Today was the day I had been eagerly awaiting since October! I remember it was recently after I had decided that a summer-long European adventure was just what the doctor ordered. I was reading an Entertainment Weekly magazine feature article on the filming of this season of Game of Thrones. Being a GOT fanatic, like most inhabitants of planet earth, I’ve dreamed of making pilgrimages to most GOT filming locations at home and abroad, so when I saw that a significant portion of filming took place in Seville, Spain at the mystifyingly beautiful Alcazar, I knew Seville had to be a destination on my tour de Europa. Every Sunday night when having my mind blown and my heart broken by R.R. Martin and HBO, whenever scenes from House Martell in Kingdom of Dorne would grace the screen, I would excitedly remind my viewing companions that I was going there this summer. Greg and I reminded each other via text every episode as well. So as you can now gather, I had created quite the hype around this visit to the “Kingdom of Dorne.” I’ll go ahead now and say that it absolutely did not disappoint and only delivered. 
   
   
The Alcazar was first largely constructed in the 11th century when the Moors gained control of Seville, but the palace gained its GOT-set-worthy grandeur once Pedro I set his sights on this property as a palatial haven during The Reconquest.  

   
    
   
When you enter through the arches into the gardens, the exotic, tropical beauty overwhelms you. Stone walls engraved with mythological figures and faces frame a seemingly endless quilt of gardens, each square a different blend of flora and fauna, delicately and precisely arranged. “Is this where the water garden scene was?” Greg and I questioned as we rounded every bend. Regardless of not knowing exactly which portion of the gardens was the location of the water garden scene, we strolled merrily through the palatial haven for hours, imagining Myrcella Baratheon/Lannister being courted by Trystane Martell, stopping only to smell the roses (literally) and capture a squawking peacock on film. We met a fellow GOT fan as we were piddling about near a gated fountain, and after enjoying a shared moment of fandom, she requested we take a GOT inspired action photo (evidence below). 

   
    
    
    
   
   
    
    
    
   
After our Alcazar afternoon, we walked to the Seville Cathedral that allegedly houses Christopher Columbus’s remains in addition to an incredible bell tower called La Giralda. The tower provides able bodied tourists with the best view of the entire city. Though unairconditioned, visiting the cathedral is a must. It’s truly a stunning piece of gothic architecture. Different chapels line the perimeter of the interior, each chapel gate and altar competing with one another for most ornate and gold-encrusted. Regardless of genuine authenticity, the sarcophagus that encases Christopher Columbus’s remains, or at least remain (some say it’s only a body part), is worth viewing. It’s kind of an eerie experience to see this tribute to America’s controversially celebrated discoverer.

   
    
    
    
    
    
 The climb to the top of La Giralda is not as strenuous a hike as other steps-happy towers because it is entirely ramps to the top. We can thank the original bell ringer for La Giralda’s somewhat easy accessibility, as he was handicapped, and therefore needed to take a horse to the top daily. Climbing to the top of La Giralda is another must-do in Seville, the views are unmatchable. Greg and I enjoyed locating all the sites we had seen, as well as our hotel’s rooftop pool from this bird’s eye view. In fact, once we spotted our hotel’s rooftop pool, we both immediately decided that it was time to retire the tourist hat for a couple of hours for a much needed submersion into water. Seville: though she be beautiful, she is scorching.

  
Our rooftop pool reminded me of what a Lego house rooftop pool might feel like: compact, colorful, with uneven, square levels . We could barely scamper across the stove-like pool deck without sandals. Upon initial submersion, it was sheer bliss. I think I may have emitted steam upon entering. Greg and I enjoyed some cocktails in the pool and met some interesting retired Americans from Detroit. It felt glorious to relax a bit and to take a vacation from the vacation, if you will. Touring and exploring are fulfilling and rewarding passions of mine, but relaxation days or hours in between are vital to my adventuring well being. 
For dinner we decided on a quintessentially European looking street, or lane I should really say, combed with cafe after cafe. We enjoyed another tapas meal, though Greg may have splurged for a burger here I think, and shared a bottle of vino blanco. After dinner, we walked off our food by getting a tad lost, but ended up finding ourselves in one of the liveliest squares of Seville, brimming with young, hip, and beautiful locals drinking under halos of street lamps, barricaded by open air cafes and bars. We stopped at one, really to use the bano, but got a drink as well. We are pretty sure the good looking young waiter who served us had a big fat crush on Greg. While I was in the bathroom and Greg was scouring our map, our waiter had flirtatiously greeted Greg and offered to walk him back to our hotel, seeing that Greg was lost. I don’t think he was pleased to see me join Greg at our table, but nonetheless he sent us complimentary shots and continued to shoot Greg smiles throughout our midnight cocktail. I teased Greg about breaking hearts in Sevilla until he could stand it no longer, and then we paid a different waitress and fled the scene unnoticed before Greg’s Sevillana Romeo could bat another eyelash.
Coming up: celebrating America’s birthday abroad with a patriotic run and another tower climb. 

