Travels with the Taylors

Dedicated to Chris – keep on bowling!

After four months in Lagos, I really need to update the waiting world with what has been happening. Well, you know the answer to that, but who would appreciate such a very short post? Not sure we have spoken to another human being in this time and the lockdown stops much travel. Limited to a little exercise and the excitement of choosing the supermarket we can go to. So instead, random musings

We had finished our stint in Faro. Not a great apartment, but it was the top floor with a good view over the salt marshes with the sea in the distance. It was a lot more scenic than it sounds, with the daily ebb and flow of the tide, the boats twirling to point this way then back again. Faro had a good feel to it. Not a tourist area, but the center has character and some shabby antiquity to add charm. A place to live with local life and appropriate scale. Some places you walk into and feel immediately at home. So it’s also on the long term list. We are not getting very far with narrowing our choices down to the one perfect spot

Our travel from Faro to Lagos is by train. It’s about two hours on a slow, ramshackle small engine and three carriages. It’s like Thomas the Tank Engine in many ways, usually including the Fat Controller somewhere. Life in slow motion and we were in no hurry. Not crowded and all masked, we settled into our usual state of semi-consciousness. In the last couple of miles along the beach and estuary of local rivers it’s a great ride. We were met at the station by the agent who gave us a lift to our palatial winter palace. The intention was to have visitors, so it’s quite a lot larger than we need, but circumstances have not allowed our friends to come. Instead we can stare over the old town from one of five balconies and watch the sea, which watches us back with indifference. But the beach – if only we were allowed on it with current lock-down precautions. It does call us, like late-hatched turtles trying to catch the ebb tide.

The beach is the thing. It may be freezing cold and steep once you are in the water, but it stretches for a couple of miles and lets you find your own bit of privacy

My childhood was flat. Peterborough was on the edge of the Fens, a place that is a byword for level terrain. A very mild dip on the back road to Oundle was called Devil’s Hill because of it’s uniqueness and our childhood lack of comparisons. Other stops in our married life were equally inclined to the horizontal. Halstead, Buntingford, Houston. Featureless and flat (There was an exception, Sheffield. We should have had a clue from the fact it’s on the edge of the “Peak District”. We survived but were there only briefly before vertigo forced a move onwards). So where does this leave us in Portugal for choice? Other entries have talked about the steep hills of Lisbon and Porto. Much of the countryside we have passed looks in need of a celestial iron. Down here in the Algarve the inevitable need to reach sea level means there are flatter bits. Lagos has hills, in fact we are at the top of one, but they are more an excellent aerobic exercise rather than something that suggests we need a donkey, so we’ll settle for that.

Of course the West side of Lagos has beautiful small bays and towering cliffs to make up for the great flat expanse to the East. The sea has travelled five thousand miles in a straight line from America, so needs to expend that energy on something. Rock carving is it. Little coves and stacked pillars. The beaches are a long way down, but you can get one of your own with a little effort

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As for pastimes – Netflix and Chill. Actually it’s usually VPN/BBC iPlayer, but the chill part is very evident out here. We had been warned that despite the balmy image of the Algarve and Portugal in general, winter got cold. It’s not the getting cold is the real issue. Fifteen to seventeen in the day, perhaps down to ten at night, but the problem is the house construction. Little insulation with poor or non-existent heating. We have a small electric blower and otherwise drape ourselves in wooly blankets. Not quite the ice on the inside of the windows that childhood memories recall, but not what we paid for. As with most of the things we moan about – first world problems

Not a phrase I ever thought I would hear myself saying to Jan. Did you mean to leave the octopus out?

Nearby is the local vegetable and fish market. I have this image of the rugged fisherman coming home after a nights fishing and his wife taking the catch to the market, fresh and tasty. Having seen the stall holders in action with their scaling scrapers and gutting knives, you could see why the men would would stay at sea all night. People are very friendly. Would you like the head left on?

After we had been in Portugal for a little while and it looked as though we needed to regularize our lives, we joined several Facebook groups to see what information was out there to guide our life in country. A degree of doubt and cynicism is of course necessary using Facebook as a guide, but as this comes naturally to me, it has worked well. Two in particular, British Expats in Portugal and Americans and FriendsPT were most useful. They were also a reflections of the different nationalities. The British group are moderated by a strong lead, with decided ideas of what should be allowed. There are excellent, if somewhat scattershot, guides in the files section, telling you the how, where and when of life here. This is interspersed with joking posts about the ability to get Marmite or other essential delicacies of English cuisine. The American group are less organized, rather demanding in their postings when a simple search on the internet could answer a question and somewhat insular in their approach. OK, generalities should not apply and exceptions abound, but there are differences that make me smile. However, if you want to come and live here – it’s not too hard and many seem to be trying

