Edge of the Old World
Chronicles of a July spent in Portugal.
Below, you’ll read exerpts from notebooks I filled during my time overseas. I want my words to have a permanent home beyond the messy, scribbled on pages where the ink has so far solely lived. I want my words to be shared with you. I want to bring you into the sensory magic of it all. So alas, here we are. Dive in with me, as we go back to life on the Atlantic, at the edge of the old world.
The Duoro River- late July’s morning sun lighting up the town of Porto.
Porto- July 17th, 2026.
I sit alone by the Duoro River in Porto this morning- beyond amazed that any of this is real. That I’m here. Challenged already to change the pace of my mind and my movement. No wonder this place is called ‘the edge of the old world…’ It feels that way. Like I’ve stepped back in time and re-entered the way life should be lived. Explorers in the 16th century looked out into the vast Atlantic and considered it the sacred end of the earth. They knew, at one point, nothing else of what laid beyond. Now, in many ways it feels as though I stand on the edge of something as well. What discovery awaits me?
I have four complete days traveling solo here, on this south-westernmost tip of Europe… and I wonder what my days will look like. Porto feels pregnant with possibility.
Hardly eight in the morning now, I’m already granted the rare privilege of watching the city wake up. It’s quiet. What is ever quiet anymore?
I look down beyond my bench perch on the edge of the water, and find myself lost in the river’s undulating currents. Across in Porto, the primary colors of yellow and blue faced buildings with terracotta tiled roofs are striking. This town is magnificent and full of grandeur, yet still somehow boasts a rather soft beauty.
From my cozy wooden bench perch, the Dom Luis bridge stands tall to the right… Gaia lies behind me and wraps around to my left, and my new home for the next 96 hours beckons right in front of me. I’m afforded the opportunity to observe intently this early morning. But I anticipate a new energy to arrive in a few hours, as everything comes to life. For now, though, it’s just me on my bench… along with commuters heading into the working world… street vendors setting up shop… the occasional runner as well. What fortune to see the often hidden rhythms of a place. In this in between, then, in this hidden heartbeat, I look. I observe. I imagine. I create. As I reflect, I want pages I write to burst with new life. My hope is that as I’m forced to slow down, I will savor. And my spirit will sing a new song. My pen a new poem. My mind a new tune. Here in Porto, and the rest of my time in this country.
It’s noon now, I’m surrounded by fellow travelers, and I’m basking in the midday sunshine. I’ve found my way to Terreiro da Sé- a renowned historical praça that towers above the entire city. Sitting on the warm stone steps at the praça, we’ve all congregated to listen in awe as a young guitarist strums away. It’s perfectly peaceful. When I put my pen down, it’s to lean my back against the statue’s stone base. And to close my eyes. My skin delights in being kissed by the sun. Between melodies, I catch a myriad of mysterious accents floating through the air. I come back to the same early morning awe of- ‘how am I here?’ This musician- this artist- is using his gift to ground people. After all, isn’t that what art does? Isn’t that its intent? This morning was abundant in sensory visuals. What did I see? This afternoon I’m overwhelmed with what I hear. It roots me even deeper. What a gift.
……….
Checking in from my ‘table for one’ on the Ribeira now. A late lunch consists of a condensating Campari spritz in hand, oysters and flamed prawns already downed… I’m digging through Acts as my reading of choice in this city, inspired by boldness and zeal and faith in action! In the background I catch myself listening to a Lumineers song wafting over from a waterfront singer. He boasts a much different tune than the young man who played atop the city. Perhaps not as rich, not as soulful but still one of sweet connection. What a joy it is to soak up this town at my own pace, and to move when something moves me. When something tugs, I can go. When things are still, I can stay. And stay for awhile, now, I truly may.
Porto- July 20th, 2026.
