Lisbon rolls at you in waves of yellow trams, azulejo tile panels, and fado music spilling from basement taverns. This hilly capital perched on the Tagus River manages to feel both ancient and effortlessly cool – a rare combination that made me weak at the knees.

Riding Tram 28 through narrow Alfama streets felt like time travel, pastel buildings blurring past windows that have witnessed centuries of sailors departing for new worlds. The castle above offered panoramic views over terracotta rooftops to the river gleaming silver in afternoon light.

Pastéis de Belém lured me into a 19th-century bakery where custard tarts emerged fresh from the oven, their caramelized tops crackling at the touch. I ate three and had no regrets. Food in Lisbon is a religion, and I was ready to convert.

Evening brought Ginjinha shots from tiny standing bars, conversations with locals about the drought of 1755 and the revolution of 1974. Lisbon remembers everything and forgives everything. How could anyone not fall for a city wearing its wounds so beautifully?

– Carmel