Our longer term plans are loose, as experience has taught us that precision is pointless. Having got residency, we have to be in Portugal for six months a year to retain the right. We were booked through to the end of March in the same apartment. This has now been extended to the end of June (the owners were very keen to let us extend our original booking, wonder why?) Our intention is then to find a cheapish rental for a year so we could travel home for a while, but still be able to leave some of our travel goods and clothes. Estate agents/realtors here work in a very different manner to the UK and the US. To be fair it may just be a different, laid back approach. Emails are unanswered, descriptions are confusing and photos are good at showing views of the property you do not want to see. Tales abound of people visiting properties where the photos were taken ten years previously, before the oil refinery was built. Exterior walls received a quick coat of whitewash before the goats were driven from the interior and it was all shot with a wide angle lens, so there appear to be no straight lines. When we can move beyond our immediate area we will try to narrow the search, but it’s frustrating. Location on adverts is never precise, so even Google Maps gives only a vague idea. Uncertainty rules. Maybe we should buy, but it’s not that cheap and we’re getting old, but we would have somewhere we could leave everything and what about Mexico?.. it has it’s charms, but if we’re here we can travel easily to Germany, Italy, Croatia. Life is tough if those are the main decisions to make

So four plus months have allowed us to achieve what precisely? You keep reading all these articles about finding things to fill the empty void of our lives at the moment. Personally, I’ve never had problems with an empty void, they have a certain minimalist charm, but one should perhaps try. To date the experiences have me convinced that there was a good reason I did not take these hobbies up earlier. So, Yoga, thank you Nancy, I appreciate your on-line training and think you are doing a good job. Still not quite convinced but still working on it. The chorus of creaks and groans while I do it is not a good start to the day but may be the proof I need to continue. Art and drawing were tried next, but the tools have a way of sitting and staring at you that is very off-putting and seems to induce paralysis. Did you know that trying to write with the opposite hand improves coordination and opens new neural pathways? I think it just proves that another, messier and uncoordinated Phil lives inside me.

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Back to the usual fall back of reading and staring out the window. I’m convinced I need a view of sorts to stay sane, Here is not perfect, but from our balcony I can take in the sweep of the old city walls, an ornate graveyard, some ugly modern apartments, the distant stretch of sand and sea, a rough parking area and an ever changing selection of odd dogs and cats. We try to throw dog biscuits to them. These are ignored by the dogs, but seized on with delight by the seagulls in the absence of chips. All human and animal life is here

More activities follow on the transitioning to a fully functional adult in Portuguese society. A bank account is a requirement, so we both sat for about three hours while a charming woman guided us through a multi-screen, many page application process. It all worked in the end and the Portuguese system is amazingly advanced. The Bank App allows me to pay anybody on-line, top up my phone account, pay my taxes and probably order a pizza. It’s very impressive, is available in English as well as Portuguese and updates all transactions in real time.

In the same vein, though less successful so far is the exchange of my UK driving license for a Portuguese one. This requires multiple steps. Get the record from the Driving License people in the UK, get a medical done, apply with electronic copies of residency, license, financial number and address, receive a request for payment (using my new bank app), send the hard copies of the previous documents to the unit handling this, get a paper temporary license by email, get an appointment to go and have your photo and signature recorded and finally get the actual license. After three months we have not yet had the request for payment, so we are in it for the long haul. I also cannot drive now until this is complete.

Getting the medical was interesting. It should be in person, but under present conditions an on-line assessment is allowed. It took ten minutes, of which five was probably the guy saying “Hi” and “How was I?”. After a cursory question about whether I had any issues, he asked whether I wear glasses. I do, for distance. OK, need to check your vision, so he puts the usual eye chart onto the meeting screen. Now this screen , of course, about three feet away from my eyes, so I had no problems reading the letters. Not complaining mind, but it does make you a little cynical about the process. Passed and certificate sent.

Our third Christmas abroad has been celebrated. Each year the tree becomes larger. This is at least partly because at each stop we try to buy a little, light ornament/memento to take with us and hang on the tree in the season. It’s meant to be meaningful to a place, light, unbreakable and cheap. Quite hard unless you want a fridge magnet, the default thoughtless souvenir people obviously collect now. I think we’re up to about fifty ornaments, so for a moment it gives us pause to be grateful for the last three years and what we have been able to do in the last few years of retirement. The main local ornament is a tribute to flat dwelling. It’s a Santa Claus slung over the balcony as if he’s trying to climb a ladder to the children

With little need for things and a lack of ideas of what we would like, we fell back on local shopping for gifts. Every small town has one or more “Chinese” stores These sell every variety of items, from the essential to the “what the heck is that”. The aisles are narrow, the shelves overflowing, but the prices are terrific. Not quite in the category of such bad taste it’s good, we managed to get each other something to open that had at least a small amount of “surprise” built in.

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This, together with a visit to the British store ten miles away, a combined Iceland/Waitrose which allowed stocking up on essential English foods together with a large turkey from Lidl (that had to be severely trussed to get into the small oven) made for a great day. Their chestnuts were cheap (obviously a Portuguese specialty) and we found some cranberry sauce. Happiness

The apartment we are in is modern. It’s fitted out with some things that are great that are compensated with other less desirable fittings. Electric window shutters are great, giving a complete blackout and a strong barrier to the elements. Not sure what happens if there are lengthy power cuts, but we’re not as backward as Texas, so have had none of those. We also have a central vacuum cleaning system. You walk around with a long flexible hose and plug it into sockets in the wall. This completes a circuit and creates a powerful suck that is much easier and stronger than any Dyson. It’s like walking around with your own personal elephant, without the embarrassing side effects.

