I celebrated an important milestone of my life in Macau. I wasn’t blowing out candles—I gave myself a pilgrimage. I left the hotel early and walked toward the Ruins of Saint Paul’s (Ruínas de São Paulo) to bid farewell.

As the only intricately carved stone façade that remains as an enduring symbol of the city’s layered past, the Ruins of St. Paul’s is not only a popular tourist destination but also a cultural icon that tells the story of resilience, faith, and history etched in stone.

It served as one of the silent witnesses to my journey—watching me pass by in the stillness of early morning as I set out to explore and again at night, when I return walking slowly, weary but fulfilled. It stood there, unmoved yet comforting, like a familiar friend whose presence needs no words.

On my way to Senado Square, I paused at St. Dominic’s Church, drawn in by its quiet grace. Beneath its warm yellow façade, I whispered a promise to return someday. I didn’t know when or how, but something about that moment—fleeting as it was—felt like a soft vow made between me and the city.

Following the street signs toward St. Lawrence Church, I found myself unexpectedly drawn to another chapel that stood quietly along the way. It was closed when I arrived, but even in its stillness, there was something deeply inviting about it.

I lingered for a while, soaking in the serenity of the space. Only later did I learn that it was St. Augustine’s Church.

My feet led me to St. Lawrence’s Church, a beautiful neoclassical structure that seemed to rise gently out of the quiet streets. There, I sought forgiveness and offered my thanks to a higher power—for the gift of being alive and for the grace to savor this life, one step at a time.

I was standing at the edge of a decision that could change everything. Inside the church’s calm embrace, I prayed in silence and asked for a sign—something, anything—to help me find the courage to move forward.

I felt fulfilled, as if a weight had been lifted. With renewed purpose, I followed the street signs leading me to Our Lady of Penha. Perched high on a hilltop, the church offered a breathtaking view of the city below—a panorama of Macau’s busy streets contrasting with the serene heights I now stood upon.

I continued my walk along a steep road that led me toward Barra, away from the bustling tourist spots. The area felt like a different world—quiet, residential, and untouched by the usual rush of visitors. I observed the locals moving through their daily routines, a reminder of the life that thrived in the quieter corners of the city.

The air smelled faintly of incense and sea salt, a mix of prayer and passage. Locals moved at an unhurried pace, some chatting on stoops, others lighting joss sticks near shrines. The cobblestone paths beneath my feet whispered of a slower Macau—one that remembered its roots.

Here, I wasn’t a tourist. I was a quiet observer, a birthday wanderer in search of nothing but peace.

In just the nick of time, I explored Colloane Village, at the Capela de São Francisco Xavier (Saint Francis Xavier Chapel), to be exact. It is a beautiful historical yellow chapel that added to the peaceful ambiance of the village.

This chapel, a filming location for the Korean drama Princess Hours (Goong), held a quiet kind of magic. Inside, I whispered my wishes and asked for guidance—a quiet prayer for a safe journey back to my home country.

I continued my way toward Tam Kung Temple, a peaceful spot with a beautiful blend of history and spirituality. As I walked towards the temple, I felt a sense of anticipation—there was something about this place that seemed to hold stories of its own. The temple’s bold hues and intricate details stood out against the backdrop of the village, inviting me in to experience its unique atmosphere.

“Travel is never a matter of money but of courage.” – Paulo Coelho

On my final day in Macau, I understood why. Courage doesn’t always roar—sometimes it’s just you and those told in whispers inside the chapels, in the silence of the ports, or in drama scenes I once watched from the comfort of my room.

Some people travel for food. Others for sights. Me? I travel for stories. I wasn’t just chasing tourist checklists—I was chasing feelings too. Quiet ones. Bittersweet ones. The kind that lingers like the last bite of a Lord Stow’s egg tart, soft and golden and gone too soon.

*** This is the Pilgrimage Chapter of my Macau 2025 series. There are trips you take for adventure and others for escape. But some—rare and quietly powerful—become a kind of pilgrimage.***