Lisbon, Portugal. [November 2013]

Lisbon is old-world: everything from the beaten cobblestone walks traversing Alfama to the even-slower-than-usual-European pace of life tells you so.

On an outlook in Chiado, an old man strums away at his guitar, his chords dancing on the signature red tiles of the rooftops.

At the Monasterio Jeronimos, an impromptu play is in progress, as an angel attempts to revive the great Vasco da Gama entombed steps away.

A short drive out of town takes the curious visitor to Sintra, where he can take in the magnificent Pena Palace glowing atop a hill miles before arriving. The tour continues to Cabo da Roca, the westernmost point in Continental Europe (no, you cannot see the Kardashian mansion in the Hamptons).

After quick scoop of Italian ice in a roadside cafe in the beachside town of Cascais, the sun sets into a horizon unburdened by the urban cityscape, beyond the Rio Tejo and into the glistening Atlantic. The colors imprinted on the Torre del Belem at this moment are magical. Old ain’t so bad.

“I am not the same having seen the moon shine on the other side of the world.” – Mary Anne Radmacher Hershey