Community can mean a lot of things. Back home (California) being part of a community is a place you live and may mean going to local events. Sometimes you’re lucky enough to be in a neighborhood where people look out for each other… you know, like when you accidently leave your garage-door open and they close it or text you and tell you. Thankfully, that’s what we have.
But, I’m talking about a different kind of community. The kind with thousands of little acts of concern, attention, and kindness. That’s what this village has perfected. If an elderly person is struggling up a hill, whoever is walking by changes their path to help them. If someone drops something others stop and help pick it up. If a soccer ball rolls by, everyone—even grandma—kicks the ball back to its owner. One of my favorites was the other day on my walk I watched as a filthy car stopped next to one of the guys who was spraying down the sidewalks. They rolled up their windows and turned on their windshield-wipers as an invitation. The guy laughed and thoroughly sprayed the car down.
When someone wants to save a table at a street cafĂ©, they set their cell phone on the table and go inside to order. It’s sort of a foreign concept that someone would take it… because it’s not theirs. Front doors are left open. Car windows are down. Laptops are in plain sight. If someone leaves a jacket or scarf, someone will trot after them to return it. But if there’s no one to give it to, they leave it where it was. It will be there for days. If laundry falls off the line it is put back on the line or set on the ground beneath the line if it’s a couple of stories up.
It’s nothing to see people walk across the street with restaurant wine glasses and beer steins to sit on the ocean wall. When they’re done, they just carry it back to the restaurant. It’s not really very complicated. Don’t get me wrong… they’re not saints. Back when we had our plumbing problem in the bathroom, we had a sopping wet, stinky rug to deal with. We didn’t want to make our housecleaner carry away this gross mess, so Joe rinsed it a little bit in the shower (because I refused to touch it) and carried it out to the clothesline. We left it out there overnight because we didn’t want it in the house. Well, karma was at work that night. A thief stole it. Can you imagine what went though his or her head when they put it in their kitchen or bathroom?
When a beach umbrella breaks loose (frequently) and goes tumbling down the beach, everyone in its path joins the attempt to keep it out of the ocean. This may actually be a national sport. I’ve never seen people break into a sprint quite like the umbrella-chase. A lot of times the owner is playing out in the ocean and is unaware. No biggie. A group effort to put the umbrella back to its rightful spot takes place. BTW, a cool trick I learned here was to fill that sleeve the umbrella comes in with sand. Then you hook it to the umbrella. It makes a great anchor.
When someone is backing up in a car to try and fit into the ridiculously small spaces, anyone nearby guides them. It’s a group effort. The other day a guy backed into a post (they’re fairly flexible posts for that reason) right in front of us. The problem with the posts, is they’re just short enough to not show up in the rearview mirror. This lady yesterday almost backed into one, but Joe warned her. She said thanks, and pulled forward. Unfortunately, she proceeded to back into a different one even with people trying to guide her. We left the scene… it was too painful to watch after she hit a second post.
Our street corner is absolutely crazy. It’s such a tight corner and has a one-way street going down in front of the house and a non-usable one-way street on the side (because of a construction project). I’m amazed at the size of vehicles that make their way around the curve right past our house. Clearly these roads were built before cars. To explain a little more clearly, before you get down to our house there’s a super narrow alley… think Smart Car. No construction, delivery, or van is going to get through it. To solve that problem they come from the other direction—backing up! Backing up past the tight corner in front of our place. It’s insane. Also, because of limited parking, cars will back up the closed side street, but they leave their phone number on their dash in case someone needs them to move.
Speaking of construction… it’s more of a suggestion really. Manual labor is a scarcity here, like in America. Something happened that made young people see craftsmen and manual laborers as failures. They want to have a high-paying office jobs and then complain of boredom. The problem is that the world will not function without these craftsmen. Typically, in almost every first-world country, the laborer makes more money. But even the crummy jobs are considered beneath our youth. My first brush with this was in the Algarve at a winery. The guide said the vineyards used to be harvested by teenagers wanting some extra summer money. Now they have to hire immigrants because the kids want to hang out at the beach. Up here in Sesimbra, our plumber cannot keep up with his workload, but he can’t get anyone to help him. He says young people don’t want to do that kind of labor. Then came the air-conditioner guy. He had a young man he was teaching the trade to… there’s hope for the world.
As we sat at our favorite tapas bar, The Lighthouse, around the corner from our house we got to talking to the Canadian owner about Sesimbra. He has a lot of the foreigners come to his place because he plays old-school British and American music. A common complaint he hears is people are bored in this village. They ask him what do people do here? Other than walking up to the castle, there’s nothing to do but sit around at cafes and go to the beach. He laughed as he told us, “This is what we do. We visit. We enjoy each other’s company. Our agenda is to meet for a cup of coffee in the morning, a cup of beer in the afternoon, to stand in the ocean, and a cup of wine at night. Other than that, we work twelve-hour days.”
Advice: When paying with your credit card, keep in mind the dollar to euro conversion. First of all, we recommend you get a card with a bank that doesn’t charge for the card conversions, like Charles Swab. When paying your bill, the clerk hands you the little card machine. Look for the question “1. Pay in dollars” or “2. Pay in euros”. We always choose to pay in euros. Then another question immediately pops up. “1. Accept conversion” or “2. Reject conversion.” We choose reject conversion. This prevents them from applying their own conversion. It saves you money. Not every card reader has these questions, but you should be aware.
Another recommendation is to wear shoes (including flip-flops) that don’t skid on the cobblestone sidewalks. This doesn’t guarantee you won’t slip, but it sure stacks the odds in your favor. My flip-flops are worthless… cute but worthless. We choose our route based on the slippery-ness of the streets. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve lost my footing. The other day I was going down the steps and I did a slow-motion fall. Thankfully I was holding the rail, so I just sat on my butt, but I got a gnarly cut on my toe. I admired that cut for days because it reminded me how lucky I was to be holding that rail!
Sorry for the longer than usual blog-post. We’ll be starting our journey home tomorrow.
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