Lisbon is built on hills, but it has a way of lifting your mood, not your legs.

I spent three days there, mostly walking — sometimes uphill, often accidentally. The sidewalks are mosaics, the buildings are wrapped in colorful tiles, and the air smells like grilled sardines and espresso.

I started each morning with a pastel de nata and a tiny cup of strong coffee. Locals stand at the counter, down it in 15 seconds, and move on with their day like it’s no big deal. I tried to do the same. Failed. Mine took 10 minutes and two bites.

One of the best moments happened on the number 28 tram. I didn’t really know where it was going — I just hopped on, sat by the window, and watched Lisbon roll by: laundry flapping, kids playing, sun hitting the rooftops just right. It was like being in a slow movie.

At night, I stumbled into a Fado bar. I didn’t understand a word, but I felt every note. There’s something about that music that gets under your skin, even if you’re just passing through.

Lisbon doesn’t try to impress you. It just is. And somehow, that’s enough.