January, 2023

01/01/23 - Portimao, Portugal
    Some New Year’s day this turned out to be, but we are safely huddled in late afternoon in a gorgeous, 10th floor, penthouse apartment in the Algarve of southern Portugal. An exhausting catastrophe on our first day involved lost luggage, lost adventurers in a huge, confusing airport undergoing extensive renovations, a taxi ride to a seedy-looking train station, a national train strike canceling our train reservations, discovered at the station with the help of a helpful, young translator we met on a train bench, a three-hour, $250 Uber ride, and a locked apartment building on arrival whose manager was unreachable because our cell phones lacked a European SIM card. Nothing, not the ticket offices, restaurants, coffee shops, or stores were open in the early morning, 5:15 arrival, because of the holiday. Did I mention that our first day was something of a catastrophe for these two adventurers who had almost no sleep on the flight after a 5:00 a.m. wake-up to finish packing for the long, foggy ride to the Newark Airport? It was just that, a catastrophe, albeit with a happy ending!
    My only piece of checked luggage was lost in the bowels of Lisbon’s Airport for a panic-stricken 45 minutes after the direct Newark to Lisbon flight. Where could it have gone? The airport, now under a major remodeling project that required departing the plane down a long stairway with a long ride to the terminal on a jammed bus. With poor, temporary signage, what followed was two sleep-deprived adventurers wandering in search of our checked bags at a hidden carousel. Finally finding one bag, lonely and all alone on its scheduled carousel, my tightly-packed bag was nowhere in sight. Without much help from the woefully-inefficient, lost-luggage clerks (who originally insisted that my bag was flown to Paris) until the lost bag miraculously appeared on a distant luggage carousel, we were off on the rest of the catastrophe with five pieces of heavy luggage, including the wife’s purse stuffed to overflowing in tow.
    On to the seedy, Estacao Entrecampos (train station) by cab, where no ticket booths or cafes were open and with many, large staircases to traverse up, then down, on escalators that were also apparently on strike. A kind, young man labored up three floors with our bags to the track after we negotiated the initial downstairs and received our blessings and a 5 Euro tip. After learning from both of the security guards, the only workers in the large, old station, that there was a strike, we had to decide whether to wait the three hours to see if our train showed up or lug the suitcases back down three flights of stairs to try to get a taxi to a bus station.
    Fortunately, I engaged Michael, a handsome, 26 year-old, Cape Verde native, in conversation about our dilemma. Turns out, he was a recent university grad with excellent English skills and a huge heart. He used his cellphone to verify that our train was not going to run and then assisted us in booking an Uber driver to take us on the 175 mile drive to our AirBnb. Michael was astounded that we would pay that much, but it wasn’t a tough decision. Both of us were exhausted and famished (I never eat airplane meals) and, while it sounds impossible to believe, we didn’t have enough energy left to carry the bags down to the street, let alone load them into and out of a bus on arrival in Portimao. Not to worry, Michael carried the bags down (and up at the entrance) after we firmed up the $250 Uber pick-up. Michael got a 20 euro gratuity and was thrilled. The $250 was about what a one-way rental car would have cost had we found an open rental car company that would rent to a frazzled old timer. Besides, I was in no condition to drive and even fell asleep in the car while Pedro (Uber) got us to the Algarve.
    Of course, finding the 10-story apartment building was no easy task on the ancient, narrow streets, but Pedro persisted. He unloaded the bags on the front steps of the locked building while I frantically communicated (now using the unpacked iPad) through AirBnB with the owner, obtaining the codes to enter the building and get the keys. Whew, what a day!
    Exhausted, we hit the sack for a three-hour nap, then walked a short block in the rain for a very good dinner at a crowded local dive. Others were having coffee, dinner time being much later than 5:30, but we were hungry. A couple glasses of red wine each, a big, delicious, roast pork sandwich for her, a plate of cold, garlicky, small, sardine-like fish for me, along with a small, hot plate of chicken offal in a delicious red sauce capped off our day. Early to bed tonight, that's for certain! Boa tarde!

01/03/23 - Portimao, Portugal
    After the travel day debacle, the next couple of days have gone spectacularly well! We love the small, two-bedroom, penthouse apartment with balcony and an awesome view! Our location is in the heart of the old town, two blocks from the Arade River, and within a couple of blocks of many, many, local restaurants. Only two, short, blocks from a large Pingo Doce grocery store, we have ferried small bags of necessities like soap, bottled water, iced tea, shampoo, orange juice, Coca Cola, etc., in two trips to the interesting place.
    On the first floor of our 10-story, older, apartment building there is a medical clinic, a gift shop, and two coffee shops, one a French bakery and the other a local establishment that we have yet to try. We passed by the coffee aisle in Pingo Doce, deciding that, with delicious, freshly-made coffee as close as an elevator ride away, we’d pass on ever making coffee in the Netspresso maker in our apartment’s well-furnished kitchen.  
    We must have 20 restaurants within a five or ten minute walk, including local seafood and steak places, and others offering Italian, Japanese, and Spanish fare, and we’ve only covered a few blocks around our location. Thank heaven, I still haven’t spotted a McDonald’s in this town that has the same population as our home town. The food prices are very reasonable in both the grocery store and in the restaurants. Perhaps, we’ll have enough cash left after the Uber ride from Lisbon to enjoy dining out for a meal or two. Actually, small local restaurants are so reasonable that I doubt that we’ll ever “eat in!”
    According to my pedometer, I strolled 2.5 miles yesterday, my spouse about 2 miles less as she crashed most of the day in recovery from the previous day’s ordeal. I used a nearby bank’s ATM to secure more euros on my exploratory stroll for lunch and should have enough to last a considerable time since most transactions will be done with a credit card. At Pingo Doce this morning, they asked for a PIN number with my card and I needed to explain, in what halting Portuguese I possessed, that we don’t use pins in our credit card transactions; that problem was quickly overcome.
