Paris, France
I was at the edge of Europe, near Faro, Portugal. Fresh fish. Good wine. A beautiful setting.
The westernmost point of the continent, where the West becomes the East again. Old stone towns, salty Atlantic winds, seafood pulled from the ocean that morning. Not a bad place to spend a few days.
I was there for an event. A conference, technically. But you know me—that didn’t stop the usual wandering. A few wrong turns, a few local bottles, the kinds of streets where you stop trying to use a map and just let yourself get lost.
The conference itself covered everything from second passports and buying property abroad to healthcare systems, taxes, and how to actually build a life in another country—not just dream about it. The kind of stuff that suddenly feels very relevant these days.
Some of you were there, too. You came over to say hello at the stand. We talked wine, travel, life. And it struck me—we’re kindred spirits. Explorers, all of us. Just in different ways.
Most people at this event weren’t chasing anything flashy. They weren’t dreaming of Paris or Rome. They were looking at smaller places. Coastal towns with charm and slower rhythms. Places where your dollar stretches, and your days do, too.
Over lunch one day, someone said: “I don’t need 4,000 square feet anymore. Give me 2,000 and a café I can walk to.”
Another added, “I just want to live somewhere where I don’t have to drive every day.”
And there it was again—that idea we keep circling back to: quality over quantity. Same reason we look for wine off the beaten path. Not the big names. Not the shelf-fillers. Just honest bottles from people who care more about what’s in the glass than what’s on the label.
The world’s in a strange place right now. Tariffs, inflation, headlines that feel heavier by the week. It’s no surprise people are looking for alternatives—second passports, a simpler life, maybe even a smaller town with a better lunch.
Why not trade that burger and fries for a bocadillo de calamares—a calamari sandwich eaten next to the Spanish harbor it came from? Or a jamón sandwich, made with cured ham sliced thin and served with olive oil and good bread?
These aren’t luxury items in Europe. They’re lunch. And they often cost less than a fast food combo back home.
Same goes for life. When you chase convenience, you miss out on character. You lose flavor. You trade depth for ease—and you barely notice it happening.
So you take the detour. You walk the extra few blocks. You open the bottle with a name you’ve never heard before—and suddenly, something clicks.
There’s a similar event happening soon in Portland. I’m not sure I’ll be there, but since we’re all kindred spirits, I figured a few of you might want to check it out. Closer to home, same good energy.
Talk soon,
Diego
