Portugal’s steep steps save you money on gym membership

scenic view of Porto — A view of Porto, Portugal’s second largest city showing the steep ascent from the Rio Douro to the top of the town.

When I lived in Albuquerque, New Mexico, I belonged to a cycling club where I needed strong legs and lungs. That’s why I used to rush to the gym a couple mornings a week to torture myself with the 7:30 a.m. spin class. No matter how many times I did spin, it was always a killer. Sometimes I wondered why I was paying a membership fee each month for this painful privilege.

Then I moved to Portugal

They say that Rome is the city built on seven hills. Well, I have news for you, dear reader. The hills in Portugal’s major cities, Lisbon, Porto and Coimbra will make those quads and hamstrings howl just as bad as any spin class. That’s why I advise friends who are thinking of visiting Lisbon to be prepared for some strenuous walking. There is no point in renting a car. The streets are narrow and twisting and parking is a nightmare.

It’s no accident that the central area of Lisbon nearest the river Tejo is called the “Baixa”, meaning low or lower. Walk around the Baixa and you are exploring a network of streets and squares laid out in a grid pattern according to the vision of the legendary Marquis de Pombal. He is credited with spearheading this development after an earthquake and fire devastated this part of the city in 1755.

But, come evening time and you want to explore the lively restaurant and bar area called the Bairro Alto, guess what? Alto means high, and that means climbing. Great if you want those strong legs and lungs.

Life hacks for the faint-hearted

Luckily, there are a couple of ways to get around this. You can take the Ascensor da Glória. This funicular railway ferries passengers up the steep hill from the Baixa to the Bairro Alto near the Praça dos Restauradores to the Rua São Pedro de Alcântara. Tickets bought on board cost 2.90 Euros. The journey takes about 90 seconds. However since it is immensely popular you will likely have to wait a lot longer to get a ride.

Ascensor da Gloria, Lisbon — The Ascensor da Glória takes passengers from near Praça dos Restauradores to the Bairro Alto.

Alternatively, you can try to ride the Elevador de Santa Justa. This amazing structure – which somehow reminds me of the Eiffel Tower – dominates this part of Lisbon. It’s a giant elevator that transports passengers up seven stories from the Baixa to the Largo do Carmo. Alas, the Elevador too is a major tourist attraction. So, the queue to ride it is intimidatingly long. It’s also pricy, think 5.30 Euros. Departures are every 10 minutes between 7:30 a.m. and 11 p.m. (9 p.m. in the winter.) The lower entrance is just off the Rua Augusta, a popular pedestrian shopping street.

Elevador de Santa Justa, Lisbon — The Elevador de Santa Justa is a major tourist attraction in Lisbon.

Heading north to Porto

Visit Porto, Portugal’s second largest city and here again you will experience lots of climbing opportunities. Lung-busting sets of steep steps lead from the main part of the city down to the Douro river. Across the river is the city of Vila Nova de Gaia.

steep steps in Porto — Porto is full of steep sets of steps that lead to the river Douro.

You can avoid some of the steepest steps by crossing the river using the Dom Luis Bridge. This impressive structure really does have a claim to resemble that Parisian icon. It was built in the 1880s by a disciple of Gustav Eiffel. It’s worth stopping on the bridge to take in the breathtaking view of Porto, Gaia and the bustling Rio Douro.

Climbing in College town

Coimbra, Portugal’s main university town is full of hills too. If you want to visit the historic university – yup it’s on the top of the hill. Walking up there through the narrow streets and squares of the city will definitely increase your heart rate. But just think how strong your legs will be!

Nowadays, I don’t play tourist very often. Still, the area of central Portugal where I settled near Tomar, is criss-crossed by steep hills and narrow valleys. Walking them daily with my dog Divina gives me a great workout at no expense. And, it’s a lot more fun than spin class!

