It’s been a month now, and this social distancing thing has prompted people to find whole new ways of filling their days. These days I’m scooping poop; as in horse feces, droppings, whatever you like to call them.

Hey, I could do worse. I’m not sure what, but cleaning up after half a dozen horses helps my neighbor and gives me the raw material to make my vegetable garden thrive.

I’ve never been a gardener. But this year, seeing as I have moved to a place where it rains (Central Portugal) and stuff grows like crazy. Plus, all my plans to entertain visitors and do more travel came to a grinding halt due to Coronavirus – I decided to plant a vegetable garden. I figured I might need to produce my own food. Hence the need for manure.

I walk down the hill into the valley that separates my land from my neighbor’s, wearing my trusty Wellington (rubber) boots. It’s been raining off and on here for a couple of weeks, so the ground is very muddy. I grab the fork and wheelbarrow (Carrinho de mao in Portuguese) and set off in search of the tell-tale piles. Horses spend most of their days grazing and defecating. It’s amazing how much manure they produce in a 12-hour period.

This job is not a hardship for me. I grew up around horses and spent time as a Workaway volunteer in Portugal doing just this while researching my options for moving here.

Anyway, I’ve put it all to good use in the little veggie patch I’ve created. So far, I have lettuce, cabbage, onions, zucchini, beans and potatoes sprouting in my garden. It’s a very exciting experience!

• 

• 

These days, with the daily Coronavirus mantra “Don’t touch your face” – I’m flat-out afraid to scratch my nose. That may sound trivial, but I suffer from seasonal allergies. Fellow sufferers will know that springtime can be torture as flowers and trees burst with pollen sending your nose tickling unbearably. Well, it’s springtime in Portugal and boy are the flowers sharing their pollen.

Ever since the Portuguese President Marcelo Rebelo de Sousa declared a state of emergency in mid-March, I’ve started wearing latex gloves when I venture into town to shop at my local Lidl supermarket.

I’m not sure if these really protect me from the risks of catching the dreaded Coronavirus Covid-19, but I figure I may as well be proactive. I am in my golden years, after all.

However, donning the gloves is no easy task. It’s a good thing I usually do this in my car so no one hears the swearing that accompanies this task. It gives me a whole new level of admiration for surgeons who perform incredibly intricate and life-saving tasks wearing such things. I even have a new understanding for guys who use condoms.

Once I have the gloves on, I steer my shopping cart toward the supermarket entrance. The guard positioned at the door to ensure only a minimum of shoppers are inside at any one time, makes me wait. I eye the other waiting shoppers suspiciously, making sure to keep my distance.

After I shop, I fumble at the checkout counter, fishing for my debit card. Thinking, I must remember to wipe it off in case it’s contaminated.

But the very worst is the moment when I’m pushing my cart through the parking lot and my nose starts to itch. I remember the warnings, don’t touch your face! It gives a whole new level of torturousness to spring allergies.

It seemed like the world as I – and pretty much everyone else – knew it, came to an abrupt end about three weeks ago. Just like that, almost everything shut down, everyone decided to stay at home and stories about the Coronavirus dominated all news and conversation.

I count myself very fortunate to be living in a tiny village in Central Portugal. As of today, March 30, Portugal had around 5,900 cases of Covid-19, compared to nearly 80,000 in neighboring Spain. Still, the numbers have been climbing steadily. The first cases surfaced in Portugal around March 1.

Yesterday, for the first time, I felt a moment of real fear as I drove toward the town of Tomar to get some essential groceries. I hadn’t been into the town for about two weeks and suddenly I felt as though I could really be putting myself at risk. Before entering my local Lidl supermarket, I donned latex gloves and eyed the few people inside with suspicion, carefully keeping my distance.

I was so happy to get back to my hilltop village where I can take my doggie, Divina, on long walks. I can work with my neighbor’s horses, and watch the seedlings grow in my garden.

Spring is underway and the poppies, wisteria, hawthorn and numerous other flowers are everywhere. As a friend of mine said, you can stay at home and be a bit bored if you know it’s for the good of all humanity.

If you don’t mind spending a lot of time on your own, this can be paradise.

My water bill arrived yesterday and I noted it was significantly higher than the previous month. Admittedly, in low cost Portugal this still didn’t amount to much. It jumped from 12.90 Euros to 17.91 Euros, or from about $14 to $19.40.

Still, a euro is a euro and when you’re retired every euro counts.

I blame the increase on the Coronavirus.

Last week, the President of Portugal, Marcelo Rebelo de Sousa, went on national TV to declare a state of emergency, which introduced all sorts of restrictions. All of a sudden people were drastically limited as to where they could go in public: essential trips only.

Grocery stores reduced the number of shoppers who could enter. Customers had to wait outside until someone came out. My yoga classes ceased. Friends isolated themselves. Even the dog shelter where I’d been volunteering to sluice down kennels to remove doggy waste, was no longer open to outside helpers.

