In the fall of 2024, I did something I had been putting off. I signed up for a memoir writing workshop, Memories Into Memoir, hosted by Irene Graham, held in Benalmádena, Spain. It was two days. I built a ten-night journey around it.
Some people might call that excessive. I call it intentional.
This trip was never just about the workshop. It was about the kind of slowdown that doesn't happen by accident. The kind you have to design. I wanted to arrive in that writing room quieted, grounded, and open, not rushing in from a direct flight still carrying the pace of my regular life. So I built a journey. Azores. Lisbon. Évora. Málaga. Benalmádena.
When was the last time you actually slowed down, not for a weekend, but for long enough to remember who you are outside of your work?
I solo traveled. I went to a country where I didn't speak the language. I walked into a room full of strangers where I was the only Black woman. None of it was comfortable. All of it was worth it.
My journey began in Cancún. JetBlue to JFK, then onward to São Miguel. I booked the whole itinerary through JetBlue, but the second segment was operated by SATA Azores Airlines, which meant a terminal change at JFK. Land at JFK from Cancún, clear customs and immigration, collect your luggage, drag everything to the inter-terminal train (or was it a bus? honestly it's a blur), check your bags again at the SATA counter, go through security again, and get to your gate. All of that with a two-hour layover.
I am normally #teamcarryon, but this trip I had a checked bag too. I packed for the weather and cuteness. No regrets on the outfits. Plenty of regrets hauling everything through JFK. Two hours sounds reasonable until you are living it with a rolling carry-on, a checked bag, and the growing awareness that you should have packed lighter. I made it to the counter with just enough time, cleared security for the second time, and found my gate. Then I got on the six-hour flight to the Azores and slept for a good portion of it. Earned.
A note if you are planning a similar routing: build in as much buffer as possible at JFK if you have an international connection that requires you to clear customs and switch terminals. Two hours is the floor, not the target.
I didn't stumble onto the Azores by accident. A dear friend, Vicky, had lived on São Miguel decades ago when her husband was stationed at the U.S Air Force base there. She talked about the island the way people talk about a place that changed them. And then there was Anthony Bourdain; he trekked to the Azores and filmed what I can only describe as a gloriously chaotic episode. Between Vicky's stories and Bourdain's adventure, I had a pretty good sense of what I was walking into before I ever set foot on the island. It is remote. It is real. It does not perform for tourists. I loved it immediately.
I arrived on São Miguel around 7am after ten-plus hours of travel. I was exhausted, running on fumes, and about to do something I hadn't done in three years: get behind the wheel of a car.
You need a car, or a private driver, to see São Miguel properly. The island isn't built for tourists in the way that some destinations are. It doesn't cater to you. It just exists, breathtakingly, and you figure out how to navigate it. I booked a rental online through a local company that picked me up from the airport through a third-party service, slightly confusing at first, but the process smoothed out. Pro tip: be aware of deposit requirements. I specifically chose a company that didn't require an exorbitant one.
After collecting my keys, I used Google Maps to find a breakfast spot less than ten minutes away, right on the beach. I sat down, ordered, and immediately remembered two things: I had been living in Mexico, and beach does not equal warm. I was freezing. I was also so tired I kept falling asleep mid-bite. I felt like a vagabond trying to nap in my rental car in a parking lot, so I reached out to my B&B, Quinta dos Bravos, to ask about early check-in. They said they'd do their best.
In the meantime, I found a beach closer to where I'd be staying, wandered into a grocery store (European grocery stores are an experience in themselves, fresh bread, beautiful fruit, incredible hot counter options), and made my way to the B&B. They got me in about two hours early. I could have cried.
Lesson learned: if you're arriving before 1pm, book the night before. Waiting for check-in after ten-plus hours of travel is its own kind of torture.
Over my three nights on the island, I woke up late (anything after 6:30am qualifies as sleeping in for me), wrote in my journal, walked in nature, and drove around the island discovering miradouros, the lookout points that dot São Miguel like gifts. The views are not real. I kept thinking that. The volcanic calderas, the impossibly green hills dropping into the ocean, it's the kind of beauty that makes you quiet.
I visited a hot spring that was, unfortunately, very touristy. But I also found a beach bar playing old school rap and hip hop. I sat with a glass of rosé and some nibbles, soaking up the music and the ocean views. After years of rideshare life, I had to remind myself: one glass only. I'm driving now.
I also got lost one night and ended up at a cow crossing.
And on another occasion, I went the wrong way around a square while pedestrians tried frantically to wave me off. I ended up doing a U-turn in the middle of the street. The car, and my dignity, survived.
One of my favorite memories from the island happened at the grocery store hot counter. I don't speak Portuguese, I had learned just enough to manage basic greetings before the trip, and that was it. The woman working the counter didn't speak English. So I would point to what I wanted and say the name in English and Spanish. She'd tell me the Portuguese word. We laughed and smiled our way through every interaction. No shared language beyond hello. No problem. Connection anyway.
