What if it's a little slow? It's Portugal.
Yellow trams and azulejos, egg tarts and coffee and wine, and fado
Every corner of Portugal, walked, seen, heard, tasted, and felt with your own two feet.

Author Kwon Ho-young, who gained attention by introducing the little-known country of Georgia with "What on Earth is in Georgia?", has now published "Portugal: A Good Even if It's Half a Beat Slower."
Portugal (population 10 million), visited by 20 million tourists every year. What is it about Portugal that makes people so excited?
Why is Portugal chosen as the country you want to live in?
This book will be a journey to find that answer.
The book, which begins with the laughable incident of obtaining an emergency passport at the airport just before departure, takes the form of a literary essay and serves as a guide that points out must-see points about Portugal.
It will be a time to awaken the readers' five senses: the yellow trams and orange roofs slowly running along the narrow alleys, the azulejo tile murals with their colorful patterns, the exquisite egg tarts and espresso that are soft on the outside and soft on the inside, the Port wine tasted while touring the wineries along the Douro River, and the sorrowful melody of Fado that longs for those who have left for the sea.
Moreover, the historical background that led to the creation of egg tarts, the story of how the colorful Costa Nova came to be lined with striped houses, and the author's unique interpretation of Portuguese wine and fado will satisfy your humanistic desires.

I swallowed the tears that were welling up in my eyes in sorrow, having not even had a sip of water for two hours, let alone breakfast.
I was just looking out the window at the wing of the airplane preparing for takeoff.
Let's take a look back at the sudden passport 1+1 situation.
I felt instantly better when I realized that I was embarking on a journey with two passports instead of one.

There were days when I walked the same path over and over again.
Sometimes I walked in a circle starting from a building or park, and sometimes I walked in a straight line alternating uphill and downhill.
The moments when I stopped for a moment were mostly at crosswalks.
Since I didn't necessarily have to cross the street, I also observed people passing by.
The other person also observed me.
There were only two people: a tourist and an everyday traveler.
The smell of the busyness and excitement of those two groups of people mixed in the air, creating the smell of air that can only be smelled at a travel destination.
It seeped into my thin outerwear.
As I walked around the cathedral, which was decorated with azulejo tile murals, I also felt blue seeping into me.


After several days of rain, the smell of Porto seems to have changed a little.
As the afternoon wore on, the aroma of coffee permeated the stone floor.
With each step I took while holding an umbrella, rain soaked my steps.
I was a little out of it trying to shake off the rain from my shoes, but at the same time I started laughing.
It must be something like the peace of mind that travel gives.

Every time my open umbrella swayed to my footsteps, my eyes met with those of people going to work.
Even though we are walking the same path at the same time, our hearts going to work and our hearts traveling will be different.

While I was writing down names in my notebook, I occasionally took a look at the scenery inside the train, because I thought that each person boarded the train with their own story.
It seemed like a kind of 'traveler thing to do'.
The sight of a boy who looked like he was in middle school at best, reading a book with concentration for a long time, the eyes of a brown-haired girl with earphones in and gazing out the window, the attire of an office worker walking home from work without any particular reason—making up stories about such scenes was a wonderful imagination that only a traveler could possess.

Somehow, even when the night falls completely, it feels like it will continue to twinkle with light.
I felt the house breathing quietly as I waited for my loved one to return.
Home was also a place I could return to.
Only then will the trip be complete.

I realize that what I remember is not the photo, but the memory of that day.
As we walked in a circle along the narrow ramparts, travelers would bump shoulders, exchange glances, and smile at each other.
What filled the city was not silence, but vitality.
From the top of the wall, you can see the entire town, following the busy footsteps of the people.
As day turned to night, yellow streetlights came on.
The light spreading out in a circle in the bluish air was like a summer haze.

The thick smell of bread that filled the empty spaces between the tables seemed like it would follow me all day.
I quickly read down the names of over ten different types of croissants and repeat the process.
My fingertips are ticklish.
What should I eat?