Moved by the many minute miracles in my Portuguese life

Chrysanthemums blooming in the garden of my Portuguese home. A year ago when I moved in this was just a mass of weeds. So I see this improvement as one of the many miracles of my life here.

This morning as I walked my dog Divina, I met one of my Portuguese neighbors in the street and she handed me a bunch of persimmons. I recognized this seemingly minute gesture as one of the many miracles that are part of my daily life here in Portugal.

I live in a tiny village on top of a hill. Several of the houses are just ruins. Portugal’s young folks have fled to the cities just like everywhere else. But every day I can be sure of talking to one of my neighbors. It might be the English woman out feeding her horses, the Belgian man weeding his garden, the old Portuguese widow doing her daily walk to the chapel at the corner. It’s these little moments of contact that make this simple life experience so rich.

Persimmons, a gift from my Portuguese neighbor

Last week, the old widow invited me to mass at the village chapel of Nossa Senhora da Encarnacão (Our Lady of the Incarnation.) I’m not particularly religious but I feel honored to be part of this ceremony. The chapel is about the size of a small living room with wooden pews that seat about twelve people that know each other well.

Mass is a rare occasion here, maybe four times a year. Each time I’ve attended the congregation of six women, me included, waits masked in silence until the young priest arrives. His car screeches to a stop outside and he bustles in clad in his long black soutane. In the Covid era he also wears a black mask. He is very business-like as he gathers what he needs for the mass and dons his vestments. Mass takes about 15 minutes. Each time I understand a little more of his rapid Portuguese. This is progress!

Practicing yoga in the sunshine on the stone “threshing circle” outside my house. The space gave us an opportunity to get together but remain socially distanced to abide by Covid rules.

Once a week during the long sunny summer, I have hosted a yoga group at my place. Following Covid rules, we’ve been able to practice while socially distanced on the big stone circle outside my house. The stone circle, called an “Eira”, or threshing circle, is a feature of this part of Portugal. They were used for threshing the crops or drying fruit.

We benefit from this weekly contact in many ways. One of the yoga group brings surplus eggs from her chickens, another a bag of lemons. We often enjoy a coffee after our practice, thankful that we’ve been able to have at least some form of social contact during these strange times.

This weekend, I helped my yoga teacher pick some of her olives. Although the olive harvest has been poor this year, it’s still something people do. I don’t have any olives of my own but I enjoy helping others pick. It feels like such an important part of Portuguese life.

Cork oak trees along a forest path near my Portuguese village. The outer layer of cork has been removed and is lying on the ground in front of the trees. Cork can be harvested about every nine years.

A fence to foil the feral fiends

fence to keep out feral pigs — The newly constructed fence across my land to keep out the “javalí” the *wild boar* or Portuguese feral pigs. I added the sharpened poles to be an extra deterrent. Those pigs can get through almost anything.

My area of Portugal has been experiencing a huge problem with feral pigs in recent weeks. These porcine invaders are diabolically clever. They can push down stone walls and burst through electric fencing. The feral fiends attack at night. They’ve ravaged my vegetable garden and my neighbor’s even bigger veggie patch. Apparently they seek out moisture and dig up the ground looking for roots and grubs

My dog, Divina, takes her watchdog duties very seriously. Her sharp ears pick up the sounds of the approaching Javalí. I let her out and she charges down the hill barking furiously. Alas, a couple of times I wasn’t quick enough. After they’d ruined my vegetable garden, they hit the area I’d spent hours landscaping. Sure enough, the next morning I looked out on disaster.

The landscaped area of my garden before and after the Javalí struck.

The feral pigs rooted under the black plastic and pine back I’d laid down to prevent weed growth.

According to my neighbors, the Javalí have no natural predators. There is a hunting season from October to early spring. But so far I’ve heard very few shots on Thursdays and Sundays, the days designated for hunting. So, I hired a very nice British man to build me a fence and now I’m hoping it will protect my property.

Floundering in a flurry of figs

Fig trees are everywhere in Portugal. There are almost as many fig trees as olive trees. At least that’s the way it seems.

