At approximately 10:00 am on May 11, 2022, our plane lifted off from SeaTac airport in Seattle on its way to San Francisco. It was the start of a glorious, two-week vacation that was almost three years in the making. I settled into my seat with nothing but gratitude that the logistical and organizational details were over. Even the prospect of a nine-hour flight to Lisbon, Portugal from San Francisco did not deter me from delight.
Everything about the trip was wonderful. We first spent a couple of days touring the Douro River Valley in northern Portugal, sauntering through wineries with views of brilliant landscapes and terraced vineyards. The dazzling sunshine was a marked contrast with centuries-old brick work and shadowy, cool interiors. I reflected on the luxury of not having to make decisions, of allowing someone else to decide where I went – and when.
Afterwards, we headed south from Porto to Lisbon, a vibrant and charming city inhabited by warm, gracious locals. I practiced my very basic Portuguese, and I was proud that every person who heard me say, “Voce fala Ingles?” understood what I was asking. The city was filled with magnificent architecture accented with Azulejo and geometric tilework.
From Lisbon, we shuttled south to Monsaraz, Alentejo and began the first of six days of biking. Our days brimmed with dreamy scenery, stops for robust coffee, and flavorful and substantial lunches that made me contemplate being hauled out on a throne instead of barreling back out on a bicycle. Throughout the days, we tasted olive oils and local cuisine, learned about cork production, and viewed Alquevada Lake. We watched local pottery artisans, whitewashed houses, and verdant orchard groves on our way to the town of Evora, a world heritage site surrounded by ancient stone walls.
On the fourth day, we shuttled to the coastal Algarve region, and from there we churned through hilly terrain past flawless geography. The rhythm of the pedaling complemented the sweet rustle of warm breezes. There were times when the biking was effortless; for reasons unknown, my leg fatigue disappeared and was replaced with inexplicable liveliness. The steep hills were a challenge, but they summoned me in a way that I could not decline. I approached them with a steadfast resolve, and only once was I forced to get off and walk with my bike.
On Day 5, we rode through Costa Vicentina National Park, starting at the southernmost tip of Portugal. The ride alongside breathtaking coastlines to the town of Salema was almost surreal, an unfathomable beauty that I promised myself I would never forget. Our final biking day was in the fishing village of Ferragudo, where I consoled myself that my sojourn was not yet over.
Then it was onto Morocco, where we spent a couple of days in Casablanca, followed by a short visit to Marrakech. The Hassan II Mosque in Casablanca was beyond spectacular, and I was filled with reverence for the meaning it held for Muslims. Marrakech was colorful, lively, and busy, and shopping in the El Ksour district was almost overwhelming with the sights, sounds, and smells of local handcrafts and spices.
It is hard to articulate how grateful I am that we were able to pack our suitcases and leave. It was a privilege to be untethered from our residential and employment obligations. While I was gone, I thought little of my work, though I diligently reviewed and responded to emails. I missed our dogs, but I knew they were resilient in our absence and well cared for. But to have the time, the resources, and the health to take an active vacation with like-minded friends is not something I take for granted.
At one point while in Morocco, I tipped our cab driver the equivalent of the total cab fare. I gave him an extra $10.00 for a $10.00 taxi ride, and he looked at me and placed his hand on his heart. He paused, and his eyes softened as he thanked me.
But I was the one who was thankful.