The plan was to have an early night.
A dinner, a glass of wine. Wander through Lisbon’s warm May streets, and then bed.
But Lisbon had other ideas.
After a walk around town, we wanted to stop by Bairro Alto, the old nightlife district where the streets were beginning to fill. Just a look. Just one drink.
There is music from doorways and open windows. People stand in clusters in the narrow streets, glasses in hand, conversations flowing in Portuguese, English to French and back again. One bar melts into the next. Someone recommends somewhere “just around the corner.” Then someone else insists on one last stop.
And that early night, stretches all the way into morning.
In Lisbon, it feels reasonable.
The next day calls for fresh air..
We take an Uber out to Fortaleza do Guincho. Trading the city for open skies.
And we walk back towards Cascais.
Waves crash against the cliffs. Salt hangs in the air. Purple flowers over pathways and stone walls. The Atlantic is wild, arriving with energy.
But we walk slowly. Coffee here and there. Watching people, overhearing conversation. Isn’t Cristiano Ronaldo building a house around here?
Entirely unverified, of course. But not by the time we tell the story to our kids back home.
On one of those seaside restaurants we stop for lunch. Clams, cold drinks, good company. The staff eventually begin resetting the room around for the afternoon break. When evening service begins, we are still there.
It feels less like poor planning and more like a perfectly acceptable life choice.
The charm of Lisbon is between the plans. Finding small boutiques selling handmade leather bags, side streets that open into sunlit squares, tiled facades. And always, croissants.
GoBreezing 