Two Months Coming to an End

Are you ready for a photo-bomb? Most of this blog post doesn’t have photos to go with it, so I’m going to include a bunch of cool pics.

We’ve made friends here over the years. Rita and Leo over in Portimão are both sweethearts. We took an Uber over there last week to get our hugs. Rita doesn’t work at the beach-bar we know her from… she got a job working for an insurance company, so we ubered there first. Her and her fiancé want to buy a home, so she also works at a restaurant at night. That’s 14-hour workdays/6 days a week. She was telling us that her fiancé fell down a flight of stairs when the Iberian black-out occurred. He ended up being off work for a month.

That got me talking to another acquaintance, Sarah. She runs a café on the beach. She said Armação de Pêra was one of the last to get their electricity back on with the black-out. The people were chanting in the streets, “Wi-Fi! Wi-Fi!” Can you imagine? It was pitch-black until around eleven at night, which is a big deal here. People usually wander the promenade past midnight.

Sarah says the Portuguese government has come to realize that they shouldn’t be dependent on Spain for their electricity. They have the facilities to produce their own, but Spain’s is cheaper. This is interesting to me. Portugal is capable of being self-sufficient in many ways. I wonder what they’ll do?

The other night we were heading to a restaurant and were distracted by the setting up of a giant-screen TV at Pedro’s beach bar. We decided to stop for a drink and see what would happen. We ended up staying there until after they closed watching the Spain/Portugal soccer game. It was a great game. Pedro’s staff came out at 9:00 to tell us they were closing and to fill last-call beers. The giant-screen TVs were left on and the packed patio sat in the dark until the end. We decided to head home when it went into overtime and found we could watch the finish of the game along the way. When the game was finally over, and Portugal won, the streets went wild. People were dancing together with children on their shoulders, car horns were beeping (which is a big deal because honking your horn is not culturally acceptable— it’s reserved for emergencies), and the promenade was full.

There’re some cultural customs (along with not honking your horn when you’re impatient) here that come as a surprise to us spoiled Americans. We have the saying, “You break it, you bought it,” but that’s rarely true in The States anymore. If you knock over your drink, they often replace it for free. Not here. A lady the other day knocked over her fresh martini. Fortunately she was wearing a black dress. The server immediately wiped everything down and gave her a paper towel for her legs… but he didn’t replace the martini. Joe was carrying a carton of eggs and it tipped open at the register. An egg fell out. The cashier rang up the eggs with no offer to replace the lost egg. When the seagull stole a piece of Joe’s chicken off his plate, they laughed along with us, but no new piece of chicken appeared.

They have various ways to deal with the seagull population, but my favorite is fishing line strung across areas like patios. It’s especially effective for protecting air-conditioning units. I’ve never seen that trick. We saw a seagull flapping around like it was under attack from an invisible foe, then we realized it had flown into the lines. It flew away unscathed.

When you stay someplace for a while, you slowly begin to feel like a resident. For example, I’ve had my doorbell rung several times to find a sweaty teen asking if I would throw their soccer ball back over the wall. The other day an older man rang the bell. It was a complete failure. Neither one of us could understand the other. I still don’t know what he wanted.

The same people with the same dogs walk the same routes. There’s one very noble looking large dog who ignores all the other dogs yapping. An extremely furry dog walks alone from the upper neighborhood to the beach every day. He walks slowly and methodically along the promenade and then goes home. I’ve never seen his owner. My favorite is the dog with the water bottle in his mouth. His owners have him on a leash and they walk a fair distance on the promenade, but this dog always has the water bottle in his mouth. One dog has a filthy little stuffed animal it carries everywhere. A lot of dogs walk along the low wall that hems in the promenade.

We even saw a cat on a leash on the beach. A different cat sits on a bench and waits for the tourists to pet it. It’s very successful.