Feeling the effects of excessive wine drinking and merrymaking, and being a fairly avid runner in the states, I awoke feeling the need to hit the pavement. Greg enjoys working out, but he isn’t thrilled by the prospect of running, especially on vacation. However, he graciously humored my pesky need for speed and sweat and laced up with me early morning in Granada for a farewell victory lap before embarking on our road trip to Seville. We jogged our way through the maze-like cobble stone alleyways, passing through small streets lined with delis, cheese shops, and fresh fruit stands. In the end, Greg was grateful for my run request. It really does allow you to see cities in a different, sometimes more intimate way. 
   
 We packed up and made our way back to our trusty steed where we once again hit the open Andalusian roads. Between singing along to Florence and the Machine and becoming overly excited about every sunflower field we passed, one of our random road trip rambles led to me mentioning my strong desire to see a tornado in my life time. Oddly enough, as we approached Seville, to the right of us off in the distance within an open plain, spun a skinny white cyclone winding up to the scattered clouds above. Greg was yet again weirdly calm, as I stuttered, “Wait… That’s a…tornado!” Greg looked back for a brief second, but respectably was far too concerned with navigating to care about any sidelining twisters. “Welp, dreams are already coming true for you in Sevilla Hans!” Greg exclaimed as we whizzed past my bucket-list natural wonder and barreled toward the airport to return the car. To our delight, the seemingly shrewd car rental attendant did not catch the scratches on the side mirrors during her inspection. Exhaling sighs of relief, we caught a cab to our hotel, Las Casas de La Juderia which was nestled within an ideal location in the Old Jewish Quarter. 

  
Our hotel was amazing! The main reception is separate from the other “casas” and the bellhop takes you through these catacomb-like caves to get you to the other sections of rooms. Our room was enormous with two charming balconies overlooking a damp and narrow alleyway lined with vibrant ivy and adorned with billowy bright yellow flags. It was quite a beautiful place.

   
    
  Our first Sevilla stop was for tapas and vino blanco (of course) at a nearby cafe. The streets of Seville are clean, open, and lined with inviting cafes. Beautiful people, young and old, pepper the sidewalks, and though this is probably not accurate, I felt as though there were more locals abound than tourists which provided heightened authenticity and flavor. After refreshing ourselves, we walked through one of the many beautiful parks in Seville, this one lined with a dirt path, palm trees, lush vegetation, and triumphant monuments to Christopher Columbus and Ferdinand and Isabel marking the middle ground. We strolled and admired, admired and strolled, until we reached Plaza de Espana, a stunning plaza that was once constructed in 1928 for a World’s Fair type of event called the Ibero-American Exposition of 1929, and has been featured in Hollywood blockbusters such as Star Wars and The Dictator. It was that bewitching time of day where the sun is melting into the horizon and the clouds begin to blush, the “golden hour” as Greg taught me they call it in cinematography and photography. This plaza is a must see. Framed by an almost orangey building with sky piercing spires and arching domes, the plaza is an open stretch of ponds and elegant bridges, with a stately fountain in the middle. Horse drawn carriages clip clop along the stone walkways, and rowboats lightly bob against each other in the side ponds. We took countless photos of the entire scene from every angle, trying fecklessly to capture the breathtaking beauty bathing in golden sunset light. Lining the plaza is a rainbow of mosaic stalls, each uniquely representing the various provinces of Spain. If you ever have the fortunate opportunity to visit Seville, be sure to visit Plaza de Espana, it will not disappoint you and you’ll quickly learn why it has been a coveted set for Hollywood directors. 

   
    

 For dinner we enjoyed, shockingly, tapas and vino blanco at a lovely tapas restaurant tucked away on a back plaza. We both decided we had already fallen in love with Seville. Seville possesses this pedestrian friendly, laid back, naturally gorgeous, traditional charm that won over my heart the moment we arrived. I guess I could say Sevilla had me at tornado.    
   
Stay tuned to read about frolicking in the Alcazar gardens, visiting Christopher Columbus’s remains, and journeying to the top of La Giralda! 

I was starting to crave an all-American breakfast, so you can imagine my disappointment when I ordered an item titled “omelet,” only to receive a plate sized potato pancake. Ordering food abroad can often be a game of mystery and surprise. Greg and I were fueling up for our afternoon tour of The Alhambra. 

The day was sweltering to say the least, and we were already sweating bullets simply getting to the tour meeting point. I shouldn’t say simply though, because The Alhambra is perched atop a mountain-like hill, so getting to it is a quarter mile calf-burning ascent. As expected, the entrance grounds were swarming with tourists, but we were able to locate our tour group and get equipped with our headsets fairly easily. Though our tour was during the hottest hours of the day, we both thoroughly enjoyed it. I loved learning about this walled in city! One of the coolest parts for me was seeing ruins of the soldiers quarters, because you could see the foundations of their family homes, which truly gave me an image of daily life in a now dormant fortress. 

