The road to the Algarve

I spent the morning out on the terrace overlooking Lisbon, taking time to observe my thoughts, the city, and my body. My journey to the Algarve would begin shortly. I debated taking public transportation or an Uber to the bus station but felt called to use Uber.

When I got in the car, Antonio, the driver—a local from Lisbon—began  pouring out his story. He greeted me with a cheery smile and dove right in. He shared with me his dream to take the train from Lisbon to Singapore. "The ticket is 1,200 for old people," he said with excitement, "and I'm 68”. It will take me a few months, and I will stop in places like Prague along the way. It will be my last big trip." He has no one to worry about because he has a son and grandkids, but they are okay. He is alone; he will just need company, people to talk to along the way.

I heard both sadness and excitement in his voice—the feeling of freedom, but also a lack of trust and love. He seemed jaded, like his heart didn’t have as much to live for anymore. He was friendly and open, but his heart felt closed. He wore a smile, but deep inside, there was sadness. He was longing for something or someone.

He shared with me what life is like in Portugal. "It's hard." He receives a pension, but it is 405 euros monthly, and the rent for his room costs 450 per month. He said, with fear in his eyes, "I will work until the day I die." He explained that everyone around him is in survival mode, just getting by to the next day. He feels that no one around him is thriving.

The people in Portugal are really in need of money; they depend on tourism for the economy, but tourism is also a problem when it comes to the housing market skyrocketing. As with many desirable cities around the world, Airbnb and other rental companies are taking over the market. The locals are pushed further and further out of the city, and the prices keep rising. Americans are flocking to Portugal because it's "cheap." Well, cheap if you make USD, but for locals, it’s hard to put food on the table.

I'm reminded of the negative effects of globalization and over-tourism. It's destroying local economies and making it very challenging for locals and small businesses to survive. It's the same in Prague, it's getting to a point where somethings gotta give. 

"It’s a paradise for Americans," he exclaimed. I hadn't yet shared my country of origin. "They can come and live well, spending money as nomads making American dollars or even getting good jobs here. But what about the locals?"

This is a shift in globalization since I moved to Prague. Working remotely wasn’t really a thing then, and I had to adapt to making a local salary—or "almost" local. Even at that time, I was paid more as a foreigner because I was a native English speaker, even though my co-teacher, Zuzka, was perfect at English and had much more experience than I did. It wasn’t fair. That is the process of being a local vs. a foreigner, and it wasn’t the first time I encountered it. At the high school, I was given special treatment and a higher salary because I was American, and that was favored. In fact, the English department had not only higher pay but also a different dress code. It was all about optics for Eva, the director of the school. She cared more about the school's appearance than the students. The English department was used as a way to sell the school, which was her business.

I have a lot to say about my experience, but let’s save it for another blog.

We talked about the beauty of travel as well. He and I share the belief that trips open the mind and bring a new perspective, that travel is a way to see things differently. Antonio is well-traveled—he's visited 25 countries and over 60 cities. He spent time living in many places around the world, working with air conditioning. He shared that he learned English in South Africa while living in Mozambique. He often traveled to Johannesburg for mechanical parts, as Mozambique is rather underdeveloped. He taught himself English, learning just four words per day.

"I read that all you need is 4,000 vocabulary words, and you can communicate in another language. I don't speak well, I make lots of mistakes with verbs and conjugations, but people understand me, and I am happy with that," he said proudly.

His practicality about language inspires me. He isn't afraid to sound stupid like I am. I often struggle to express myself in other languages, especially Czech. I could use some of Antonio's confidence and simple approach to linguistics.

There are many countries on Antonio’s bucket list. One that doesn’t make the cut is the United States.

"Americans are dumb and lack history and depth, lack of education. They only have money but no culture," he exclaimed.

We discussed the current state of the U.S. He shared his fear of World War III and that he worries for his grandchildren. "I've lived my life, but I worry for theirs." We talked about Trump—of course, he is the elephant in every room I enter at this point.

However, I feel quite far removed from my homeland. It’s been eight years in Europe. I stopped watching the news. I choose not to play into the fear and propaganda. I see it for what it is: distraction, division, and control. If you keep people divided, hating each other, we will never find their power. Our power is in connection, and we are doing a shit job at the moment. I choose love over fear and accept and love everyone, no matter their political or religious views. We are all one.

Finally, Antonio dove into the juicy part and potentially his trauma around Americans—Charlotte, the American woman. They spent a week-long romance together, going on dates to the beach, out to dinner. He fell for her. He thought it was love. He started to dream of a future together. He felt excited that "this old man had a chance at a second love." Then she confessed that she had a boyfriend, and they couldn’t continue their love affair.

At this point, we were at the bus station. I was dying to hear more, but we parted with a hug. He wished me well and said, "May every day be filled with joy." I wished him the best adventure to Singapore and hoped he would meet Americans who could change his mind.

On the bus to Lagos, we crossed the 25 de Abril Bridge, which was built by the American Bridge Company and shares many similarities with the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. We headed over the Tagus River towards Almada. Originally named after Portugal’s dictator, Salazar, it was renamed after the 1974 revolution, marking the day Portugal restored democracy.

As I stare out the window of the bus, I spot hundreds of cork oak trees. Portugal is the world’s largest producer of cork, and these trees are vital to the economy. They have thick, rugged bark that can be harvested every 9–12 years without harming the tree. Some cork oaks are over 200 years old.The nature in Portugal is truly impressive. 

I can’t help but wonder if Antonio’s distaste for Americans comes from his experience with Charlotte—or something deeper. Perhaps something ancestral. I was reading the book Feel to Heal: Releasing Trauma Through Body Awareness and Breathwork Practice and the author, Giten Tonkov describes how he always had unease around German people and deep seated resentment, which he later connected to his ancestors’ experience during the Holocaust. He was holding that pain and fear from the past. I have noticed in myself some subtle feelings about people from certain places which didn't feel like my own. It's something I still have to explore, but it makes sense there is so much we carry with us from our ancestors that lies under the surface. Until we find the courage to uncover it and free ourselves of the shackles of the past. 

As the hills turn into mountains, I can feel we are entering the Algarve. The landscape looks like Monchique, a charming Algarve town in the mountains. I spent a month there a few years ago at a retreat center called Karuna. Clouds cover the sky, and rain begins to fall. It's been raining non stop in the Algarve for the past weeks. Mariana says the land needs it. I pray it will let up while I’m here. But maybe it’s a beautiful invitation to slow down—one we could all use.

I find myself reflecting on the journey—not just the physical one through Portugal’s landscapes, but the deeper journey of connection, change, and understanding. Antonio’s story lingers with me, a reminder of how our past shapes our perceptions and how, despite our differences, we all seek the same things, connection, love and a sense of belonging.

Travel has a way of bringing light to both the world around us and the world within us. It shows us beauty, but also contradictions—how tourism fuels economies while displacing locals, how globalization connects us yet divides us, how freedom can feel both exhilarating and isolating.

 I refuse to believe, as Antonio does, that change only leads to worse. Change, to me, is a gateway—often  painful and uncertain, but always leading somewhere new. I’ve changed, and reinvented myself so many times and my life has expanded because of it. I’ve moved through darkness, yet every time, the light has found me again.

As the Algarve hills rise ahead and the rain clears, I feel a sense of hope. No matter how heavy the storm, clear skies always follow.