Lisbon

In the clamorous heart of Lisbon-where sardine grills sizzle defiantly amid selfie sticks and trams clang nostalgically past hipster cafes-you find yourself in a tiny, tile-scented sanctuary, ready to channel your inner artisan in a traditional Portuguese azulejo workshop. These ceramic marvels have graced Portuguese facades since Moors brought their finest tile game to Iberia centuries ago. Forget mass-produced museum gift shop replicas; today, you're rolling up sleeves, dabbing cobalt pigments, and grappling nostalgically with stencils while an amiably irreverent instructor regales you with stories of royal scandals and tile thefts rampant enough to make a pirate blush. Plan ahead a week or two-these workshops tend to fill faster than Lisbon pastry shops at breakfast-and aim for a morning session when the city's soft sunlight streams into studios, perfect for Instagram humble-brags. Budget around 30-50 euros, and bring clothes you won't mourn if splattered blue becomes your new fashion statement. At the very least, you'll walk away clutching a slightly wonky, hand-painted masterpiece and a story about that day you became the quirky protagonist in Lisbon's oldest DIY craft ritual, because honestly-how many people back home can casually say they've dabbled in historical Portuguese tile forgery?

Perched like a psychedelic fever dream atop Sintra's mist-shrouded hills, Pena Palace is what you'd get if King Ludwig II teamed up with Willy Wonka and splashed their whimsical fantasies across a Portuguese mountainside. Built in the 19th-century heyday of Romanticism, this palace is a giddy architectural mashup that seems unsure whether it wants to be Moorish, Gothic, or Renaissance-so it just gleefully decided to be all of the above. Arrive early-no later than opening at 9:30 a.m.-to dodge the crush of Instagrammers wandering the pastel ramparts in search of the perfect shot, and to bask leisurely in the delicious eccentricity while the mists still linger. Book your tickets at least several days ahead (if you appreciate sanity) and allocate about €15 for entry, plus a few extra euros for the shuttle bus uphill-unless you savor steep hikes as your personal punishment. Comfortable shoes and layers are your best friends here: Sintra seems whimsically unable to decide whether to roast you in sunshine or drench you in drizzle. All practicalities aside, even if grandiloquent palaces aren't your thing, it's worth every cent just to casually drop into conversation, "Oh yes, the storybook castle in Portugal-I've been there," and watch your friends choke on their cappuccinos with envy.

Standing at Cabo da Roca, you're not just at another picturesque Portuguese cliff-you're literally teetering on the edge of Europe, gazing out over a roaring Atlantic abyss that once terrified medieval cartographers who scribbled earnest warnings like "Here be Dragons." Perched just west of whimsical, palace-studded Sintra, this rugged, wind-swept promontory feels appropriately apocalyptic-complete with frenzied tourists clutching selfie sticks and winds strong enough to tear the pastry crumbs right off your pastel de nata. Go in the late afternoon to experience sunsets painted with gleefully melodramatic oranges and reds, but do bring layers-Portugal's breezy coastal charm translates here as frigid gusts strong enough to turn umbrellas inside-out and render hairstyles irrelevant. Pack some euros (though entrance is delightfully free, you'll want cash if the tiny cafe tempts you to pay tourist-inflated prices for a much-needed strong coffee) and plan your Sintra-bound itinerary at least a few days in advance, as transportation can be delightfully obtuse. Visiting Cabo da Roca isn't merely ticking another travel box; it's boldly staring off the edge of civilization-and even if that doesn't change your life, at least you'll score impressive bragging rights back home.

Eating at Laurentina isn't just dinner-it's a bold, maritime adventure disguised as a meal. Here you are, settling into Lisbon's genteel Avenidas Novas neighborhood, poised to tackle Portugal's proudest culinary obsession: bacalhau, a fish whose historical gravitas stems curiously from drying racks in Scandinavia rather than local waters (the Portuguese, it seems, have turned imported codfish into something resembling culinary patriotism). Laurentina brandishes tradition like a weapon, serving bacalhau in more ways than you thought mathematically possible-grilled, baked, fried into golden croquettes, drowning in olive oil and garlic, or smothered in creamy layers that whisper savory promises. Go early in the afternoon, when tables are still available and the clientele is suitably mellow, or book at least two days ahead to avoid elbowing past locals whose passion for cod borders on religious zeal. Plan to drop 25-40 euros per person (cod may be simple, but reverence comes at a cost), bring your trusty sense of humor and an appetite hearty enough to tackle centuries worth of salted gastronomic tradition. Laurentina's bacalhau experience might seem a bit absurd-an ode to fish preserved for sailors, cooked by Portuguese grandmothers, and elevated into fine dining-but it's worth every bite. Even if oily fingers and salty breath aren't your thing, you'll walk away with both bragging rights and bafflement about how one humble, dried-out codfish became the edible emblem of an entire nation.

Taking a day trip to Évora feels like sneaking backstage at history's eccentric theater-Romans, Moors, and medieval Portuguese all clamoring for attention in one delightfully walkable city. Stroll up to the Temple of Diana (which, annoyingly, wasn't even dedicated to Diana, but we humans love a catchy mislabeling), its Corinthian columns standing with stubborn elegance, scoffing at entropy. Get there early-around 9 am-to savor a quiet coffee with the locals before the tour buses belch out selfie-stick wielding legions around lunchtime. Évora is just an easy ninety-minute drive or train ride from Lisbon, but plan at least a few days ahead; procrastinators tend to miss out on good train seats or end up stranded, tragically cappuccino-less, at a bus stop. Budget about 40-60 euros per person (a solid lunch, museum entries, and perhaps a cheeky glass-or two-of Alentejo wine). Pack comfortable shoes, sunscreen, and a healthy disregard for macabre squeamishness-if you're feeling brave, the Chapel of Bones awaits your morbid curiosity. Is it worth it? Absolutely. Even if ancient temples and Roman ruins aren't your jam, Évora arms you with killer anecdotes and a smug superior air at dinner parties-because really, who else in your circle has casually spent their afternoon among ancient columns mistakenly named after a goddess?