Portugal

The yellow tram appeared in my notebook before I drew the street around it. It looked impatient, as though it had somewhere better to be. I understood the feeling.

At Guincho I held the notebook against the wind. The landscape offered almost nothing to hide behind: sand, a low line of scrub, the whole enormous sky. I stopped trying to fill the page.

Portugal taught the notebook two useful habits. Leave room around a thing. And, when the road reaches the sea, there is no obligation to call that the end.

An imagined travel diary inspired by original Travel2City photographs. Mea’s scenes and words are a creative interpretation, not a documentary account.