   
 Additionally, The Torre de Velas now provides us with a 360 degree view of the entire city, but back in the 11th century provided the Granada elite and sultans with extra security. 

   
   
But above all, the most spectacular sites within The Alhambra must be the palaces where sultans once dwelled. When you enter the palaces, it’s hard to not let out some kind of vocal adoration. The walls are chiseled with Arabic words, floor to ceiling. The ceiling of the first palace we entered looked like an arching, tiered honeycomb, and the courtyards are straight out of Disney’s Aladdin. I half expected to see Jasmine petting Raja by the fountain of one of the palace courtyards. Even with all the tourists snapping selfies, the courtyards possessed an ancient, magic, charm that I’ll never forget. 

   
    
    
 The Alhambra also boasts gorgeous gardens that are lined with shrubs that shape into arches and purple flowers that perfume the air. Beyond the gardens is the Generalife, and no it doesn’t mean general life, this was where all the agriculture was cultivated and harvested. The people of The Alhambra traded with the people of Granada, outside their walls as well. The tour was about 3 and a half hours, which was the perfect length. 

   
    
    
    
   
After Alhambra we strolled the streets more, acquiring unnecessary trinkets and souvenirs at the countless little shops along the way. When we got back to the hotel, we deliberated over our dinner plans, as I wanted to try one of the restaurants with a terrace overlooking The Alhambra that we had spotted on our walk the previous night up to the Mirador de San Nicolas, but Greg was concerned that this would be too romantic for us siblings. He was persistently terrified that people thought we were on our honeymoon. In the end, we decided to deal with the romance factor for the sake of dining with a view. 

   
 We chose a place called El Agua, and got there around 8:30. We were the only ones there and as soon as we sat down they turned on this romantic music and lit our candle…we both squirmed with humiliation, but quickly allowed the discomfort to evaporate as soon as we tasted the food. Oddly enough, this place was a fondu restaurant. I hadn’t had fondu since I was about 8 or 9, so this was truly a treat! We sat for hours, gazing out at the Alhambra in the setting sun, devouring chunks of bread dipped in gooey, delicious cheese, and sipping vino blanco. After dinner we walked up to the top of Mirador de San Nicolas one final time to say a final goodnight and God bless to the stunning relic atop the Andalusian hilltop. 

Early rising is never easily done in a 6 person hostel room. Nonetheless, with the help of phone flashlights and pre-laid out clothing, Greg and I were able to flee the scene without a hitch. Our stay at Yes! Lisbon had not been a luxurious one, but as far as hostels come, this truly was a Portuguese gem! The staff went above and beyond, the facility itself was spotless with all the amenities one could need, and it was in an ideal location. 
Greg and I had an early flight through TAP airlines to Seville, where we were going to pick up our rental car to drive to Granada. I was not too stoked about the propeller plane, but it actually turned out to be smoother and quieter than most flights. Greg had major anxiety about driving this rental car the evening prior… well let’s be real, he had anxiety about it since the moment he booked it. I assured him it would be just like driving at home. 
We were able to pretty seamlessly get ourselves to our rental car, and before we knew it, and whether Greg felt comfortable with it or not, we were hitting the Andalucian roads full speed ahead. To my relief and assumption, Greg discovered that driving in a European country is not all too disconcerting once you’re out on the open road. Signs are pretty universal, especially signage featuring graphics. I’ll insert some of Greg’s own commentary he relayed in an e-mail to our family post the experience: “Driving in Spain was super easy – there were lots of gas stations for potty breaks. Hans and I stopped at a few Shell stations to support the family brand (and by family brand I mean both Shell and constant potty breaks).” For those who may not know, my dad co-owns a Shell station… and our family has a pea sized bladder reputation to uphold.

  
Once in Granada, a very small, bohemian town with ample backstreets clad with dread loc haired gypsies, we couldn’t really locate our hotel. The GPS told us that we had arrived, but we saw nothing resembling a hotel. Greg had to navigate cobble stone back streets that could have easily been pedestrian only alleyways. I felt like we were in a video game or Alice in Wonderland, as the streets became increasingly more narrow with more and more obstacles coming our way. Greg was abnormally calm, while I may have drawn blood from clenching my leg so hard. I leaned in, ducked, and sucked in, as if that might have made the car shrink or narrow itself. Before I could roll my window down to turn in the side view mirrors, I heard an abrasive, “scraaaape!” I bit my nails rapidly, waiting for Greg to have a massive eruption of anxious anger, but rather he calmly pulled over onto the first turn-off we had seen in the town and hunted for the map. Lost, worried about the car rental mirrors, and squirming with the pain of a full pea sized bladder, we sat in tourist dismay. Then, right when I was about to call our hotel for reinforcement, I noticed a tiny yellow sign that was on the back of the buildings to our right. “Wait, what’s the name of our hotel?” I asked myself, regaining hope. And surely enough, by back alley accidental luck, we located our hotel which was tucked away on a stone stepped hill that opens up to a pedestrian only walkway, which explained why we hadn’t seen it or been able to access it when we had first entered from the main drag. 

