More than a layover...Lisboa

My 36-hour layover in Lisbon came with bookends: a late-night arrival and an early-morning departure. Two nights in a hotel I barely had time to know. On paper, it felt like borrowed time—something to endure, not savor. But Lisbon has a way of filling the margins.

The city greeted me the next morning with golden light spilling over tiled rooftops and the distant sound of trams grinding uphill. The air was soft and warm, carrying the smell of espresso, sea salt, and bread just out of the oven. My day began in the back of a tuk-tuk, the engine humming as we zigzagged through narrow streets that felt more like corridors than roads. My driver navigated with instinct, not GPS—laughing, pointing, stopping when the view demanded it. We passed walls worn smooth by centuries of hands, laundry lines fluttering overhead, corners that felt quietly alive. It wasn’t a tour so much as an introduction, from a stranger who became a friend. Thank you Afonso for guiding me through all the places.

Afonso and his epic Tuk Tuk!

Somewhere on this incredible tour, it was time for a quick snack. That’s when I met the pastry. I didn’t know its name—only the sensation. Warm custard cradled in impossibly flaky layers, buttery and just sweet enough, shattering delicately with every bite. Cinnamon clung to my fingers. I ate it standing up, too fast, burning my tongue because patience felt unnecessary. (Pastéis de nata. Life-changing.)

That evening, after a full day of wandering, I set out for a restaurant I’d saved—one I thought I was supposed to go to. But just around the corner from my hotel, I passed a small place glowing from the inside. Warm light spilled onto the sidewalk. Laughter floated through the open door. It felt inviting in a way no review ever could. So I listened to my gut and went in.

It ended up being one of the highlights of the entire trip.

Geographia is a must visit in Lisbon

Later in the day I climbed the hills (and there were a LOT) to end my day at the Secret Garden, a place with fun drinks and THE VIEW. It was packed, so I shared a table with another woman traveling solo, two strangers brought together by proximity and possibility. We watched the sun melt into the horizon, the sky blushing pink and amber as the city softened into evening. We sipped cool glasses of wine—crisp, mineral, perfect—and talked easily, like travelers do when the world has slowed just enough. Chairs scraped against stone. Glasses clinked. The moment lingered.

And just when I thought the day had given me everything it could, I met up with a colleague and wandered into a Christmas market glowing with light and music. It was everything—strings of twinkling bulbs overhead, the hum of voices, the smell of roasted chestnuts and spiced wine curling through the air. Stalls glittered. Laughter spilled out between sips and bites. It felt festive and fleeting and deeply human, the kind of joy you don’t plan for but recognize instantly.

That layover reminded me why I travel this way. Not for perfection or plans, but for the unexpected warmth of a wrong turn. For meals you didn’t plan and people you didn’t know an hour earlier. Go see the places, yes—but also trust what feels welcoming. Walk the side streets. Sit down when something calls you in. Some of the most meaningful travel moments happen when you stop trying to get it right and simply let yourself arrive.

See my reel adventure...

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