Cool salty breezes, waves crashing against the sand found at the bottom of an unsaturated yellow cliff, all while tracing this prefectly imperfect shoreline. This western most country in the European Union is quiet enough to not suffer from an influx of tourism allowing the locals to bask in the glory that is this nation’s secrets. Infinite beaches, uneven terrains flourishing in greens and farmlands, and when they aren’t the landscape is textured in varied rock formations. Dense forests and wooded areas aren’t far, in conjunction with castles and historic monuments and a handful of vibrant cities makes Portugal quite the gem to get lost in. The locals are laid back with a young generation engulfed in music from every corner of the globe. A good meal under the sun is easily taken for granted in this place.
We continue to cruise along the coast, getting lost in these beautiful vistas but it doesn’t take long for the lack of sleep and leveling out of stress to keep my mind from noticing that the car in front of me has a license plate that reads “California”. Wonder how much trouble he went through to transport his car here just to drive on the Portuguese coast line. “Speed Limit 55” was written on a few signs at one point to which I couldn’t ignore. Not for the regulation they were asking of me but for the fact they were written in English.
The three of us are first generation American by way of Portuguese parents. From where we hail in Jersey, there’s a dense enough Portuguese community to note that most of us have spent many a summer in our parents motherland. Along the years, from leaving the city to exploring the countryside one embraces the landscapes that make up this lively country. It’s only natural to confuse the fields of modern wind turbines in Kansas to the ones found in the north of Portugal. To confuse the golden coast with that of the American counterpart in California. To get lost in the elevated street blocks of Lisbon only to realize you’re in San Fran. To cruise through beautiful vineyards surrounded by dry grass but decorated with elaborately twisted trees in the Alentejo region, knowing full well the last sign you passed read ‘Napa’. To hug the twists that climb the elevations North of Porto, thick with tall green trees on either side only to realize these were actually the Rockies.
The similarities are daunting but rewarding. Before this, I’ve done my fair share of traveling, whether it be throughout Europe, a few places in the states, or in south east Asia but this is the first time I’ve truly missed home. Day 2 felt like 2 months so by now I’ve been gone for years. It doesn’t help that we are crossing landscapes that then mimic the country my parents hail from. Between my home state and Portugal, all the scenic terrains we’ve seen exist minus the dessert which I can honestly do without, so to some extent this trip has strengthened my love for where I’m from but, to be clear, I’m not taking any of this journey for granted as it’s helped me reach this conclusion.
For anyone who doubts my passion for these comparisons, please note that all photos above were taken in Portugal.