From Lisbon to the Algarve

Hi, people. :)

Happy Sunday. I know I missed posting last week – I was a depressed potato going through the “there’s no point to anything” vibes. I’ve since recovered a little, experienced a mindset shift, and am back in business. Who knows, I could always slip back into it, but so far I’m feeling okay. How are you?

This is just a quick where I am & what I’m doing update, but I have another post coming up later today, so stay tuned!

Lisbon

Lisbon was beautiful, fun to explore, and for some reason a bad mental trip. I spent three weeks there in a cute shared apartment steps away from the central square. The place was great – one of those super clean spaces that smells like cedar and Ikea every time you walk in. Plus, I had two microwaves and a real oven. One microwave is unusual for me, so yes, very exciting. ;)

I spent most of my time either walking, working, or laying on my floor feeling like death. The walking was the best part. I averaged 9km a day and I think I saw most of downtown Lisbon, climbing up and down the hills and getting lost in cobblestoned alleyways to my heart’s content. I walked along tram paths and ocean ramparts and through 12th century churches. I slipped into walking tours, gave a wannabe pickpocket a successful stink-eye, and tried to determine the best pastry shop in the city. I hiked all over Sintra, too. The walking was good.

But in the end, I don’t have much to say about Lisbon because I was in such a funk the whole time. Have you ever traveled to a beautiful, mind-blowing place, only to feel just as much like crap there as you did at home? That was me. It happens. I think we’re actually more likely to feel depression while abroad because we feed ourselves this idea that “we’re living our dream life, we *should* be happy,” and then beat ourselves up mentally when we’re working through hard things. The travel itself is fine, but our brains are pulling some crap – and that’s okay.

It’s okay to hate the human experience sometimes.

I did a lot of sitting in squares and thinking about the thousands of people passing by, all of whom had definitely gone through trauma or had to drag themselves through the day at some point. We’ve all secretly internally been there, and it’s common to survive it. So, if this is hitting hard for you, chin up. It’s just one chapter in your story. :)

Into the Algarve

On Thursday, I packed my backpack and hauled myself to the bus station, still basically feeling like death, but starting to move towards a mindset shift after a pep-talk with my parents.

I adore travel days. Riding a bus is like being given permission to do nothing but daydream and sleep and waste time for several hours. I establish my dominant position with the guy man-spreading next to me, put on my sound-cancelling headphones, and zone out (once said dude chills tf out and accepts his personal space bubble). It’s the best. Portugal slides by outside, I watch, my indie music soundtrack keeps me happy, it’s perfect. I try not to actually think too much.

I’m now in the Algarve, staying 1km from an enormous beach. It’s the off-season, which means there are about 20 other people in a town packed by thousands in the summer. I have the beaches to myself, the hiking trails to myself, and an abandoned tourist town to myself. Creepy, but nice.

The ocean is some kind of soul tonic. Simply breathing the fresh air is clearing my thoughts and sharpening my perspective. I’m spending hours with my toes and mind awash in sea foam. Lessons are becoming clear to me.

Sorry if my posts aren’t doing Portugal justice. I’m starting to think this trip is less about seeing museums and old churches and more about seeing myself. :)

Next stop – a vintage camper in a small Portuguese town near the ocean. I’ll be staying there for a little over a week before I head on to Spain. Say hi if you’re in Seville! I’d love to meet up.