“A painter’s paradise” — Entry #001 (Copy)

Nazare, Portugal Coastline

Sun spilled in from the window casting a vibrant prism onto the pile of art supplies in the corner of the room. The clock read 6:30 AM. I had already been up for two hours, lost in the rhythmic dance of the city below, envisioning my day and the week that lay ahead. It would be one of familiarity: wake up, brew a pot of coffee, watch the early morning planes take off from JFK, slowly dress myself, walk the six blocks to my art studio, four consecutive hours of teaching eager amateur painters, followed by a short escape through Central Park, takeout at one of the dozens of restaurants on my walk home, a meal consumed while watching the planes from JFK take off again, sit idly in front of my canvas contemplating my next piece before washing up and drifting to sleep, my dreams wandering to far-off places.

Ever since I was a little girl, I had dreamt of living in New York City as a successful artist, painting all day and rubbing shoulders with famous artists at glamorous parties under bright city lights. Yet, life had become a colorless symphony of monotones and accidental routine. As an artist, I was starving for color, for life, for inspiration and transformation; for an explosion of unfamiliarity and “new-ness.”

The city I once adored, the one I once found so much beauty and possibility in, had faded into a mundane grayscale with the rivers of time. A once cherished canvas now mirrored the barren walls of my studio—a creative dry spell I was desperate to break from. I felt stuck.

On one such summer day, mirroring the many that had passed like a languid blur, I found myself scrolling aimlessly on my phone. The suns rays illuminated my neglected art supplies in the corner as my attention landed on a novelty travel app I had impulsively downloaded but never used. Its tagline read, “Generate Random Destination,” — a quirk, a gamble, a proposition both whimsical and daring. I put my phone down and walked to the bathroom. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and poured another cup of coffee. I thought about the app again for a moment as I stood and watched the planes ascend from the runway and disappear into the clouds.

Do people really do that? Do they really just open an app on their phone, generate a random destination and then actually contemplate going as if it’s just that easy?

I went back to over to my bed, moved my phone to the dresser and started folding my sheets. I picked up the phone and unlocked it. Almost 10,000 reviews.

“I guess so,” I said aloud, taking a comforting sip of my coffee. My finger hovered over the button and then, emboldened by a quick flash of courage, I pressed the button. The seconds stretched into an impossible amount of time before a location materialized on my screen—Nazare, Portugal—a place foreign to me but one that radiated the allure of a refreshing escape.

I thought for a moment, put the phone down, took a few steps toward the window before picking the phone up again. It sill read Nazare.

But the glow of my phone screen faded, and the reality of my surroundings abruptly returned. The humdrum routine of life had its firm grasp on me, and the spark of an adventurous escape flickered wildly, threatening to disappear completely. Days rolled on, the colors of the world dulled a bit more. Then, a final blow—my gallery show, a culmination of a year’s work and everything I had been striving towards, was canceled a week before showing. The last thread of hope seemed to evaporate. And there I was, clutching the phone in my hand a week later with the words Nazare, Portugal glowing in the night.

It was a moment suspended in time—a tipping point. And in that moment, I made a choice. I would break free from the comfort of the known, from the confines of a city that had sapped my creative spirit. I booked my ticket the next night, this time imagining myself on one of the infinite planes fleeing the runway.

I packed the rest of my bags, leaving behind unfinished sketches and the stillness of my studio. I was off to chase the bright colors of Nazare. I was off to see the world.

My first steps in Nazare were like walking right into a painting. The shift from New York’s confines to Nazare’s openness was as stark as it was invigorating. Stepping off the plane, I was immediately hit by the intoxicating blend of sea air, unfamiliar sounds, the vibrant pastels hues of houses dotting the hills, and an overwhelming feeling of unknown experiences to come that radiated up my spine and directly into my brain like an eruption of euphoric bliss.

The sleepy town nestled against the roaring Atlantic and the verdant Portugese countryside unfolded like a riot of colors—the cobalt blue of the ocean, the terracotta roofs of clustered homes overlooking the shoreline, the rustic sandy tints of the expansive beaches were speckled with colorful tents under the orange sky. The quaint traditional wooden fishing boats, or “arte xavega,” adorned the sand while the cries of gulls echoed through the air. It was an explosion of the senses in every way possible—an emotional outburst both beautiful and nerve-racking.

As dawn approached on my second day, I found a small café and ordered a coffee, sitting there sketching the sun’s bleeding colors in the morning sky—the colors shining brightly on my canvas, mirroring the fresh rhythm of life pulsating within me.

Every day was an exploration, an unraveling of what Nazare had to offer—an unhurried morning by the seaside, an afternoon exploring the colorful streets, an evening spent absorbing the inspiring energy from the locals. Each experience added a new color to my once monochrome palette.

A week into my adventure, I discovered a quaint art studio tucked away in a narrow cobblestone alley. It was managed by an elderly local artist whose zest for life and art was both infectious and illuminating. I began to attend his workshops, where I learned not just the techniques of the local art style, but also the value of drawing inspiration from the ordinary, transforming it into extraordinary pieces of art.

One particular evening, I found myself standing on a cliff overlooking the majestic Atlantic, the setting sun painting the sky in shades of purple and gold. The air tasted salty, and the breeze felt crisp against my skin. I breathed in the sight, letting it seep into my bones, my heart, and my art. It felt like home—like an inspiration. The city scape that once shaped my dreams had transformed into an expanse of ocean and sky. Nazare was a palate of experiences—the thunderous applause of the surf at Praia do Norte, the monstrous waves—famous for their thrilling heights—were like living sculptures of the sea’s mighty force. I watched the surfers challenging these waves. Their courage and resilience reflected in my sketches.

These scenes added a raw intensity to my art. The whispering sand under the moonlit sky, the joyous laughter at local beach parties. I was an unknown traveler, an observer, a passerby living out a fantasy. Yet, Nazare embraced me, allowing my spirit to blend into its story, weaving me into its beautiful essence like the wind, and the sky, and the rain.

Everywhere I looked, I found beauty so effortlessly. In the narrow alleys, the vibrant houses, the local markets, the bustling docks, the serene sea, the smiling faces—there was an irresistible pull of life, a vivid color palette waiting to be immortalized.

It wasn’t long before I found myself standing before a blank white canvas in the little art studio, a paintbrush in my hand, the bright colors of Nazare dancing in my eyes. I poured all of myself into each stoke, capturing the spirit of the small Portuguese fishing village as I experienced it, liberating my spirit in the process. This journey to Nazare was more than an escape from my routine; it was a journey into myself, a rekindling of my love for art—a rediscovery of the powerful artist within me.

I took a moment to gaze upon the completed canvas. I couldn’t help but to marvel at the transformation within me as my eyes drank in the splashes of color representing my travels. Sometimes, a random destination is not just a chance for a change of scenery. Sometimes, it’s a chance to reframe our perspective, to breathe life into our passions, and rediscover the vibrancy of our own spirits.

On my last night in Nazare, I watched the sun set from Sitio, the sky exploding with strokes of red, purple, and orange. I shared an overwhelming sense of intimacy with this town. A connection unlike any other I had ever experienced. I was out in the world, living, breathing, and feeling the raw beauty of exploration. And it felt like home.

- Anonymous