 1960's. The sea side town called Malavado wasn't even on the map and only had 2 bodegas, and a handful of white and terracotta colored houses. There was barely a flutter of a breeze. After managing to get lost twice and introduce ourselves to the farmers in the area (so that we could ask for directions) we found our B&B.

The absolutely charming Casa de Dina (Run by Dina and Walter, the couple who lives in the house) had me feeling like I was Lena in Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. (Can't hurt to hope, right?). The house was gorgeous, with a cozy living room and backyard to relax in, and plants growing everywhere. The only foreign sounds we heard were the cries of the roosters and chickens, and the quiet paws of Dina and Walter's dog. I brought my things up the stairs (past Walter's tranquil art studio) to my room.

The rooms were lovely and quiet: I immediately felt serene, especially in contrast with the hectic airport that we had just left. Dina and Walter were generous hosts. They sent us to their favorite restaurants and secret beaches with handwritten directions. They also cooked us breakfasts. OH. The Breakfasts. We woke up and were served beautiful fresh cheeses from the region, drizzled in olive oil and accompanied by teas. Then Walter would bring out another platter, usually filled with some sort of bread (My favorite was the traditional Pão de Queijo). We sipped our tea and chatted about what the day would bring. Then we drooled over the Pastel de Nata that they served us for a breakfast-dessert. I never knew that breakfast-dessert was possible, but I promise you that I am never going back.

We drove with towels and snacks to one of the beaches along the coast. The ocean in Portugal can be dangerous, and we found a few beaches that were so lifeguarded that we couldn't get any deeper than our knees before getting called out of the water. Walter sent us to a hidden cove beach, which was surrounded on three sides by gorgeous rock cliffs and wildflowers. The water there lapped at the sand calmly so we spent the entire day climbing the rocks, snacking on sandwiches and swimming.
          

After a few relaxing days away from the city life, we left Casa de Dina, and let Penelope lead us to Lisbon. We stayed in a vibrant blue house in the Alfama, the oldest neighborhood in Lisbon, complete with winding roads and a mixture of old and new stores and restaurants. When we arrived it was the festival of St. Anthony, so the streets were decked out with streamers, and the wider areas had bright pink and blue booths. During the day they were packed away, but at night, they came alive, and people ate, drank and danced to the music echoing throughout the neighborhood.                                                                                                                                     We spent our days in Lisbon exploring neighborhoods and popping in and out of museums, including the Museo de Fado, which exhibited Portugal's famous Fado music, and the Museo do Azulejo, AKA the tile museum. Portugal is famous for their gorgeous tiled buildings, and we had a lot of fun looking at the different patterns. I was surprised (I didn't do a lot of research, sue me) that there was a church inside: it was one of the more tranquil and beautiful places I visited during our time in Lisbon. The tiles also made for some great reaction photos:

                                         

Here is my brother and I in front of some particularly nice teal tiles:

 

I also loved going to the Padrão dos Descobrimentos, an expansive plaza on the water where you can see the city by climbing inside of the sculpture made to immortalize Portugal's discovery with large statues of its founding fathers. 

But mostly we just ate a lot and walked a lot. For some reason, my family decided that they were mostly over seeing The Sights™ and instead decided that we were better off learning about the city by exploring its neighborhoods and tiled streets.

I can't say it wasn't beautiful.

I particularly loved this fish themed street art I found. The red one reminds me of my group of friends, if we owned a giant fish, that is.

 

Our time in Lisbon was quickly over, and we headed to Porto. Porto is a charming, colorful town on the Douro River, and is named after the sweet port wine that Portugal is famous for. I quickly likened it to Brooklyn Heights because of its indie-thrifty vibe. The blocks had lines of vintage stores, fancy boutiques, and antiques one after another. 

We stayed in the Rosa Et Al Townhouse, which might be a little too twee//pretentious for some, but I leaned into it, enjoying their huge table of teas, comfy robes, and turn down service (Not to mention their delish breakfasts and nice garden). The day we arrived was (conveniently) Festival São João, one of the biggest nights of the year. Our hotel proprietors handed us plastic squeaky hammers and sent us out on the streets that were filling with people. At the beginning, people were eating pork sandwiches and drinking. Stores were handing out free ice cream, and the night seemed tamer than we had been warned about. 

However, as it got dark, music started blasting, and people crowded around in varying stages of drunkenness. The plastic hammers and garlic flowers sold on the street were used to bop other wanderers on the head to ward off evil. I found myself dancing in the street with people of all ages, and laughing with strangers. We ended up sitting on a field in the square watching the fireworks before we headed back home. People stayed out until the wee hours of the morning, and the next day the town was obviously still sleepy from their night.

Porto was probably my favorite place to visit in Portugal, and I wished we had more than three days there. As it were, we moved on to our last stop: The Douro Valley.

The Douro Valley is where Port grapes are grown and made into wine. A long time ago, the river at the bottom of the valley was used to transport wine back and forth to cities on the coast, but now it is only used for the occasional tour. It was by far the most peaceful place we went. We stayed in a huge castle surrounded by grapes and other fruits, and I spent my time wandering amongst the green and reading with a gorgeous view.

I couldn't help thinking while I was surrounded by such bucolic scenery and history about ~the future~ like any stressed college student does. I used to think my greatest fear was death, but I never could pinpoint why until now. I worry that I won't be remembered, and the life I lead and the people I love will not be known to the world. Kind of an idiotic fear, I think, but it doesn't stop me from fearing it.

I seized up thinking about being forgotten. I felt like I was racing towards my future disappearance without being able to do anything about it. During this time in the Douro Valley though, I thought about how racing towards our disappearances can be kindof freeing. No matter what, we will all be forgotten, so it is our job to dictate how our life goes. Why not just do the things you want to do instead of postponing your aspirations? If everything we ever make/do will disappear then why not live deeply and brightly because we can?

So yeah. There's that.