    Last night’s dinner in a Spanish tapas restaurant was one of the most enjoyable I have ever experienced in my travels! We were seated at a very small table for two right next to another small table for two occupied by an extremely attractive, young Swiss couple (photos added to album). We started out quietly not wanting to interfere in what looked like and was a romantic dinner date, but the quiet and privacy didn’t last. We had a remarkable inter-cultural dinner conversation with these two Swiss school teachers that will stay with us forever. Many laughs, many shared travel stories, and fine food accompanied by live music from an acoustical guitar-playing vocalist. It was the perfect first dinner night of our vacation. To make it even more spectacular, Brian, our new Swiss friend, who was born in Brazil and fluent in Portuguese, picked up the entire check! Hopefully, we can stay in touch with the couple so that we can one day repay their generosity. Who knows what wonderful experiences today will bring? Ciao!
01/05/23 - Portimao, Portugal
    As we continue to allow our bodies to adjust to the new time zone, it takes me a little longer than most, we are keeping our out-of-apartment ventures close-by. Yesterday, I ventured a little too far out in search of a SIM card for my phone that would permit international calls. Three shops had cards for calls within Portugal, but none for international calling. The third shop told me that Continente, a supermercado, sold them and it was only around the corner. Turned out, around the corner was up a hill about four blocks to what turned out to be a one-building shopping mall. Half-way up the hill, my legs noticed that by my body’s clock, it was the middle of the night. I barely made it to the front of the mall. Completely drained, I sat on a traffic stanchion to rest, then entered the building. Fortunately, there was an elevator to carry me to the second floor, since the up escalator was still on strike, and, on my third, shopping stop in the mall, I got what I was looking for after standing in line for 15 minutes. I now possess a phone with 500 minutes of “free” calls in Portugal, but only 50 minutes of calls to the USA. Yes, just the opposite volume that I needed, but the best I could do after 20 minutes of discussion with the clerk who spoke decent English.
    My legs carried me back out to the stanchion, but there was no way they could have carried me home, not even down hill. I was as exhausted as I’ve ever been in my life and hoping it was caused by jet lag. Not panicking, although I considered an ambulance, I used my phone with the new chip to call an Uber. Five minutes later, a black, brand new, all electric Kia pulled up and took me home. Four euros with a one euro tip to cover the mile or so and I would have paid a hundred! A two-hour nap that my body demanded took me, then I was just strong enough to accompany my wife to a nearby seafood restaurant for dinner.
    Tamboril (monkfish) rice for me and escallops of veal for my wife and the meal was fantastic. Monkfish is used in mock lobster dishes at home and this presentation came in a pot with enough scrumptious stew to feed three, hungry teenagers. I ate it all! I’ll return to that restaurant for sure! Oh, Joan really enjoyed her veal, too. We also shared a half-bottle of Vinho Verde, the so-called green wine for which the Douro region of Portugal is well known. Then, she had a cappuccino and I had a little room left for a small, gelato with caramelized pecans. What a meal; we were stuffed! The check would have easily topped $100 at a good restaurant at home, but was only $54 here, counting the exchange rate difference. Tipping is optional here, so a couple of dollars in coins left the very attentive waiters very gratified.
    This morning, legs mostly rejuvenated, we ventured a little farther, taking a local, randomly-selected bus on a 45-minute circuit that took us to the fort in nearby Praia de Roca, a famous (in Europe) beach resort with many tall hotels and apartment buildings overlooking the spectacular beach known for the beautiful rock formations, some with caves, jutting out of the water.
    Upon return to the same bus stop, we sat at a table in the large public plaza for a cool drink and made plans to venture even farther tomorrow. We got information at a ticket office and plan a bus ride to Albufeira, a beach town where I spent a winter after riding Leonardo, my small scooter, from Bologna, Italy, a few years back. Well, maybe it was more than a few years ago. Ciao!
01/07/23 - Portimao, Portugal
    An expensive meal at a gorgeous restaurant recommended by the realtor who manages this apartment followed a 15-minute Uber ride to a neighboring fishing village. The place was gorgeous with a wood-fired stove/fireplace only a few feet away from our table in the small dining room. The service was impeccable, the wine spot on, the presentation lovely, but the food was only so-so. We had much better food at local, less expensive restaurants and will remember that lesson in the future.
    The following morning, we rolled out of bed early (for one of us), caught a quick breakfast, famous pasteis de nata (egg custard pastry) and coffee, while sitting outside in the main plaza, then boarded a bus for a 20-mile trip to Albufeira, the beach town where I spent a winter many years ago. That year, I arrived in Albufeira sick with the flu after riding a small scooter from Bologna, Italy. This year wasn’t nearly as much fun on the bus, although I didn’t miss the four-day flu, but I got to show my wife the apartment in which I spent that winter. That apartment was next door to a huge resort, Praia d’Oro, where we lunched while watching six or eight soccer teams disembark from buses right next to our outdoor patio table. Quite the diversion from lunch and the twenty or so beer-drinking, very-portly German men sitting at the tables next to ours. Maybe they were soccer fans or coaches, but with their physiques, they certainly weren’t soccer players or officials, though they were almost all dressed in black pants and tee-shirts. Those physiques made me feel better about myself, that’s for sure!
    We sat for a time drinking Cokes overlooking the beautiful beach, took time for my wife to buy a small, all-cork purse for daily use here, taxied back to the bus station, and took a local bus home over many of the same back roads I had traversed on my scooter 20 years earlier. Joan’s turn to select a restaurant and neither of us very hungry, we wound up in an Italian pizzeria where a small, Margarita pizza and a bottle of wine served as dinner. A short walk home with pedometers reading 2.5 miles walked for the day and we were tuckered out! A good night’s sleep followed.
