LISBON

I fell for Lisbon slowly, one hill at a time. Yellow trams rattling through narrow streets, tiled façades glowing in the afternoon sun, the smell of grilled sardines drifting from tiny tascas.
In the old centre every corner hides a viewpoint, every staircase leads somewhere unexpected.
When night falls, Bairro Alto takes over: music in the alleys, people everywhere, and dancing in the squares until late.
Then Cabo da Roca, where the land simply ends. Wind, cliffs and the Atlantic stretching forever, while the sun sinks into the sea in shades of orange and pink.
Lisbon doesn’t rush. It sings, it fades, it shines. And it stays with you.