2023 Portugal, Finally
Agnes He, June 2025
The very first thing we did after New Year’s Day in 2023 was fly to Madrid to visit my parents. International travel was just beginning to ease, signaling the slow and tentative end of the COVID-19 pandemic. I hadn’t seen my parents in person for three years—the last time was in December 2019-January 2020, just before the world shut down, when I traveled to Madrid to help my father recover from hip replacement surgeries.
Throughout the pandemic, despite the dire conditions in the U.S. and elsewhere, Jackson and I somehow managed to avoid infection. We had both attended conferences; I had taught in person while masked and organized meetings and events of various sizes. We often remarked on how lucky we had been. But only a few days into our stay with my parents, I began to feel unwell—a runny nose, an increasingly painful sore throat. I had a sinking feeling. I took a test, and it was positive.
The moment I sensed something was wrong, we left my parents’ apartment and returned to our hotel to quarantine. It wasn’t long before Jackson developed symptoms too. Thankfully, our cases were mild—nothing like the terrifying stories we had heard over the previous years. Still, out of an abundance of caution, we didn’t say goodbye to my parents in person. Instead, we video-chatted from our hotel and wished them well from afar.
Once we began to feel better, we left Madrid and headed to Portugal. It was the beginning of a much-needed vacation, a chance to breathe, to reset, and to reclaim a sense of peace and wonder after years of fear, anxiety and uncertainty.
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Because of our trips to Spain over the years, there had been many opportunities when we could have crossed the border into Portugal. Yet, for some reason, the pull was never quite strong enough—until this time. We began with three days in Lisbon. Then, we rented a car and began our journey across the country. The decision to drive gave us the freedom to wander off the main roads and encounter Portugal more intimately.
Maritime superpower
It’s hard to imagine today, as you walk the quiet cobbled streets of Lisbon, that this small country was once a mighty maritime superpower. In the 15th and early 16th centuries, Portugal stood at the forefront of global exploration, driven by ambition, curiosity, and a remarkable willingness to face the unknown. Portugal was, for a brief but extraordinary moment, the richest country in the world. With colonies all over the world, its naval dominance reaped immense material and symbolic rewards. Portugal was the first Western nation to reach Asia by sea, a feat accomplished in early 16th century, after decades of navigation down the coast of Africa. Portuguese ships eventually reached India, Macau and other parts of the East, making Portugal the first European power to establish a permanent settlement on Chinese soil.
Incidentally, it was Portuguese traders who first encountered Cantonese speakers and spread tea to parts of the world as chá, leading to the Portuguese word chá (in Cantonese ‘tea’ is pronounced as ‘cha’.) Meanwhile, Dutch traders happened to interact with Hokkien/Min Nan speakers and introduced tea to other regions as "tea" (in Min Nan dialect, ‘tea’ is pronounced as ‘te’). Hence the ‘cha’ languages (Portuguese "chá"; Japanese, Korean, and Vietnamese "cha"; Hindi, Urdu, and Persian "chai"; and Russian "chay") and the ‘tea’ languages (English, Dutch, and German “tea”; French "thé"; and Spanish "té"). In spite of geographic proximity to each other, Portuguese and Spanish use different words for ‘tea’ because of their different spheres of global exploration and expansion (more on this below).
The very idea of such long-distance voyages, across perilous, uncharted waters, was astonishing for its time. It required not only advanced seafaring technologies and astronomical knowledge but also a profound courage to leave the known world behind and pursue something beyond the horizon. This contrasts sharply with Chinese history. Despite the grandeur of the Ming dynasty’s naval capabilities under Admiral Zheng He—whose massive fleets traversed the Indian Ocean decades before the Portuguese arrived—the Chinese imperial court ultimately turned inward. The great treasure fleets were recalled, shipbuilding was restricted, and the ambition to explore was eclipsed by a policy of self-containment. It was not a question of capability, but of worldview. While the Chinese prized stability, harmony, and a central cosmology in which they were the “Middle Kingdom,” Western powers, including Portugal, operated from a very different impulse—one of expansion, conquest, and the relentless pursuit of wealth, influence, and knowledge.