    Today, with light rain forecast this afternoon and tomorrow, will be laundry day, if we can figure out how to use the washer whose instruction booklet is in both Portuguese and Spanish, yikes! No dryer here and few in the country, but there is a drying rack on the balcony where we hope to get a head start in the process before the rain begins. The sun is shining brightly now and we needed a weekend of rest, anyway, so this might just work out fine! Ciao!
01/08/23 - Portimao, Portugal
    The waiter said it was a typical Algarvian appetizer, so I ordered the fried Moray Eel, a dish I hadn’t tried before and one of which I will never knowingly partake again. “You can eat the whole thing,” he said, “crispy skin and all.” Crispy, yes, and much more fishy tasting than other seafood dishes in which I have indulged this year. Even a couple tiny bones that I guess I should have chewed up, too, but I laid them aside and even left a small portion uneaten. Needless to say, my dinner partner wouldn’t even taste the dish, especially after I showed her a photo of a Moray on my phone.
    Fortunately, the fresh, rare, tuna steak and mixed vegetables that we shared afterward were very good; we weren’t very hungry at dinner time and her appetizer of scrambled eggs with asparagus was fine and we were full. The sangria was delicious, though.
    Saturday and Sunday were forecast to produce on and off light rain showers, so we took that as an opportunity to do our first laundry of the trip. That turned out to be a struggle with knobs and dials in Portuguese and the owner’s manual also printed only in Portuguese and Spanish. My years of Spanish study helped very little; I’m guessing that knobs and dials will be in my next course of study. Not to worry, after lengthy study and a lot of trial and error, my wife saved the day and got the new machine started. More than two hours later, bells rang, whistles blew, horns sounded and the laundry was done.
    It has been my experience that few homes in Portugal or Spain have dryers and this newly-renovated apartment is no exception. There is a drying rack outside, attached to a balcony wall, however. In a steady breeze and a little sunshine, our laundry mostly dried before it rained, but we brought jeans and slower drying clothes inside and hung them on kitchen chairs to finish the drying process before the raindrops fell. So much for the dark-clothes adventure, tomorrow, we’ll attack the whites!

01/09/23 - Portimao, Portugal
    Seagulls sail by our windows, sometimes even below our 10th floor balcony. It makes me wonder what will happen if one’s guano scores a direct hit on our drying laundry while flying at a higher elevation. Ah, well, we’ll just endure another two-and-a-half-hour session while we run the soiled garments through another wash cycle.
    While the dark laundry went pretty smoothly on Saturday, the whites encountered a bump or two on Sunday. It rained off and on, a light mist usually, so hanging clothing outside was not a good option. Early in the day, however, the sun shone and my wife headed to the balcony with an armful of clean, damp laundry just out of the spin cycle. We wondered about the stiff breeze, but found a dish-drying rack under the sink that I suggested might hold the clothes in place since we had no clothes pins. As Joan placed the first item on the drying rack, it happened to be a brand new pair of her panties purchased just for the trip, a sudden gust of wind picked up the garment and she watched it lift over the balcony wall and float gently down to a much larger, second floor patio. One can only wonder what passersby or the patio owner thought as they saw the panties glide by: “nasty storm, it’s snowing panties!”
    I tried in vain to retrieve the panties by knocking on a second floor door and describing our plight. A young fellow with very good English skills checked his side of the patio, but couldn’t find them. We can see them from eight floors higher, but they must be too close to his patio wall for him to spot. I’ll bet they had a lively discussion over dinner last night. This morning, the panties are still lying there in our plain sight, so I’ll have to knock on a different door today to try to retrieve them.
    Our apartment was covered in drying, white laundry yesterday and through the night. Cotton shirts and white socks hanging over every chair, the corners of the TV, on artificial plants, on door knobs, and draped over the edge of the kitchen counter. They’re everywhere and still not dry this morning. Fortunately, we packed enough clothing, even panties, so we can wait for our laundry to dry.
    Joan ate breakfast in this morning - a Starbucks Frappuccino and a remaining pastry from the pair I brought home for her yesterday. I, on the other hand, wandered out to the local pasteleria (bakery) and coffee shop where I waited in a 10-person line with Portuguese folks on their way to work. Sitting at an outside table to eat my pastry and coffee, it’s 63 degrees, I shared my cinnamon toast with a begging seagull. It was almost a replay of the sparrows I share with at home. Afterward, I strolled to a nearby store where we had previously purchased a bath mat to avoid falls on our slippery shower floor and found, after a search I thought would never end in the giant store, CLOTHES PINS. That should eliminate future clothing loss, but the really good news is that the store also sells panties! I couldn’t make this stuff up! Ciao!


01/12/23 - Portimao, Portugal
     First, a panty update: the flying panties have disappeared from the patio below and have not reappeared in the common areas of the building so that they might be reclaimed by a resident who could now be going commando. Apparently, the new garment fits somebody else in the building more in need of a new pair of panties. We’ll just write them off as expendable and I’m wondering if we can claim a tax deduction for them; it would certainly be fun to discuss if audited.
     The laundry problem has been resolved; Joan has the new washer’s dials and knobs figured perfectly and a load of laundry has now been done almost daily, since the machine’s capacity is very small. We have enough clothes pins to hang laundry for the entire Portuguese navy, because a large number of bright-red pins were discovered under the laundry basket located beneath the kitchen sink. Who knew?