An unusual thing in my experience has been the number of Muslims who hang out at the beach. There is a fairly large Muslim population here and because of the amount of clothing they have to wear, I assume they get pretty hot. At night the playground across from us is packed with women wearing at least a hijab, if not the cloak too and occasionally the face scarf. The only times I’ve seen these women out during the day is at the beach. They wear leggings with a long sleeve tunic shirt with an attached Hijab, and they go right into the water to play and swim. I seriously didn’t know this was even a thing!

Joe got a haircut at his favorite barber. They have a chessboard out front for people to play while they wait, or a pool-table inside. We sat at the chessboard and Joe tried, yet again, to teach me how to play. I thought I was saved by the Barber calling Joe in, but no. Another man who was waiting sat down and offered to play me while he waited. I explained that I had absolutely no idea how to play, but he wasn’t daunted. He made several moves as he explained why he did it. He eventually admitted he was the two-year national champion chess-player of the Netherlands. What? That’s not fair!

Well, time has passed. We left Armação de Pêra and took an express bus up to Lisbon. We’re staying at our friend’s again, but we didn’t see much of them over the weekend. It was Gay-Pride weekend and they stayed out partying until 7:30 in the morning… we were up sipping coffee before they came home. Then they went out to watch the parade in the city-center. We made a point of going the opposite direction to the Vasco da Gama Mall by the Oriente bus depot. It’s a super clean and calm area and we love it.

Sunday, we ventured downtown along the pretty main street that’s lined with trees and Sunday’s street-market. We limped home on tired feet in time to watch Sherlock Holmes with the boys. Monday was a lot of this and that… shopping, doing laundry, etc. All the stuff one does when you’ve been traveling for two months. That night a friend of theirs, whom we’ve met before, came over for dinner. I made a salad and cooked up some cheesy burgers, the requisite egg on top, and fried potatoes. Helio brought a fancy bottle of wine.

At the end of the evening, at the ungodly hour of midnight, Helio made the offer to take us to Sintra the next day. We eagerly agreed. Sintra is one of those few places we haven’t been because it’s too awkward to go to actually see the Pena Castle. You go part way on metro, then take a really crowded train, and then walk half an hour straight up hill—or pay a tuk-tuk to give you a ride. Helio drove us there and we could see the castle in the distance. We walked all over the tiny village and stopped at a pastry shop, Casa Piriquita, owned by the same family since 1862.

Then Helio drove us over to the most western point of continental Europe, Cabo da Roca. It was beautiful. It was nice to get that checked off of our bucket list. Then he drove us the back way to Cascais and dropped us off. What a beautiful part of the country. We climbed on the train and struggled to stay awake.

Now we’re all packed up and ready to catch a flight home tomorrow morning. The boys are making us dinner tonight. Hopefully we’ll get to bed before midnight.

Father's Day

Dads are pretty amazing. It was Father’s Day back in America, so Happy Father’s Day to all of you dads and men who step into dad-roles. What you do for your families and for society in general is greatly appreciated. You are the strong fibers in the tapestry of life. Because of you, moms and children are protected and safe. Keep up the warrior-mode.

A couple of weeks ago we were at a live-music venue packed with expats, mostly Brits and Irish. There was one chunky little dude who was the only child there. He was new at walking—you know when they look like drunk sailors. Their heads lean the direction they want to go and their feet follow, hopefully. Dad seemed more on guard than the child’s skills warranted, but then he suddenly bolted for the street and the oncoming car. Dad to the rescue. He leaped after the kid and swooped him up in his arms.

We were at pool with two boys (about 4 and 8) and Dad. He stood off to the side, relaxed. Then the eight-year-old threw the four-year-old in the pool, with the younger fighting to prevent the dunking. Obviously the younger one was no match for big brother’s strength… and the older brother was no match for Dad. The chase was on. After one lap around the enclosed pool (no escape) Dad caught the offender and tossed him in the pool. The younger one watched in awe.

Speaking of being thrown in, a big burly dad had his hands full the other day as three of his little monsters tried to escape his clutches. He alternately threw them in the ocean. They would try ganging up on him and then all three would go in at once. This must’ve gone on for twenty minutes!

