Ouro sobre azul

ouro sobre azul | gold over blue — indicates a promising position, a favourable circumstance, or a good opportunity

In the first peaceful hours on arrival in a new place, I am often struck with the same feeling: what do I do now? I’ve had this feeling all over the world when travelling: all those weeks and months of planning and anticipation that finally lead you to this place and suddenly, you are faced with the reality of being there. And as a person who rarely arrives with a structured itinerary or to do list as to how I wish to explore and learn a place, the first hours can ultimately be those of wandering, unsure. Perhaps even wondering why you set off in the first place.

That feeling passes, inevitably, but never has it struck with so much force as when I arrived in Lisbon on an unseasonably warm evening in late December. Likely, it was because this was a trip unlike the others. I hadn’t just packed a suitcase for a few days, or even a few weeks, but for the next five months of my life in which I would embark on the first stages of this journey to find a place to call home. 

That first night, I barely even processed where I was – I ate at an entirely un-Portuguese sushi bar a few streets over and saw basically no one. We were deep in those few odd days between Christmas and the New Year and the city was quiet. Locals away with family, perhaps. Tourists neither coming nor going. 

I went to bed that night and wondered if this whole thing had been a little crazy, even for me. I’d grown almost too comfortable in the six weeks I’d spent at my parents; achieving little to nothing, slow days and quiet evenings. Living the life of a retiree that my father wasn’t, as he worked away in his study, and my mum and I pottered about the house.

But just as I’d told them when I left, I had my own life to live. And this particular chapter began here, in Lisbon.

The next morning dawned sunny and clear. I ate a late breakfast in a trendy café around the corner and then took myself for a walk down by the river, trying to gain some semblance of direction in the city of seven hills by resolutely not going up a single hill (there would be plenty of time for that).

In the few days I was there in the lead up to the new year, I floated in a state of limbo. Unlike all my other destinations on this journey, where I had carefully planned to stay for an uninterrupted period of time to allow myself space to get a sense for living there, I would actually need to leave Lisbon for over a week. Without quite time to settle, without quite time to find routine, I focused instead on trying to learn the city itself. The rest would come.

Yet, on my return to Lisbon in the early part of January, I found myself as apprehensive as if I was arriving again for the first time. If anything, the feeling was almost worse – I had a sense that I shouldn’t feel this way, that I should be able to jump right back into what I’d started there without hesitation.

I vowed to give myself the time to find it. It came slowly. First, the basics. Find a local supermarket. Spend a morning at the laundromat. Meet a few new people over dinner of locally caught fish. Start to refer to my apartment as “home”, if only for this little while.

It takes about 10 days, I have discovered – 10 consecutive, uninterrupted days in a place to start to feel just a little bit at home. Long enough to accrue dirty clothes more than once; long enough to be able to navigate your local neighbourhood without having to consult a map; long enough to have the little places you like to go, just because you do.

I vow to make it to the sea and I do, that second weekend, just as I’ve passed my tenth day and the feeling of home is sinking into my fingertips. I sink my feet into the soft sand and dash into the cool ocean water that laps up my calves. Here, the Atlantic ocean stretches out as far as the eye can see, endless scores of blue punctuated by foaming whitewash. 

It is being by the sea that takes me from feeling sort of at home to feeling like I could see a life for myself here. I grew up by the sea and the water has always spoken to me. It roots me down into the earth when I am tangled up in the chaos of life in a city and reminds me of where I am. Maybe, even, of who I am.

I return home that even tired, with sea salt in my hair and a sense of promise. This was the feeling I was searching out in this journey through Europe – anything to guide me to where I can begin to place my own roots, to find a place in which I can root and grow into the next stage of life.

The following weekend, I return to the sea – this time, wetsuit clad with a surfboard under one arm, being buffeted by the rising tide. I am not a particularly strong surfer: I love to do it but I lack the balance and agility to really be any good at it. Mostly, I just like to be in the ocean, and to be carried on the waves.

I come out a little earlier than the rest of the group after one too many waves that send me spinning like I’m on a rinse cycle. The sun is starting to set, the day’s last rays keeping me warm as I sit on my board, sand clinging to my toes. My shoulders ache and my hair is in a disarray of a bird’s nest atop my head. I breathe in the sea air and close my eyes.

I can envision a version of myself that could live here. That could have a life just like this: co-working days in the city and evenings with my fellow expats from across the world; weekends spent on the ocean making the most of the infallible Portuguese weather. 

It’s only as I return home, a box of custard tarts under one arm, that I strike on the real challenge I face on this journey. And that is, if there is a version of me that could live in any of these cities, how will I ever choose the right one for me?

On my last night in Lisbon, I stop for a drink at a poky little speakeasy of a cocktail bar halfway up the funicular line. As I pay up and head for the door, the bartender calls out to me with a breezy smile. “Hope to see you again soon!”

I give a small wave in response. I’m not sure how else to answer. I was going to have to get used to goodbyes.