The negative includes the washing machine. A vicious beast that alternates between taking all the fibers out of your woolies, to throwing itself around out of balance on the spin cycle, however you dispose your laundry. Dryers are also extremely rare here. We don’t have a problem with that, as drying outdoors on the balcony works most days, at the price of rather stiff towels. For many balcony-less people, it means hanging your laundry outside the window. These then scrape and slide over the outer wall during drying. I guess they get softer towels to make up for the layer of dirt it must accumulate.

Not so many photos this time. I looked back embarrassed over what I have taken since my arrival in Lagos. Probably half are either images of the documentation we have acquired, pictures of wines drunk that definitely require drinking again and snaps of properties to be investigated for possible future lives. More images, slide left to see them

This is the stretch of Portuguese coast from Porto down to Lisbon. The Atlantic Ocean bears directly onto this region, so the “silver” part is the line of sunlit surf that is either pounding steep cliffs or breaking onto golden sands. It can be difficult not to sound like a caffeinated travel agent with much of the country, but the parts of the coast we have visited have been very impressive

We’re making two stops in this region on our way south. We reached the first, Figueiros da Foz after a bus trip. Our preferred transport, the train, is a little haphazard and either doesn’t go somewhere or requires multiple changes. There’s charming and then there’s annoying, a fine line at times. Even the bus has a few problems. We like and have used throughout much of Europe, the company Flixbus. You can buy tickets on line and reserve a seat. Unfortunately the system here is broken as the driver has the first two rows roped off so our booked seats were not available. First world problems of course. The bus was not full so you could be a reasonable distance away from other passengers. My cries of “Do you know who we are” had no effect

We had a somewhat subterranean apartment. The only view was from the bedroom and we already spend far too much time lying in bed reading our phones. Fig -da-Foz has a delightful old town and an enormous beach. It’s not only wide but deep. At one end you have to walk about four hundred yards from the road to the water, past boardwalk, football pitches and restaurants.

It does have the usual Atlantic coast attributes of being steeply shelving and having freezing water. If you live here a wet suit is a year round requirement, This coming from someone who swam in the UK North Sea, sometimes voluntarily.

On the wall of a local school, moments from the town’s sporting past were immortalized in the local blue tiling. It seemed a great way of keeping them alive in a robust form

Most places in Portugal, just like the UK, have an Indian restaurant. This one received rave reviews so we gave it a lunch time try. Once again, the cooking involved introducing lumps of pre-cooked chicken to an anonymous sauce minutes before serving. It makes me despair of both Indian restaurants and of restaurant reviews. I’m sure we’ll fall for it again, but don’t we have enough to bitch about as it is?

We’ve been surprised by the number of towns that still have a bull-fighting ring. It is supposed to be dying out and certainly there are few events scheduled. It differs from Spanish bullfighting. The audience is a lot kinder to the bull, in that the bull is not killed in the ring. He is taken out after being tormented and dispatched in the backrooms of the place. Perhaps you can then take home a pound of Bully for the Sunday roast. I’m not sure what you could use these places for if they were to be re-purposed. Most sports do not lend themselves to a round shape

Back on the bus, continuing our southern progression to Caldas da Reina. This place is a little inland from the coast and translates as Queen Syrup. It is a thermal spa town, so maybe something is lost in translation? It’s not really a tourist town, more a place to travel to other places.

It did have a couple of “excitements” while we were there. The equivalent of the Tour de France passed through. We stood on the town square while a parade of police motorcyclists passed through, enjoying being the center of attention for a moment. They were followed eventually by a small pack of cyclists, followed a few minutes later by a larger pack of seemingly identical, lycra clad pedallers, followed by a fleet of back up tracks with wheels, frames and logos festooned everywhere. Not the most exciting thing to watch

The second exciting thing was a lunchtime broadcast to Portuguese TV. These seem to be created to an international template. A couple of pretty women and a pretty man chatter inanely, to be interrupted by a glitzy singer with a back-up crew who gyrate slightly out of rhythm, mirrored by the pretty things. All outdoors in a scenic plaza made inaccessible by snaking cables, thirty technicians and multiple trucks with antennas. Sure, I enjoyed it, can’t you tell?

We visited a couple of local sea-side places. Sao Martino da Porto was charming. It was like a much larger version of Lulworth Cove in the UK, where the seas have made a narrow opening in cliffs, opening into a tranquil bay beyond. The curve of the bay is bordered by soft sand and the shallower water allows for safer, warmer bathing.

Like everywhere, it caters mainly for tourists, but at this time of the year few spend more than an hour or so. There is still a fishing industry based here, so the fish lunch was good. The only hazard was this was the last day of a Crab and Lobster festival, so lunch was a little like being at the front during the First World War, with shrapnel from exploding claws flying round the place. The shocked faces when the bill arrived suggested this was no bargain. Shell shock, perhaps?