I haven’t written since my arrival, as it’s been an unexpectedly vibrant social week. I came into the city alone, and expected several days of solo wandering- from sunup to sundown. But much to my surprise, I met the kindest girls in my hostel, and we’ve spent the last 72 hours in each other’s constant company. From stumbling into plans for a first night sunset at Jardim do Morro… just a mere few hours after my solo waterfront lunch … to planning intimate dinners… enjoying beach day trips outside the edge of town… watching Spain win the World Cup… grabbing drinks at local spots … exploring magnificent gardens and squeezing six girls into a photo booth meant for just two… it’s been the wildest adventure. And how lucky am I? To stumble into friendship with girls from New Zealand, Australia, French speaking Canada, Ireland, Scotland… I’m wildly in awe. That is a special experience, indeed, and we’ve all connected over our love for experiencing a place authentically and richly.
As today is my last day in this town, and many of ours, (as the girls and my traveling timeline has strangely aligned) we’ve taken the morning to solo explore and plan to regroup with a dinner out to celebrate our final night. So now, I’m back in my slow lunch reflection time. It feels good to recenter myself. To process. To think about what I’ve encountered so far. I love the energy of Porto. And I feel like I’m coming to understand it. Not just as an outside observer, but one who is becoming more deeply acquainted. What a joy that is. To feel connected to a place. To know your way around. To imagine a life lived here.
Perhaps it’s in most of us who travel, who dream, who are imaginative… but I could- I really could- picture living here. I know four days isn’t much, but with something so aligned, maybe a few days is all it takes to come alive. I’ve made a daily ritual of flat whites in ceramic cups, pastel de natas on the go, sipping vino verde as I shop & walking for hours around the old town. Immersing myself in the rhythms of the people and place. As I look forward to this evening with my newfound companions, and to the rest of this trip when my friend Allie from the States joins, I feel eager- I feel giddy- I feel opportunistic. Yet, I feel nostalgic already for moments just a few days past.
I want it all to slow down. I want every second to be lived in. And I want to dress myself with curiosity and gratitude and wonder every single morning. Here, and eventually back on the other side of the sea.
Reflections as I transition in travel from Porto to Lisbon.
Porto was but a breath, but I do still feel I made every second count in that city. Not in an overly planned posture, but in a truly savored sense. My writings from Porto filled the early pages of my travel Bible I brought- they never made it into this hardcover notebook I now write in, but were rather scribbled excitedly and emotionally in margins. My words begged to have a space outside my mind. So there they landed. Sometimes (most of the time) my best recollections aren’t perfectly placed into the proper vessel. They’re in eclectic spots. Margins of books, on the edges of documents, on my hand, or on a napkin. Anywhere I can get it down. Maybe that’s the whole point. Realizing my flowstate is often induced through playfulness, not planning, not perfection, brings such freedom. I suppose the same principle applies not only to my creative pursuits but also to the way I live. And how on this trip, I lived out my days in the Golden City, as they call it.
I’m so immeasurably grateful for the balance I was able to find in Porto, with time to move at my own pace and just wander in a state of unrushed wonder. And to jump, dive, cannonball into adventures that popped up. I enjoyed such special connection with my girls in our sweet room 7 in Passenger Hostel. ‘The fortress’ as we dubbed it. My girl squad. And how rewarding it was, as the days passed, to notice our connection grow.
That final night was the most special of the trip. I couldn’t have asked for a more lovely way to kiss Porto, ciao! Feasting around a small table on local tapas, vino verde, and sweet port wine, the six of us indulged in an evening in the arts district, at one of the city’s most unique spots. We let the night grow old at Capernum Incomum as we chatted away on the outside patio of a 15th century yellow chapel, transformed into the cozy restaurant space as we knew it. It felt like the rarest gem of all to find. Sipping wine under a towering green plane tree… outside of a 500 year old place of worship? Is that not surreal?
To end the evening, we sauntered down to the Ribeira, to bid farewell to the heartbeat of our home for four days. No other way felt right. The waterfront buildings sparkled yellow- gold, reflected in the still darkness of the river. The streets were bathed - painted- washed in abundant warmth. I close my eyes now and I go there. I’m grateful for such a memory that I want to get lost in. It was dreamlike, the way time moved.
