Centre of Porto, Portugal, August 2025

Nine days under the Portuguese sun, wrapped in the smell of the sea, the shimmer of blue-and-white tiles, and the joy of shared adventures.
 
This trip wasn’t just about geography — it was about companionship, discovery, and seeing familiar places through the fresh, astonished eyes of others. I travelled with a beautiful group of people — Leo, Giovanni, Kate, Paulo, Maria, and Mahendra — and each one brought something special into the light of those days.
 
For Leo and Giovanni, it was their first time in Portugal. That fact alone gave the trip an extra glow. Every street we walked, every meal we shared, every view that opened before us — it all felt like a gift being unwrapped together.
 
We began in Óbidos, that fairytale town of stone and flowers, with its ancient castle walls embracing whitewashed houses. It always feels like stepping into another century. We wandered its alleys, climbed its ramparts, and paused to sip ginjinha served in tiny chocolate cups — a small but joyful ritual of this place.
 
From there, we explored the coastal villages of central Portugal — Foz do Arelho, São Martinho do Porto, and others nestled around forested hills and stretches of sand. The air was salty and warm, the Atlantic wild and playful. There were long drives past pine groves and golf greens, unexpected viewpoints where you could watch the sky melt into the water, and cafés where time politely slowed down.
 
With Giovanni, I returned to Nazaré, the town where land and sea seem locked in eternal dialogue. Even without the record-breaking waves of winter, Nazaré pulses with elemental power. Fishermen’s boats bobbed in the harbour, their colours faded by salt and sun. We climbed to Sítio, the clifftop district, and looked out over the vastness. It was quiet, but the roar of the ocean still echoed in the imagination.
 
Later, we went inland — deep into Alentejo, to visit Maria and Mahendra. Their warm welcome was matched by the calm of the landscape: undulating hills, vineyards, cork oak trees scattered like dots across golden fields. Here, the world seems to breathe more slowly. We shared long meals, ripe conversations, and moments of silence that felt as nourishing as the food.
 
And then, the jewel waiting at the north — Porto.
My first visit, and what a wonder it was.
 
Arriving in Porto felt like stepping into a living painting — steep hills covered in terracotta roofs, the Douro River gliding gracefully below, and the constant sound of footsteps on stone. The city is built of layers: Romanesque cathedrals, Baroque churches, narrow staircases, street art, the smell of grilled sardines, the echo of fado.
 
We walked the Ribeira, the historic riverfront district, with its labyrinthine charm and centuries-old facades. The colours of the buildings — ochres, pinks, deep reds — danced in the sunlight. From there, we crossed the iconic Dom Luís I Bridge, an architectural marvel designed by a disciple of Eiffel, and admired the view back across the river: the heart of Porto clinging to the hills like a theatre set.
 
There was something profoundly romantic and melancholic about Porto — a kind of noble fatigue, as though the city had seen too much beauty to rush anymore. The azulejos, Portugal’s famous blue tiles, told stories on every corner — saints, ships, angels, and kings — and each church seemed more intricate and moving than the last.
 
We tried Port wine at its source, tasted meals that were simple and rich with memory, and sat on high balconies watching the city exhale with the river.
 
Porto was a revelation. To see it for the first time, in the company of people I care about, was to understand why it leaves such a mark on the soul.
 
Across these nine days, we covered coasts and castles, markets and mountains, and the small in-between places where the most unexpected magic waits. We swam in cold Atlantic waves, got lost in sleepy villages, sat in silence under fig trees, and celebrated life with spontaneous toasts over fresh seafood and warm bread.
 
This wasn’t just a holiday. It was a patchwork of joy, sewn together by good people, golden light, and the sheer luck of being alive in such a moment.
 
I return now, heart full and grateful.
Grateful for the laughter, for the wide skies, for the way Portugal always manages to show me something new — even after all these years.

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Centre of Madrid, Spain, August 2025

In mid-August 2025, I set off on a journey to Portugal with my Venezuelan friend Giovanni. As fate would have it, our route included a stopover in Madrid—and what could have been just an airport layover turned into a beautiful five-hour adventure through the Spanish capital.
 
After landing at Barajas, we were joined by our dear friend Leo, another Venezuelan who had arrived earlier. The three of us hadn’t been together since our Polish-Slovak escapades earlier in the summer, so it already felt like a reunion worth celebrating.
 
Eager to make the most of our time, we took a taxi straight to the Banco de España metro station, right at the edge of Plaza de Cibeles. From there, we began a leisurely walk westward, soaking in the grandeur of Madrid’s most iconic boulevard—Calle de Alcalá.
 
We passed the Cibeles Fountain, where the goddess Cybele rides her chariot drawn by lions, watched over by the majestic Palacio de Cibeles, once a post office, now the city hall. From there, we continued along the bustling Gran Vía, often called the Spanish Broadway, lined with regal buildings, theatres, rooftop terraces, and classic shopfronts that give Madrid its unmistakable urban charm.
 
Despite the scorching summer heat, Giovanni was enchanted—it was his first time in Spain, and you could see the wonder in his eyes as we moved through the city’s heart.
 
We paused to admire the Metropolis Building, its ornate dome glinting under the sun, then meandered past Puerta del Sol, alive with performers, tourists, and the iconic clock tower of the old post office—the symbolic centre of Spain. From there, we strolled through the cooler side streets until we reached the elegant Plaza Mayor, where we stood beneath the colonnades, briefly escaping the sun and absorbing the square’s historic atmosphere.
 
Finally, we reached the Royal Palace of Madrid, standing proudly over the city, with the Almudena Cathedral just beside it. The views from the palace promenade were lovely—soft golden light, distant hills, and a city that felt both grand and lived-in.
 
Though our time was brief, we had truly walked through Madrid’s historic and architectural heart, weaving together laughter, curiosity, and the delight of shared discovery. After one last cold drink, we took a taxi back to Barajas, refreshed and grateful.
 
That evening, as our flight took off toward Lisbon, we looked back on a perfect afternoon—a mini adventure tucked between two countries, rich with friendship, sunshine, and the timeless beauty of Madrid.

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