View from my home in central Portugal on a rare frosty morning. I had to wrap my little orange tree to protect it from the cold weather.
Portuguese houses are usually built of stone which makes them great places to live in the summer, but damp and chilly in the winter. My first winter was a bit rough, but I have learned a lot about how to adapt. Here are some tips from what I have learned.
1. Be prepared for rain. Although temperatures here in Portugal are generally milder than many parts of the US, it usually rains a lot from November onward. Stone houses stay wonderfully cool in the summer, but they can feel freezing in the winter.
2. Electricity is expensive in Portugal, so people use dryers sparingly. Take advantage of any sunny dry day to hang out your washing. When I lived in Ireland, my Irish neighbors would call a sunny breezy day “A great drying day.”
3. Buy a dehumidifier. With all that rain, the interior of most Portuguese homes gets very damp. Mildew can be a problem and it smells unpleasant. Hanging out your bedding on a dry sunny day is a good idea too. That is a custom in many northern European countries.
4. Open windows whenever you can. Even a small amount of fresh air wafting through a room helps combat the effects of dampness.
5. Electric blower heaters can be costly to run. Heaters that use butane gas provide a quick source of heat for those chilly mornings, and they have rollers so they can be moved to different rooms. Initially you have to buy the gas bottle, after that you just pay for the refill. At the moment a refill costs around 24 Euros. The heaters can be purchased for around 70 Euros.
Sheets drying on the clothes line strung between my olive trees. A morning of sunshine and breezes after days of rain brightened my spirits in time for Christmas Eve in my Portuguese village.
A bright sunny day always makes me smile. Here in my Portuguese village I appreciate it even more at this time of year.
This is my second December in Portugal and now I know to expect a lot of rain. It´s not as cold as I was used to in the high desert climate of Albuquerque, New Mexico, but the dampness brings its own problems. Electricity is expensive in Portugal so most of my neighbors depend on the good old fresh air to dry their washing. I do the same. It makes me remember one of my father´s neighbors in Ireland. If it was sunny with a good breeze she’d always call it ¨A great drying day!¨
So I felt I had a lot to be thankful for. On top of that, my astrologically expert friends told me that the planets Jupiter and Saturn were more closely aligned on the night of December 21, the Winter Solstice, than they had been in 800 years. According to one of my friends, the conjunction of these planets was in the sign of Aquarius. I don’t know anything about this stuff but apparently this is supposed to be an auspicious sign for 2021. Hey, I am ready to take any good news after the Covid-dominated challenges of 2020.
So happy to see my little doggie companion Divina after a month-long visit to US to see my even more adorable granddaughter.
As soon as I spotted the red roofs of Lisbon from the airplane window, I felt elated to be home.
I’ve been living in Central Portugal for nearly 18 months now and each day in my rural community gives me a sense of joy that I just didn’t feel when I lived in Albuquerque, New Mexico, USA. (I have to add USA as, believe it or not, a lot of people don’t realize that New Mexico is actually one of the 50 states.)
Even though people in my local town of Tomar are wearing masks on the street and in shops, I don’t feel the atmosphere of fear here that I noticed in the US. Yes, the number of Covid cases has soared in recent months. As of Dec. 21 Portugal, with a population of about 10.2 million, had about 374,000 cases and 6,000 deaths from the illness, compared to more than 18 million cases and more than 324,000 deaths in the USA.
But in the conversations I’ve had with friends and acquaintances since returning to Portugal, I’ve noticed that the subject matter isn’t all about the Coronavirus and being afraid so much of the time.
Still, I was utterly delighted to spend time with my little granddaughter Annika, who turns one year old today. Hearing her laugh or feeling her little body asleep on my chest after singing her a lullaby was one of the greatest joys I have ever felt. Being a grandmother is great.
Annika and I. Being a grandmother is so great.
So now I am back in Portugal, where it has been raining heavily. The Christmas lights are out in Tomar. The Lidl supermarket is full of cod and cabbages, the traditional Portuguese Christmas fare, and the trees are heavy with oranges.
Boa Natal!
My daughter-in-law Laci, Annika, and my son Patrick.
Rainbow after a heavy downpour in April. Rain in Portugal is rarely a gentle shower, it’s more like a tropical downpour. But the flowers are lovely.
When I moved to Portugal in 2019, I knew it would rain. I thought I was prepared. After all, I’d lived in Ireland, England and southwestern Norway.
But rain in Portugal is different. It reminded me of a holiday in Bali. The travel agent had warned that it was the rainy season, but I wasn’t prepared for four days and nights of something that felt like standing under the shower and needing gills. Portuguese rain isn’t quite like that, but you get the picture.