    
The hotel was very interesting, with levels of balconies creating a square around an open courtyard in the middle. Our room was huge, and we both reveled in the pleasure of splaying our suitcases and removing our items without needing a lock. 

  
We were hungry and eager to explore this new city that drastically contrasted with our first destination, so we set out on foot in the 100 degree afternoon heat. Fortunately, nearly all the Granada street shops and cafes had misters hanging from their awnings to keep tourists sane and awake. We stopped at the first tapas cafe that seemed somewhat lively. It was siesta time, so the streets were rather quiet, but we did notice an inordinate amount of young people. We figured that there may have been a university nearby. I had read about how in Granada, tapas places loyally believe in providing patrons with a tapas on the house whenever you ordered a drink. There are many stories or explanations for the origin of tapas, but I think the one that makes most sense is that King Alfonso X of Castile was feeling ill and his doctor instructed him to drink some wine and eat small amounts of food with the wine. Once the king heeded the doctor’s advice, his health improved, and he then decreed that all of Spain should consume little bites of food when drinking. He especially wanted this for his soldiers, as they would feel sick from drinking wine without eating, thus impairing their performance on the battlefield. Regardless of the true origin, tapas is one of my favorite aspects of the Spanish culture, and I was excited to indulge in my first tapas gratis! 

  

   
Greg and I then decided to go on a mini self guided tapas and vino tour through the charming streets of Granada. We wandered and photographed and ate and drank, does life get much better than that? One of my favorite tapas I tried, that became kind of my Spanish go-to, was anchovies in vinegar on lettuce, called boquerones. I also savored the combination of authentic Manchego cheese with a dry vino blanco. 

  
I suppose it’s now time to explain a bit more about Granada and why we chose it as a destination within Andalucia. Granada was the last Moorish or Arab city in Spain to be conquered during the reconquest, or Reconquista. This was possible because of Granada’s claim to fame, The Alhambra. The Alhambra was a fortressed city built atop a huge hill in the middle of the city of Granada for sultans and the elite. It’s the first thing you see when you enter Granada, and it’s a site that couldn’t possibly ever fade from your memory. 

  

    
Greg and I learned from the beautiful girl at reception that the best place to take in the unique beauty of The Alhambra and the city was this lookout point called Mirador San Nicolas. Needing to walk off our tapas, we began the ascension up to San Nicolas, which took us through zig zagging stone streets sandwiched between white walls of beautifully classic European flats and restaurants. It was a steep climb, but when we made it to the top, it was well worth it. The spot was crowded, filled with kids, families, tourists, locals, street vendors, and musicians. Everyone talking, but not looking at each other, because who could when in front of you is a landscape and structure one could only conjure up in a medieval fantasy. We took countless photos before tromping back down to our hotel. We shared a hearty laugh over Greg’s backpack shaped sweat stain he acquired due to the San Nicolas hike, and then called it another perfect Spanish night.

   

We signed up through our hostel for a 6 hour tour to Sintra, a storybook town about 20 minutes from Lisbon. Sintra is well known for its palaces that are now either UNESCO Heritage sites for touring or posh summer retreat homes for the upper crust. Come 2:00, we piled into a van with four other hostel guests: Daniel was a Brazilian who now lives in London who we had befriended during the pub crawl, Sally and Ashley were young university students on a two month long holiday from Australia, and Kuda was another young Australian whose accent at first went undetected. Our tour guide, Luis (though rather regrettably, we never confirmed if that was his name, we just thought he said that), was one of the most animated characters we’ve ever met. His personality fit perfectly with our tour’s destination, as Sintra is a setting straight out of an animated Disney movie. Luis made up for any potential awkward silences ten fold, he had an overflowing wealth of information to share about every landmark or part of the city we passed as we drove out of Lisbon and toward Sintra. Luis clearly loved his home- he loved the culture, the people, and the natural wonders. His adoration for his home was contagious. He also had many funny tales to tell and his laugh was larger than life. Our love for Luis was permanently sealed when we discovered his ring tone was a Pearl Jam song. I’m a huge Pearl Jam fan as well, but Greg is school-girls-screaming-for-One Direction level obsessed with Eddie Vedder. Apparently, Luis used to work as a backstage manager for a large live music venue in Lisbon and not only did he meet the entire band of Pearl Jam, but Eddie Vedder invited him to go to the beach with them for a surf during their stay in Lisbon. This wasn’t surprising, I think anyone in this world, celebrity or Joe Shmo, would want to hang out with Luis. His enthusiasm for life is infectious. 
   
