Portugal Through the Senses - Chapter 5: The Touch of Time

Nana Guerreiro
Aug 28
2 min read

Olá again!

It’s Peppe here — your friendly local guide, travel companion, and occasional philosopher over coffee.

We’ve listened to Portugal, we’ve tasted it, watched it shimmer in color, and followed its scent through markets and gardens. But there’s still one sense I want to talk about — one that’s often forgotten in travel blogs and brochures.

Touch.

Not just hands-on, but soul-on. The feeling of things. The texture of time, history, and place. Because if you pay attention, Portugal is a country that you feel on your skin — sometimes literally, sometimes in a deeper, slower way.

Rough stone and smooth tile

Run your hand along the wall of a medieval church in Évora. It’s coarse, sun-warmed granite, worn down by centuries of prayers and rain. Step into a tiled hallway in Lisbon — those azulejos are smooth, cool, and echo stories from the 18th century.

There’s something incredibly intimate about touching a building that has seen so much. And if you're with me on a tour, I’ll probably say, "Touch it. That’s 500 years of history under your palm."

Salt on the skin, sun on the shoulders

Portugal’s beaches? They’re not just to be seen. They’re to be felt.

The sand in Comporta — powdery, pale, soft between your toes.

The Atlantic breeze in Nazaré — strong and salty, whipping your hair and reminding you who's boss.

The sun in the Algarve? A golden blanket on your shoulders. And after a swim, the sea leaves a crust of salt on your skin, like a badge of honor.

It’s simple, primal, unforgettable.

Wood, cork, and stone

Portugal is a country of natural textures.

The cork oak — our national tree — peels its bark like paper, and you’ll find it in shoes, wallets, even postcards. Walk into a rural house and feel the hand-hewn wood beams above your head, or the cool terracotta floors underfoot.

Even in the markets, it’s a sensory feast: the velvet of a fresh fig, the firm skin of grapes just harvested, the warm crust of bread in your hands.

Handshakes and heartbeats

But the real touch of Portugal?

It’s the human kind. The double cheek kiss. The strong handshake from a man in a café in Alentejo who insists you sit for a drink. The gentle pat on the back from an old lady in the bakery saying, “Vai com Deus, meu filho.”

These moments — brief, warm, real — stay with you longer than any postcard.

Stone steps and worn paths

And finally, there’s the feeling of walking where others have walked.

In Sintra, your feet fall on stone steps once climbed by royals, poets, and dreamers. In Porto, you slide slightly on cobbled streets polished by centuries of shoes and stories. In the Douro Valley, you hike through vineyards that grew under Roman sun.