     The last couple of days have been rather routine with me out in the morning for a breakfast stroll, returning with a pastry for Joan as her mid-morning repast. I’ve tried several pastelerias and coffee shops, several morning pastries, and am narrowing my favorites from the shops and the many choices displayed in glass cases. With limited Portuguese, I find that pointing my desires to the baristas works well. I enjoy sitting outside, like many locals, enjoying the mid-50’s to mid-60’s temps wearing a short sleeve shirt and a windbreaker, and watching folks hustling off to work or out walking their dogs.
     Lunches and evening meals have been selected much the same way, strolling the streets and searching for a different restaurant in which to dine. We’ve now had an Italian meal that required a $4.00 Uber ride one way, a Brazilian lunch, and a late Spanish tapas lunch, but most meals have been in local restaurants that specialize in seafood. Not only did they specialize in seafood, they all seemed to have the same menu, although I guess maybe that could be said about our restaurants at home, too.
     Since I mentioned food, I should include some food photos with this update and I will attempt that shortly. At the tapas place I had morcela, blood sausage, flamed table side in a unique dish designed just for that purpose (see photo). I love morcela! For lunch at the Brazilian Grill, I had the opportunity to finally try what is called the most expensive seafood in the world, percebes. I’ve watched both Anthony Bourdain and Andrew Zimmern attempt to harvest these tiny, mollusks from oceanside rocks where they cling in dangerously-crashing waves - that’s what makes them so expensive. The waiter said that the Spanish and Portuguese believe that percebes, a barnacle-like creature, are the best food in the sea; I found them briny, tasty, but an awful lot of work for a small amount of food. I was able to try a generous plate of the creatures for 12.50 euros.
     We’re planning an overnight trip to Seville, Spain next week and I’ll explain more about that in the next update. Right now, it’s time for lunch. Boa tarde!

01/14/23 - Portimao, Portugal
     We were without television and the internet for almost 24 hours after the realtor/property manager brought the local provider (think Xfinity) to expand our TV menu. We didn’t miss the TV since the only English-speaking channel we could get was Bloomberg. We had streamed the Jack Ryan series to completion, but we were shut out soon after the Xfinity (here called MEO) man left and couldn’t even stream. Not having WiFi was an inconvenience and we were forced to talk and read, almost like the good old days!
     We texted the realtor about the problem and, the very next day, the property owners drove the 2.5 hours down from Lisbon to address our concerns. The owners were a delightful couple, he a carpenter who personally remodeled this apartment and she a high school librarian. Interestingly, he is transitioning careers, giving up carpentry and living his dream of becoming a sheep rancher on a little farmette they own outside Lisbon. He cut a hole in one of the cabinets he had previously installed to expose the cable box the cabinets had covered. Then, he and a different MEO man snaked a new cable across the apartment, installed a new cable box and, voila (I’m mastering so many languages here), we have WiFi again, as well as hundreds of channels, many in English, CNN, BBC, et al (wow, even Latin).
     I have reserved a car for Monday morning, a hotel room in Seville for that night, and invited my friend Elena, her husband, and four children to dinner at a restaurant of her choosing on Monday night. Elena was a wonderful waitress at a restaurant I frequented during the winter I spent in Seville; she mothered me that winter and even invited me to share a Sunday dinner with her family. We stayed in touch over the internet and when my travel buddy, Schim, and I passed through her city a few years later, she treated us to a sumptuous dinner at her house that had taken her days to prepare. Schim and I enjoyed many, local Spanish dishes that she had created for us to taste. The experience and food were fantastic and it was great to see how much the children had grown; I look forward to seeing that growth again, although one of the children will not be able to make the reunion. It will be another adventure, traversing the same road between the Algarve in Portugal and Seville that I have taken twice previously, although I won’t be on a small scooter this trip.
     Today, we’re planning to make the circuit on a different local bus, have lunch along the river, and find another, new restaurant for dinner. I’ll save the meal discussions and photos for a later update lest you tire of our culinary explorations. Boa tarde!

01/17/23 - Mairena, (suburb of Seville), Spain
     Fantastic day yesterday with a smooth trip in a rented, Renault Clio to Seville. A little more than 2.5 hours followed on a four-lane Autovia with little traffic, at least until we hit the heavy traffic entering Seville itself. The directions to the hotel given to me by my friend, Elena, did not include an address and that caused a few minor problems (for me), but a major catastrophe for Joan. It apparently made her nervous as we squeezed through the narrow streets of old Seville AND Triana, the town right across the Guadalquivir River. The side mirrors of the Clio never scraped any of the walls of the buildings although, I must admit, we couldn’t have put a piece of paper between them a few times. I spent three months in this beautiful, Andalusian town a few years back, so I was never really lost; I enjoyed everything but the heavy traffic and the screaming. I had never heard of the suburb of Mairena, though, where Elena had made reservations for us. It took a couple stops, one for lunch near the familiar train station, another to ask directions to the suburb, a few text messages to Elena, and a whole lot of good luck before we finally found the very tall, modern hotel. Whew, that had me going there for a while.
     Elena and her beautiful, not-so-little-any-more daughter (Blanca, 15) met us in the hotel lobby at 8:45 p.m. to head for dinner with Fernando (Nando), Elena’s husband and their two sons, Nando, Jr. (19), and Pau (17). We had a great meal of tapas, a fantastic dinner conversation, and a sad good-bye. I’ll describe more in another update but, now, I need to repack so we can start back to Portugal. Hasta Luego!


01/18/23 - Portimao, Portugal
     We’re safely back in our temporary, Portimao abode after an exciting visit with our friends in Seville, Spain. The visit with friends that were made during an earlier winter in Seville and the drive there and back were exciting. Perhaps, Joan would call the search for the hotel in Seville even more than exciting, think nail-biting terror, but to me the search was part of the challenge of making the trip.
