Sintra wasn’t supposed to be real. It was too much. Too many towers, too many turrets, too many colors stacked like candy. And yet, there I was—squinting at the surreal skyline like someone had spilled a fairytale all over Portugal.

👩‍🌾 A Morning in the Mist

I caught the early train from Lisbon, watching the city melt into green hills. Sintra greeted me with fog thick enough to feel like velvet. Even the trees seemed older, wiser, like they had secrets in Latin.

My first stop was Palácio da Pena, a Technicolor fever dream built on a mountaintop. It was loud and quiet at the same time—a bit like me on vacation.

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