Oh Portugal, it is so good to be back.
To leave the pure blue skies and unfaltering heat of Spain for your more
temperate weather well, I can’t deny it was a little bit of a shock. But something
about you makes me not feel disappointment for the slight drop in temperature; perhaps it is your heart-stopping beauty.
You are somewhat softer than your neighbour, both in landscape and in
personality. Your accent is more a slow dance than a fiery exhibition of your
wares. Even your cities amble along at a pace that is more than doable, the
mixture of old and new melded together with such beauty and comfort. But
no, of course, it is not your cities I am interested in, although my
whistle-stop tour of Lisbon is cherished… No, it is your landscape.
Soft and delicate, awash with Spring flowers, as if I could nestle right
down at the top of your cliffs and just sleep. The silence I have found here
has been much-needed and relished; every last drop. The excited buzz that had
infiltrated my body as I wandered through Spain has been replaced with a more
mellow hum. But of course I take every feeling, every experience, and try to
hold it close, figure it out, enjoy it and so we have become reacquainted again
quite quickly.
And yet, amidst your tranquility you are still a little rough around the
edges, which warms me to you even more. We, none of us, are perfect and where I
do see seeming perfection it leaves my soul cold, which is why I feel warm in
your embrace.
So we have dawdled along the intricate streets of a pretty village,
buying fresh bread from the bakery van, drinking small coffees in the
sunflower-adorned café. We have walked and felt the Atlantic breeze, gazed at
the endless sea from up high and regenerated ourselves ready for our last leg,
where another very special family-member will soon arrive to light up our
hearts (particularly my daughters) and we will all journey inland together, to my most
favourite place: the green heart of Portugal.
