A drive through the old part of Lisbon reminded me of the charm that had attracted me to it.
The small roads, the wooden doors and the washing hanging to dry that represented homes to the poorer of Lisbon’s children.
Urban decay also holds its charm and perhaps my fascination with it is somewhere between the parallel lines where irony sits.
Out of the corner of my eye, the sunshine bounced colours off a white curtained window – it was postcard perfect.
The road was accompanied by trees rather than the tall buildings I’m getting used to and for a moment the vast space reminded me of the dying town I once belonged to in another time; another continent.
When my thoughts finally returned to the present, I was standing at the border of a calm beach which God must’ve created on his most inspired of days, a scenery only described by the emotion felt by those who have seen it.
Yellow sand and a tiny pier romanticize a beautiful beach in Sesimbra.
The fisherman and his son who fit the picture so perfectly almost seemed as if they had been conjured by a storyteller.
And as I sat on a rock only millimetres away from the water; I pictured myself as a mermaid who had come up for air when the density of the water had gotten too thick to breathe.
The water that eventually reached my pants and jacket pulled me back to reality and reminded me that it was time to go.
I was told about the foxes and the hares and the various species of spiders that inhabited what looked like an enchanted forest that had conquered me on sight. Its mystical energies silenced my soul in appreciation an I realised that it would take a lifetime to get to know it.
My heart sighed in mild melancholy sadness as I was reminded of similar places that I knew all too well from the island where I came from and somehow in silence, the surroundings of this place understood me.
When I thought it couldn’t get any better, I was taken down an old stairway that led down to the most beautiful cave I ever saw!
Inside was an ancient altar and a secret entrance that only the waves entered. They greeted me with a breath of salt and the warmth of the winter sunlight.
Beautiful – cannot begin to describe what my eyes witnessed and I wandered what the cave walls could tell me should they ever speak their secrets.
Perfect view – from any angle whichever way you saw it, it could only be described as flawless – pure perfection of God’s imagination.
Perhaps it was the long walk along the beach; the sound of the seagulls calling my name or the sight of my reflection upon crystal blue-green waters that had me enchanted into believing that somewhere on my flu-sick bed, I laid dreaming.
Perhaps it was too perfect, too beautiful, too unbelievable.
I stared at a canopy of shade made by trees who conspired with lovers to hide them from the world in a picnic made for two and wondered when I’d wake up…
The perfect day is spent when you look back and decide that you would change nothing.
The people you saw and the people you met – I would swear I were dreaming if it weren’t for the oranges in the bowl in the kitchen the proved me otherwise.
Lunch in the most charming of roadside family restaurants, where the music playing took me back through high school and old friends. Bon Jovi, Bryan Addams, Metallica…
I never imagined myself here… this far… going where I’m going.
Perfect images replay in my head:
A poem by a dead poet that was inscribed on a monument and ended with “all is achievable with love.”
A horizon as far as the eye can see;
A river that ran into an ocean and meandered into a bay…
A convent protected by a forest and
A quarry that plants trees…
Was I abducted by aliens and taken to another planet?
Perhaps I was merely lost in time…
In the castle of Palmela, I let my imagination run free. And even though I was told that there was little or no court in the given castle, I could still imagine life in the ancient rooms, light chasing away the cold and voiced whispering through the walls.
Maybe it was my fever that fired up my imaginations but I would’ve gladly spent the night surrounded by castle walls that even in ruins, stood the test of time.
A stop at a café where cinnamon cookies and lemon tea announced the end of a journey was our last stop before I was taken home.
In awe of all that my eyes had seen, my soul was silenced as I searched for the meaning of life…
A young boy with a diaper tied to his dummy gave me a glimpse of the answer:
We die and then we are reborn, and in all that while – life goes on.
There are days when you’re glad that you got out of bed;
There are days when you can see God’s infinite greatness surrounding you;
And there are days that are almost perfect…