To understand this historical audacity, we visited the Coach Museum (Museu Nacional dos Coches) in Lisbon. Housed in a beautifully restored royal riding arena, the museum is home to one of the most impressive collections of ceremonial carriages in the world. These gilded, baroque masterpieces were more than transportation; they were political statements, mobile symbols of wealth and dominance.
One particularly arresting carriage caught our attention. On its panels was a scene of two gods shaking hands—one representing the Atlantic Ocean, the other the Indian Ocean. This imagery commemorates a pivotal realization of the Portuguese during the Age of Discovery: that the Atlantic and Indian Oceans are connected. This breakthrough, achieved by sailing around the southern tip of Africa, dramatically changed the world map and global trade. The handshake of oceans was a metaphor not only for geography but for power—the power to traverse, to connect, to dominate.
The figure who ignited much of this maritime fervor was Prince Henry the Navigator, whose statue stands in Belém, gazing out over the water as if forever urging Portugal toward the sea. Though he never sailed far himself, he sponsored countless expeditions and established a school of navigation that transformed Europe’s understanding of the world. His vision laid the groundwork for what would become the Portuguese Empire.
Nearby in Belém stands the Jerónimos Monastery, a stunning testament to this golden era. Built to celebrate Vasco da Gama’s successful voyage to India, the monastery is a masterpiece of Manueline architecture, an ornate and uniquely Portuguese style that blends Gothic and Renaissance elements with nautical motifs—ropes, anchors, corals, sea monsters—all carved in intricate detail from creamy limestone. The monastery was meant to awe, and it does. Its cloisters are breathtaking, and its grandeur reflects the national pride and spiritual fervor that accompanied Portugal’s age of expansion.
Meeting place of cultures
Driving southward, we reached the Algarve region, famous today for its beaches and resort towns. In January, however, the area had a quiet, almost contemplative air. Without the summer crowds, the landscape felt more expansive and intimate. The sun was generous, and the Atlantic shimmered with diamond-like clarity. This region, like much of southern Portugal, was under Arab rule for centuries, part of al-Andalus, a rich and multicultural Islamic civilization that shaped architecture, language, agriculture, and learning across the Iberian Peninsula. It wasn’t until the 14th century that the Algarve was fully reclaimed by Christian forces as part of the Reconquista—a centuries-long series of military and religious campaigns by Christian kingdoms to retake territory from Muslim rule. The legacy of that era remains visible in the fortified towns, the place names beginning with Al-, and the blending of Islamic and Christian aesthetics that define so much of southern Portugal’s charm.
We explored the Parque Natural da Ria Formosa, a protected lagoon system rich in birdlife and salt marshes, which felt like a hidden paradise. There was no parking fee, no admission fee. The park was exceptionally well maintained. The sandstone cliffs near Lagos and the dramatic rock formations of Ponta da Piedade stood against the brilliant blue sky like natural sculptures carved over centuries. In Faro, the capital of the Algarve, we walked the old town's cobbled streets enclosed by medieval walls, and admired the Arco da Vila, where storks had built nests atop its baroque façade.
From the south, we turned inland to the vast and poetic region of Alentejo. This part of Portugal is sparsely populated, its beauty rooted in soft hills, olive groves, and cork oak trees. Alentejo has a lyrical stillness. We passed through towns and villages whose names echo their complex past. Many of them begin with “Al-,” a clear sign of Arabic influence from the centuries when this land was part of al-Gharb al-Andalus—“the west of Andalusia.” Portugal, in fact, derives from the Arabic al-Burtuqal, itself a legacy of classical Latin Portus Cale, the name of a Roman settlement near present-day Porto (which in the month of January can be quite cold and we did not visit).
