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| Finding my sunshine: Reflections by the Tagus River in Lisbon, with the iconic 25 de Abril Bridge in the background |
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March 2016 feels like yesterday when I took the Eurolines from Victoria Station, London to Brussels, my heart heavy with uncertainty. The journey from London through the Channel Tunnel to Brussels, then finally landing in Lisbon, wasn't just a geographical shift – it was the beginning of a complete transformation of my life.
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| The long road from Victoria Station to a new life in Portugal. This was taken while crossing the English Channel—the exact moment the journey felt real. |
Coming from Nepal and having spent time in London's constant drizzle, Lisbon welcomed me with warm sunshine that kissed my face like a long-lost friend. The city breathed differently. Where London rushed, Lisbon strolled. Where London whispered in grey tones, Lisbon sang in vibrant pastels that painted every corner of Alfama and Bairro Alto.
For two years, I worked as a cook in a small restaurant near Rossio Square. My hands knew the rhythm of chopping, stirring, and plating, but my tongue remained a stranger to the melodic Portuguese that flowed around me like the Tagus River. I survived on smiles, gestures, and the universal language of food. Customers would speak to me, their eyes expecting understanding, and I'd respond with apologetic nods, feeling like an actor who'd forgotten his lines.
The language barrier was my daily enemy. Simple tasks became mountains – shopping at Pingo Doce turned into a guessing game where I'd point at items like a lost child. The cashier's patient smile couldn't hide the awkwardness when I couldn't understand if they were asking for my card or offering a bag. Even worse were the nights when I'd hear laughter from neighboring tables at restaurants, wondering if they were laughing with me or at my broken attempts at Portuguese.
The turning point came during a quiet Sunday afternoon when an elderly Portuguese lady, Dona Maria, a regular customer, gently touched my hand and said, "Meu filho, this is your home now. Learn our language, and you'll truly live here, not just exist." Her words hit deeper than any homesickness I'd ever felt.
That's when I enrolled at Escola Nuno Gon̤alves as a beginner student. The Portuguese education system was refreshingly personal compared to London's rushed approach. Classes were small, teachers knew every student's name, and there was genuine care for our progress. Portuguese was unlike any challenge I'd ever faced Рrolling R's that made my tongue rebel, nasal sounds that seemed impossible, and grammar that twisted my brain into knots. Every day felt like climbing a mountain with no summit in sight.
Learning Portuguese was harder than I expected, but also quietly wonderful. We fumbled over words, laughed at our mistakes, read aloud until our tongues twisted, and wrote tiny sentences about our day. Our teacher never hurried us—she let silence hang while we searched for the right words, correcting gently, like she believed in us even when we didn’t. By the end of class, my head felt full, but my heart lighter. Slowly, with each repetition, the language stopped feeling like a wall. I realized I wasn’t facing it alone anymore—and that made all the difference.
But something magical happened after six months. The fog lifted. Basic conversations started flowing naturally. "Como está?" became as natural as breathing. I improved every single day, word by word, mistake by mistake. The language that once felt like an enemy became my closest friend.
Portuguese became my bridge to Portuguese souls. Suddenly, I could understand Fado's heartbreaking melodies at small tavernas in Alfama, where singers poured their saudade into every note. The language carried stories of explorers like Vasco da Gama, and the gentle melancholy that makes Portugal so beautifully human. Every "obrigado" I learned felt like earning citizenship to their hearts.
Lisbon's nightlife transformed from mysterious to magical once I could speak. Bairro Alto's narrow streets came alive with conversations I could finally join. Football became religion – I learned to argue passionately about Benfica versus Sporting Lisbon matches, understanding why entire neighborhoods would either celebrate or mourn based on weekend results. The rivalry wasn't just sport; it was family heritage passed down through generations.
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Weekend trips to Sintra felt like fairy tales once I could chat with locals about the Pena Palace's history. Cascais became more than just a pretty beach town – elderly fishermen would share stories of their youth while I practiced my Portuguese, their weathered faces lighting up when I understood their jokes.
Living in a foreign country without speaking the local language is like trying to paint with only one color Рyou might create something, but you miss the full spectrum of life. When I finally could help a lost tourist find their way to Bel̩m Tower, or discuss the best past̩is de nata with locals, I realized I wasn't just learning words РI was learning to belong.
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What This Journey Taught Me
This journey taught me that learning is not only about books or classrooms. It is about courage, patience, and allowing yourself to make mistakes in front of strangers. Learning Portuguese showed me that language is more than words; it is trust, connection, and a sense of belonging. Every small effort to learn opened doors I didn’t even know existed, from simple conversations to deep cultural understanding. For anyone starting something new in an unfamiliar place, this experience proves that growth begins the moment you stop being afraid of not knowing and start being willing to learn.
By 2022, when I left Lisbon, my Portuguese had become fluent, natural, part of who I was. After a year of quiet reflection in Denmark, I eventually found my way to Belgium. Even now, living among Belgian cobblestones in Brugge, my heart aches for those Lisbon afternoons when Portuguese words danced off my tongue like poetry. I miss Lisbon more than I ever missed London – because Lisbon taught me that home isn't where you're born, but where your heart learns to speak.
Language isn't just communication – it's the key to a culture's heart, and Portugal opened hers to me completely.
💡 Bitty Tip
Want to know the study system I used to master Portuguese in just six months? It wasn't just luck—it was a system. Check out my masterclass on Active Recall: The Science-Backed Secret to Studying Less.
What about you?
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