On my last evening on the island, I stopped at the malecón on my way back to the B&B. I got out of the car and stood there for a while, just watching the sky. It was the kind of sunset that earns its own silence.
I flew TAP from São Miguel to Lisbon and settled into my home base: a rented room in a five-story walk-up apartment in Bairro do Rego. Shared bathroom, shared kitchen, no elevator. But the neighborhood, residential, local, not a tourist brochure in sight, was exactly what I wanted. I could walk to restaurants, shops, a great grocery store. I could sit on the terrace and watch life happen on the street below.
Across the street, an old man sat in his window doing the same thing.
I spent two nights in Lisbon. I rode the red tram tour, visited the Elevador de Santa Justa, explored Alfama, and wandered my way to the Jardim da Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian, a beautiful park and art center that I lingered in, observing people, walking the grounds, simply being. I took a Bolt to Praça do Comércio, partly because I was building a proposal for a client traveling to Lisbon and wanted to scout the hotel options I'd selected for her.
Even in slow-down mode, the travel strategist in me never fully clocks out. Similar to my trip to Cape Town.
I ate well. Port wine with the local cheese and fish cakes they serve alongside it. Pastel de nata with coffee, those little custard tarts are dangerously good. I had a long, easy conversation with a Bolt driver originally from Angola. I missed the Afro-Lisbon tour and the R&B brunch at Nissa's Lounge (adding those to the next visit). I walked down to the waterfront at sunset and sat on the wall, watching the ocean.
Lisbon is a city that rewards wandering. Go without a tight agenda if you can help it.
I was torn between staying in Lisbon for a third night or venturing somewhere else. The more tourist-heavy options didn't appeal to me, I was still in slow-down mode and had no interest in speeding up. So I chose Évora: a small, historic town about an hour from Lisbon, largely off the international radar.
The Flixbus ticket cost me about $12. I booked online, used the app, found my bus easily at a safe and well-organized station. I had a row to myself. The countryside rolled by outside the window as Lisbon fell away behind me, and I felt something settle.
I used points to book one night at the brand-new Holiday Inn Express in Évora. Platinum, baby. It was perfectly situated, from the hotel, I could walk directly through the walls of the old city. Once inside, I did what I'd been doing the whole trip: wandered up different streets with no particular destination, toured an ancient church, ate more natas with coffee, watched people live their lives.
Évora is the kind of place that makes you wonder why you've never heard of it.
Have you ever just enjoyed the journey instead of focusing on the destination? What would it feel like to build a trip around the pace you actually need, not the pace you think you should keep?
The route took us through Mérida, Spain, which delighted me entirely, since I live in Mérida, Mexico. I am biased, but my Mérida is significantly more interesting. The Spanish Mérida did not take offense.
We made a rest stop at what I can only describe as a very dignified truck stop: bathrooms, a cafeteria-style restaurant, a fast food option. I chose the cafeteria. Whatever I ate was forgettable enough that I've already forgotten it. The landscape, however, was lovely. The border crossing into Spain was completely uneventful. From the Madrid bus station, I took a rideshare to the train station.
The next morning I was up early on a mission to find coffee. I found a busy square that felt like too much for my mood, kept walking, and discovered a charming little café with a red velvet sofa. Just as I sat down, six loud, chatty tourists poured in. I gave them my seat without ceremony and headed back out.
A little further up the street: a smaller park, a bench, quiet. I sat there with my coffee and a pastry and let the morning happen around me. Málaga is lovely, all marble streets and warm light. I couldn't quite believe cars were permitted to drive on those streets. Right around the time my legs started to protest, it was time to head back to the hotel.
I collected my bags, turned in my room key (an actual key, not a card, I appreciated that), and waited in the small lobby for my ride. While I waited, an unbothered black cat decided my tote bag was the most interesting thing in the room. It rubbed against the bag and purred. I did not interrupt the moment until my ride arrived.
A quick note on the geography: Benalmádena is divided into a few distinct areas. The workshop was held in the Costa section, more developed, more tourist-facing. I chose to stay in the Miel area, and I'm glad I did. It had more character, more life, more of the texture I was looking for at that point in the trip.
I stayed at THB San Fermín, not luxury, not five-star, but comfortable, well-located, and blessed with a fifth-floor room that looked out over a sunset on the mountains and the ocean. My breakfast and dinner were included. The front desk attendant gifted me a voucher for a free drink at the bar. Small gestures stick with you when you're traveling solo.
