From Aug. 16 to Sept. 8, I was in Portugal, opening my mind to the westernmost country in Europe and learning through firsthand experience what I could never glean from any form of media.
On my trip, I stayed in Porto, Lisbon, and Lagos, working my way from north to south in one of the most beautiful countries I have ever experienced. On this trip, I realized things that would have remained a mystery to me at home. And as for the food, people, and scenery? Exquisite, the kindest, and simply breathtaking.
The true journey, however, started three months before my flight. I spent most of my days sitting at home, working, and studying. I longed for adventure and uncertainty, but the closest I got to that was reading up about various places around the world through books and social media.
A chance notification from the app Skyscanner showed me that flight prices to Europe had gone down significantly. I, impulsive and sick of the dullness that had consumed my life, bought a round-trip ticket to the best European destination that minimal money could buy: Portugal.
I remember sitting on the plane, scared. I had no hotel rooms reserved, no activities booked. In essence, I was a homeless traveller wanting to learn about a place completely foreign to me.
For the first week of my trip, I stayed at the Happy Porto Hostel. I heard the tram as I slept every night, since it passed directly outside the window of my room, which I shared with seven other people. More sounds of the river crashing against the river wall, crabs scuttling harmlessly between the rocks below, and musicians serenading passersby on the dock filled my ears as I fell asleep.
I spent most nights sitting on benches at the river’s edge. Nearby, locals set up foldable chairs and fishing rods. They did this every day as the sun began to set, drinking “Super Bock,” the local beer, and eating cod croquettes while fishing for the next night’s meals.
The wall close to the water also acted as a gathering spot for Portuguese teenagers. In a tradition that dates back to the late nineteenth century, they would raucously dive in, earning them the local nickname “Kids of the River.”
It was during these times, when I was sitting along the edge of the river wall, that I got to know the people who called this city home. My first night, I met an older man who, upon noticing me sitting alone and listening to One Direction’s “Night Changes” on my phone, called me over to teach me how to fish.
With the help of Google Translate, he showed me how to rig a fishing pole, cast a line, but most importantly, how kind, warm, and welcoming the Portuguese are. This was the first and last time I ever saw him.
It was on my fourth day in the city that I came across the iconic Mercado do Bolhão, or Bolhão Market. Here, one can find rows upon rows of the most vibrant and traditional foods, an abundance of different wines, and so many people you’ll begin to think the whole city has congregated in this courtyard. The market is where I tried my first of many oysters, which might be the most refreshing piece of seafood I have ever put in my mouth. I visited every day.
I’d spend my days getting lost, visiting different landmarks, even crossing the bridge into Vila Nova de Gaia (Gaia for short), where I would climb up hills, with weak legs and a sweaty shirt, to different viewpoints. I admired all of Porto, feeling small, insignificant, like a grain of sand on a beach.
In the afternoons, I’d eat in Gaia. The same man who taught me how to fish had told me the restaurants on the other side of the river were not only cheaper but also owned by families with one goal in mind: surviving.
Every night, just before the sky turned dark, I’d return to the river wall to watch the sunset. I’d sit on the bench, close my eyes, and let the sun’s golden light kiss my face before returning to my hostel and doing it all over again the next day.
I’ve had many people say I didn’t have to go all the way to Europe to learn about a different place, and, to an extent, they may be right.
I could have learned about Portugal from a post online, or an article, or a book. But no matter how much I read, I guarantee I wouldn’t have learned how to fish, what an oyster tastes like straight out of the sea, or what impression Porto’s sunset would leave on me, which, to this day, remains the most beautiful natural phenomenon I have ever witnessed.
Next stop: Lisbon.