But unlike the olives – which are valued in Portugal like liquid gold – figs go relatively unheeded and unloved. They fall to the ground and, when squashed, look unpleasantly like a gob of snot.

Late August and early September is the season for figs. The trees can grow to enormous size. And they are incredibly hardy. You can cut them to the ground and the next year they’ll be back again, huge and shaggy. Believe me, I’ve tried this.

The fig tree near my house. You can see where I’ve cut a few branches. This spring I gave it a ruthless pruning, but it’s threatening to overwhelm the wall once more.

Most of the fig trees here in Central Portugal produce dark purple fruits. Actually, figs are properly classified as flowers, not fruits. I’ve recently learned the fig flowers are pollinated by wasps. Apparently female wasps make their way inside the fig, lay their eggs and die. Luckily, so the scientists say, the fig produces an enzyme that dissolves the wasp skeleton so the stuff you crunch when you eat a fig are seeds.

One of my neighbors has a tree (ficus carina Lattarula) that produces green figs. Here they call them “honey figs.” When ripe they typically exude a tiny drop of a sweet substance, hence the name.

Although I like eating ripe figs, I prefer them dried. I recently tried my hand at drying my own figs. I followed a recipe that recommended cutting them in half and laying them in the sun. It took about three days. I covered them with a tea towel to prevent unwanted attention from flies. A friend said she dried her figs by laying them on the dashboard of her car. I tried this too, but it’s inconvenient to remove the figs every time you need to drive somewhere.

Of course, anyone who studied English Lit. probably came across D.H. Lawrence’s famous poem all about figs. It gives you a whole new perspective on fruit and femininity. Thank you D.H.

Portugal faces paucity of olives, plethora of pigs

Olives are a major crop in Portugal. Last year there was a good crop but this year the olives are scarce.

Plague is sweeping the world. Political unrest is rampant, olive trees are nearly barren and wild pigs have destroyed the garden

Is this the apocalypse?

In my tiny corner of Portugal I don’t have too much first hand experience of the first two problems, plague and political unrest. Thankfully Portugal has done a good job containing Covid-19, while Portuguese politics is pretty tame by US and UK standards. Life is downright bucolic here in Chãos, despite what the name looks like in English.

However, the olive trees and the pigs are a different matter.

Out walking my dog Divina the other morning, I looked up into the branches of one of the tens of thousands of olive trees that grace these valleys and saw not a single green olive. By this time last year, the branches were already heavy with fruit. By early October 2019 they were ready for harvesting. I spent several days helping various neighbors with the laborious job of stripping olives from the branches.

This year, nada! Same story with the grapevines. Olive oil and wine production are major industries in Portugal. So, no olives and no grapes means long faces everywhere.

Invasion of wild boar

As if to add insult to injury we’ve had an invasion of wild boar. They’re known as “javelina” in New Mexico where I used to live. (That’s pronounced havaleena.) In Portugal, where the letter “J” is a soft sound, they are called “javeli, pronounced “zhavalee.”

No matter. There is nothing soft about the these guys. The javeli can push through stone walls, demolish fences and tear up the earth as effectively as a Rotatiller on steroids. They are a canny lot. They hide in the thick brush during the day and strike at night.

They burst through an electric fence and laid waste to the neighbor’s vegetable garden that I helped plant. Although considered omnivores, these wild pigs just churned up the ground. Apparently they like roots and grubs. Weeks of hard work, clearing the earth, planting, tending, watering, fencing – all for nothing!

My neighbor surveyed the devastation and shook his head, “I’ve been here ten years and never seen anything like it!”

The Javali left beans, tomatoes, cucumbers, onions and melons crushed but uneaten.

My garden keeps on giving

The giant zucchini plant, a few beans, a bell pepper, and the Mother of All Zucchinis.