 When we arrived to Sintra we took in the lovely small town vibe and sprawling, green, mountainous landscape. Nestled into the lush mountains were palatial mansions as well as Harry Potter meets Cinderella castles. Our first stop on the tour was for a port wine and cheese tasting. To be honest, this was a little bit lengthier than we’d hoped, but it was still interesting to sample the local aperitifs, and who in their right mind doesn’t get excited about cheese? This also helped to break the ice with our little tour group family, and started off a small case of the giggles for the young Australian girls, who proved to be hilarious and personable.   

We then made our way through the hills of Sintra by van to reach Quinta de Regaleira, pretty much the crowning jewel of this fairytale town. Quinta de Regaleira was built in the late 1800’s and served as a summer estate for various wealthy people. The most famous owner was a guy with the last name Carvalho Monteiro, who was academically decorated and well respected, albeit, eccentric and attracted to all things mystical. Monteiro hired a famous Italian architect to add the whimsical symbols, gargoyles, and structures that you can find in the gardens of the palace. Luis told us we had two hours to explore and wander through this “dreamy” (he enjoyed that word) castle, which seems like a substantial amount of time, but once you enter the gates of this place you quickly realize that you could easily pass 4 hours time in the gardens alone without even entering the palace itself. Our little group, that felt strangely familiar and comfortable with one another, stuck together as we meandered the unending paths that wind through grottos, secret gardens, ponds, and towers. The temperature was utterly delicious, the flowers were in full bloom, and it smelled earthy and sweet. Just when you thought the path might end and come to the mouth of the castle building, a new grotto or pond blanketed with algae would come into sight and beckon you to admire, explore, and photograph. I had two favorite parts of the garden grounds: the small pond adorned with an enchanting bridge, waterfall, and stepping stones to get from one side to the other, and the renowned inverted, spiraling tower, or “well”. 

   
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
 When we finally did enter the palace, the inside was slightly underwhelming in terms of decor. However, the architecture and structural features were interesting and impressive. For example, the staircase bannister curled in a sporadic wave-like fashion, and the gargoyles consisted of things like rabbits and kangaroos with wings. The best part of the palace was climbing a suffocatingly narrow winding staircase to reach the highest tower that delivered an unmatchable 360 degree view of the sprawling landscape. 

   
    
   
Luis took us along the coast to return home, which is the longer route, but absolutely the more worthwhile route. Our first stop was to Cabo da Roca, the western most point of the European continent. When this lookout point came into view we all were slightly disappointed as a thick fog engulfed the cliffs. However, once we spilled out from the van, needing sweaters due to the 10 degree climate difference, and got closer to the cliff’s edge, the fog thinned out and we were able to take in an awe inspiring view of what could have easily passed as the end of the world. Sand colored rock and cliff sides jutted out into the infinite expanse of deep turquoise water. This was the most photogenic location of the trip so far, so our entire group enjoyed snapping photo after photo while shivering from the chill of the sea air. We then continued to barrel down the coast, hugging the cliffside close enough to catch glimpses of the beautiful stretches of beach where wind and kite surfers zig zagged along the ceaseless curls of perfect surf. 

   
    
    
    
 We didn’t return until about 8:30, and rapidly split ways from our tour companions, all seeking sustenance immediately. Thoroughly in love with Luis and satisfied with the robust, day-long tour, Greg and I tipped Luis with a tip that would mean nothing to any American tour guide, but Luis nearly refused to accept it, saying it was not customary nor expected in Portugal and that it was too generous. 

   

 

   
As the only staff member to be manning the bar and reception, Luis stopped what he was doing to provide us with a dinner recommendation to a place that he thought had great seafood. After setting out on foot and nearly reaching the end of our hostel’s street we heard, “Guys! Guys!” and turned around to find Luis motioning us back to the hostel. Slightly concerned, we obliged, now seeing that Luis had his car keys and was walking us in the direction of his van. “I’ll take you myself, I told my colleague I needed to park the van,” he said with a mischievous smile. Luis continued to provide us with an off-the-clock and off the cuff tour through city backstreets to the restaurant he recommended. 

Though dinner ended up not being what we had hoped for or expected, Luis, our Lisbon ambassador, made this day unforgettable. Thinking back on Luis, it makes me think about how we are all ambassadors for the places we call home. When traveling, we all have a responsibility to where we hang our hats, and that is to represent it positively by choosing to be kind. Maybe I’m getting a little preachy, but after meeting people who make my travel experiences all the richer, I always feel inspired to pay it forward. After all, Luis became the face of Lisbon for us, and somewhere along all of our journeys we have the opportunity to become the face of wherever we call home. With that power, comes responsibility ;). 

Up next, find out how we fared on our first European road trip! 

I felt far from great as we awoke to the British roommates, still seemingly intoxicated, laughing uproariously as they shared their evenings’ blunders with one another. We readied ourselves for the day promptly, wanting out from the throws of debauchery. We had a lovely breakfast at The Brasileira Cafe in The Chiado, the chic shopping district, where Greg enjoyed what was acclaimed to be the “best cup of coffee in Lisbon.” He confirmed that it lived up to its hype.     

