Revisiting and Recalibrating

Well, here I am, back from two weeks spent travelling with my daughter in Portugal. I rarely, if ever, return to places I’ve visited before, unless it’s a day or two in a city that I need to fly into or out from. But this time I visited two cities that I’ve been to before: Porto and Lisbon.

I was last in Porto in 2015, alone, for a couple of days before starting my Portuguese Camino, and then again at the end of it, before flying home.

I was last in Lisbon in 2006 for five nights, exploring the city with my then-boyfriend.

Two cities re-visited, one nine years later, one over eighteen years later! What happens when you return to a place, having accumulated more life experience? Are you different? (The answer is yes). Is the place different?

My daughter and I have taken three trips together in recent years (since 2019), and we’re similar in that we like to explore together but also like our space. For that reason, we book a place with two bedrooms (the apartment in Lisbon even had two bathrooms. Extravagant!) as we have different bedtimes and morning awakenings. I’m an early-to-bed and early-to-rise kind of traveller, usually pooped by around 8 p.m., in bed by 9’ish.

I’m not the easiest person to live with or travel with (I like my individual space, like to make my own decisions about pretty much everything) which is the reason why I live alone and usually travel alone. When I’m on a trip, and after I return, I’m constantly reflecting on my reasons for travel and who I am when I’m in a foreign country versus who I am when I’m home.

There seem to always be two sides to me, the one that loves to explore new places and cultures, and the side that needs and enjoys the touchstones of the familiar. There’s very little familiar when I travel, except for the self I bring with me (and my few clothes and journal). If I’m travelling with a family member or friend, then the familiar includes them. 

This time the familiar also included the two cities I’d visited previously. I recognized streets and landmarks and enjoyed taking my daughter to the same Port house (bearing my family name of Pinto) in Porto that I’d visited before. We went to Sintra, where I’d previously been, and the colourful exterior walls of Pena Palace looked the same. There’s comfort in old castles and palaces and stone walls still standing, as regal and imposing as ever. What was different (eighteen years later) were the line-ups of tourists, the timed ticket entry, the roped off paths. 

As I wrote in an Instagram post, this really brought home for me how tourism has grown. There were signs in the palaces saying our entrance fees were helping pay for restoration work. But this was the double-edged sword of tourism.

The familiar and the unfamiliar is a constant see-saw. I return home with a deeper appreciation of the former as well as the latter, and with an eagerness to return to the routines and activities I set aside while travelling—the need to write and read, walk and play tennis and pickleball, pour my morning coffee, make my green smoothie, and curl up in my usual morning spot with my journal. These are the small, routine comforts of home I don’t take with me but revel in when I return.

Then why ever leave, one might ask? Why not remain in surroundings that provide contentment and ease? Because there’s a big ole world out there to explore, and I need to take myself out of my comfort zone every now and then and satisfy that wanderlust and curiosity. I need to plunk myself down in an unfamiliar place, then question myself about why I do things, and then I need to reflect on those questions when I return. (Annoyingly analytical).

I learned on this trip that I can hand over decisions (and some control) to someone else. My daughter did a lot of the navigating and, something I never do when I travel, she rented a car which allowed us to explore the Algarve coast and little towns. But I also know that I’m not the kind of person who wants to just be led from one sight to another. I like figuring things out on my own, knowing how public transportation in a different city works, getting the feel of a place on foot, knowing the ins and outs of pedestrian streets as the route back to the apartment becomes recognizable. 

Perhaps it’s the fear of giving up my independence, the fear of becoming someone who relies on others to get them around, the fear of becoming someone who has lost their travel savvy (which I like to pride myself on). It’s a quandary as one gets older I suppose and travels with their adult children. Who makes the decisions? Who navigates, who follows? I’m not ready to completely hand over decision making, nor am I ready to give up solo travel. What I am ready for now is some hunkering down at home, doing the things that speak to me and keep me grounded.

Until wanderlust strikes again and off I venture into the unfamiliar.