It’s been hot in central Portugal since the beginning of July. My own small veggie patch has suffered in the heat. Thankfully, I have more planted at my neighbors huge, and well-watered plot.

That’s where the zucchini plant I started as a seed back in April, has now grown to monster size. Seriously, this is like the Little Shop of Horrors or Day of the Triffids. Still, the zucchini (also known as courgettes) are delicious. Unfortunately, the large leaves hid one of the largest zukes which grew to giant size before I picked it. This massive vegetable is 20 inches (about half a meter) long and weighs 5.2 lbs (2.35 kg.) I haven’t tried cutting into it yet.

I’ve been busy picking my tomatoes as well. The bush is heavy with fruit. I pick a few each day and enjoy them with salads. I’ve also tried making my own tomato sauce. Yum!

Just one day’s worth of ripe tomatoes from my Portuguese garden.

Covid confusion + travel ban = disappointment

The EU ban on visitors from the US as a result of the Covid 19 virus means no friends from Albuquerque this summer.

Just five weeks ago, I read a posting on Facebook that had a link to a Condé Nast Traveler magazine article which said Portugal would be opening flights between the US and Lisbon on June 4. Overjoyed, I emailed the good news to a close friend who had said she would come visit me here in Portugal.

Her plan to visit in March went awry when the US unilaterally imposed a travel ban on flights from Europe to prevent the spread of the Covid virus. Back in March, numbers of infections in Italy and Spain were soaring, Germany and France were close behind. The first cases showed up in Portugal early that month and the Portuguese prime minister announced shutdown measures would take effect March 18.

A few days after receiving my email, my friend booked a flight to Lisbon in early July. Then came the first disappointment. I began to see postings on the Facebook group, Americans & Friends in Portugal, indicating that only US citizens who had a residency permit or a visa to stay longer than 90 days in Portugal would be allowed into the country. Sure enough, I did a little more research and found confirmation of the bad news.

Still, there was hope that the situation might change as we got closer to July 1. Leaders of European Union countries had set this as a target date to reopen their borders. Alas, near the end of June came further bad news as it looked likely that visitors from the US would not be welcomed in EU countries in July. Days later, that possibility became a reality.

I live in a small village in central Portugal where several of the homes are owned by British and Belgian expats. The two Belgian couples only spend a few months a year in Portugal. This year, they were unable to come in the spring as planned because of the virus travel restrictions. In mid-June, I saw an item on the Portuguese news that said the border with Spain would open on June 22. This was quickly refuted because the Spanish had apparently not consulted the Portuguese before making the announcement.

But come July 1, new cars bearing Belgian license plates appeared on the village street and I knew my Brussels and Antwerp neighbors were back.

Unfortunately, my US friend had to cancel her flight and it’s uncertain when she might be able to visit. With Covid infection numbers in the US skyrocketing, people I talk to in Portugal say they really don’t want Americans coming here. US citizens are still able to fly to the UK and Ireland, but must quarantine for 14 days there. It’s unclear if they could travel on to an EU country after completing that quarantine.

Harvesting the fruits of my labor

Yesterday, I dug up the first crop of the potatoes I planted in March. Nothing can be quite so satisfying as growing your own food for the first time.

I hadn’t planned to start a vegetable garden this spring. My plans for the spring and summer were all about having visitors to come stay in my new Portuguese home and travel to explore different parts of this wonderful country. Alas, that all went out the window when the Coronavirus hit, forcing governments worldwide to require people to stay inside, and social isolation became the mantra.

What to do? I had plenty of “garden” space and lots of time to fill. Plus, the weather in central Portugal is ideal for growing. I knew this because of the world class weeds that had sprung up during the long rainy weeks of autumn.

So, I set to work digging the heavy clay beside my house. I swear, you could make pots from this soil. When wet, it quickly clumped on the bottom of my wellies (rubber boots) so that I had to waddle around carrying dead weight with every step. It was well-nigh impossible to scrape off. If only I had a wheel and a kiln, I could probably be in the pottery business instead of gardening.