We had heard a lot about Nazare, another coastal spot a short bus ride away. It has a unique geological feature, where an off-shore trench runs towards the coast, narrowing as it approaches. In certain circumstances tied to storms off Iceland for some reason, this translates into some of the biggest surf in the world. This it turn leads to a set of loonies who try to ride these monsters, using jet skis to get into and out of impossible situations. Needless to say, when we got there it was possibly the calmest day of the year, so here’s YouTube showing you what we missed

They had a small display of historic fishing boats on the beach. This used to be the main occupation on what is a poor part of the country. When you look at the size of these and the size of the surf, it shows the balls these guys must have had. After that, jumping into an only slightly larger boat and sailing around half the unknown world with Vasco de Gama must have been a breeze

We have an impossible checklist for places to live in long term, Nazare failed on the boredom, cultural, full of surfing hippies and too obvious check points.

It also failed from the weather now. It is getting colder, but the prevailing fog at this time of the year is dispiriting. It burns off by mid-day to sunshine, but reminds us of Birmingham of old

Jan says I’ve been excessively disparaging this time. I do not mean to be. The Portuguese continue kind, welcoming and friendly. It’s a great place to be and we appreciate the chance to stay here long term

We were seven days in each of the last two places. This is probably about right. There has been some discussion of how long you can continue to travel in various forums devoted to the wandering nomad lifestyle. A developing trend is that about two years is a maximum to wander rootless, then you reach a point of wanting to be potted out and stay in one place for a while. We’re certainly there and perhaps sadly, are counting down the days to reaching the Algarve and eventually Lagos for a five month stay. This will leave us, to continue the horticultural metaphors, either pot bound and looking to be transplanted somewhere different or else thriving and doing well in a sunny, not too moist, aspect

A contrast in pronunciation. It is just “Port-o”, as it looks. Coimbra however is more Quim-bra with a short a. This is not helping our efforts to learn Portuguese. Exactly what is the difference in sound between ã, á, à and a? You always suspect that using the wrong one will get your face slapped or at least a dirty look. Mind you, we complain that learning Portuguese is hard, but at least it is pronounced consistently. How does a student of English cope with learning the difference between, and the pronunciation of, cough, bough, rough and brought, all with the same “ough” section?

We left Entroncamento for Coimbra, a couple of hours train ride. The next apartment is on the wrong side of the river for the sights, but was close to its’ banks in a quiet suburban section. It was the usual anonymous modern apartment and homage to IKEA furnishings, but as long as it’s clean and comfortable, we’re good

The town is noted for it’s ancient university, but with the combination of Covid and vacation, it seemed very empty. I’m not even entirely sure it is a university town, as the area around the college seemed totally devoid of bars and coffee shops. Higher education requires alcohol and caffeine to function, or at least that’s how I (vaguely) remember it. Perhaps young people nowadays…

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J.K. Rowling got her inspiration for the pupil’s outfits from the students in Combrai. She worked here for a period, teaching English, before fame struck. They wear black ties, not the colorful one’s in the novels and prefer their older nickname of “Batman” rather than Harry Potter. There is supposed to be the original of the bookstore Flourish and Blotts in the Livraria Lello and even of the Broom Shop in artisan brush store Escovaria de Belemonte. Salazar Slytherin was named after the Portuguese dictator Antonio de Salazar and that’s quite enough Harry potter trivia

The Church of Santa Cruz houses the remains of the first king of Portugal, Alfonso Henriques. This was the man who largely regained Portuguese territory from the Moors and had created an independent country by the time of his death in 1185. I like the way his helmet and shoes are hung up by the side of his tomb, ready to slip on when the call comes

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His son is also buried here, Sancho I. He took advantage of passing Crusader armies, who were easily led astray from their holy course by promises of rape and pillage, to extend his kingdom. His tomb is an impressive structure on the other wall opposite his father. The choir stalls are also richly carved and gilded

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The library of the university is the jewel of Combrai. It’s an ornate structure from the 18th century with a large collection of ancient books. Besides having walls two metres thick and heavy oak furniture to discourage mould and infestation, the library has it’s own colony of bats. At night they patrol the building, eating anything that might harm the books. The place is protected nightly with leather covers and the guano is cleared each morning. There’s a job advert you will not see often, at least in the library vacancy listings.

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The Natural History Museum is full of the original tourist souvenirs obtained when you visited a strange country, the local fauna shot, stuffed and arranged in a “natural” environment. The default animal expression appears to be surprise and vague disappointment. Cries of “Who’s a good boy then” did not lead to a biscuit

There is a legal requirement that any town in Portugal has to be built on hills and both Coimbra and Porto follow the guidelines. Strong thigh muscles and non-slip shoes are the default. We admire the old ladies, dressed in widow’s black, hauling their shopping up endless flights of steps. I doubt they would be sympathetic to those of us who think a Stairmaster is a good thing to spend time on

Train again to Porto, along the Silver Coast. It gave us time to appreciate pretty sea-side towns. This is still mainstream Atlantic and has the reputation of rain, strong winds and high humidity in winter. The stories of damp and mold has discouraged us from thinking of living here for that reason.. If we needed that we could just have stay in Texas, so we’re passing through.

