Cafes and Exercise

You all know that we’re obsessive people-watchers, and there’s no better place to do that than from a cheap café. Sometimes we want the luxury of a more expensive place, but usually we’ll choose a little place packed with locals. There’s one on the ocean-front road. We sit up on their little balcony with the locals watching the tourists. The most entertaining part is admiring the skills of their young waiters. They dash to and fro with full serving trays while stepping over excited poodles and playing children. This should be an Olympic sport.

On the back streets, up the hill in our neighborhood, are several cafes we like. The Café Inferno attached to the firehouse is always packed.

The dumpy little place next to California Burgers has the exact same guys smoking cigarettes out front or watching sports inside the cramped space. They admire Joe because he ordered a beer and a chocolate pastry.

A recent discovery is the tiny bar attached to the farmer’s market. A group of locals are always standing around chatting. We ventured inside the other day and bought a little glass of wine and a dark beer for 1,90 Euros (about 2 bucks). Then the owner set a little plate of thinly sliced salami down for free. The wine was only sixty cents! And it was good. Perfect for me because it takes me forever to drink a glass of wine. We’ll definitely be back.

We also like a café on the other side of the river. It’s a beautiful walk over the boardwalk to get there. This one isn’t remarkable at all, but it’s fun to watch the people going down to the river and especially to the giant sand dune—the biggest dune in Portugal. Today we ran into Antonio, Joe’s work-out buddy (between his workouts). He sat with us for lunch. He seems to know everyone, and though he doesn’t have all his teeth, he always has a big cheerful smile and words of encouragement. The world needs more guys like Antonio.

The other day we had one of the many Scout Troops approach us at a café with a handmade sign. A girl stepped to our table and said, “ola” (hi). Joe responded with, “Hi, how are you?” Her face was comically panic-stricken. All her buddies came to our table to help problem solve how to sell their item to the English speakers. One boy pulled out his cell phone and typed into his translator while they all watched over his shoulder. He held it out to us as they all swung their gazes to us. “We’re selling horseshoes to earn money for our troop.” We looked at their bags of bread and asked, “Horseshoes?” Just then an older boy stepped up and said the horseshoe shaped bread is a traditional Portuguese bread. We bought one for 3 Euros. It’s a little sweet with a cinnamon flavor.

Kids here are always involved in something. Usually it involves a soccer ball or a scooter. At one of our small cafes a little boy was practicing his foot moves around the customers. Nobody minded. In fact, a few would tap the ball his direction if it was underfoot. It seems that the Portuguese just assume a soccer ball is nearby. They’re always prepared.

Speaking of exercise, the outdoor gym has been rebuilt since we were here last. It’s been great. And they have a new addition—a jungle-gym type station for the more serious athletes. Joe loves it. He can do his pulls ups. They even have rings. This is where we met Antonio. He’s a bundle of energy and does some really crazy stuff.

The local school has kayak lessons in the bay near us. They also have lifeguard training… at least I hope it’s training. Otherwise, it’s a lot of people wearing red shirts floundering around in the water and yelling for help while the lifeguard swims out to rescue them.

Speed-walking, running, and cycling are the main sources of exercise here.

But they do have this class that shows up below us several times a week. I’m getting hungry thinking about all this exercise, so I think I’ll talk Joe into taking me out to dinner at a nearby traditional Portuguese restaurant. Ciao-ciao.