Obrigada and other foreign words that became normal
Also: why you should never be afraid to travel solo
I spent much of my life dreaming of far away, exotic places like Germany, France and Iceland. To be fair, until I worked for a large conservation organization, I didn’t exactly have an intelligent view of the world. In fact, I must have missed that part of geography class where we talked about places like Borneo and Sumatra, and the Amazon. What I did know, regardless of my lack of geography skills, was that I wanted to travel and see the world. I was born with an itch to explore new places.
For most of my early twenties, I lamented about how so many of my friends had chosen to study abroad or had taken a gap year post-college to backpack through Europe. I hadn’t been so lucky, I told myself, I had life. But one day, I’d travel. One day, I’d have the time, the money, and the perfect set of circumstances to plan a trip. One day, my dad wouldn’t be sick. One day…
Reality check: One day isn’t a real day.
On January 1st, my one day arrived. After years of finding excuses, I pulled the trigger and promised myself and the universe that I would use the passport that had been collecting dust in my drawer. I set four goals, two of which included heading out abroad. On February 2nd, I booked my tickets to Portugal. On February 3rd, I started trying to learn Portuguese…
On an incredibly mild, sunny morning in March, I touched down in Sao Miguel, a beautiful island about 900 miles off the coast of Portugal. I was immediately struck by how much blue and green surrounded me, a different landscape than the one I had seen only hours before. I had spent the last day traveling from DC to Boston to this picturesque island. I had a quick, hour long layover and spent the majority of the morning with my face glued to the window looking at the ocean, which felt only a few feet away.
About two hours later, we landed in Lisbon. I had booked a taxi ahead of time to take me to my hostel, and had just bought my in-country sim card when the driver showed up holding a sign with my name. The drive through town was awe-inspiring. Street art lined the buildings as people hurried through town on their way to work, or school, or wherever else they go on sunny afternoons in the city. We passed tall buildings, open spaces, trees, and parks. I remember thinking it felt much the way home did — except the signs were in a language I barely understood.
After settling in, I took off to explore Lisbon on foot. There’s nothing like being in a thunderstorm while standing under a tree in a new city, entirely unsure if you’re about to be struck by lightening. Indeed, lightening struck me, but in the manner of ideas and thoughts instead of electricity. I took shelter in an art gallery and listened to a lecture, mostly in Portuguese, about a local artist. When the rain let up, I wandered down through the park, an almost untouched forest in the middle of a city by the water. There were cacti gardens, birds of paradise, and more than 20 species of trees to marvel at.
The next week was a blur of meeting people, discovering hidden gems in Lisbon (including the best ice cream I’ve ever had), and making new memories. I spent four days touring Libson, visiting spots like Pastéis de Belém, Cascais, and Sintra. I wandered through flea markets, got lost in the winding streets near Feira da Ladra, and marveled at the view from the top of the city. I ate crepes from street vendors, watched children chase pigeons in town squares, and drank in dark alleys to celebrate our youth. I enjoyed every minute of being in a new country — where the language was different but we all spoke the same words. I still owe a huge thank you to the wonderful Tapas man who taught me Obrigada, and its true meaning.
Here’s the real lesson: Solo travel is rarely solo. You’re only as alone as you choose to be.
I had barely spent more than 5 hours of my time in Lisbon alone. I met people from all walks of life: The guy from SFO who had lost his second job and was trying to figure out what was next; my German hostel-mate who was the first person I had met in my life who had a similar life story; the two wonderful women who worked at my hostel; the drug dealer from the night on the town; UB kids who were on spring break… the list is infinite, and every one of them played an important part in shaping my story in Lisbon. Many of them shared meals with me, stories of their lives, and recommendations for next journeys. And some, I’ve stayed in touch with, making my world a bit smaller, a bit cozier.
Within 12 hours of landing in Lisbon, the city became familiar, the language became comfortable, and the faces friendly. Sure, I travel smart: I don’t flash my cash, I don’t get drunk, and I don’t take dealers up on their offer to “coke me up”. But part of the beauty of travel is the unknown, the slight feeling of apprehension at not knowing what you’ll find, and embracing it. In fact, in moments of vulnerability, I found that there is a unique strength in numbers, and strangers. When given the opportunity, decent people will appear where they are needed.
I also learned that depending on yourself can be as exhausting as it is invigorating. I learned to trust my instincts, to watch my back, but to enjoy the moment. I learned to take a chance, that sometimes walking down dark alleys is only scary because of what you believe, which is rarely a full reality. I was reminded that youth is ignorance and bliss rolled into a tight ball of fearlessness. And maybe, most important: I learned to trust myself.
I’m tackling Colombia next, not quite alone, but I’m still excited to take my lessons from Portugal with me as I collect more stamps in my passport. I’m sure Colombia will teach me something surprising, if I let it…