During that season when I traveled alone, I wanted to be lonely, but at the same time, I didn't want to be lonely.
For that reason, I sometimes chose accommodations that had lounges where travelers from all over the world gathered.
A place where you can sit wherever you want with a bottle of beer in hand and chat away at night.
A relaxing evening where some people play the guitar, some people draw, and two or three people chat in pairs.
Those were the days when someone would say, “There’s a party over there today, anyone want to go?” and I’d ride my scooter out to the beach.
Even if it was a little uncomfortable, I was the type of person who liked that kind of lively heat.

On the way back to my accommodation, I took a short walk along the night sea near the accommodation, Plaza de Commerce.
The wind seemed to be quietly seeping into the sea, but soon it was writhing as if it was going to swallow each other.
It ended up breaking into white waves.
The sea, crashing against the rocks and making a splashing sound, brought other sounds with it along with the wind.
It's longing.
The Portuguese sing of longing.
The song that started in the narrow, winding alley resonated as if it would reach the ends of the earth.
As Gregorius walked with me down Calle Augusta, the checkerboard-shaped center of Baixa, to Rossio Square, and as I sat on the subway to Belém, thinking about the passing of time through the city, I too often found myself pondering why I had fallen in love with this city.
I mentioned that if I were to start my life in a foreign city, it would be Porto, but the city that I am drawn to is Lisbon.
Even after walking around Lisbon day and night, there is an lingering feeling that cannot be shaken off.

It was a heart-fluttering morning just knowing the sea was close by.
It seemed as if the scent of white waves was coming from the rustling white blanket.
My second trip to Lisbon was full of excitement, but I mistook the rustling sound for the sound of waves, and as always, I ended up being late.

Let's make today's hobby a walk along the path that follows the sunlight.
How else can you get lost in the Belem district?

The crumbly pastry had a slightly burnt, buttery aroma, but when you took a bite of its richness, the scent of custard, as soft as a cloud and as sweet as the cream on top of the Einspanner, filled the air.
It fills my mouth.
“Emm~!” I don’t know who he’s telling me to look at, but I give him a thumbs up.
So, this egg tart was the epitome of the expression, crispy on the outside and moist on the inside.
Sprinkle some cinnamon or powdered sugar to suit your taste and eat it with a shot of espresso and you'll suddenly feel happy.
My stomach feels warm and a gentle smile appears on my face.
“Why haven’t I eaten this before?”

I got on tram number 15E, and it was crowded.
Although it is not our favorite tram number 28, it is an electric tram that gives you a sense of modern Lisbon and is fun in a different way.
Just sitting in the back row and looking around is exciting.
Why is that?
Why do seemingly insignificant things become something in travel destinations?

I stopped by a small souvenir shop.
There were white houses clustered together in a white village.
I am a person who feels happy when I travel to unfamiliar places and collect 'things like this'.
It feels like taking a few whole houses to a white village in Portugal.


I woke up and felt the wind as I sat on a large chair I found while chasing a purring cat.
It was difficult to take in the wide open sea to the right and left.
It seemed as if I could hear the sound of a wave calling out to a loved one as they leave him or her in the vast ocean at the end of the world.
The sea, which had long held the voices and eyes of people, was all but sparkling.

The bookstore tour at the travel destination continued even in small towns.
The main character of the book, ‘Owl Story Bookstore’, which even has a cute name, is a white-haired old woman.
When you open the door, next to the green sofa you see books and poetry collections that travelers have sold.
I bought 『Portuguese Phrase』 from Penguin Books.
It's hard to leave this cozy space, filled with the smell of books.
It was almost closing time when I finally stopped reciting the titles of the books I was happy to read.

I realized a little too late that any traveler can enjoy this waiting time.
How long have you waited for the long-distance bus that left without a timetable, the time you had to wait for a friend's appointment because the internet was out, the rain that had been falling for days on end, and the moment when the rain would stop and you could see the sparkling sunlight?


When I think about traveling, the corners of my mouth turn up and my heart races.
Just think about what could be happier than this.
Don't you think excitement and anxiety always go together?
How can I express the feeling of leaving with a slightly anxious heart?
Isn't traveling just a good thing?

--- From the text