It’s hard to consider going home after you have an experience like that. Not because I lack fondness for the life I live back on the Pacific, but because how hard it is to explain that feeling to someone who wasn’t there. It’s deeply isolating to share pieces of my travels with people who haven’t experienced any part of the world in that way. I recall seasons past, returning from places like Indonesia, or Spain, or Iceland, the Philippines… Norway or Japan or French Polynesia… I remember how heavy it felt each time to return to a place that was not only wildly different from where I’d just spent time on the other side of the world, but also that didn’t have anyone beside me who’d gone through what I did. It’s hard to leave something behind, that’s so fully encompassing as it comes to newness, connection, exploration, and boundlessness. The freedom abroad is wide. Plans are stumbled into, not so often curated. Life is lived more than it is performed. It is lonely and strange to consider returning.
I never want to go somewhere (whether two weeks or two months) and return unchanged. So, these feelings that I find myself wrestling with as I enter into the next phase of my Portugal adventure, are proof that I will indeed return changed. I will go home finding the right words to convey poetically and profoundly what this part of the world has done & is doing for me. I can rejoice in that opportunity. And perhaps inspire and encourage others to let places affect them- change them- and carve a deep impression into their skin,
Porto sure stamped its presence on my heart. I’m eager to see in what ways Lisbon and Lagos may do the same….
Lisbon- July 21st, 2026.
As I sit in my new hostel for the week scribbling away, I notice a girl across from me who sits down. She is approachable and has kind eyes. ‘What can I compliment, to start a conversation?’ I considered. I decided to comment on her knit beach hat, and was able to enter into a sweet dialogue with her. Elisa, I learned, is moving from Italy to Peniche, just about 100 km north of where we sat. I told her of my love affair with Porto. She told me about the sights that captivated her here in Lisbon. As she was on her way out, I of course was on my way in. Not yet having touched any of this new city. How special is it to connect with people anywhere and everywhere. To hear a five minute snippet of her world. I find nothing more rewarding. I hope her move to Peniche is treating her just lovely.
Lisbon- July 22nd, 2026
Serendipitous. The word that comes to mind when I think of today. Allie & I rose late, and spent the afternoon getting well acquainted with our neighborhood by the waterfront, seeing famous palaces and praças. Evening came early as we headed to the marina for our sunset river cruise. And as we sauntered over to meet our guide on the docks, ran into one of my childhood friends and her family. Familiar faces I hadn’t seen in maybe ten years, now reunited on the waterfront in Lisbon, Portugal. I spoke her full name out loud, in pure disbelief, and looked right at her when I said it, as if I was confirming it was really true. I couldn’t believe my eyes. We hugged, took a photo to send to my family, and ran off to catch our separate boats for the evening. But I thought about our interaction with amazement that entire night as I sailed the Tagus River. I don’t believe in coincidences, but in divine timing- God winks, as I call them, and how the Lord uses them to assure my heart I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. After all, I’m in this city with Allie who I met four summers ago studying abroad in Barcelona… and we’re here to meet up with Elyse who we also met those many moons ago in Spain. Serendipitous, indeed, it all seems.
The rest of our golden night on the water was an exhale. We basked in the warm evening chasing the southwestern setting sun, All eight of us onboard learned about Portuguese triangular sails- about traditional navigation, and about the history of the Tagus from our local guide Vinny. Sailing under the glowing red bridge reminded me of San Francisco close to home, as the Portuguese did indeed design the art inspired by ours. The glowing orange sun faded beyond the sea, and I sat on the bow, hair tied back and flowing fiercely in the wind. I was having one of those “I’m really here & this is really happening” moments. As we sailed into port at blue hour, the Tagus surprised us with a pod of dolphins playfully jumping out of the water. Allie and I sat on the stern of the boat as we rode back, dangling our feet off the edge in the strangely warm water. The river sprayed up onto our shins and we laughed, delighting in how surreal this whole night had been.
Lisbon- July 24th, 2026.
I’ve been thinking a lot today about my trip’s pace and purpose. Here, I want to continuously align myself with slowness. To take in how wild it is that I took myself to this country. I want to consider the streets and textures and colors and every miradouro more than myself. I never want to minimize that I’m meeting people from all over the world, and wandering in a place thousands of miles away. Isn’t that the purpose of it all, too? No matter how many countries I’ve explored before, to see each new trip as a fresh opportunity to be captivated. That the awe would never be lost. That this would never be taken for granted. That I would simply delight in every smell and sight and taste and sound. That I’d be overly excited like a little child. Not to be full of expectations (that would never be met anyway) or act as if a place owed me anything. But to have a heart and eyes wide open to another part of the world.
