In the blistering heat of South East Asian summers, the visual of a hilly little Portuguese village is a bit incongruous. But it’s also somewhat like time travel. In the center of Macau, away from the gaudy casinos and futuristic lights, is the colonial Portuguese quarter — full of dark old churches, tiled and cobbled streets, and pots of hot pink bougainvillea and ranunculus.
My husband and I sat here on green park benches dating back to the 1800s. He had a cream soda to cool off, while I did a quick sketch.