I am a serious people-watcher, partly because I’m an author (or maybe that’s why I’m an author?). When I was little, my mother used to point to someone and ask me to tell her a story about them. I loved doing that. We’d come up with some of the craziest stories, and I think that is why I’m always imagining what’s going on besides what I can directly see. Like the big muscular bodybuilder doing lunges on the beach… with his bikini-clad girlfriend on his shoulders—not something you see every day.
Something I’ve noticed on this trip is how many Portuguese dress their kids alike. I’m not talking about twins, though I’ve seen that. I mean several kids wearing identical clothes of various sizes. I was really surprised when I saw a young thirty-something couple wearing matching designer sweats. Somehow it looked good on them.
Clothing is always of interest to me. In Europe, you can almost tell where someone lives based on their clothes and, of course, hairstyles. Here in Portugal, we can spot an Irishman, Englishman, or a Scott from a mile away. They’re the ones wearing shorts while everyone else is bundled up in parkas. They may be wearing a parka too, but they will absolutely be wearing shorts.
The other day, well actually the other month when we were in Nazare, we heard a lot of youthful noise. It was dark, so we couldn’t see what it was all about. I could hear music and laughter with some shouts. My first thought, as a paranoid Californian, was uh-oh! What’s going on? Maybe we should avoid this? Joe laughed at me and said, “Come on… we’re in Portugal. They’re probably doing a folk dance or something.” When we got close enough, I could see a group of about 25 teens doing a choreographed dance in the plaza. So much for being attacked by a gang of hoodlums… maybe my imagination is a little too vivid.
Kids always crack me up. Digging incredibly deep holes in the sand seems to be a national pastime for boys. I’ve even seen older teenagers digging to where only their heads are showing. The girls on the other hand scurry back and forth from the ocean with buckets of water to solidify their castles. Wanting to get in the cold water seems to be a world-wide phenomena. This must be accompanied with hysterical screaming.
I loved watching two brothers the other day. The older one would whip up the family umbrella (closed) and aim it at the younger brother. He’d make machine gun motions with the umbrella and the younger one would convulse dramatically as he clutched his chest and collapsed to the ground. He’d hop up and beg his brother to do it again… so one is going to grow up to be a paid assassin and the younger an actor.
As the kids reach adulthood the behavior shifts to boys playing soccer or fútvolley and the girls sunbathing. It made me laugh the other day when a group of about 15 guys and gals arrived to the spot in front of the restaurant window we were sitting at. The guys dumped all their backpacks on the ground. Ripping off their shirts, they started kicking a soccer-ball around. The girls carefully laid out their beach-towels in perfect symmetry all lined up side-by-side, and then began slowly removing layers of clothing until they were in those skimpy little Brazilian bikinis that are missing the part that covers their butts.
The other day, Joe got an applause from two teens. You see, every time we’d make the trek from Sao Martinho to Salir we’d go to a café and have a beer… or two. I would make Joe do five pull-ups at the park gym for each beer he wanted. With much groaning and complaining he’d pump out two sets of five. One time there were two kids at the pull-up bars. Joe wanted those beers pretty bad. He waited until they were done showing off and he did his pull-ups--all ten in one try. They watched in awe as this musclebound man in his sixties worked for his beer. When he finished, they applauded. Joe modestly smiled.
It’s not uncommon for occasional gusts of wind to whip through the crowds on the beach. When that happens, things fly, but nothing is more exciting than when a beach-umbrella breaks free and does summersaults down the beach. Everyone either tries to catch it or dodge it, depending on their skill sets. I was unpleasantly surprised when a big red café umbrella attacked me during one of those gusts. Joe shot out two hands to hold the beer and wine while I wrestled for my life. Oddly enough, none of the servers batted an eye. The two older ladies that the offending umbrella belonged to came over and pried it off of me. Joe proudly pointed out that he’d saved my wine.
Speaking of wine, Portugal is wine country, but it’s also beer and coffee country. These people take their coffee really, really seriously. Every apartment we’ve stayed in has an espresso machine. After every meal, especially dinner, the servers offer an espresso. As anyone who knows me can attest, I love good wine, but if I had to choose between coffee and wine… I’d choose coffee. The only problem here is ordering cappuccino. Most places do it perfectly, but others add whipped cream to the top! Seriously? Whipped cream? And one place served me a cappuccino made from a package, fully loaded with sugar. Yuck. But the vast majority of cafés serve excellent espresso and cappuccino.
The table wine is always good, well not always, but usually. A few times we’ve gotten a bottle with dinner when Joe wants wine. On our forty-fifth anniversary (of when we started dating) we shared a bottle of wine at an Italian restaurant. The waiter did a little dance for us and posed for a picture afterwards.
Last night Joe took me out for my birthday to Metrópole, a steakhouse. It was super fancy and the service was amazing. I felt like I was in London or Paris or someplace. They even had a little button at the table you could push if you wanted a server. I would say ‘your’ server, but Portugal doesn’t tip, so everyone takes care of every table. I got the T-bone steak and Joe got the pineapple boat full of curried shrimp. We split a bottle of wine from the Alentejo region. It was a magical night. We even had dessert—a brownie covered in Belgium chocolate. Yum.
My mouth is watering now. It’s time for our breakfast… scrambled eggs and diced ham. We have this almost every day to make sure we get our protein before heading out into carb-land. Avoiding carbs here is a lot of work.
👏👏
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