Portugal is green... Eucalyptus with paper like peeling bark, rough edged Cedar and tall Oak trees interspersed with Olive trees.
Portugal is hilly. Slopes of 10, 12 percent in tiny towns with curves so severe you couldn't see past the biker behind you. We biked for five days, experiencing more cobblestone streets than I ever thought I would see in my lifetime.
Little towns created with tall, slim, pink, yellow, green blue houses jammed together with windowed wrought iron balconies. Often, decorative tiled fronts from patterns to glazed colors.
The sea was cold braved mostly be surfers in wetsuits. Restless, turbulent against lava looking rocks, water sandwiched and stirring into rocks near the town of Cassis.
Porto, a smaller seaside town has a system of trails built on old railroad tracks, much like Minnesota. Riding a bike on a smooth tarred surface past stretches of forest, farmland is experiencing the peace of a gentle ancient land.
Yes, we were clearly tourists but asking directions was anticipated rather than dreaded. People were friendly and informative. On a tour of the town of Amante, our guide pointed out stone tablets on the churches. We were told if the church started to burn, the tablets named other churches nearby where people would come and help. The system was in use until the late 1800s.
We toured wineries and stayed in monasteries where the walls seemed anchored in calm. Walking the often, white stone halls meant easily imagining monks or nuns, walking meditatively in a comfortable rhythm with their robes.
There was a softness about Portugal from the quality of the air suffused with Eucalyptus and Olive to the language often with the "th" sounds. From the smoothness of the red wines to the friendly gaze of people. I breathed in a type of thinking I really liked. As if, when in thought on a problem, the past is considered but does not rule the present. Portugal has a way of living taking time into account but lightly.