     The Renault Clio was part of the excitement and, should you think not, consider driving a diesel, stick shift, car whose rented GPS reverted to Portuguese instructions and maps every time the motor was shut off. Reprogramming the GPS to British English and to a new destination became a function every time we entered the car that, actually, performed flawlessly. Consider, too, street signs in two, foreign languages and a navigator who read nor spoke either of those languages and who feared that every turn on every street or highway, some a little narrow I will admit, would be her last. The trip to Seville also included a radio that we never figured how to turn off, but on which we finally reduced the volume. Did I mention that the Clio was a four-door hatchback whose rear doors had outside handles that we never located until I returned the rental and got a lesson on rear door entry, using the handles that were camouflaged as small, rear windows. Other than that, we had a great drive through the Portuguese and Spanish countryside.
     I neglected to mention that both countries have become roundabout CRAZY! Driving the back roads of the Algarve after leaving Faro where we enjoyed lunch overlooking the marina, we encountered roundabout after roundabout, some within each other and some not more than a quarter mile from the last. We got exhausted listening to the British male voice on the GPS announcing that we should, “take the third exit of the roundabout and please make an immediate left (or right).” Couple this with watching road signs and being alert for pedestrians because, here in Portugal, all traffic stops completely if a pedestrian enters a crosswalk to cross the street. Did I mention that we only drove up a one way street the wrong way once and that was a block from our condo before we (I) really got with the program.
     In the hotel where we stayed for the night in Seville, we were located on the 12th floor in a new, dark, cold business hotel near Elena and Nando’s home. The room was comfortable, but poorly lit and certainly lacked warmth. We spent a comfortable night on great beds, however.  We’re on the 10th floor here, so we’re getting accustomed to the view from above. Returning to our third floor condo at home may be difficult at such a low altitude.
     I previously mentioned the warm, wonderful greeting, hugs all around, but failed to mention the unbelievable hospitality this family accorded us in Seville. When we checked in at the hotel, I attempted to give my credit card to the desk clerk only to learn that Elena had paid for the room in advance. I argued mightily with Elena after she arrived to pick us up, but she insisted that we were “their guests!” Thinking I would try to make it up when it was time to pay the dinner check, Nando quickly refused and left the table to pay for the meal. I know he owns a fireplace and stove company in Seville and is a successful small business man, but this was overly generous; we felt like homeless vagabonds. Trying to do something to show our appreciation for their generosity, I did slip the three children a cash gift that all three tried to refuse, but finally accepted with heartfelt thanks after getting a nod of approval from their mother.
     We changed routes on our return trip to Portimao after reaching the Portuguese border, enjoying lunch in Faro before taking lovely, back roads and a thousand roundabouts to reach our home-away-from-home. I’ll include a few photos, many taken out the Renault window by my navigator at 70 mph (110 kmh). Boa tarde!

01/21/23 - Portimao, Portugal
     A country’s culture consists of its history, language, architecture, traditions, religion, government, and FOOD. As promised, I think I’ll spend a little time today talking about the food we’ve experienced here. For the other parts of Portugal’s culture, I suggest trying Wikipedia, but today’s update will focus on its food. Portugal has been a seafaring country for many years and it comes as no surprise that these folks flat-out know how to prepare fish and other seafood. They were fishing our Grand Banks before we even knew they existed and returning home with their holds full of cod, preserved in salt. Bacalao, or dried & salted codfish, is still enjoyed here and is prepared in many different ways. Percebes, a mollusk that I discussed in an earlier update, is a real treat to locals as are many other sea creatures. I have enjoyed bacalao, percebes, mussels, clams, tuna, octopus, moray eel (didn’t really enjoy that), monkfish, salmon, sea bass, and probably several other species in fish stews and soups. Given a choice between a steak and grilled, fresh fish, most Portuguese would take the fish.
     Two days ago, we ventured two short blocks to the large grocery store, Pingo Doce, and its buffet cafeteria for lunch that turned out to also be dinner because we ate so much. I selected a large portion of a bacalao and spinach casserole, a carrot, beet, and tomato salad that I created from a salad bar, a sunny-side-up egg, a delicious lemon custard dessert, and a bottle of lemonade. Joan stood in line by herself, ordered, waited for, and paid for a pizza, cola, and found me already eating at a community table. I was proud of her, displaying a confidence in a foreign land that she hasn’t always displayed. Pizza can do that to a person, I guess. Her Margarita pizza and coke cost 5.68 euros and my full-sized dinner set me back 7.89 euros. Two meals and drinks cost a total of 13.57 euros. Food here has been surprisingly inexpensive. We did spend 85 euros at the expensive restaurant we tried in a neighboring fishing village that I described in an earlier update, but lunches for two have been in the 8-15 euro neighborhood. Interestingly, house wine and Coke cost about the same, so we have partaken of a glass of very nice wine for dinner on occasion, maybe even on more than one occasion. I will include photos of our cafeteria experience after I complete this dissertation on the food.
     If you haven’t eaten at a Brazilian chain restaurant called Fogo de Chao, you’re missing a great experience and a sensational meal. When many local restaurants were closed last Saturday evening for a holiday of which we were unaware, our neophyte Uber driver took us to three restaurants all of which were closed, then headed to the nearby beach resort town of Praia de Rocha and there, fortunately, the Fogo de Chao Restaurant was open for business. The “salad bar buffet” was an absolute work of art with cold and hot food, think spaghetti Bolognese, sausages, pork stew, peel-your-own shrimp, plus cheeses, salad makings, chicken and macaroni salads, and simply too many items to mention or remember. The “salad bar” only price was 12.99 euros. The waiters in gaucho pants brought freshly grilled delicious-looking, beef and pork skewers to tables and sliced off servings to patrons who had selected the skewer option on the menu for 25 or 30 euros/per person, depending on the cuts of beef. Not very hungry to begin with, we both selected the “salad bar” only option and each made two trips through the ginormous buffet which was colorfully decorated with pineapple tops, flowers, and other bright creations. We each had a caipirinha, a Brazilian cocktail I learned to love in Rio, and a glass of house wine. The tab (conta in Portuguese) was only 41.98 euros and we were stuffed. I recommend trying Fogo de Chao if you already haven’t. We have committed to doing lunch there again soon where we will opt for the freshly grilled beef skewers sliced table side.