Among my last memories in Lisbon was a sunset at Miradouro da Graça. Sunsets seem to have a special place in my heart here. The colors, the light, the chatter of people sweeping through the air. To look down at the entire city and see a mosaic of my adventures was uniquely emotional… the bridge in the far distance that I sailed under… praças that held my favorite gelato or pastel de nata … streets I rode down in a yellow cablecar that I became wildly fond of… I could trace my journey in this city as I peered out into the colors of it all, on that final night.
Something about those final nights were always special I suppose- back in Porto, and now in Lisbon as I took in final breaths of the city. Two friends from my hostel group (Emelié and Tal- from Canada and New Zealand respectively) met up with Allie and I, and as day became night, Elyse and her friends from LeadAbroad (the company she was working for abroad, and the one I’d interned for as well three summers prior in Spain), joined us at our table. Vino verde and panoramic views felt like an appropriate homage to our love for Lisbon. And how incredible to be in a new city, in a new country across the world, where my community was somehow intersecting, and all these lives of new friends and old friends were intertwining. It was the biggest God wink, perhaps yet.
When hunger struck, my newfound traveling friends found a magnificently local tapas dinner spot just down the hill from the Miradouro. With a DJ playing records in the back, we sat at a big long table by the window, catching glimpses of pedestrians strolling by… and listening over the hum of patrons to the music echoing throughout the small place. The waitress hoisted over a large chalkboard to show us the wine specials, and it felt as though things were the way they should be. Ending with a reunion of sorts, in a place that was so intimately local felt like a Porto parallel.
Lagos- July 26th, 2026.
On the edge of the Atlantic,
Lagos candidly invites me in,
Sun drenched streets sing out my name and attempt negotiation.
What would it need, for me to never leave?
And claim a blue tiled doorway to be my own?
Colors assure me i’m home
more than a number.
More than a street name.
Cobblestone roads, designed for the walker- the wanderer
encourage me to linger longer.
Terracotta roofs, bright bougainvillea, and white walled rows of old town
lead me in
then spit me out to the sea.
Where sand is honey gold
and waves are cool blue.
Where time not only slows but stops.
Calico scallops
dot the tide’s gentle edge.
Surprising me with their vibrant pinks,
Reminding me of where I am…
After all, I know my seas by their shells.
At the edge of the old world,
creation calls out to me.
And says: stay.
Lagos- July 29th, 2026
I’m at the point of my travels, where it’s harder to remember what day of the week it is- impossible to comprehend how time moves at all. It hasn’t matttered, I suppose. What a privilege that is. This evening as I write, it feels like afternoon. The 9 pm sunset and 10 pm dinner rhythm extends my everyday. And it’s a welcome extension. I sip orange juice full of pulp in my tall glass and sit atop my cushioned wooden bench in the coffee shop, writing in flow state. In tune with my own mind and with the way this place operates. What could be more beautiful?
The sun is
tangerine
fresh squeezed
dream machine
electrifying when I awake.
Good day in the afternoon
Good night in the morning
Endless summer at the edge of the old world.
Bright tangerine and cerulean blue are unsurprisingly the colors of my summer. here, I’m attracted to vibrance like never before. The rusted hues of red, earthy rocks. The olive, sunshine, and sky blue buildings. Which beach boasts the loveliest shade of water?
I haven’t had my headphones in since being here. I delight in full sensory participation of this country. I have no desire to drown out sounds and side conversations. It’s most commonly a different language spoken behind or beside me. I also feel closer to this place when I hear the cicadas’ hum. When I hear the cars and the waves and even the espresso machine humming. What are people planning? What are they writing? What are their conversations about? I have capacity for curiosity to be my driving force.
I enjoy being a guest and peeking into the pace and presence of Portugal’s people. As my adventure comes to a close, may I continue to seek moments that inspire awe and that illicit reflection. May I always fondly remember this country and share the ways it shaped me.