This is as far north as we plan to go. Portugal carries on a bit further, but then becomes Spain again with little in the way of large towns. Porto itself is like Lisbon. A river divides steep hills, with much of the city climbing precipitately up both sides.

It’s the place where John I of Portugal married Phillipa of Lancaster, daughter of John of Gaunt, cementing the Portuguese – English alliance, the oldest in the world that still exists. Interesting marriage, as they did not meet for the first time until twelve days after the wedding and a stand in bridegroom initially pretended to bed the bride. Good old days

For a change the apartment did not do an impersonation of a back-to-back house. There was a good balcony to the front with views down the street into the main town. At the back the view went all the way to the sea, several miles away. The tower cranes were a little intrusive, but you could see the whole sweep of the city, across the river to the various Port houses on the opposite bank. Quite the place to watch sunset and the town gradually light up with the evening

Ah yes, Port. So good, they named the town after it. (no they didn’t, it was the other way round in case you are a little slow today). It may be another example of the Brits coming in and taking over local industry, but to be fair it was the insatiable requirement for alcohol in the UK that started this business. The spoilsport French, just because we were at war (again) refused to sell us their wine. Portugal were our friends (at least until Wellington arrived with 10,000 thirsty Irish conscripts) so offered to meet the shortage. I suspect the local rot-gut did not travel well, so combining undrinkable wine with undrinkable brandy made something ideal for your maiden aunt to sip of an evening. Nowadays it is much more upmarket and a visit to one of these historic bodegas is essential. Although there were no free samples at either Taylors or Grahams (Jan’s mother’s maternal name), we settled for the tour at Graham’s. Pushed the boat out and had a somewhat upmarket tasting as part of the tour. Three samples of vintage ports for me, three tawnies for Jan so we could maximize our tasting. If bought as a bottle, they were all north of three figures, so there was no way we would have bought them cold. And the verdict was – they were good, you could tell the difference and the older the better – but – the $20 bottle we bought at the supermarket was not that much inferior to any of them. So, glad we did it, but I’m not a natural port drinker.

They did offer to sell us a bottle from our birth years, but that was beyond stupid money

The accompanying tour explained the different types of port and history of the industry. It used to be the custom among the more affluent English gentry to lay down a “pipe” of port when a son was born, to be drunk when mature, at milestones like twenty-first birthday, wedding, seducing your first village maiden or similar. A pipe apparently is about 145 gallons, so would give a fair few bottles or quite a 21st birthday party. Somehow, our family pipe seems to have gone amiss. Not sure a sex reveal party is quite the same marker of a birth

In the old part of town is the original railway station. Like so many buildings in Portugal, decorative tiling is used extensively. It’s hard to imagine any public building these days going to the expense of commissioning these works of art. It does mean there is a continual clash between people running late trying to catch their train and the gawking tourist, staring vacantly at the walls and ceilings

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Near Porto, the town of Guimaraes is another of the UNESCO Heritage Centers in Portugal, of which the country seems to have more than it’s fair share. It came late to modernization and the city center is beautiful. It was worth visiting for that, more so than the castle and palace that are the usual tourist destinations. I’m quite over castles now I feel. Most of them are presented with no context or history, merely a pile of restored stones in the Victorian image of how a castle should be.

We were near the sea, so took a trip. A bus took us to Matosinhos. It was a foggy day and the high spot should have been a fish lunch, fresh from the boat. My sea bass was perfectly inoffensive, but Jan made the mistake of ordering the house version of Cod. This was a large lump of reconstituted fish topped with cheese. As before, it is overly salty, chewy and uninspiring. Everyone talks of the fantastic Portuguese cuisine, but it’s escaped us so far. Perhaps you have to be born here for your taste buds to be in tune. Local specialties like tripe and lamprey are beyond our adventurous selves.

One of those symbols of the twenty first century, tattoo shops are common here. Perhaps it’s the sea-faring heritage. I was taken with this window displaying illustrating the what and where you can have these decorations. Obviously they have not heard the old joke about whether the tattoo read Land or Llandudno

I know I’ve overdone the churches and religious monuments, but indulge me one last sequence. This is from the Church of St Francis in Porto. Considering the ideals of Franciscans, the use of over 30kg of gold to adorn the internal ornaments and decorations seems to be a bit of a conflict, but knowing Portugal, it was all done after the monks had been thrown out. Beautiful work and not well known

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Our children have abandoned hope of us returning any time soon. After Porto we have decided to head back south. The lure of warmer winter weather, great beaches and slightly warmer sea is tending to make us think of the Algarve as the final destination ( at least for now). Booked is a week in each of Figuiera da Foz and Caldas da Rainha along the west coast, a few days in Evora inland, then another week or so in Albufeira and Faro to check out the areas, before reaching winter quarters in Lagos. We are feeling more than slightly burnt out with travelling so plan for five months here which takes us through to the end of March. If we don’t know what we want to do by then it will not be for want of trying all possibilities. Where, and rent or buy are still unresolved, but feel we’re closer to solving the first of these. Let’s hope Covid-19 will be on the way to being fixed, so we could get back to the States for a while at least, to prove that Charles and Alex have not killed and buried us in the backyard. Not getting into politics and the impact that might have on our world at this point

