A Slightly Delusional Return to Portugal, and How Quickly Things Fell Apart

While travelling over the last five-months I have tried to approach things as if there are no wrong decisions. Instead, I just make a decision, and make it the best possible choice by pouring everything I have into it.

That mindset was tested when I returned to Portugal.

Life Between Departures

After originally leaving Portugal in March, I made my way into Spain, starting in Sevilla before continuing down to Málaga, where I met up with my mom. From there, we travelled together to Tarifa, so that we could catch the ferry across to Morocco.

The ferry brought us to Tangier, where Europe slowly gave way to North Africa in a way that felt exciting and chaotic. We then made our way to Chefchaouen, also known as the Blue City, and continued our journey to Casablanca, where my sister joined us.

Reunited, the three of us explored the beautiful country. We spent time surfing in Bouznika, stumbled into the rhythm of Marrakech, and eventually found ourselves in the Sahara Desert, surrounded by nothing but sand, silence, and the kind of vastness that makes you feel very small.

Choosing Between Places and People

But throughout my time in Morocco, I kept circling back to the same question: what next? Do I go to Italy like I tentatively planned? Or do I return to the place that felt like home, the place that felt unfinished.

At that point in my trip, Italy really did not seem appealing to me.

I know, don’t get mad at me.

I do want to thoroughly explore Italy one day. But every big city I’d visited left me wandering aimlessly alone and feeling slightly on edge. City hostels were always highly rated, but somehow still disappointing.

I was feeling exhausted from all of the travelling and lack of stability, I had a really bad cold, and returning to Sagres and surfing everyday just seemed like what I needed (and wanted).

But if I’m being honest, it wasn’t just the desire for structure and the surfing pulling me back.

I met someone there that I genuinely felt I had a connection with. And when I meet a man that I actually like, it’s hard to ignore, because it happens so rarely.

Still, I had my doubts. What if I returned and didn’t see him? Would Sagres still feel the same as before? Would I regret skipping a big chunk of Italy? Is this going backwards?

The Return

Well, after Morocco, I passed through the Canary Islands where I surfed three times and then spent most days sick in bed, and then quickly went to Madrid… because it was the easiest way to go back. Back to the place I hadn’t been able to shake since the moment I left.

As soon as I landed in Portugal, I felt at peace with my choice.

Things just got better from there. I saw my friend Naëlle, settled into my Airbnb, had space to myself, started to feel healthier, and I reunited with him.

And seeing him felt really good.

Don’t Come Here for a Love Story

But that feeling was cut short.

He ghosted me on my third day back.

This, shockingly, didn’t come up during any of my extensive overthinking sessions, mostly because I assumed adults had outgrown this kind of behavior.

So, there I was, back in Sagres, alone, working through a wave of low self-esteem I didn’t see coming.

I told myself I wanted to test what it would feel like to live in Portugal, that’s why I rented an apartment and car. And this? This felt like the ultimate test. Being that low, in another country, without my usual support system, when all I wanted was a night with my girls.

Slight Emotional Collapse (Briefly)

In the initial stages of realizing I was being ghosted, I honestly thought: fuck this place.

I felt that I only loved Sagres because of the excitement I was feeling for him. That I could never actually live here. That I was too far from the people who ground me.

But all it really took was going surfing.

And then I remembered.

It was never actually about him. It was the feeling I got in the ocean. Driving through a small town where faces started to feel familiar. The untouched beauty that stretches for miles. The ease of life here. The way people just seem lighter.

Things didn’t suddenly feel perfect again, I was hurting.

But they were okay. And I knew that I made the ‘right’ decision, not just to come back, but to put myself out there. To open up in ways I normally wouldn’t. To try something that scared me.

So no, I didn’t get an epic romance or a love story.

I got so much more.

What It Was Really About

On my first day back in the water once I finally felt healthy enough after my cold, I met a girl named Becci in the line up. We clicked instantly and spent days together laughing, exploring and sharing stories.

I somehow ended up paragliding in tandem with a complete stranger.

I went on road trips and had my much needed girls night with Naëlle and Maria.

And I surfed. I surfed my little heart out.

But most importantly I was reminded that there are no wrong decisions when you trust yourself enough to handle whatever is thrown your way. And even when things don’t unfold the way I hoped, they still lead me exactly where I need to be.

To new friends, to spontaneous adventures, to the ocean.

So maybe one day I will be back again. But whether that return is just for a visit or for a new place to call home, it won’t be for someone else.

It will be for me.