The Museu National do Azulejo is not much to look at from the outside. Looks can be deceiving. The inside of the museum is a treasure chest. Tiles from across Portuguese history are on display in the rooms of this former convent. Beauty awaits at every turn.

Tiles in colorful scenes from the Bible line the walls. The nativity, archangels, lives of the Saints and the many stories of Jesus come to life in tile. A uniquely Portuguese art form, humble and beautiful, unassumingly on display.

After many galleries of tile, we enter the chapel of the former Madre de Deus convent. It is an unexpected riot of beauty. Tile walls and carved and painted art adorn every available space. Golden carvings at the altar draws attention to the Madonna and child. Gilded domes lift my eyes to heaven. I need to sit and absorb the grandeur. I am again overwhelmed by the beauty of a sacred space. I was not prepared for this encounter. I can’t process the experience. I leave and then return for another look. It is so…. I have no words.

We visit the rest of the museum. History in tile. An ever evolving art form, the tile is influenced by contemporary encounters. The museum ends in a room with the entire city of Lisbon painted in tile. We walk the length of the room picking out our neighborhood and landmarks across the city. What kind of talent does it take to produce a work this accurate and this massive? There is a lot to ponder as we sip coffee and enjoy pastry in the cafe. Seldom do we encounter so much beauty in one morning.

Returning to Apolonia station, we select a nearby restaurant for lunch. I choose Balcalhau (cod), a local favorite. My husband opts for a turkey steak. Simple pleasures in a simple space. The television in the corner is broadcasting Vladimir Zelinski as he addresses the British Parliament. The people here are solid supporters of Ukraine, their democracy relatively new and hard won. Coverage is at the forefront of local news. I watch the images of destruction and I say yet another prayer for my friends in Ukraine. It is hard to reconcile this harsh reality and the beauty of the morning.

A short walk away is the National Military Museum. Housed in a former palacio, the museum contains artifacts from the span of Portuguese history. Canons from early explorer’s ships line the entrance. Knights in armor are stationed at the stairs.

It doesn’t take long for the little boy that watched Combat and played with little green army men to surface. My husband is lost in the World War I galleries. I smile and watch as he moved from display case to display case. Hand grenades, gas masks, and endless varieties of fire arms capture his attention and he takes pictures with abandon.

Practical tools of war and decorative weapons of mass destruction are on display in room after room. Cannons and swords from across the centuries line the galleries. I am amazed at the ancient weapons of mass destruction. Power and conquest. The clash of cultures throughout the world. Endless ways to kill and subjugate.

I shudder as I look at guns, knives, and cannons used to kill and maim. I giggle at the displays of hats and ribbons and medals. Warriors turn to peacocks. It is hard to look ferocious under a mass of feathers and horsehair. Big guns and even bigger medals are prevalent.

At days end, I reflect on the day. This morning I was surrounded by unimaginable beauty. Our afternoon was spent studying tools of destruction. The arc of history is strange. Nations taken by force become sources of wealth that pay for building projects that in turn create beauty. The grandeur of public art creates national pride. Nationalism in turn fuels more exploration and conflict. And so it goes…

I can’t help thinking of the beautiful places I have visited in Ukraine. Spectacular golden domes churches in Kiev juxtaposed with the images of the bombed out cities that I saw during lunch….friends in the line of fire…beautiful people in a beautiful city…..power and domination …..the fight for freedom…..and so it goes…