I Didn’t Just See Portugal — I Felt It

I retired at sixty-two and, for the first time in forty years, had nowhere to be. It felt wonderful and terrifying in equal measure. When my daughter suggested I try travelling again, I laughed. Europe alone at sixty-three? But then I found Lily Valley Journeys and something in me said: this is different.

Landing in Lisbon, I was immediately disarmed. The tiled facades, the warm light off the Tagus, the pastéis de nata I ate standing on a corner at eight in the morning. Our small group gathered that evening — seven women — and by the time dinner was over, we were laughing like old friends.

The Douro Valley was the moment that undid me. We sat on a terrace above the valley watching the sun move across the terraced vines, glasses of port in hand, and nobody said a word for a very long time. You don’t need words for that kind of beauty.

Monica had arranged everything so carefully — the guide who knew every winemaker by name, the restaurant that had been feeding families for three generations. I never once felt unsafe or unsure.

I came home lighter somehow. Like I’d set something down that I’d been carrying for years. I’m already looking at the Portugal journey again — next time, perhaps the Alentejo.