One of our most evocative stops along the way was Mértola, perched above the Guadiana River. The town once served as an important port during Roman and Islamic rule, and its layered history is visible everywhere. We visited a modest yet hauntingly beautiful church that had once been a mosque. As we stood there, the sound of singing rose from within—unrehearsed, tender, almost spectral. It felt as though the human voice had traveled across a millennium to reach us, resonating through stone and silence.
Among all the places we visited outside Lisbon, Évora remains etched most vividly in memory. A UNESCO World Heritage Site, Évora is a living museum, home to relics from the Roman, Moorish, and Christian eras. The Roman Temple of Diana stands incongruously amid later buildings, its Corinthian columns framed by the town’s whitewashed houses and red roofs. The 12th-century Sé Cathedral, partly Gothic and partly Romanesque, anchors the spiritual and architectural weight of the town.
We stayed in an Airbnb on Rua dos Mercadores, a street whose name evokes Évora’s long history of trade and exchange. The apartment dates back to the Middle Ages and is owned by a local art teacher—a lovely woman who spoke elegant English and welcomed us with warmth, intelligence and grace. The place had been in her family for generations. When we arrived, it wasn’t quite ready; the cleaning ladies, speaking only Portuguese, smiled and told us it would be ready in five minutes. Inside, the apartment revealed its age in the most beautiful way: the original Moorish arch ceiling, curved and whitewashed, remained intact. It was elegant in its simplicity, as though it held the memory of centuries—of prayers whispered, conversations shared, family gatherings held. Ours was not the only apartment in the building used by travelers—now and then, we would hear the gentle clatter of rolling luggage on the cobblestones, a reminder that others, too, were arriving or departing on their journeys. Although we drove to Évora, there was no parking near the apartment. The owner provided a key to a locked public garage about ten minutes away on foot.
We stayed in Évora for 3 nights, and the Airbnb apartment became a quiet and comforting base. Just steps away were small local shops selling fresh bread, fruit, and other daily necessities, each tucked into corners that seemed unchanged for generations. We wandered through the meandering alleys that crisscross much of the old town, gradually learning several different routes between our apartment and the central square. I especially enjoyed standing by the window in the evening, looking out as the last light softened the whitewashed walls. Everything was still and quiet, as if the town held its breath at dusk. In the evenings, our street Rua dos Mercadores grew hushed. The doors of each home were illuminated by modest porch lights, casting a warm glow that made the entire street feel like a painting. It wasn’t hard to imagine that life here had looked much the same for centuries.
(Distorting) Mirror of its neighbor
We had traveled across much of Spain in previous years—especially the south, Andalusia—and so much of what we saw in Portugal felt oddly familiar: the whitewashed towns clinging to hillsides, the Moorish arches and ironwork balconies, the ever-present scent of orange trees. Yet, there was something undeniably different, too. Spain and Portugal, though neighbors on the Iberian Peninsula and deeply intertwined through centuries of shared history, feel like distant cousins—related, but each shaped by their own distinct path.
Colors
Perhaps the most immediate thing for a traveler is the physical appearances of these two countries. Even though both countries are known for their colorfulness, in Spain, the palette is vibrant and bold: the deep reds associated with bullfighting, the golden glow of Andalusian facades, and the surreal, candy-colored creations of Gaudí. And the same color scheme is seen in Puerto Rico, which, for 400 years, was under Spanish rule. This colonial legacy is vividly reflected in the island’s striking, lively hues, which captivated us during our visit in January 2022. The experience left such a profound and inspiring impression that it was after our trip to Puerto Rico that I began experimenting with color through acrylic painting.
In Portugal, the colors are cooler, more ethereal: the azulejos, those iconic blue-and-white tiles, lend a dreamlike quality to the architecture. Everywhere in Portugal, you encounter azulejos–ceramic tiles, most often painted in shades of blue and white, that cover the surfaces of churches, train stations, palace walls, fountains, and modest homes. The name azulejo comes from the Arabic al-zulayj, meaning “polished stone,” and these tiles trace their lineage back to Islamic art and architecture, where intricate geometric designs and calligraphy avoided figural representation. The tradition was adapted and transformed under Portuguese kings beginning in the 16th century, incorporating European religious iconography and eventually becoming a national art form.