  

  After an hour or so of piddling about the hostel room, and me trying to remedy my nausea, we finally headed out for Belem, the historic town that boasts impressive and ancient monuments about 10 minutes from Lisbon. When we arrived, we popped into the monastery, which was stunning and unique because the choir was singing as we entered. However, this site was rather packed and we were more interested in the Tower of Belem and the monument dedicated to the discoveries, Padrão dos Descobrimentos. The monument built in 1960 to commemorate the 500th anniversary of the death of Prince Henry the Navigator, was quite, well, monumental for lack of a better word. It is this enormous ship that appears narrow and tall from the front and then when you move to each side of it, you see that it’s a vessel and various explorers and the king and poets are all depicted at the mast of the ship looking out onto the river, literally, the river is just beyond the monument. We walked along the river walk for a bit until our bladders forced us to locate a water closet. To our delight, we stumbled upon a swanky waterfront boutique hotel called Altis. After using the facilities, we decided we had to at least have a drink on the terrace of their bar called 38 degrees 41 feet. One glass of wine turned into a late lunch of one of the best shrimp Caesar salads we’ve ever had. At long last I felt fully remedied. 

  

  

  

  

  

  After lunch we walked to the Belem Tower (Torre de Belem), built in the 16th century. The tower served as a fortification to help protect the entire city, and it served an important role of defense during The Age of Discoveries. It’s surrounded by water and you can actually wade up to the bottom of it. Locals collected barnacles within the rocks of this small pool beneath the tower, while a street musician played a xylophone on the broad stairs toward the tower. The tower reminded me of King Louie’s, the orangutan, ruin castle from Jungle Book. We snapped some lovely photos and then walked toward the entrance only to sadly discover that it had closed about 30 minutes prior.

   

  

  

 We walked a bit more and mulled over what we could do for dinner. I had listened to quite a few podcasts on all of my destinations leading up to the trip and there was a restaurant off the beaten path near Lisbon that I had been eager to try, per the recommendation of a knowledgable Lisbon native I had listened to on Amateur Traveler. The restaurant was located in Cacilhas which can be accessed via ferry across the river. The restaurant was called Punto Final, meaning final point, and it’s perched at the very end of a wharf wall lining the opposite side of the river, rather closely situated next to the iconic, 24 de Abril bridge. It was supposedly a hidden gem with unbeatable views of the entire city and best enjoyed with a long, leisurely sunset. Greg was not too enthused about the prospect of venturing further off the Lisbon path, but he quickly warmed up to the idea and decided he was going to go with my instincts which I greatly appreciated… though now the pressure was on! Unsure of where the ferry was, we decided to be a bit lazy and take a cab. Our cab driver had never heard of the restaurant, which gave me nervous now that the fate of the evening rested in my sweaty little hands. However, he was an incredibly friendly and kind person, of course, and he stopped another incredibly kind and friendly gentleman in the street to ask him about how to get to this perhaps fictitious eatery by the river. At long last we arrived at our destination. This area of Cacilhas was a bit seedier than the glittering streets of Lisbon, but maybe seedy is too harsh, we’ll call it slightly more bohemian if you will. We walked to the wharf wall that was covered in graffiti and somewhat in shambles and ruins to the left, but to the right was nothing but shimmering water, a soon to be setting sun, and the bridge gluing us together with the city we came to love ever so quickly. We walked, and walked, and walked, my nerves growing stronger with each step. Did this place exist? How disappointed and frustrated would Greg be with me if this was a total bust? And then, it appeared! Bright yellow chairs and tables, a cacophony of clinking wine glasses and Portuguese chatter came into view and range at the very end of the wharf walk. The final point it most certainly was, and now we were about to find out if it was worth the trek. We got one of the very last available tables outside, and as soon as we were seated, the sun started smearing down below the bridge, creating an unforgettable image branded into my memory. We ordered octopus salad and grilled sea bass and shared a bottle of vino blanco. Though the entree selection remained to be mono-food-grouped, I think this may have been one of my favorite meals. The ambiance was perfection. Greg and I enjoyed a very leisurely dinner and stayed there laughing and chatting for hours. All in all, it was worth the trek and the worry! Thank you Amateur Traveler for highlighting this Portuguese treasure. 

        
The ferry station was just at the beginning of the wharf wall, and to our delight, as soon as we boarded, for free mind you, it sailed off in the direction of Lisbon. To our heightened delight, we didn’t pay a thing upon our departure from the ferry either! It was the smoothest and most seamless return by ferry we’ve both ever experienced. We continued the laughs at an Irish pub near to our hostel before turning in on yet another day that brimmed with admiration and wonder.  
 

