into the sunlight, the day seemed brighter.
The week passed in a rhythm that was mine alone to determine. I woke when I pleased. I lingered over coffee and pastries. I ate pastel de nata—those little custard tarts with flaky crusts—standing at counters elbow-to-elbow with locals. I got lost in winding alleyways in Alfama and didn’t panic, because there continue reading …
