Collecting Moments

In the quiet hours before dawn, I find solace by the ocean, a refuge from the relentless tide of news. A gentle fog rolls in from the depths, draping the world in a milky shroud. As I step into this ethereal mist, it wraps around me, lending an air of enigma to the waking town. Moments flicker by — ephemeral and fleeting, leaving behind no echo of their passing. Fishing boats glide through the gossamer haze, only to be swallowed by the infinite embrace of the ocean. A solitary figure on a bicycle materializes along the shore, then fades into the misty void. There are no bitter feelings, no lingering memories — only the pure essence of the present, a singular moment in time.

Distance 14 km (gpx) , Elevation gain 340 m, Elevation loss 400 m As dawn broke over Setúbal, a thick fog enveloped the hills of Palmela, hinting at the enchantment that lay ahead. One of us was filled with wonder, imagining the magic that awaited, while the other braced for a day shrouded in moisture. Both expectations were met with equal measure. Upon alighting in Quinta do Anjo, we were greeted by the village’s cobbled streets, covered in a delicate dance of heavy droplets suspended in the air. The path took us to ancient prehistoric graves standing solemnly amidst the mist, exuding an enigmatic aura. These caves, carved around 3500 BC, served as final resting places for over a thousand years, bridging the Stone and Metal ages. They once held precious items — weapons, jewelry, pottery, and idols — offering a glimpse into the lives and beliefs of those who were buried here. Unfortunately, in the 19th century some of the stones were extracted for construction leaving a scar on th

For quite some time, I had lost the spark of adventure and the thirst for exploration. I had grown hesitant and indecisive, even in simple things like venturing out into nature and following hidden paths. But yesterday, something stirred in me. I felt a sudden urge to face the unknown and savor freedom again. It was a short walk in the nearby forest, our first mushroom hunt of the season. We had two young energetic couchsurfers staying with us. When I told them we were going to look for wild mushroom spots, their eyes sparkled. “Finally, we’ll learn how to forage for our food when we camp!” — they exclaimed. There were a few hardly visible trails in the woods that I had noticed before but never got around to tracing them. We waded through thick undergrowth and thorny vines, until we reached a clearing where oily brown caps glistened under the pine needles and grass. Gradually making our way across the dense greenery, we filled the bags with Slippery Jack fungi, a delicious treat.