I’m goin’ up the country, baby don’t you want to go?
I’m goin’ to some place, I’ve never been before
I’m goin’ I’m goin’ where the water tastes like wine

As Canned Heat put it. With the arrival of the height of summer, temperatures are reaching a peak, especially in these inland parts of Portugal we are passing through. I realize that much of Europe, even the UK, is going through a heat wave, so do not expect much sympathy, but once temperatures reach the wrong side of 35°C (95°F) we become so lethargic that even moving from our bed to the sofa is an effort, never mind serious sight-seeing. There must be an opposite to hibernation, when temperatures become too high for activity and life enters a period of slow motion? This is the state we are in now.

It means standards have dropped to match. We no longer dress for dinner in the evenings. It will not come as a surprise to many of our friends that this means we literally do not dress for dinner or even much of the day. Apart from a towel draped over the chair, we revert to being, as per that delightful Texas term, nekked people. Saves on laundry

First stop was Santarem, a short hour’s drive away. We’re moving up the middle of the country rather than our original coastal hops. Property is cheaper and we suspect the region is less susceptible to rain and strong winds compared to the sea regions. The first issue was getting a ride from Lisbon. Too far from the taxi ranks to arrange directly, we tried Uber. Nobody interested after a lengthy wait. Standing outside by now, looking pathetic, plans changed. Get to the train station and take a ride from there. Now Uber worked for this local trip and of course after the usual disjointed conversation of our real needs, the driver is suddenly excited at getting a long, better paying ride. The AirBnB in Santarem Old Town proves to be that rare thing, a place of character and age. We appreciated the contrast to previous cookie cutter places and the owner was there to meet us, helpful and charming. It also had a great balcony to allow those al fresco meals we love

As is compulsory in most of Portugal, the town has the remains of a castle and multiple monasteries and churches (many dedicated to St. Clara, Jan’s middle name, so she took it as a due tribute). Probably a relief to you, but most were closed.

We were quite taken by this shop. It translates as “Here is the Cat” – surprise, but they did not seem to have any available, dressed for the freezer or not. Actually, it was a children’s theater and looked very charming

Tourism is not really present round here. As a consolation, here is a park bench, covered, as is also compulsory in Portugal, with tiles. The theme is that old favorite, Christians versus Moors. As usual, the Moors are losing. It’s only 800 years ago, so is still fresh in the collective memory

It was a short stay in Santarem. Again, the next halt, Entroncamento, was a taxi ride away.

We managed to repeat something we’ve only done once before. Passports and some credit cards are always tucked away somewhere secure in the house. OK until you forget to retrieve them. Fifteen minutes down the road, we were doing your mental checklist and realization dawned. Luckily the landlady was very responsive and we could get back into the house, but it gets you going for a little while.

Street Art around Europe approaches high art in Italy, but most nations have their own Euro-vision entries. Portugal does not have the profusion and sometimes bad taste of most areas, but there is some good stuff. No idea what this was about, but the energy in the figures makes me wish I knew

As opposed to this entry, which is a Public Service announcement for careless dog owners – pick up please

Entroncamento has the charm and reason for existence of Crewe. It was where the North-South and East-West main railways lines cross. It did have a spacious comfortable AirBnB and a charming host couple. We were always reading accounts on other blogs of their fun experiences with hosts around the world. Not our previous experience. If you were lucky you were met by a real person rather than a lock-box, but they were usually only interested in getting you in, then moving onto the next of the seventy other properties they managed. Here was very different. Judite and Armando were everything you could wish for. They were there when we arrived, took their time showing us around and made sure we were settled into the apartment. The day before we left they took us in their car for a lengthy trip showing us the countryside and the villages they were born and raised in. They like showing people the region, which they quite rightly love. One of the nicest things people have done for us on this trip. I want to show them at their best, so I pinched their own picture!

The area is quite hilly and the terrific views of central Portugal were beautiful. The plaque says we were in the geographical center of Portugal.

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Despite this being largely a dry country, there is still quite a lot of flowing water, in addition to the great rivers such as the Tagus. We stopped at a traditional spring coming out of the hillside to top up water bottles. People were queuing with their containers to take back their own natural spring water, fresh from the source. It tasted delicious, clean, cool and free

There is a great ridge running north-south through the Coimbra region. A chain of windmills tops the ridge at some 1500 metres height, catching the breeze. We followed the rough tracks that service the windfarm to the topmost point. Here a solitary fellow in a lighthouse-like structure spends his eight hour shift staring around with binoculars. Fire is an ever present danger and has killed many people and destroyed forest and houses, including Armando’s own family home. This was the peak of the dry season, so constant vigilance is required. It’s not helped by the planting everywhere of eucalyptus trees which are extremely inflammable

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These stone structures were ice-houses. The local population had the honor of climbing to the top of these hills in the depth of winter and packing the deep cellars inside with snow until solid. This then allowed the King to have ice available in summer, sent by a network of porters, river boats and donkeys to take the blocks down stream to Lisbon

Thank you both, we had a wonderful day and saw parts of the country that would have been very hard for us to reach. It would not be on the normal tourist circuit. You cannot beat having somebody born and raised in an area to allow you to get a feel for a place, so really appreciated! We will keep in touch – you have been warned!

