It began, as many good things do, with water.
The Tagus River, stretched like a silver ribbon beneath the Lisbon sun, has watched over centuries of both courage and conquest. On our boat tour, the wind carried salt and centuries. Somewhere between the Belém Tower and the Monument to the Discoveries, I found myself thinking about the explorers we are taught to admire.
We were taught that they were brave. While true, what was missed is that they were also ruthless. The same ships that set out in search of spice and story also took away with it what was never theirs: land, labor, lives. Growing up partly in Goa, I have seen the after-effects of those “discoveries.” Yet, I couldn’t help but admire how Vasco da Gama had put Goan resources to rather spectacular use in Portugal… those glittering tiles and palaces owe a lot to spices and silks from my own coast of Western India.
The Tagus isn’t just water; it’s a mirror of history. It shimmers, it is vibrant, and it is a beautiful gateway into Western Europe.
Back on land, we traded waves for wheels and boarded the famous Tram 28, Lisbon’s most charming rattle through time. It creaked and clattered down from the São Jorge Castle toward the Praça do Comércio, winding through neighborhoods that looked straight out of a watercolor dream.
The tram slows you down, calms your breath, and tests your patience. It stops, it sighs, it hums through impossibly narrow lanes that make you question both urban planning and your driver’s nerves. But every turn reveals something new, at least to my Indian-American eye: a pastel house framed in bougainvillea, laundry fluttering like flags of everyday life, grandmothers chatting through windows. One even waved to me!
History rides with you here. The tracks, first laid in the early 1900s, still follow the rhythm of an older Lisbon where the pace slows, the world softens, and you start to see that beauty doesn’t rush.
We found our pace along the Tejo Promenade, a walkway stitched with sun and sea, perfect for our family’s little legs and slower mornings.
With the kids in tow, we meandered past cafés that smelled of espresso and natas, artists selling watercolor sketches of the city, and joggers who seemed happy and healthy! Seagulls swooped low over the water, the cobblestones sparkled with reflections, and even the river seemed joyful! Maybe it was because I was on vacation!
We stopped for pastries, hopped and skipped on the tiled sidewalks, and watched boats drift past the 25 de Abril Bridge. The promenade felt alive and inclusive as though Lisbon had stretched out its arms for everyone.
It was the kind of simple, beautiful evening that makes a place feel like it is home to many, not just a tourist spot.
The next day, we took a train into the misty hills of Sintra, where Palácio da Pena appeared like something imagined by a painter after too much wine and sunlight.
Built in the 19th century by King Ferdinand II, the palace is an architectural daydream. It is part Romanticism, part fairy tale, and entirely surreal. Turrets of butter yellow and crimson red, tiled archways, and secret courtyards, a walkable perimeter which seems to ask, “Why be ordinary when you can be magnificent?”
We spent as much time wandering the outer perimeter as the palace itself — stone pathways curling through moss and mist, panoramic views opening to forest and sea. It was quieter there, less crowded, with expansive blue sky and land stretched out all the way to the sea. A unique palace whose beauty was not confined to its walls.
Porto greeted us with rain — the kind that makes reflections ripple like thoughts. The Centro Português de Fotografia, housed in a former prison, offered shelter and perspective.
Inside, light and shadow tell their own stories. The building’s thick stone walls once held silence and confinement. Today, they hold images that open worlds. Old Leica cameras glimmered in glass cases, and black-and-white portraits stared back with quiet intensity.
I lingered at a photograph of the Douro River at dusk - grainy, ethereal, beautiful. It reminded me again that photography isn’t just about seeing; it’s about remembering how it felt. Feelings are also what makes Saiyyam Arts' galleries unique, it's not just about the type of photograph or composition. It’s this unique perspective that was validated for me.
Just beyond Porto’s bustling streets lies Vila Nova de Gaia, a hub of the port wine industry where the air smells faintly of port wine and salt. We stepped into the Gaia cable car, gliding above the rooftops like birds tracing the lines of a river.