Even before the kindly-looking Sousa’s declaration, I’d become an obsessive hand washer. Every time I come back inside my house from the very few places I can now go, I head straight for the bathroom and wash those hands. I’m not singing happy birthday, but I do wash them, really, really well.

And since I can’t go anywhere, and friends can’t come to visit me, I’ve decided to focus my energy on planting a vegetable garden. I may as well grow my own food, just in case things become scarce. In WWII, during rationing, the British Government encouraged people to plant Victory Gardens to supplement their meager food supplies.

Of course, a garden needs to be watered.

PORTUGAL: Day 3 of what feels like a whole new world. The wind is howling outside my hilltop home in Central Portugal and I’m realizing that my options of going anywhere are becoming more limited every hour.

This is life in the new Coronavirus era. Just ten days ago I was still hoping to receive visits from several friends living in other countries. Then came word that this new Covid-19 was indeed a pandemic and the walls started closing in. One by one they all emailed to say they’d had to cancel their trips. Yesterday, the Portuguese prime minister announced a ban on almost all international flights to and from the country.

Here at home open air markets in towns and villages ceased. Shops have announced reduced opening hours. Social gatherings have been suspended, restaurants are allowing fewer customers inside. It’s the same at grocery stores. Yesterday, I had to wait outside the local store to buy a few essentials. Once another customer came out, I was allowed in. The cashier was wearing latex gloves and wiping down the area where people set down items for checking.

I bought myself some latex gloves and am finding them a real nuisance. I’m becoming paranoid about touching things. Once I get home I immediately wipe down door handles, light switches etc with industrial alcohol. I bought a bottle months ago to use for cleaning my bicycle chain. It’s coming in handy.

Most of all, I miss the daily contact with so many people that has been the most delightful aspect of living in this rural community. I’m listening to the wind and wishing it would stop. I, like everyone else, am wishing life would go back to normal. It feels like living through war time. I’m even planting my own veggie garden.

Schools and discos closing, lines at supermarkets and jokes about toilet paper shortages are top of mind here in Portugal this weekend.

Suddenly everyone is talking about social distancing and how to do it. The Portuguese aren’t big on hugging, they usually do the two-sided cheek air kiss, but even that has become questionable.

My neighbors have created a Facebook messenger group to get together, outside in someone’s front yard, to talk about the situation. We all have animals, dogs and or horses. And we’ve agreed to be ready to help out if one of the group falls ill and needs assistance. We’ve also agreed to pool shopping trips if feasible to limit trips to he supermarket where we’d possibly be exposed to health risks.

In other areas for me, the virus restrictions have generated disappointment in the form of two friends canceling their planned visits. My two friends, one from elementary school days, the other a collage friend, were due to come from England and Ireland in the next few weeks. Another friend due in 10 days from the US is probably going to have to cancel as well. Oh well, we do what we have to do. It feels like wartime. Not that I lived through an actual war, it just makes me think of all the WWII novels I’ve read.

Oh dear, just had another thought after making that analogy. Will we experience food rationing? I guess we can all live without toilet paper for a while. Another use for the local newspaper? It might even boost sagging circulation at some dailies! I’m all for that.

Still, I am glad I can still go outside and enjoy beautiful weather in the lovely rural area where I live.

Portugal is fast becoming one of the most looked at countries as a retirement option. People who have made the move usually cite three reasons for their choice; the weather, the low cost of living and the Portuguese people.

Most of Portugal enjoys a mild climate with hot dry summers and abundant rain in the fall and winter. Palm trees, bougainvillea, olive trees and grape vines grow everywhere. The Algarve, Portugal’s southernmost region, has long been popular with Northern Europeans because of its hot sunny weather and beaches.

Eating out in Portugal is incredibly cheap compared to the US and most other European countries. Outside of Lisbon, which has become more expensive in recent years, you can get a hearty meal with wine for under 10 Euros, or less than $11.50. Also, tips are not usually expected.

On top of these advantages, the Portuguese people are very open toward visitors. On my first trip to Portugal in 2011, I was so impressed by the welcoming attitude of the people I met everywhere that I decided to look into the possibility of retiring here.

USE YOUR IRISH ANCESTORS: I had a big advantage over many Americans who have the same dream. My maternal grandparents were born in Ireland and through that connection I was able to obtain an Irish passport. Ireland and Portugal are both part of the European Union (EU). In Portugal, people who hold EU passports do not have to obtain a visa to apply for residency.

DO YOUR RESEARCH: I spent several years dreaming about retiring and moving to Portugal. But living in a country is very different to being there on a vacation. Before I retired in mid-2018, I decided I needed to spend an extended period in Portugal to see if my goal was realistic. I researched every website I could find on living in Portugal, cost of living, housing etc. However, what proved most useful was working as a volunteer. I found volunteer work opportunities through Workaway.com.

