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Long summer days, slow rhythms of the Alentejo region.
Life here has a different rhythm. In the morning, I would wake up to the smell of fresh bread and coffee, and drizzle the still-warm slices with golden olive oil, listening to the soft clinking of dishes in the courtyard. The locals would tell me stories about the olive harvest, when families gather under these same trees to pick the fruit by hand, turning the work into a celebration of laughter, songs, and shared meals.
Life here has a different rhythm. In the morning, I would wake up to the smell of fresh bread and coffee, and drizzle the still-warm slices with golden olive oil, listening to the soft clinking of dishes in the courtyard. The locals would tell me stories about the olive harvest, when families gather under these same trees to pick the fruit by hand, turning the work into a celebration of laughter, songs, and shared meals.