Near the hotel was a small convenience store with a surprisingly excellent wine selection. I spotted 21 Crimes wine, the bottle with Snoop Dogg on the label, and Rap Chips. In a small shop in coastal Spain. As a Black American, there's something quietly thrilling about finding your culture woven into the fabric of a place you never expected it. From old school hip hop at a beach bar in the Azores to Snoop on a shelf in Benalmádena, it travels with us.
I walked down to the beach, stopped into a few shops, and ate lunch at a Chinese restaurant. In Spain. It started raining while I was out. I pulled out my umbrella and kept going.
I liked it enough that I stayed an extra night.
On October 28th and 29th, I sat down in a room at Hotel Estival Torrequebrada with six other writers for Irene Graham's Memories Into Memoir workshop. Two women from Australia. One from Scotland. One from France. One from the UK, living in Morocco. One other American. One man. And me, the only Black woman in the room.
I want to be honest about this, because it's part of the story.
Sometimes, when I first enter a room and I am the only Black person, I feel like a spectacle. Then I remind myself: I am a human, just like everyone else in the room. My intention becomes to connect with other good humans. To learn what I can learn. To share what I have to share. And hopefully to have a meaningful exchange.
That is what happened. They were a great group of people, all with unique stories, all drawn to the same table by a desire to turn memory into something lasting. The workshop followed Irene's workbook and her creative process. The exercises were thoughtful, they surfaced memories I hadn't thought about in years. The free drawing exercise is one I've kept going long after returning home.
It may seem like a long way to travel for a two-day workshop. I consider it an investment in myself and my craft. It slowed me down. It took me to a part of Spain I would likely never have explored otherwise. It connected me to seven writers and travelers from around the world. And it reminded me that the work of becoming, as a writer, as a person, happens in the going, not just the arriving.
What investment in yourself have you been putting off? What would it look like to finally go, not just somewhere, but toward something?
This trip was not a vacation. It was a reset. A deliberate choice to put myself in unfamiliar, sometimes uncomfortable situations and trust that I would find my footing, in a rental car on a Portuguese island, in a grocery store with no shared language, in a writing room where I stood out.
I did find my footing. Every time.
Solo travel has a way of reminding you that you are more capable, more adaptable, and more connected to other humans than you sometimes remember in the routine of daily life. The cow crossing, the U-turn, the grocery store friendship, the beach bar with the old school playlist, the old man in the window across the street, none of that was in my itinerary. All of it made the trip.
When was the last time you designed a trip around the pace you needed instead of the schedule you could squeeze?
If that question is sitting with you, you might want to keep reading what we're sharing over at Lawal Travel Services. We believe travel should be intentional, curated, and designed around your real life, not just the logistics of getting from Point A to Point B.
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São Miguel, Azores
• Rent a car, you need one. Book through a local company and check deposit requirements before committing.
• If arriving before 1pm, book the night before to avoid the check-in wait.
• TAP Airlines connects the Azores to Lisbon reliably.
• European grocery store hot counters are genuinely great meal options.
• If you visit a hot spring, wear a dark swimsuit, the sulfur minerals can permanently stain light-colored fabric. I wore dark blue and came prepared after reading about this in advance. Look for spots that have showers and changing rooms on site.
• Learn a few basic greetings in Portuguese before you arrive. Even just bom dia and obrigada will open doors, literally and figuratively. The locals appreciate the effort, and it sets the right tone for those unexpected moments of connection.
Lisbon
• Stay in a residential neighborhood like Bairro do Rego for an authentic local experience.
• Bolt and Uber are both reliable for getting around.
• Don't skip the pastel de nata. Not even once.
• Learn a few basic words before you go. I came in with simple greetings, bom dia, obrigada, and they went a long way. If you're looking for chicken on a menu, the Portuguese word is frango. It bears absolutely no resemblance to pollo (Spanish) or poulet (French). I learned this the hard way at a little lunch spot near my apartment.
• Look up the Afro-Lisbon tour and Nissa's Lounge for a taste of the city's vibrant African diaspora culture, both are on my list for next time.
Évora
• About an hour from Lisbon by bus, Flixbus tickets run around $12 USD.
• A wonderful alternative to more touristy day trips from Lisbon.
• The walled old city is walkable and historic, allow a full day if you can.
Évora to Madrid
• Flixbus runs this route; the journey takes approximately 7.5 hours.
• Purchase tickets in advance via the Flixbus app. Safe stations, easy boarding.
Málaga & Benalmádena
• The high-speed train from Madrid to Málaga is fast, comfortable, and worth it.
• From Málaga, you can take the local Cercanías train to Benalmádena, frequent, affordable, easy. I opted for rideshare, which worked just as well.
• Consider staying in the Miel area rather than Benalmádena Costa. It's more residential, more interesting, and still well-located for getting around.
• Don't overlook Benalmádena Pueblo, the whitewashed old town tucked up in the mountains, about 20 minutes from the coast. Many visitors miss it entirely.