Country of Illusion
In keeping with tradition, I instantly had it bad for Portugal. After only a few hours of aimlessly exploring Lisbon’s narrow, hilly streets, I was head over heels. I had no real agenda during my three days in Lisbon, and so spent the first following my whims, which largely amounted to chasing whatever music I heard. This led me to dim cafes where acoustic guitars strummed soulful fado, and the sounds of a clarinet performing a bluesy version of “Mr Sandman” led me to the top of a hill with a huge castle and a view of the entire city. Around every corner I found something new to charm or surprise me, and there was a timeless quality to the city, as if nothing had changed in 500 years except for the street art, serving to bring the buildings reluctantly into the present.
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