Beside us stretched the Dom Luís I Bridge — a masterpiece of iron and symmetry, designed in the late 1800s by a student of Gustave Eiffel himself.
One morning, before the city had even begun to stir, I brought my camera to the bridge. The sky was a deep indigo - the blue hour - shifting slowly toward dawn. I captured the sunrise over the river, the lights fading from gold to silver, the quiet turning into sound. By the time the first tram rumbled awake, the city was breathing again, and I had frozen its first heartbeat of the day.
There’s something humbling about watching a place wake up, people going about their livelihoods, and tourists like me witnessing the daily hustle-bustle of the residents. It unites humans all around the world - we truly do have more things in common than we realize.
If the world ever needed proof that books are magic, Livraria Lello is it.
Tucked into Porto’s heart, this neo-Gothic bookstore feels like it was carved out of imagination itself. A sweeping staircase that curls like a labyrinth, stained glass that spills rainbows, and shelves that smell faintly of paper and eternity.
It feels straight out of the world of Harry Potter, a place where even Hermione might’ve gotten lost between the staircases, forgetting time and responsibility alike.
I bought a book of photographs - of course! These double as postcards that I am mailing to my dear friends. The photographs are of various beautiful azulejos, or tiles that are ornamental and also used to have a specific function of temperature control! They are found all over Portugal, and many are artfully captured by Pedro Rodrigues.
My little kid found a small illustrated story about explorers and stars, clutching it proudly like treasure. And our toddler, in a moment of pure poetic luck, chose a book printed in both Portuguese and English… wide-eyed at the familiar and the strange sharing the same page.
These became the perfect souvenirs - stories we could all grow into and share.
Travel with kids means learning the art of joyful detours.
When curiosity met fatigue, we found Neonia, a neon-lit wonderland that felt like walking through a dreamscape of color and imagination. The kids were mesmerized by glowing tunnels, shifting lights, and interactive art installations that seemed to dance with them.
For a while, we forgot about history and just lived in the glow. We were laughing, running, and I was rediscovering how wonder looks through younger eyes.
It reminded me that travel doesn’t have to be solemn or highly curated to be meaningful. Sometimes, the most lasting memories come from places that simply make you smile.
Our last morning belonged to the sea.
We drove to Matosinhos, Porto’s sun-warmed coastal suburb where waves crash against long, golden sands. Fishermen cast their lines, surfers balanced on blue edges of the eastern Atlantic shores, and the warm sunshine felt ever so relaxing.
The kids ran ahead, chasing foam and waves, and built castles and levees! We found starfish! Tiny, perfect, clinging to the tide pools like living jewels.
We crouched beside them, watching their quiet patience. There was something grounding about it - life in every form is absolutely beautiful and perfect.
Portugal, I realized, moves in many layers. From the hum of trams to the silence of palaces, from the shimmer of the Tagus to the deep calm of the Atlantic. It’s a country that doesn’t rush to impress; it unfolds.
Every street, every bridge, every flicker of tile and light carries the weight of centuries, yet somehow, it all feels effortless.
But underneath that beauty lies a complicated inheritance. Portugal once ruled far beyond its shores - Goa, Mozambique, Angola, Brazil, Macau - weaving trade and tragedy, romance and ruin. The same explorers who connected the world also claimed it. Their legacy is both romantic and painful, echoing through architecture, language, and memory.
Maybe that’s the real magic of Portugal: it holds both light and shadow, and still finds a way to be breathtaking. We arrived curious, and left understanding that beauty might appear to be surface-deep but it is solidified by accepting history and its learnings.
If you’ve ever stood by a river and watched sunlight scatter across water, if you’ve ever felt the pull of color, history, and calm in one breath, you already know what Portugal feels like.
Now, you can bring that light home. Request a limited edition print here! These are moments captured where time slows and wonder lingers.
Because some journeys deserve to live on your walls.