Nevertheless, I persisted (does that phrase sound familiar?). I added well-rotted horse manure and chicken poop collected from my neighbor’s land, along with bags of compost and wood ash. I bought lettuce, cabbage and onion seedlings, beans and seed potatoes from the small hardware and garden supply store near my village. Later, my neighbors gave me some zucchini, which I put in pots.

This was my first spring in Portugal and I didn’t know what to expect. My expat neighbors who had been here for a few years all said that each year was a little different – but they did mention that April was usually the month of a thousand rains. So it was. Lots of rain. A little dismal during the Covid19 shutdown, but great for the garden. Daytime temperatures were generally around 12-15C (in the mid to high 50sF) and not significantly colder at night.

My garden grew like crazy.

The tiny lettuce, cabbage seedlings, beans and zucchini exploded into huge plants. I’ve really enjoyed eating out of my very own garden. Maybe this will become a regular hobby, no shutdown needed.

Hard work brings transformation to wilderness

When I moved into my house in central Portugal last July, the “back yard” was a forest of dry weeds.

Last year I moved to Portugal from Albuquerque, New Mexico with the intention of renting or buying a house. Within a couple of weeks I’d found an old stone cottage that had just been completely renovated. The original asking price was substantially higher than what I had budgeted. But the expat who was advising me said, “nobody ever pays the full asking price in Portugal.” So, I began haggling. The Realtor helped translate because the local builder who had renovated the house spoke no English.

One of the haggling points revolved around the type of wood burning stove I wanted and some other interior details. He offered me a choice of some “better landscaping” or additional interior improvements. I chose the interior improvements, saying I could do the landscaping myself.

Well, when I moved in mid-July, the outside of the house was surrounded by knee-high dry weeds. I spent several weeks pulling weeds and had a neighbor go over the areas with a rototiller. Once cleared, I began to buy plants and “decorate.”

I created a Zia sun symbol around the septic tank to remind me of New Mexico. I also planted flowers and rosemary which I hoped would eventually spread and cover a lot of ground.

Alas, I should have done more to cover the ground to prevent the weeds from reappearing. Once it began to rain in November, and didn’t stop till nearly Christmas, the bare ground was soon a mass of green weeds and my plants began to disappear.

As the rain continued, it encouraged all kinds of things to grow – not all of them were welcome.

Still, I wasn’t prepared for what happened next. I left Portugal in January to spend some time in the US with my son, daughter-in-law and my new grandchild. When I returned in February, the area that I had so laboriously cleared was waist-high in weeds and all my plants had disappeared.

Every piece of earth that I hadn’t covered with black plastic was filled with weeds.

I used a trimmer (weed whacker) to fell the weeds, then covered everything with black plastic to make sure they couldn’t reappear. I was planning to cover it all with bark. I needed help to do that job but then came the COVID 19 shut down. I had to wait until May before I was able to get a friend to help me with that chore. It was a long, hard job, but the result was gratifying.

The once weedy area is now covered with pine bark and I’m planting more flowers.

Portugal emerges slowly from lockdown

For the first time since early March, I’ve been able to get my hair cut and sit outside at a cafe as Portugal gradually relaxes restrictions.

Portugal’s “State of Calamity” went into effect May 3, as a step-down from the State of Emergency restrictions that started March 18.

Beginning May 18, restaurants and cafes were allowed to open at 50 percent of capacity. Hairdressers and mid-sized shops of up to around 4,000 square feet were allowed to open.

It has been such a pleasure to see the little shops open again in my nearby town of Tomar, in Central Portugal. It was a huge relief to be able to get my wild hair cut again. Meeting a friend at a cafe was delightful.

Going into shops you have to wear masks. Outside, people sat at a distance from one another but we were able to be there without masks. After wearing a mask during my haircut, and enduring the itchy feeling of tiny pieces of hair slipping inside the face covering, it was a relief to be outside again.