Why I moved to Ericeira and don't want to leave

In the spring of 2018, on a Wednesday, I gave notice on a flat in Hamburg that I loved. There was no event dramatic enough to explain the decision, and people kindly did not ask. Seven years later, a twelve-year-old child, a different country, a different language, a different ground under the feet. I still don't know precisely what pulled me here. I only know what keeps me here. The light in November. The smell of diesel and salt at Ericeira's harbour on a Tuesday, when the boats come back in. The fact that I walk with my daughter to the bakery around the corner and on the way I hear four languages, none of them carrying a word about optimisation. I am not a proud emigrant. I am a woman who once drove south and did not come back.