In Sintra, Mea plans to finish the last page of her notebook. The palace, a carved face and the garden all have additions of their own.
The last page was supposed to be simple: a few sentences, the date, done. Mea had even left space for a satisfying full stop. Then she looked up at the palace and discovered that Sintra knew nothing of her editorial plans. The colourful towers looked like a very persuasive objection.
Illustrated fiction inspired by original Travel2City photographs. The places come from separate journeys, not a one-day itinerary. Characters, dialogue, props and some composition and lighting are artistic interpretations.
Sintra
Beneath a stone arch, Mea opened her notebook and readied her pencil. She composed the start of a final sentence in her head, then her gaze escaped to a tower. Red, yellow, white, a piece of sky between them. Each colour seemed to want its own line. The pencil waited. Mea gave it an apologetic look, as though she were late for a meeting with a very patient colleague.
“Just this. Then I really will.”
Sintra
At the richly carved portal, she stopped again. The stone face above her looked as though it had serious notes on the manuscript. Mea held the closed notebook to her chest and smiled. No extra chapter, she promised silently. Just a small addition. The carved eyes did not yield a millimetre. Very well: the addition could have a page of its own. No need to argue about it.
“You’d make a strict editor.”
Sintra
On the castle walls, she let the pencil rest. The stone path wound above the greenery, each bend looking like another possible sentence. Everything would never fit into the notebook; that much was clear. Mea stopped trying to make it. She stayed behind the parapet, took a breath and let the view exist without immediately recording it. Sometimes the best paragraph arrives only after you get home.
“I can remember this without fitting it between margins.”
Sintra
In the garden, orange flowers delayed her. Of course they did. Mea did not reopen the notebook. She tucked the pencil inside and held it under her arm. She could continue along the path with an unfinished sentence. Suddenly, that seemed rather pleasant. A last page did not have to close anything. It could be the place where you smile, turn and take another step.
“All right, then. One more.”
Travel2City journeys continue between the covers of a book. Discover our illustrated travel world.
Discover the book →The notebook was almost full, but the journey did not have to obey its page count. That evening Mea placed it on the table and left the pencil beside it. If necessary, she would start another notebook. Lovely stories sometimes find their own continuation.
Mea Zen · Colombine MichelangeLove