Once again, I find myself sitting on a couch in a hostel.
Today I'm in Lisbon, Portugal. City two of four I'm visiting this November. The whirlwind of traveling this month, I fear, will leave me posting a little more infrequently, but I'll do my best to keep these posts interesting.
Yesterday, I wandered around a fairy tale like town called Sintra. Visiting a mansion and an ancient Moorish fortress, I was surrounded by green things, impressive masonry, and beautiful views, and assaulted by absolutely ferocious winds.
So far, Lisbon has been lovely. It's quite a distinctive city--unlike anything that I've seen yet. (Well, I mean, in terms of traveling through Europe, I still haven't seen much) The buildings are lovely pastel colours, the Atlantic Ocean is off in the distance. Built on seven hills, like Rome, the old parts of the city have streets that wind and curl up inside themselves, overlapping like a jigsaw puzzle.
Portugal, I've learned, has a really interesting history. I'm embarrassed to admit that I never really paid much attention to this little country--forgetting that it has seen glorious epochs in its history. This is a country of navigators, of adventurers, of map makers. A country with a history of riches and slavery and wars and alliances. A country that has seen violence and tragedy, a country once open to the world, then closed to the world, and only recently opened back up again.
Now it seems to be filled with wonderful people, but that may be just because I come here as a traveler. Once again, I'm meeting people over breakfast, in my dorm room, on the tours. Once again, I am astounded by people from all walks of life, astounded by where people are and what they are doing. And I find myself feeling the twinges of jealously, the twinges of inspiration.
I was told by my tour guide today to be careful--becoming an expat can quickly become addicting. He's right.
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