     We also had lunch at a highly-Yelp-rated chicken restaurant where we were entertained, but not as impressed with our meal. The restaurant serves, you guessed it, only grilled chicken as a main course, but has sides of French fries, and salads. Those things, plus drinks, are the only thing on the menu. We shared a too-dry, but very well-flavored chicken, split a salad and French fry order, and called it lunch. We located the place after stopping at the local bus station and purchasing one-way tickets for Lisbon for the 31st of this month. We need to start thinking of packing our bags for the trip to Cascais in suburban Lisbon where we’ll spend the next two months of our winter.
     Oh, food! We had lunch yesterday directly across the small street where we enter and leave our condo building. Joan happened to notice the small place, which we never noticed heretofore, and we proceeded to find a table in the little, French cafe that only serves lunch. Our waitress who also owns the flower shop next door, demonstrated her fluency in Portuguese, English, French, and German while serving customers during our short time there - very impressive! Joan enjoyed a chicken fricassee, I had a tuna steak with onions, and we both enjoyed lunch and had a great time.
     This morning, I again visited the neighboring Riviera Restaurant, for me mostly a coffee and breakfast location, where I had my second breakfast sandwich of the trip. For some reason, I have only ordered coffee and a different pastry each day. Yesterday, for some reason, I went for a ham sandwich and tried to order it with double ham. I got, instead, two ham sandwiches with one slice of ham each. BUT, the sandwich was fantastic! I had one of the sandwiches, ham and butter, on a delicious, fresh Portuguese roll, wrapped to go and took it back to Joan for her enjoyment. When talking Portuguese food, one cannot forget BREAD! Joan loved the sandwich, I ate another this morning, all because of the roll. Crusty on the outside, fresh and soft on the inside, I could eat it for breakfast without the ham. I have several other food experiences to share, but it is after 12:00 and I’ve made myself hungry. I’ll share the other experiences later. Boa tarde!

01/25/23 - Portimao, Portugal
     We’ve had several additional food experiences since my last update that I’ll try to briefly share for those of you not bored to tears with our previous food explorations:
     One evening I, with my customary research on where we can eat next, offered Joan three choices for dining, only suggesting sushi as a last minute throw away. Surprising my socks off, white no-shows the whole trip, she selected sushi, sharing that she wasn’t really hungry. We had eaten sushi previously right around the corner, but this time I selected one with an even-better Yelp rating, a place called FU, apparently named in order to save money on signage, but still only a couple short blocks away. It turned out that they served all-you-can-eat sushi for only 14.99. At home, two servings (four pieces) of the delicious Japanese delicacy can cost more than that so, hungry or not, we both had the special and ate to our hearts’ content, although I’m sure we didn’t destroy their profit margin. Freshly made to order, we had a couple California rolls, a spicy tuna roll, octopus, tuna, monkfish, and salmon servings of sushi, a miso soup, a generous serving of fried rice for Joan. and everything was delicious. The price is apparently that reasonable because the fish don’t have to be shipped, except from the nearby docks. It turned out to be a bargain and a great meal. I would do that meal again in a minute.
     On Sunday, we ventured via Uber to nearby Praia de Rocha, the beach resort town, headed for another restaurant I had selected because of the great view of the beach. Got there and learned that the place, like many others, was closed for vacation - this being a season of low tourism when restaurateurs take their holidays. Right next door, however, was a place called Red Rover, apparently named after the Irish song, to attract summertime British and Irish tourists. A middle-aged Brit from Nottingham was our amiable waiter. They advertised on their street side, sandwich, blackboard a Sunday “Roasty!” The view was just as good as the fancier place next door and Joan is a major fan of roast beef - this was an easy substitution. I’ll share photos of the very reasonable, “comfort food” we both ended up enjoying while rather loud American 50’s music played on the speakers. After dinner, we got some great photos of the beautiful beach with the striking cliffs, islands, and beach structures that I’ll share in a minute.
     Enough of this food stuff, but there aren’t a whole lot of other exciting tales to tell. We have had two visits by the real estate firm that manages this condo, both times to get the TV up and running. Apparently, the last time MEO (think Comcast) was here and installed a new box and cable, the guy put old or defective batteries in the new remote. We (Joan) spent a couple days hooking and unhooking cables, then boxes, using two remotes and getting nowhere. I suggested the batteries, but neither of us thought batteries in a new remote would have failed. Wrong! The realtor reasoned the same way, but finally changed batteries in the new remote and, voila (more French), we’re up and running again, have English speaking CNN with all their repetitious news briefs, and many Portuguese, Spanish, and even Asian stations. We seldom watch them, however, being semi-engrossed in a streamed, USA, TV series, “Blacklist,” having finally completed the first year of the nine-year-long, adventure drama.