One dad came out of the freezing water and laid on top of Mom. One of their kids, a boy about 6 or 7 years old, screamed and flapped his arms in useless defense of his mother. The dad got up and started imitating the boy by racing around in circles flapping his arms and screaming like a girl. It was absolutely priceless.

I’ve lost count of how many children ride on Dad’s shoulders. Seriously! Probably one out of ten kids are on Dad’s shoulders, oftentimes pushing a stroller while walking alongside a tired mom.

Speaking of Mom; the other day a little one was having a complete meltdown. Mom tried to control the tantrum, and probably would’ve succeeded after a few scratches and bruises, but Dad snatched the flailing child from Mom’s arms and walked away firmly holding the little animal.

There’re lots of dogs here. A lot. It’s interesting to watch the dad’s always making sure they are between their child and the dog, especially the bigger dogs. Even when the dog-owner assures the dad that it’s okay, he still stays between his child and the possible threat.

Sandcastle building is the usual activity on the beach. Dads all have their own way to participate. The engineers have all the equipment and have a blueprint in their minds. Others just make sure the little ones are well supplied with buckets of water. There’s always the dad who lays patiently while his children bury him in sand. Then there are the sprinters. There’s always a toddler who runs right into the waves with its shovel. Dad dashes in after the kid.

Of course there is always the sports dad. This takes every form imaginable, though it usually involves a soccer-ball. Balls are everywhere. The young dad is playing for blood. The kid works so hard to compete. The older dad makes sure the kid can score. Then there was the tired dad who sat on the low wall and had his child kick the ball to him. This morning I watched a dad teaching his toddler the fundamentals of volleyball.

I just moved because a guy started doing construction on a balcony above me. Little chunks of stucco started raining down on me. I moved under an umbrella while a Portuguese lady gave him a piece of her mind. Right after I got settled a big chunk slid off the umbrella and landed in my hair. I decided to make a retreat indoors. As I set my laptop down inside I noted bird poop on my blouse! Of course I had to clean it immediately. So, finally here I sit with a wet blouse and dust in my hair.

We received a flurry of texts and pictures from friends from our neighborhood. The first came from the girl housesitting for us. A huge tree-branch had broken off and landed on our lawn and hedge. It was too big for her to manage on her own, so we called one of our kids, Josh, to come to the rescue. He drove up from Oakland on his first day off and cut it all the way off and cleaned it all up.

Being a dad-role-model pays off! We have five kids I didn’t have to give birth to. It was sweet getting text messages from them on Father’s Day. We even got a video message from our Guatemalan daughter, Karina.

This is our first experience with a family tragedy back home. It was surreal to experience it from so far away. Joe’s brother passed away last week. One day he was riding his bike, a couple of days later he was on life support. It honestly was not a shock, but it was. I think all our family and friend’s prayers for peace were answered. We have remained calm and at peace. He left behind two sons, a lovely daughter-in-law, and a vivacious, sweet granddaughter. He will be missed.

Stare, Laugh, or Cringe?

This blog-post is devoted to those moments when I can’t look away. I’m mesmerized… not always in a good way. It started when a teenage girl was coming toward us on a Lisbon sidewalk. Her outfit was so bizarre I couldn’t help but try and figure out what she was actually wearing. The two stiff pony-tails sticking up on each side of her head was the first attention-getter. Then the tiny crop-top, baggy swirly/stripey/polka-dotty pants stuffed into the biggest furry mid-calf boots I’ve ever seen (except at a Halloween party, maybe). I stared. The elderly lady walking in front of me stared. After the girl pranced by, the elderly lady turned to watch. When the lady made eye contact with us, we all started laughing.

