an ode to portugal may '26
“I think elopements are so chic” my partner piped as we traversed the Portuguese country-side in our 18-euro second-class carriages. Making our way across the sun-baked Alentjeo, cinnamon and rust terracotta tiles flared into view amidst a sea of Mediterranean brown and olive shrubbery.
Arching my neck to present a questioning look at Savanah, I felt a sharp jolt threaten my lower back. I had two hilariously wrapped jackets stuffed behind me for support along with a couple lovely-looking pastel pills I had taken to ease the pain. Less than 48 hours ago during a night of wine and gaiety with my roommates, I had, rather unintentionally, torn a ligament in my lower back. Despite the pain, I spent the next day kayaking through the Benagil caves. Amongst beautiful sea grottos with sun-tinted skylights, we ventured into a pitch-black sea hole that revealed within me a predisposition for cowardice that I previously was unaware of. I likened myself to Harry Potter in the Horcrux Cave. Our voices echoed through the darkness and we carefully pulled out our phones to illuminate the inside, where we awed at the 2-million year-old sand dollar fossils above us.
Afterwards, Savanah and I lounged on the sand beaches, enjoying the views from the sun-kissed shores as we both gossiped about the past 6 years since we’d last caught up. I detailed the couple of days prior when I had been traveling Lisbon and Porto with my roommates in New York while Savanah recounted her own experiences living alone in London.