     Joan is washing laundry daily now, preparing our clothes for the packing required to make our move on Tuesday to Cascais; our AirBnb lodging there has been confirmed. Wanting to avoid another transportation catastrophe moving heavy luggage, we opted to make the three-hour trip by bus. The moving plan involves taxi or Uber from here to the bus station with the driver’s help to load and unload the suitcases, a 50-yard, flat walk to the bus platform, and help loading the bags in the belly of the bus. Once arriving in Sete Rios bus station in Lisbon, another Uber or taxi to our new digs in Cascais with the driver’s assistance to load and unload the baggage at the front door of our new building. I thought I planned to travel smarter on the first leg of this adventure, but the lack of sleep on the plane, and the train strike threw me a curve. I’m looking to travel even smarter on the second leg. We shall see how the plan comes together. Ciao!

01/28/23 - Portimao, Portugal
     Having settled into a daily routine after the long trip across the pond, we now prepare to create the need for a new routine as we move to a new apartment in a different, though familiar, city in just a couple days. Our current routine finds me up around 7:00, completing my on-line Spanish studies, solving the daily Wordle game, doing the shower, shaving, bathroom thing, then dressing and crossing the street to the Riviera Restaurant for a couple galaos. I enjoy the galaos, a small juice glass with coffee and heated milk, and a delicious, ham sandwich on a Portuguese, hard-crusted roll while watching the locals have their espressos and rush off to work.
     I purchase a sandwich-to-go to take back for Joan who is customarily just awakening as I return. I sometimes alternate her breakfast sandwich with one of a variety of pastries for her to sample; she said yesterday’s pastry, made from pumpkin or squash, was the best yet. While she is showering and preparing for our daily luncheon sojourn, I’ll check to see if anyone at home is awake and, if so, I’ll respond to what has become very infrequent emails. Lunch at a restaurant, yesterday back at Fogo de Chao’s, then a return for the late afternoon review of USA news on my iPad, an afternoon of reading our novels, or a nap, if the need arises.
     If we opt for a large lunch, like yesterday’s where I opted for slices of beef from the skewers brought to our table, we have been either eliminating an evening meal altogether or going to a Spanish tapas place for a very light repast. Then back to the apartment, shoes off, curled up on the love seat for a few episodes of The Blacklist, a very violent, nine-year-long, TV series of which we have grown very tired; the violence, the foul language, and the impossible story lines have worn us out. We are searching for other evening entertainment on the tube, but we’ll sometimes revert back to reading the novels in which we are engrossed.
     And then repeat!
     We had a spectacular lunch the other day, venturing across the river to the upscale town of Ferragudo that is currently under significant, suburban development. The Uber driver told us that homes start in the 250,000 range, but most looked bigger and more grand than that. Our lunch was at a restaurant, Praia dos Caneiros, that was located right on the beach with a fantastic view of the sea (see photos) and the cliffs that protect the beach from gusty winds that can sometimes foil winter sunbathing on other local beaches. The food, the view, the service, and the ambiance were major league but, unfortunately, so were the prices - go figure. The final tab broke the record for this winter by 26 euros, but was well worth every penny. I doubt that we’ll return or make a habit of dining in such exclusive environs, but we had a great meal (see photos)!
     My spouse has worked wonders with the laundry; remember, she can’t read the dials or knobs, doesn’t know how much detergent to put in, what volume of clothing the machine holds, but still the laundry gets done and hung to dry on the outside rack on our balcony from whence the new panties took flight. The new apartment in Cascais contains a washer AND dryer, so gone will be the chore of hanging clothes outside. That will sadden us a bit; after more than 50 years of zoning laws or deed restrictions that forbade hanging laundry outside, we have both enjoyed the fresh, outdoor smell the sea breezes have imparted to our wardrobe. And there has been nary a single direct or indirect hit on our garments by the gulls or pigeons. Next update should be from Cascais, if moving day goes well. Boa tarde!
02/03/23 - Cascais, Portugal
     Several days have passed since my last update, so I have quite a few things to report. The planned moving day, from Portimao in the Algarve 175 miles north to Cascais, a beautiful, suburban-Lisbon community located almost at the tip of “Portugal’s nose (check a map),” went off without a hitch. The two Uber drivers, one to the bus station in Portimao and the other from just outside the bus terminal in Lisbon to our new apartment building in Cascais, loaded and unloaded the luggage into and out of their vehicles. I was only disappointed that the bus driver did not assist in loading the three, heavy suitcases into or out of the belly of the bus. I did it myself, but that was the only glitch in our smooth transfer of locations.
     At the end of the trip, a small victory was achieved at the expense of the line of taxis waiting outside the Lisbon terminal to take passengers to their final destinations. I checked my Uber app to see the approximate cost of a ride to Cascais. 20 euros was the fee quoted. Rather than book the Uber, I approached the first cabbie in line and inquired about his charge for the ride. “35 euros,” he quoted me and when I said, “that’s a little high,” he responded in a deprecating manner, “40.” I quickly turned away, booked the Uber ride, and our driver showed up within two minutes. Our landlord had said via email that he could arrange transportation for 52 euros and I thought that high, because I figured that number was quoted from the more distant airport, so I decided to handle it on the fly by myself. From 52 to 40 to 20 euros, now that was a victory! My penurious friend, Schim, would have been so proud of me!
     Our apartment is much larger than the one in Portimao and is beautifully furnished. Our location, next door to the town’s large market that is open Wednesdays and Saturdays, requires a couple blocks more walking to get to the town’s center than in the Algarve but, so far, that seems to have increased my stamina ever so slightly. At home in the cooler weather and with the golf season behind me, I had become a real couch potato. Over the last three days, I have logged from 2.3 to 3.0 miles or 4,700 to 6,400 steps daily, according to my phone’s pedometer. Another small victory, but a victory in the stamina department, nevertheless. My cranky knees feel the progress, however. I’ll keep working on the stamina; Joan requires a little more encouragement and her FitBit numbers are not so gaudy. More than I, she is content to spend time in the apartment reading, although I did get her out for lunch today and a long stroll to the beach and back afterward. It’s a start.
