Two Girls in Sintra

I remember asking my friend A what memory stood out the most during our trip to Portugal—what moment, above all others, deserved to be immortalized. Without hesitation, she said: Sintra.

And despite the burning soles of my feet from all the walking, I couldn’t have agreed more.

We wandered through Sintra like two lost souls, treading centuries-old stone roads flanked by quaint, pastel-painted houses. We weren’t following a map—we were following instinct. It felt less like tourism and more like a quiet pilgrimage through time.

We made our way to the National Palace of Pena—crowded, of course, as one would expect from a landmark so vibrant and otherworldly. But the true magic of Sintra didn’t reside in the castle’s colors or its grand towers. It came from two intimate, unforgettable moments.

The first was a small encounter with a street vendor, a man selling handmade jewelry—each piece unique, as though infused with a story of its own. I asked him what my birthstone was. Before he could reply, A gently leaned in and said, “Pick the moonstone.”

The vendor smiled knowingly. “Moonstone,” he said, “is the stone of the feminine. It heals, it softens, it strengthens. For someone who’s been through pain, it brings balance. A new chapter begins with this stone.”

That moment marked me. That necklace still hangs around my neck. And to my readers, I say this sincerely: never again will I buy jewelry from Canada. Lifeless, overpriced, uninspired. In Sintra, I found jewelry that felt alive—like it had waited for me.

The second memory was a stroke of fate. We found a beautiful restaurant with a panoramic view—Sintra spread out like a dream below us. But as always, the tables with a view were taken. That is, until a kind couple stood up to leave and offered us theirs. Along with the table, they left a bottle of fine wine.

The older gentleman explained with a twinkle in his eye, “The couple before us couldn’t finish it, so they passed it on. We’re doing the same.”

A stranger’s kindness, passed down like an heirloom. A bottle of wine that traveled through hands and stories. A reminder that generosity doesn’t always come with a name. A and I looked at each other and silently agreed: we wanted to freeze that moment in time.

But it wasn’t only Sintra that left its mark.

In Lisbon itself, down an unassuming street, we stumbled upon a small jewelry shop called Alma e Coração—Soul and Heart. And that’s exactly what the store felt like. The pieces were stunning: vintage-inspired, delicate yet bold, with an old-world charm that made each one feel like it had a soul of its own.

I bought a pair of earrings there—gold, intricate, unforgettable. I wear them religiously to this day. They are not just accessories, but artifacts of memory. And let me be perfectly honest: I will return to Lisbon, if only to step into that store again. To buy another two pairs of earrings. Maybe a ring. Or two. (Probably three.)

Sometimes, it’s the castles and cathedrals that draw you to a place—but it’s the moonstones, the wine, the strangers, and the little shops that make you stay in love with it forever.