The playground across from our balcony is a constant whirlwind of activity. It’s the most crowded towards the end of the day because it’s in the shade. The end of the day is also when the beach-going toddlers are ripe for a good tantrum. The other day an exceptionally loud screamer drew me to look down to see if she was being tortured. It turns out that her mother was the one being tortured. This little three year was standing about five feet from her mother screaming that attention-getting type of scream while the mother sat on a step and waited. It was a good ten minutes of a battle of the wills. I was amazed her tenacity. I don’t know who won.

The same playground has a metal construction fence on one side. This is like a noise-magnet to the boys. They kick the soccer ball against it as hard as they can. It makes me cringe every time! I can’t seem to acclimate to it.

People eat a lot of seafood here in Portugal. The one I can’t understand is the big bowl of tiny little snails called Caracois. They use what looks like a toothpick to wrestle the meat out or they just suck them out. They crowd around the bistro table and devour them, often ordering a second bowl.

Speaking of outdoor eating… We were at a nice little sidewalk restaurant overlooking the beach last night. I got salmon and Joe got Piri-piri chicken. After they set the plates down, I pulled out my napkin and busied myself with placing it on my lap. All of a sudden there was chaos at our table. A giant seagull swooped down from the rooftop and snatched a piece of Joe’s chicken right off his plate! A battle ensued as the seagull defended his trophy from the other less skilled birds. The other guests at the tables were staring in shock. Then… wait for it… a lady threw the birds a piece of her chicken! What in the world?!?

The café I write at has a dog bowl full of water. The seagulls appreciate it.

They have a lot of those adorable little finch type birds here. So cute. Unfortunately, they are actually seagulls in cute-bird costumes. They prance around the tables and sit on the edge of your glass and when you try to swat them away they dodge your hand playfully. A table with two little children had a couple of these little menaces trying to get the kid’s food. The mom shooed them away, and the dad scolded her and said, “They need to eat too.” Huh? He changed his tune when the bird flew onto his daughter’s plate and scared her so bad she screamed. Then dad shooed them away.

It’s actually really unusual to hear music blaring from a home, car, or boombox. Music on the beach is illegal and enforced by the police and citizens. It’s so peaceful to relax to the sound of the waves instead of rap music blaring out the F-word every five seconds. Loud bars tend to all be on one street, but they’re not nearly as loud as Mexico bars. In Mexico, you need earplugs. But the exception seems to be election vans. They had a recent election here and the vans would cruise by as slowly as possible with music like Staying Alive and I’m So Excited blaring. Kind of odd to hear American disco music coming from an election van.

Things are not always what they seem. I have a weakness for dark chocolate. Joe has a weakness for anything with sugar in it. So, knowing that I succumb to dessert when we travel, we started casing out the pastry displays. One place had a little chocolate ball shaped truffle. It tasted like sugar died brown. We tried a package of chocolate, that wasn’t chocolate. But, my biggest disappointment was a big slice of chocolate cake. We bought it and brought it home. With much fanfare we each took a bite… it was bran-cake. You know, like a bran muffin. On our anniversary we finally scored at the Metropole. We ordered “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.” We felt we couldn’t go wrong with a name like that! We were right. It was so good.

The seaweed came in the other day with a little storm. It’s actually more like grass then California’s version. A couple of days later we went to the beach and picked the perfect spot that had a little breeze. The next half hour was spent with tumbleweeds bouncing back-and-forth across our bodies. That grass was everywhere.

My favorite story will be the hardest to tell because you just had to be there! I was writing at a café on the promenade when I heard a little boy shouting in a rhythmic kind-of way. He was about four-years-old and had a toy electric guitar across his chest. He was very dramatically strumming the guitar (silently) and singing like a mixture between Bruce Springsteen and Led Zepplin. His mother stood at a distance watching. This little dude strutted and danced back and forth for five minutes completely absorbed in his performance. He finally thrashed out the final notes and went down on his knees for a finale. The entire café broke into spontaneous applause. He froze, shocked, like he wasn’t even aware of us. Then he placed a hand solemnly on his chest and took a bow. Oh man… everyone was laughing.