Tomar is a short train ride north. This was a Knights Templar stronghold in the 12th Century and besides the scenic town it has the Convent of Christ and the Knights Castle, part of a UNESCO World Heritage Center. From it’s early origins, the castle was extended into an enormous monastery complex with eight cloisters. They surround a 12th century round church modeled on the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem. Knowing our tastes the fact it took all day to visit will be no surprise.

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One of the highlights is the “Manueline Window”. This enormous Chapter House window is done in this hybrid style, a mixture of Gothic and Renaissance influences. It is meant to represent the Tree of Life and also has influences including the Garter awarded to the King by Henry VII of England

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Entroncamento with it’s railway background also has the National Railway Museum. One of it’s spare exhibits sits on a roundabout, gradually decaying

This region was the border between the Christian and Moorish territories in the 12th century, hence the number of castles around. On an island in the Tigris river is Almourol Castle. It is scenic, of historic significance and largely a 20th century reconstruction. Like most places it was abandoned, largely fell into ruin and was ignored for many centuries. In more recent times it has been “restored” with reinforced concrete and non-historic battlements. On the other hand it looks good and the boat ride to access it is pleasant, so no harm done

and the view down the river is lovely

On the road again. Our luggage is only getting heavier, partly thanks to the bedding we are dragging around. This is the drawback to only accepting 1200 thread count silk sheets as being appropriate…

So baby pack your leavin’ trunk
You know we’ve got to leave…

Next stop, Coimbra. See you soon

I usually start posts with an apology for letting blog keeping duties slide, so who am I to break with tradition. Sorry it’s been so long, lack of inspiration, travel and alcohol all contribute, but after complaints from many admiring fans (all two of you) about whether we had died or been kidnapped, here we are again

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Lisbon is (just) behind us now, so time for a review of our doings there. Our latest apartment was a great location for downtown and transit hubs, so we managed to get a few trips to the out of town sites. We also spent a fair amount of time sitting around with books and old British TV channels, so the little gray cells did not get as much stimulation as perhaps they should have done. We did get to say farewell to our (still) good friend Eve. She had been caught in events while visiting us and was then stuck for over four months. She bore our bitching and moaning with great tolerance and ate and drank whatever was put in front of her with enthusiasm, so an ideal house guest. Things eased enough for her to fly back to Heathrow, then put up with her two weeks quarantine. Must seem like a bad dream to her now!

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One thing we did get out of the way was our right to stay in Portugal. Even prior to Britain leaving the EU, you are limited to a 90 day visit. After that you have to report yourself and get an certificate of residency. Back in May when we realized we were going to bust the 90 days wide open, I had sent an email to the local Camara or Town Hall requesting an extention. Everywhere was closed and I had assumed the email covered our bases, so we could at least say we tried when we eventually leave the country. Surprise, we got an email back a month later inviting us to turn up for interview a few days later. We turned up at the offices, convinced a sceptical guard at the door that yes, we did have an appointment and within five minutes we were sitting in front of a couple of the state guardians with as many relevant pieces of paper as we could find. After a few minutes of stilted conversation, the sweet ladies took thirty Euros off me and returned a stamped, embossed piece of paper that says we are now officially permanent residents of Portugal. This is good for five years, renews for a ten year extension and eventually allows you to become a citizen. It left us slightly open mouthed, at the ease with which this was granted (after a long battle with US Authorities). As a EU citizen, which we as Brits still are until the end of this year, it’s as easy as that. Harder if you are non-EU, but still not that difficult. Portugal seems to want people, as long as they are moderately solvent.

It does require you to live in country for at least half of each year, so we’ve not quite definitely committed to this as the retirement spot, but it’s looking pretty sweet at the moment and we are set up for it. Good climate, moderate cost of living, low crime, beautiful countryside, history and wonderful people. Against, the language is tough and bureaucracy has a reputation as a nightmare

Couple of weeks later we continued the process with a visit to the Financas Office to get a taxpaper identification number. This allows them to tax you among other delights. But wait, there’s more. Something called a Non-Habitual Resident scheme gives you ten years largely tax free on income. Yes, they want you to come that much! Of course, as a US citizen, America taxes me wherever in the world I live, so we don’t escape that pleasure totally. So if you’re planning your 2021 2022 holidays, possibly remember the Taylor’s B&B in sunny Algarve, or Setubal, or Porto, or Coimbra. Or wherever, tough choices

There are still other official requirement, which I suspect will not go as smoothly as these did. Register with the Health Authority, though costs of reasonable health service will be very low after that. Exchange driving licence, rent/buy property – the list will go on a bit yet

That’s the officialdom out the way. We took a day trip by train to Cascais, a beach town at the mouth of the Tagus River. It’s well thought of, scenic, lots of tourists and ex-pats live there, but we did not take to it. Everything seemed a little too contrived and picturesque. However, another thing ticked of the “must see” list

Later, a trip by train and boat to Setubal. This town lies across the Tagus River and has a reputation as better value than Lisbon, while still being near enough to all those concerts, films and recitals you’re sure will occupy you in retirement. The train travels on the bottom layer of the big suspension bridge across the river. Unnerving, as you are a couple of hundred feet above the water, with nothing seeming to stop a headlong plunge. Setubal is still fairly much a working town, with a big fishing fleet and an industrial front.

