Sofia Costa

The fog hadn't lifted when I arrived in Sintra, so I stopped waiting for it. These hills make their own weather. I walked up through the forest toward Pena Palace at dawn, moss on every wall, the towers appearing and disappearing above the trees like a rumor nobody could confirm.

Later the sun came out and the town changed its mind about everything. I spent golden hour on the ramparts of the Moorish Castle, watching the coast go orange. I ate a slow lunch below the National Palace and sat on a tiled fountain that was cold through my dress. Sintra rewards people who stay the night. The day buses leave in the late afternoon, and then the place belongs to the birds and a few people with books.