CONTACTS CAN MAKE ALL THE DIFFERENCE: I had a wonderful time working with horses as a Workawayer. I also made wonderful contacts with expats who had been living in Portugal for several years. I got to know part of the Alentejo area south of Lisbon and an area near Tomar in Central Portugal. One of my hosts helped me get a NIF (similar to a Social Security Number in the US) and to open a bank account. Again, this was easier for me because of my Irish passport.

The NIF is needed in Portugal for all kinds of things like getting phone service and opening a bank account. My Workaway hosts also helped me find Realtors who aided me in my search for a home. I eventually worked through Chavetejo in Tomar to buy my house in Central Portugal

US PASSPORT HOLDERS NEED VISAS: US citizens can stay for up to 90 days without a visa. As non-EU citizens, however, US passport holders who want to move to Portugal must obtain additional documents. For longer stays they must obtain a visa. The application process involves multiple steps. A number of documents are required.

PATIENCE IS A MUST: Once in Portugal, Americans will need to visit an office of the Serviçio de Estrangeiros e Fronteiras (SEF) for additional visa services. Americans I have met since I moved here say it can be difficult to make an appointment with the SEF. They say they have to phone repeatedly to get through to an SEF office. Often they are told they must wait months to get an appointment.

Soups from many nations were on offer at the second annual Festival das Sopas in the small village of Chãos last Sunday.

Dozens of Chãos residents and people from surrounding villages packed into the local community center, glad to escape the rain. The crowd that packed the local hall was mostly Portuguese. But sprinkled among them were a sizable number of foreigners who now make up a significant part of the population. This area of central Portugal has become home to many nationalities; British, Dutch, Belgian, Italian, Russian and American.

When I lived in Albuquerque, New Mexico, the local Roadrunner food bank used to hold an event called the “Souper Bowl” to raise money for their mission to provide food for the hungry. The purpose of the Chãos festival was more about getting people together to enjoy good food and each other’s company.

My favorite soup was the Solianka, made by a Russian couple. They served it with a dollop of sour cream, a slice of lemon and a piece of dark rye bread – delicious.

A close runner-up, for me, was a traditional Portuguese soup called Sopa de Pedra. It was thick and rich with all kinds of vegetables, beans and what tasted like pieces of salt pork.

The story behind this soup appears in many cultures. Basically, a man goes to a village where everyone is poor. They are suspicious, thinking he wants food. He says he can make soup from a stone and begins the process. Pretty soon people start adding ingredients until they have a delicious meal. It’s all about sharing. That soup summed up the meaning of the Festival for me, the sharing of the experience. That’s what I love about Portugal.

After spending five weeks in the US, from early January to mid-February, to visit my new granddaughter, I returned home to Portugal to find my garden amass with giant weeds.

These monsters, some of them more than three feet high, had totally obliterated the little rosemary bushes and pansies I’d lovingly planted last fall. I’d painstakingly cleared the ground from the previous year’s weeds when I moved into my house in July. But my efforts were thwarted when it started to rain in November and did’t stop until just before Christmas. I put down sheets of black plastic trying to keep the weeds at bay. Further rain in January and early February while I was away just accelerated the growth of this unwelcome greenery.

The climate where I live near Tomar in Central Portugal, typically has hot summers and cool, but not frigid winters. My neighbors have said they hadn’t experienced snow in 17 years. I did have frost a few mornings in early January, but mostly the autumn and winters are rainy. According to Climates To Travel Central Portugal has average annual rainfall of 50-75 cm or 20 to 30 inches. Average temperatures in the city of Coimbra in Central Portugal range from 41F to 59F (5C to 5C) in January and from 43F to 61F (6C to 16C) in February.

Although the majority of Portuguese roads are narrow, winding, and frankly, terrifying to drive, the country has an impressive network of freeways. I can make the trip from my home in central Portugal to the Lisbon airport in a mere 90 minutes by breezing along sections of the A13, A23 and A1.

These impressive highways are mostly traffic-free because they are toll roads. Many drivers, especially truckers, prefer to use secondary roads to escape the charges which vary according area, and are sometimes surprisingly steep. The toll booth I hit about half-way to the Lisbon airport charged me 6.35 euros, 12.70 for the round trip, or about $14. What I didn’t realize was that most of the roads no longer have toll booths, they use a system of electronic sensors which log your license plate as you pass. So I’d unwittingly only paid about half the tolls I owed for the airport trip.

I blithely drove these beautifully empty freeways for several months, racking up the charges, before someone told me about the system. Apparently, I was supposed to go to the nearest post office and pay the toll within a few days of my trip to avoid a fine.

Sure enough, the day came when the mail carrier arrived with a registered letter informing me that I owed about 30 Euros (10 euros in unpaid tolls and 20 in “administrative costs”.)

Friends told me about the Via Verde device, available from the post office, which you attach to your windshield. You link it to your bank account and it allows the required toll payment to be deducted directly when you pass under the toll point. These are mounted on a boom over the freeway with a sign advising the charge. Equipped with one of the matchbox-sized Via Verde devices you can also zip through a special lane at the physical toll booths. Parking payment at the Lisbon airport is another perk.