And so, the journey began! After a slightly harrowing altercation with my initial connecting flight from DCA to PHL, Greg and I made our flight to Lisbon, and after a couple of sodium rich meals and falling asleep with mouths agape, we touched down in Lisbon at around 10:30 a.m. Our first encounter with a Lisbon native was our customs agent who was grinning from ear to ear as we approached. As he stamped our passports he told us he’d meet us on the beach for a glass of white wine later. I could tell already that I was going to like this city. 

  
We easily navigated Lisbon’s efficient public transit system (which says a lot coming from me!) to make our way from the airport to our hostel. After exiting the metro, Greg and I both reveled in that brink-of-adventure moment and stopped to savor the feeling of the salty breeze within the damp shade of a stoney backstreet. It was very easy to find Yes! Lisbon Hostel, which was situated in an ideal location close to the waterfront, metro station, and charming neighborhoods. After checking in with  an energetic staff member who wanted to impress us with his knowledge of D.C. Sports facts, it became clear to me that the people of Lisbon seem to truly enjoy life and enjoy interacting with people. It is so often that the population within a destination determines how we feel about the destination overall, and so, Lisbon was already beginning to gain my affection. Our room was not quite ready, which was not problematic for us since we were high on the fumes of a budding adventure and eager to get lost in the tangle of backstreets combing through the hills. 

Our first, “Okay, we’re in Europe,” moment was probably when we stepped onto the Main Street outside our hostel. Our senses were immediately bombarded with new smells, sounds, and sensations. When I think back to first seeing Lisbon I see bright yellow and white, I can smell the barbecuing sardines, and I can feel the breeze coming off of the water. Even the sidewalks are something to admire in Lisbon- patterned stones and rocks stretch from the hilltops down toward the main square at the center of the waterfront. We walked through an enormous white arch and into the Praca do Comercio where bright yellow buildings and open-air cafes all seem to present Lisbon’s focal point and source of all things, well, “Lisbon”-  the water. The square teemed with life and energy. Many Americans might compare Lisbon to San Fransisco, due to its smaller-scale Golden Gate Bridge replica stretching across the Tagus River, its passion for seafood, and its steep hills. There are some topographic and structural similarities, but the cultural and sensory experiences to be had in Lisbon truly set it apart as its own, unique entity.  Lisbon holds fast to its cultural traditions such as a love for Fado music, a devotion to their patron saint as well as to Catholicism in general, grilled prawns, sardines, vino verde, port wine, and of course, soccer (futebol). 

   
   
Greg and I made our way to Alfama, a charming neighborhood that blooms up the trolley tracked hills opposite the waterfront. We wandered into a small cafe where I tried my first grilled sardines as we were serenaded by a 2 piece Mariachi style band. The sardines were a bit… bony, but nonetheless a fun and salty cultural experience. Post lunch we made our way to the top of the Alfama neighborhood and through the gates of the Castelo da Sao Jorge, a Moorish castle and fort built in the mid-11th century. It’s perched atop the peak of the Alfama neighborhood hills, in an area of the old medieval  citadel and is comprised of the castle, ruins of the former palace, and part of the neighborhood for the elite. We probably spent a good 2 hours exploring every tower and cranny of the stone fortress. Greg being a bit frightened by narrow spaces and heights, was cracking me up with his noises of apprehension every time we ascended a tower staircase. The real kicker was when we saw an elderly couple sail up and down the stairs with ease right after we had descended gripping the railing for dear life and sweating with fear.

   
    
   
200 photos and 3 water closet breaks later, we were fully impressed by the castle and ready to sponge up the rest of this haven by the river. We ambled through more backstreets that, to my delight, were strewn with colorful streamers, window boxes brimming with bright flowers, and doors and windows adorned with sparkly shrines to the patron saint. As a lover of all things festive, I rapidly became enamored by this rainbow of festivity. On our way down the castle hill, a small wine shop called Graca do Vinho caught our eye and beckoned us inside. Lined with shelves of books, plants, artwork, and of course, wine, this quirky and comfortable stop was one of our favorites. We sat at a tiny table for two, which soon became 3 when the neighboring store’s dog came to join us while his owners went out for the day, for perhaps 2-3 hours sipping white wine and enjoying some always needed sibling coversation. We then hiked further up the hill to reach one of the most stunning panoramas I’ve ever seen of any city, at a lookout point called Miradoura Graca. There’s a beautiful church situated next to a vast courtyard full of tables and chairs and an outdoor bar. We continued our libations and laughter as we admired the terra cotta roof jigsaw puzzle below us, until the sun started setting and our bellies started rumbling again. We made our way through more colorful backstreets and stopped to eat at a Fado restaurant. We couldn’t be sure if it was authentic or a tourist trap, and we didn’t appreciate being shushed when we entered, but regardless, I absolutely loved this experience. We sat in a barely lit clay colored dining room with open doors and windows, listening to a beautiful young woman croon a lover’s lament in deep and dramatic Portuguese. Though I adored this dining experience, Greg and I soon realized that entrees in Portugal are not quite the same as in the U.S., where one can expect various food groups within one entree. The Portuguese entrees seem to focus on just one food group, so we both got our protein servings for the day and then some. Feeling enchanted by the Fado dining experience, I was eager to immerse fully into this festive, dramatic, fun-loving culture. We were planning to finally check in to our room at the hostel but stopped for sangria and people watching at an outdoor carnival of bars and music. We were fully entertained by a gentleman dancing in the main foot traffic path, clearly very pleased with his own moves and no doubt fueled by too much sangria. Greg got an excellent video of this by the way. 