I moved into my lovely, newly renovated stone cottage in July last year. For several months it was dry, dry, dry. The grass was dead, the hillsides were brownish, and did I mention, it was dry – and hot. However, despite, the heat a cooling breeze was always blowing over my hilltop village. And the stone walls of my cottage meant I never missed air-conditioning.
Come November, it started to rain, and rain, and rain. Stone walls are great for keeping out the heat. But guess what? Not great for cold temperatures. The house gradually felt damper and damper. The Bluetooth keyboard for my iPad even started to malfunction. Rooms started to smell of mildew.
A friend had planned to visit from the US. “I’m going to pack light, but you have a washer and dryer, don’t you?“ she said before arriving.
No, I don’t have a dryer. Electricity in Portugal is very expensive and most people I know depend on hanging out their clothes. Panic set in after days of rain, wondering if I would run out of clean underwear. The old Irish saying “It’s a great drying day” came to mind each time my phone indicated the possibility of some sunshine.
An umbrella, or chapeu de chuva, is part of the Portuguese rainy season uniform, so the Sunday morning market can go on.
Fast forward a year and I am better prepared. I have a better rain jacket and a better wood-burning stove. It’s made of iron instead of steel. It radiates and holds the heat better so I can always depend on it if I need to dry some clothes. I also invested in a dehumidifier to combat damp rooms and mildew.
So, let it rain, let it rain, let it rain. There’s always a rainbow to brighten up the darkest day!
Abundant rain this spring and central Portugal was carpeted with flowers
I first visited Portugal in 2011, exploring in and around Lisbon, with a short excursion to the Algarve village of Salema. I was so struck by the welcoming attitude of the Portuguese people I met, the charm of Lisbon and the laid-back atmosphere, that I began dreaming of retiring here. After a lot of hard work and planning, that dream became a reality for me in 2019. It hasn’t disappointed. Here are some of the things that have, and continue, to brighten my daily life.
1. Portuguese People
I have found so much kindness and such helpful attitudes. Like the MEO internet technician who spent an hour helping me set up my computer and re-wiring my power strip even though he knew that the MEO service the sales people proposed wouldn’t work for me and I wasn’t going to buy it. Another time, a Millennium bank manager phoned me in the US, before I moved, to tell me how I could set up a savings account to AVOID paying bank fees. Sometimes it brings tears to my eyes.
2. Coffee
I have become accustomed to the rich bitter taste of a “Bica” – what they call an espresso in Lisbon. A tiny thimbleful of dark high-octane coffee is just right mid-morning.
3. Natas
Of course you can’t have a coffee without a pastel de nata (plural pasteis de nata), the flaky pastry custard cream cakes that are synonymous in my mind with a Portuguese cafe.
4. Living in the country
I love walking out my door each morning with my dog. I have so many choices of where I can walk without having to drive somewhere and possibly pay for parking. I can walk past olive groves and vineyards and happily hail those I see with a “Bom Dia.”
5. Harvests
I’ve been so delighted to help neighbors with their grape harvest “Vendima” and to assist in picking “Azeitonas” (olives.) This is such a key part of rural life here in central Portugal and I am glad to join in and learn new skills.
6. Festas
Before the Corona virus changed all our lives, there were so many fun country festivals. Every weekend during the summer a different village would hold a festival with food, music and general jolliness.
7. Markets
I love going to the weekly markets in my area.Whether it’s the small Sunday market in the local village or the larger Monday or Friday markets in the towns of Tomar, Ferreira de Zezere or Freixanda. You wander around, shopping bag in hand, browsing the vegetables, dried fruit, nuts, olives, meat, fish, baked goods, clothing, tools, household goods and gardening supplies. I love listening to the shouts of the vendors and breathing in the scent of grilling chicken at the “Frango” stand.
8. Country stores
I love shopping at the little shops 3 kilometers from my house. The Amenhecer grocery has all the daily supplies I need. The hardware shop and gas/diesel station next door completes the list. And even though the stores are out in the country, the prices they charge are the same as the bigger supermarkets.
9. Poppies
Although I am not a big fan of rainy days, the old saying about April showers is true. The wet spring we had this year brought an explosion of wild flowers in myriad colors. Every morning was a visual feast.
10. Stars
Living out in the country there is little light pollution. On the many clear nights, I can look out my bedroom window and see a sky filled with stars infinitely brighter than I ever saw when I lived in the city.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.”
Wild boar, called “javeli” in Portugal.
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.
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