Took the train up to Sintra in the mountains. The vegetation is jungle-like, everything green and overgrown. Pena Palace sits on a ridge like something from a storybook — pink and yellow and utterly improbable. Hiked down through the Moorish castle ruins, following barely-there paths marked by painted stones.
Found a small market where they sell tiles and ceramics. Bought nothing but took extensive notes. An artist showed me how some of the patterns are generations old, passed down without formal training. The knowledge lives in their hands, not in books.