   
    
   
   

 At long last we made it back to the hostel where we were greeted by a growing crowd of young backpackers from nearly every corner of the earth. We learned from Fabio, an outgoing and charming staffer who I actually had heard about from friends of mine who stayed at this same hostel not too long ago, that the pub crawl was about to ensue and that we needed to enlist ourselves in the fun. Though Greg and I feel as if our days of pub crawling may be expired, we had that “why not” mentality that usually comes with the delirium of a first day abroad. Besides, who could dismiss Fabio’s insistence. 

The pub crawl took us through the Bairro Alto, a neighborhood jam packed with trendy, young bars. We met countless people from all over the globe, all of whom were friendly and interesting. Greg and I were certainly the two to turn in earliest of our rowdy and reckless bunch, but I was proud of us for joining their forces after a full day of travel and sightseeing. Later on that evening, or morning I should say, we met our first roommates- a loud and crass group of male Brits. Though I found them slightly obnoxious at first, they did bless us with some hilarious banter that we joked about for the next few days. All in all, it was a truly legendary first day and I couldn’t have asked for a better start to my grand summer adventure abroad. Stay tuned to find out about our day trip to Belem and then to Sintra. 

  

Packing is almost complete! Above is nearly everything I’ll be taking for my 7 week journey… minus the cat, sadly. In case you are a fashionable prospective international traveler, here are tips on how to pack and a list of what I packed:

Tips:

-use hair ties as rubber bands around rolled clothes

-roll your clothes! 

– stuff as many rolled items as possible into shoes 

-pack undergarments and bikinis into a storage sized ziploc bag 

What I packed:

-3 pairs of pants: white, jeans, and palazzo 

-5 pairs of shorts: Jean, 2 white, black, navy 

-4 sundresses (2 of which can translate into night dresses): 2 black, 2 patterned 

-3 maxi skirts (wearing an additional one on the plane) 

-2 long sleeved sheer(ish) tops 

-2 dressier daytime tank tops

-2 cotton tank tops (1 white, 1 black)

-2 going out tank tops (bright colored) 

-3 versatile tops: 3 black, 1 white 

-2 kimonos (1 light, 1 dark) 

-2 pair spandex: 1 yoga fold over (sleep and lounge), 1 running Capri 

-1 running tank top 

-3 pairs of shoes: Sperry’s, platform wedges (Clark’s), running shoes (Nike Free Fit) (wearing Birkenstock’s on the plane) 

-1 rain jacket 

-2 scarves (1 plain, 1 patterned) 

-1 smaller cross body bag, 1 wristlet 

-bag of undergarments 

*Not pictured or included in list: toiletries, technology and necessities to be brought in purse, jewelry

It seems like it was just yesterday that it was September and I was saying a small first-day-of-school prayer to myself before meeting my brand new batch of 7th graders for the first time. The school year has blazed through my calendar like a fiery comet, leaving little more than an ashen trail of awe and admiration.  My students this year were one of the best groups of students I’ve encountered yet.  My home at Hughes Middle has been rooted and my experiences as an educator there have continued to blossom and bear fruit. Teaching brings with it uncountable joys, challenges, and rewards. I honestly don’t know who I’d be if I couldn’t say I was a teacher.  It has given me such purpose and continues to open my eyes to so many different perspectives, realities, and truths.  Traveling during my summers off is something that allows me to yes, recharge my battery, but to also deepen my personal narrative and to broaden my paradigm, so that I can come back to teach students about exploring their own narratives and broadening their own paradigms…or hey, what a paradigm even means! I decided to spend this summer backpacking abroad in January, as I felt I needed a trip that would challenge me physically and mentally.  It feels surreal that I am now in the month of which my journey begins. I feel excited, nervous, and slightly sad, because as the sun is rising on my adventure into the unknown, the sun is setting on a beautiful chapter in my teaching career.

Even though I’ve taught the same subject and grade level for the past four years, every year is so drastically different from the last, because the hours and days are determined by personalities.  Which reminds me of travel: even though the logistics of travel tend to be similar or the same, every trip is so drastically different from the last because the hours and days are determined by personalities- personalities of travel companions, of the people you encounter, and of the cities and towns you inhabit. And as I’ve learned with teaching, each one is different, unforgettable and defining.