I’d been sitting outside on the quiosque terrace long enough to see the sun travel across the horizon over Alfama, spilling light onto terra cotta-shingled rooftops that descended downhill in sprawling layers towards the sea. It was late afternoon, right about the time Rafael usually arrived. His friends and family called him Rafa (“But all friends become family in the end,” he said once, the creases in his kind face deepening as he grinned and waved his cane for emphasis.) I’d stumbled across this serene outdoor café my second day in Lisbon and had visited most afternoons in the three weeks since, quietly observing and writing as the yellow tram occasionally rumbled by in the distance. After days of frequenting the quiosque at the same time, Rafa and I struck up a friendship, cobbling together conversations in English and Portuguese that somehow made perfect sense. As I looked out over the bright vista of Portas do Sol, the esplanade behind me hummed with the voices of people strolling in every direction. Some of them were discussing plans for a leisurely tapas dinner or dancing in Bairro Alto – effortlessly enjoying the night and the moment, whatever form that happened to take. I breathed the vibrance of my surroundings in through my nose, out through my mouth and reflected on the irony of the tranquility I’d found here, given the events leading up to this moment. Just one month before, a chance meeting with a Buddhist monk resulted in an invitation to a meditation retreat at his castle-turned-monastery in the tiny Czech mountain town of Tupadly. I accepted immediately; the opportunity to escape my muddled early twenties life and find enlightenment couldn’t have come at a better time. However, the experience quickly went awry as the monk spent days scrolling through photos on his iPad documenting parades in his honor and gleefully describing how a rural Nepalese tribe had labeled him “a God.” His self-aggrandizement and condescension towards those he claimed to serve felt like a disheartening step backwards. While I didn’t yet know what inner peace was, I certainly knew what it wasn’t, and decided to cut my stay short. I booked a flight to Portugal, determined to somehow achieve any enlightenment I could find on my own. From my seat overlooking the esplanade, I suddenly spied Rafa shuffling in my direction. As I waved, beckoning him over, I was struck by the realization that perhaps I wasn’t finding it on my own after all. The old man greeted me as I pulled a chair out for him. He was in his seventies, with a deep-seated love for quiosques, pastries, ancient mosaic tiles and afternoon siestas – every small facet of city life that truly made it “home.” Unlike the monk, Rafa’s sense of personal fulfillment seemed to come from the celebration and appreciation of life itself. Over the past weeks, he’d recounted tales of his children, grandchildren and decades-long marriage. His wife had recently passed away, and he described keeping her memory with him on his daily walks along the water. In turn, I shared my dream of writing professionally, despite the self-doubt and complications I’d experienced thus far. I asked permission to record his stories, and he delightedly agreed, remarking that he could likely fill a book with them. The wrought iron streetlamps flickered on that night after hours of conversation as Rafa regaled me with a wildly comical narrative of the neighborhood dinner he hosted every week. An abrupt thought occurred to him – “How much can you eat?” he asked, and made me promise to attend the following evening. When I arrived, I was ushered in with smiles, surrounded by families as fado music floated above the gathering. The cheerful welcome continued as Rafa led me around, making introductions. Wine glasses in the background clinked as some helped prepare the food and others shooed the children away from the desserts. Laughter rolled throughout the bustling house and onto the sidewalk, and warm conversation came easily. When the food was ready, he raised a glass to me, and I to him. “It’s simple, but beautiful,” he said. A wave of understanding washed over me, and we sat down to eat.