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.

For my first Christmas in Portugal I skipped the traditional meal of codfish and cabbage that my neighbors touted. I shared a feast with some British expats who favored ham, turkey and a desert of trifle, (fruit and sponge fingers topped with custard.)

The traditional Portuguese New Year’s Eve dish, leitao, or suckling pig, is a lot more appealing. The little creatures are spit-roasted in a wood oven and basted with a paste of garlic, pepper, kosher salt, bay leaves and pig fat.

At midnight, everyone is supposed to eat 12 raisins, one for each month of the year, to insure good fortune. Confetti bombs are typical as well.

December 5 marked seven months since I arrived in Portugal as a permanent move to this country.

I have found a house, bought a used car, acquired a dog and made many new friends.

As the long dry days of summer turned into autumn, I experienced my first grape and olive harvests. I helped several neighbors and reaped rewards in wine and olive oil.

Things I hadn’t expected: weeks of rainy days. The downpours began in November and show little sign of ending any time soon. I feel like I’m back in Norway or Ireland.

Another weird thing I discovered: it’s hard to find Christmas cards to buy. There are all kinds of decorations, lights, gift bags and wrapping paper, but almost no cards! Sorry friends, I resorted to sending my seasonal greetings by email this year.

Feliz Natal!

All around me, my neighbors are out picking olives from trees in the deep valleys, along the roadside and in the back gardens of their houses. Sometimes they stretch up and pick them from the branches they can reach. Sometimes they climb ladders. Often, they use a chainsaw to cut the top branches so they can do the work while standing on the ground. They also shape the tree to facilitate future growth and ease of picking.

It’s hard on the hands and shoulders, but that doesn’t deter the hardy Portugues and expats living in my part of rural Central Portugal. The olives fall on a huge net stretched beneath the tree. Once the tree is stripped, the pickers gather the net and pour the olives into a large plastic bin. Sometimes they empty the contents into bags.

A lot of twigs and leaves end up in the bins, so they run the whole lot through a machine called, in Portugal, a “lina” which separates the leaves from the olives. All around me I can hear the loud metallic chatter of these lina machines.

Then, they take the bags or bins down to the local “lagar” or olive pressing center. A few of these still use the old stone grinding method of crushing the olives, most of them use more modern methods that either press them cold, for the extra virgin oil, or use heat to speed the process. Often, you combine your weight of olives with others and pay a small amount for the pressing and receive olive oil in return. Sometimes you have to wait around for a long time while the lagar folks do the pressing.