We are starting to look at everything through “would we want to live here” eyes and it classes as a possible. Location is good, some charm. We’ll have to start a scorecard for these places. The fish was good and we had an excellent meal. This was the menu. Point and eat. The trip back included a ferry across the river, a twenty minute pleasure cruise of sorts

It wouldn’t be us without more museums. One excellent place was the Gulbenkian Foundation, one man’s collection of wonderful pieces. The other was the Oriente Museum, a collection that represented the countries that Portugal had trade with in it’s Empire days. They have a lot of Chinese, Japanese and Indian artifacts, not all of them looted, so we could visit with an easy conscience

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There is also a whole floor devoted to Chinese Opera. I’ve never pretended to understand this form of Opera. The pace and stylized acting makes the American Time of Our Lives and the British Crossroads soaps seem really true to life, but I did at least understand a little more the characters and costumes and some of the unlikely story lines. Still wouldn’t want to sit though a whole one though. There was a film on the Operas that were approved for production during the times of Mao and his actress wife. Lot of leaping about looking healthy and committed and waving of guns. The East is Red, don’t miss it, unless you have a choice

I took a quick trip to the English Cemetery. In many of the foreign fields we have visited, there is usually a plot of land, often neglected and overgrown, where “foreigners”, not just English dead were buried. Often screened from easy view, so a good Catholic would not have to see the Protestant, Orthodox, often Jewish or Muslim tombs and possible get ideas. I find them fascinating and this place was no exception. It always makes me wonder on the lives of these people, with tombs ranging from 1750 to modern dates. What was life like for the early traders here? What drove them to exile which with the levels of local illness was often permanent?

There are English dead from the Second World War here, despite Portugal’s neutrality. When you see a row of six dead from a disaster on a British destroyer, but there is no record of that on the web – it rather gives the lie to the common tombstone entry “Gone but not forgotten”. Similarly, five dead on the same date, killed in the same aircraft crash. Partly because of these graves and the continuing British presence here, it is well maintained. Sundry consuls, British Council and Embassy staff lie here, having found a common home. The main “attraction” is the grave of Henry Fielding, author of The History of Tom Jones. He came here for his health and died a couple of months later, so don’t trust doctors people

One intriguing plaque caught my eye. As an American I was pleased to see a fellow countryman take his job seriously. I assume it was diplomatic business related, rather than somebody’s wife? We will never know, as the official records have him as dying of a lung complaint, not so romantic. The second shot is of tile work outside a factory that used to produce ironwork. Far more stylish than a Facebook ad I think? Health and Safety might have something to say about working conditions and eye protection now.

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Last, but not least was a train trip to Sintra. This town on the edge of the hills was developed as a retreat for Princes and Business Moguls and is renowned for it’s colorful palaces. We did our usual lack of research and had not realized quite how many of these places exist in the town, open for business. Barging through the usual tout throng outside the train station with our “we know where we’re going” attitude, we headed generally upwards and arrived, pretty much by chance at the Quinta da Regularia. This place is perhaps less known than the iconic multi-color National Palace, but is definitely the palace to go here. It was built by a Brazilian millionaire at the turn of the twentieth century as his summer house, creating sprawling grounds and gothic inspired architecture for the main building, chapel and other follies. He managed to spend his children’s inheritance successfully (got to admire the man!) so it did not stay in the family long, but after a succession of other owners, including a Japanese company with a hotel in it’s sights, it is now state owned. Terraces of gardens, magnificent views, lots of color, it is a dream for photographers.

The most striking feature is an inverted ziggurat that spirals a hundred feet into the ground, with blind tunnels, running waters and much Masonic related symbolism. All to do with rebirth and emerging into the world again.

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At that stage Catholicism and Freemasonry did not play nicely together, so much of the symbolism can be interpreted in different ways, but the pyramids, eyes and compasses seemed pretty clear to us

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Our two months in this apartment was up, so rather than look for another bolt hole in Lisbon, we’ve decided to pick up some of the journeys we had previously planned for Portugal. Travel will still require extensive masking, social distancing and having to row with each other from a distance only, with the use of hand sanitizer water bombs optional.Originally we were stepping up near the coast to get to Porto, but for various reasons we have a few inland locations as our route now. Good thing in many ways, as while we like the idea of being close to the sea, it’s a lot more expensive and it is the North Atlantic, not the Mediterranean. It will give us a chance to see what you get for the money and whether Jan can cope with a house full of goats and chickens while I’m out treading the figs or whatever it is you do to live the agricultural life here. More to (eventually) follow after our first stop in Santarem.