Ivana Vareško shares her guide to Portugal’s slower rhythm and best winter retreats

Portugal has a way of constantly drifting in and out of my life. I never really plan it, yet it keeps finding its way back to me. The first time I visited was on a high school graduation trip, with very little expectation, at an age when you’re young and reckless and places aren’t really experienced, just ticked off. We cared about bars and clubs, nightlife and the attention of charming locals. Sightseeing happened on the side. While guides were talking, we were heroically trying not to fall asleep leaning against the first monument we could find in the shade.  A few years later, I found myself back in Lisbon, this time visiting a friend who was spending a semester there. That’s when I truly felt the city for the first time. We had no plan, no urge to see anything in particular. Days stretched on effortlessly. We spent hours lying in the Gulbenkian Gardens, meeting up with his friends in parks, cooking at home and eating on the floor of his tiny balcony overlooking the city. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a quiet restlessness appeared. The thought that I could stay longer than planned.

But I didn’t.

After that, I didn’t return for a long time. Lisbon somehow fell off the map, until a friend I studied with in Ireland gathered us all in Portugal for her birthday. It was winter, I wasn’t in a rush to go home, and Portugal in the winter breathes differently. First, I flew to the Azores, then rented a car and drove all the way down to the Algarve, but in the end, Lisbon is where I stayed the longest. And it was then that I found the part of the city where I first felt at home. Even today, when I think about moving somewhere, the first image that comes to mind isn’t a flat or a house, but that square in Lisbon.

Recently, it found its way back into my life again. This time I was in Ericeira, photographing a yoga retreat hosted by my dear friend Gea , and those few working days turned into a mini winter holiday in Portugal. On my first free afternoon, I got into the car and drove down to Lisbon. I caught myself feeling excited, not about the city as a whole, but about that familiar feeling.

Bookstore Salted Books

Address: CC do Marquês de Abrantes 96, 1200-720 Lisbon, Portugal

My first stop was Santos, to visit the bookshop Salted Books. I’ve been following them since the very beginning, ever since a photo on Instagram of Alex, the founder, painting the walls and shelves in her underwear, in their now-iconic deep blue colour. For the past two years, their Instagram has been my go-to place for collecting book recommendations. They focus on minority voices, host poetry nights, author talks and creative writing workshops. Still, what stays with you most isn’t the programme. It’s the people. People who linger. Who talk. Who come back. A community. I’ve always dreamed of having my own bookshop one day. Always having a book in my hand and spending days talking about what I’ve read. Standing between those blue shelves, that dream felt real and attainable. As if places like this aren’t an exception, but proof that there’s still room for slowness and connection.

Magnolia Bistrot & Winebar

Address: Praça das Flores 43, Lisbon, Portugal 1200-192

After a good hour of reading back covers and calculating how many books could realistically fit into my already full carry-on, I left the shop with five. Walking uphill towards Praça das Flores, I caught myself smiling. I wasn’t just returning to a place, but to a feeling.  Praça das Flores is a part of Lisbon that has somehow remained true to itself, despite mass tourism. A small square in a big city, where people know each other and where a sense of community still lingers. At Magnolia, I sit by the window and, with a glass of wine, leaf through the books I’ve just pulled out of the familiar Salted Books bag that reads, “Buy books from bookshops, not a billionaire.”

I discovered Magnolia completely by accident, simply because the last time I was in Lisbon, I had rented a room above it. I sat down for dinner because it was the closest option. And then, while I was waiting for my food, Everywhere by Fleetwood Mac started playing. The girls working in the bistro began to dance. They danced with plates in their hands, in the kitchen and behind the bar. They sang. The guests joined in. That’s when I knew Magnolia was one of those places that doesn’t need convincing. It simply calls you back.

Market Friends of a Farmer

Just a few steps above Magnolia, that Thursday afternoon, a small farmer’s market was taking place, organised in collaboration with Magnolia by Friends of a Farmer, an initiative within the Slowness collective. Their philosophy is simple but powerful: “In times of great haste, we dare to be slow.” They describe it not as a shift in velocity, but as an altered state of being. “Slowness defies conventions, embracing the imperfect, the strange and indigenous.”

Photo: Ivana Vareško

At a handful of stalls, local producers sell seasonal and organic vegetables, freshly cut flowers, bread, wine and dishes from nearby restaurants. The atmosphere is relaxed. People linger and talk. As I walk between the stalls, it becomes clear why Portugal has been quietly  pulling me back for years. Everything I visited that day in Lisbon, from the bookshop to the square, from the bistro to this small market, is connected by the same thread. Community. A more conscious way of living. A connection to what we consume and to the people around us.

Lisbon a city with an attitude

Lisbon has always been a city with an attitude, not loud or imposing, but quiet and consistent. You can see it in the people, in the way they dress, move through the city and take up space. They don’t care much about trends. They’re effortlessly cool. Many carry tote bags with political, ecological or social messages. The city thinks out loud, without trying to convince anyone. Vintage shops are everywhere, pieces carry stories, nothing is polished or perfect, and that’s exactly where its character lies.

Ericeira

That sense of community and slower rhythm feels even stronger in Ericeira. That’s where I met Ana, a girl from Zagreb whose search for waves carried her here. She stayed, for the first time, without a big decision. As we walked through town, someone greeted her every few steps. Some briefly, in passing, others stopping to make plans for later that evening. The energy is light, even as waves crash wildly beneath the town’s cliffs. It’s easy to understand why people stay.

Ericeira / Photo: Ivana Vareško

How else to close the circle of community than in a circle. On the final evening of the retreat, we sit together for kirtan, an ancient call-and-response chanting practice, that gently quiets the mind and opens a shared space for connection. Mantras repeat, eyes are closed, voices soften, and the space fills with something difficult to name. Gea has a rare gift for bringing wonderful souls together and creating a space where people can be exactly who they are, where they can feel seen. In that circle, it becomes most tangible, and every time it reminds me how precious it is, in today’s world, to feel completely in place. 

A trip to Portugal always comes back to me like that. Not as a destination, but as a reminder. That it’s okay to slow down. To linger. To belong.

Photo: Ivana Vareško