We saw many such panels across the country, but one moment stands apart: we wandered into a large church in Évora, the Igreja da Misericórdia, set back from the street and almost hidden from view. Inside, we found ourselves completely alone in an immense room whose walls were entirely wrapped in blue-and-white azulejos–biblical scenes, cityscapes, angels, and mythic beasts unfurled across the walls like a tapestry made of porcelain. The only sound was our own breath; dim light filtered through narrow windows. The stillness was eerie, like stepping into a room preserved out of time–an asylum for forgotten stories, yet also a space charged with quiet majesty.
Sintra, however, bursts with warmth and fantastical grandeur – it looks and feels much more like Spain. The town, nestled in the forested hills of the Serra de Sintra, feels like a dreamscape painted in saturated hues. Its crown jewel is Palácio da Pena, the 19th-century Romantic palace perched high on a hill, visible from miles away. Pena Palace looks like something lifted from a fairy tale, with bright yellow and red towers, whimsical battlements, ceramic mosaics, and visually dramatic terraces and gardens.
Histories
Historically, their destinies often converged and diverged like braided rivers. Both were once part of the Roman Empire, later swept into the era of Visigothic rule, then transformed by centuries of Islamic presence during the Moorish occupation. The long process of the Reconquista—the Christian reclamation of Iberian lands from Muslim rulers—unfolded on both sides of the peninsula. In Portugal, much of the south, including regions like Alentejo and the Algarve, was gradually reclaimed by Christian forces by the 13th and 14th centuries. The marks of this layered history are everywhere: in churches that were once mosques, in towns bearing Arabic-rooted names starting with "Al-", and in architectural remnants that blur the lines between conqueror and conquered.
Despite this common ground, the two nations carved different identities. Spain, expansive and powerful, aligned historically with France and pursued territorial dominance in the Americas. Portugal, smaller and more sea-oriented, forged one of the world’s oldest alliances—with England—and cast its gaze eastward and southward: to Brazil, Africa, and beyond. Their rivalry was formalized in the 1494 Treaty of Tordesillas, which divided the New World into Spanish and Portuguese spheres of influence.
Even in more recent times, the contrast persists. Spain is a constitutional monarchy with sharp regional divisions and a flair for public expression—festivals, late-night tapas, flamenco, and a proud sense of regionalism from Catalonia to the Basque Country. Portugal, by contrast, is a republic whose national temperament feels more introspective, quiet, elegant.
Languages
Spanish and Portuguese share deep linguistic ties as Romance languages, both evolving from Latin and retaining significant similarities in vocabulary, grammar, and verb conjugations. For instance, words like nación/nación (nation) and corazón/coração (heart) highlight their shared roots, while their grammatical structures, such as gendered nouns and similar verb tenses, further reinforce their kinship. Additionally, the two languages enjoy a degree of mutual intelligibility, particularly in written form; a Spanish speaker can often grasp Portuguese texts (and vice versa) with relative ease.
However, spoken communication poses greater challenges due to distinct pronunciation patterns. Spanish is crisp and clear. Portuguese sounds softer (jogo vs. juego for "game"), more nasal (irmão vs. Spanish hermano for "brother"), often described as sounding like a blend of French and Slavic tones to those unfamiliar with it. On paper, the languages share Latin roots and look strikingly similar, but to the ear, they chart different emotional landscapes.
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If Spain seduces with spectacle, Portugal beckons with intimacy. Its towns are scaled for wandering, for losing yourself down narrow lanes, for discovering a bakery or a hidden courtyard or a tiled wall that seems to whisper stories. Its cultural rhythms are slower, less performative, but no less profound. Having seen so much of Spain before made this first real encounter with Portugal all the more illuminating. The familiarity made it easy to settle in; the differences made it unforgettable. These are lands shaped by proximity and rivalry, history and pride, but ultimately by their own sense of significance and destiny, and we as travelers are fortunate to walk between them.