Sintra

I’ve noticed that when I’m crossed with two or more paths, I always take the road less traveled. I go the long and unusual way. I prefer following the sounds and signs of good feelings and auras that cannot be seen.

I follow music to introduce myself to someone I don’t know. I walked 1.5 miles down a windy two way street– not wider than garage–to get to the beach and to make it back instead of walking back the way I came, I climbed what looked like a mountain covered in green.

There was only a skinny path of rich orange clay, the color of the insides of fresh Portuguese yolks. The kind that makes you think of desert anywhere but not here. This puffy green mountain was like one giant lily pad surrounded by crashing kisses blown by the ocean and salted breeze.

But, if I am to be completely honest, the walk back had no direction to it at all. I knew I wasn’t far, but I had no idea where I was. Coming out onto roads from driveways of houses, LOL. I was nearly on peoples property. The houses and roads were unrecognizable as the street I originally walked down didn’t have any intersections.

When I asked for some help, my confidants and I were laughing as I was looking for a town that I was already in. Great!

I ate outside at a lil cafe. It’s a small town. Omelette with atun. (Tuna) Cars and familiar faces drive by sometimes more than once, but when they do, shouting and flailing arms compete with the volume of their last exchange, both the people dining outdoors at cafe and those saying hello from the car. But can you blame them, it’s been one hour and two half pints later. It’s not quality beer, but it has the word super in it, SUPER BOCK and it’s everywhere. So it doesn’t matter.
“Super’s” our fault, not theirs. I’m loving this place and the woman in staying with. Tomorrow onto find a permaculture project that’s very close.

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