     Yesterday, I got to the three mile mark because I took the commuter train to Lisbon to get my haircut. Yes, there are plenty of barbers in Cascais, but when I cruised Yelp about haircuts, up popped the Figaro Salon near the train station in Lisbon. Photos showed a classical, old-time barber shop and, in the reviews, past clients mentioned that customers were served with a choice of beer or coffee when they arrived. I don’t drink beer and customarily only have one cup of coffee in the morning, but this sounded like a place I had to see. Jumped on the train, met a wonderful, former Spanish-language college professor from Finland who was about my age and we enjoyed a delightful conversation on the trip to the capitol. She disembarked at Belem to catch a ferry to the other side of the river where she said the Atlantic Ocean waves were much bigger. No, she doesn’t surf, she just likes to “watch big waves.” She left two friends in Cascais and headed out by herself for a couple nights to watch the big waves. She was a delight and we promised to stay in touch.
     Back to my haircut: I took the train to its final stop in Lisbon, plugged in the address of the barber shop, and followed Google’s instructions to Figaro’s. To get there only three city blocks from the train station should have been easy, but the three blocks were straight up! Up to the neighborhood properly named Bairro Alto, but I accomplished it much more readily than I thought possible with only an extra breath or two. That was some hill and I’ll share a photo that doesn’t really do the hill justice. It was definitely an old-time shop with six or seven antique barber chairs and a lot of old barber memorabilia, but they had stopped the free beer or coffee. Drat, I liked that marketing gimmick. Only one barber on duty and he with tattoos on every finger and his neck, sporting a man-bun and a nose ring, this wasn’t going to work, but I had taken the 30 minute train ride. What the heck, “how much is a haircut?” “Thirty-one (31) euros,” that’s about $35!! What? I only pay $20 at home for a great haircut from a fantastic barber, Al Segro at Segro’s Hairport! BUT, I had taken the train and the stuff grows back, right? Go ahead - there goes the money I saved on the taxi! Hey, it doesn’t look bad! I’ve had a lot worse in foreign lands. I’ll send some photos. Boa noite!

02/10/23 - Cascais, Portugal
     I think that I can explain my dearth of updates and lack of recent activities in a few, no, in just three words: Montezuma, Pepto Bismol! Yep, my annual enemy showed his ugly head, actually at the other end, three days ago and I’ve been trying to battle back with much sleep, no food, and old, Pepto Bismol tablets my wife had packed for a holiday trip to the Dominican Republic a few years ago.
     Stomach pain, headache, fever, Montezuma’s flow and tiredness, accompanied the lower back pain we’ve both been suffering, no doubt caused by beds with no box springs, to make the past three days a wonderful international experience. Buying ibuprofen at the pharmacy to combat our back pain and learning that you can buy only twenty, 400 mg capsules over the counter in Portugal. To buy a heavier dosage or more capsules at one time requires a doctor’s prescription. In Mexico, I think I could have bought a truckload of whatever dosage I wanted at the corner farmacia. International differences are fun to discover, unless your head and back hurt!
     Other than her sore back, Joan, of course, has been the picture of health and a real trooper. I slept the first day away and we have very few snacks or foodstuffs in the kitchen on which she could subsist. If she wanted to eat, she had to venture out on her own with her almost total lack of the Portuguese language, with the exception of a couple nouns I gave her as she departed into the great unknown. She was headed for the nearby market shops to buy a ham sandwich at one of the shops open most days of the week, even though the day wasn’t one of two (Wed. & Sat.) that the big market is open.
     I slept little in her absence, worried about her well-being, though not her physical safety, but she returned triumphantly with the sandwich for the next day’s breakfast and, from a cafe 50 feet above the market up a set of stairs to the second deck so high that I refuse to climb them to explore, a tuna poke bowl for her evening repast! I was proud of her and she of herself; she even utilized one of the nouns with which I had armed her before her departure. The word was “sandes,” pronounced “sandesh,” and she had to resort to it after several tries in English to get the ham sandwich from the confused ladies at the shop. It was great to see her confidence grow and have her experience the coffee and sweet roll (pointing helps in foreign lands, too), sitting at a nearby table and watching Portugal walk by, like I do most mornings, though not the past three days. Her schedule made it an afternoon coffee break and, though relaxing, there were many fewer people to watch.
     Weak after fasting for three days, except for two, Ritz-like crackers, I made the slow walk through the parking lot this morning to those same market shops. I ordered a freshly-squeezed orange juice, but only drank half, a cup of coffee, and a sugar cookie shaped exactly like a gingerbread cookie at home and called that breakfast - no sense testing Montezuma this soon. After the nourishment perked me up a bit, I purchased a pork sandwich for Joan’s lunch, a large chunk of Brie from the nice cheese shop, and a red-velvet, dessert cupcake and headed home - the hunter/gatherer of the family, once again!
     I’ll attempt to update a little more frequently if Montezuma and I can agree on an armistice. Bon dia!

02/13/23 - Cascais, Portugal
     Pig Cheeks! I said, “pig cheeks!” The first time my wife saw that item on a Portuguese menu, she turned up her nose and asked of me, “What is that?” Never having ordered that entree myself, but familiar with fish cheeks, considered the best part of a fish by many fishermen, I explained my analysis. With her nose still turned up, I suggested she order it and, if she didn’t care for it, we could switch plates and I’d eat it. Reluctantly, she took the first, big step of culinary adventure and I didn’t get a bite! She now scours every new menu, looking for cheeks and, finding them, you can bet that’s her entree of the evening.
     Sunday, fighting through a monster motorcycle rally at the market next door to catch our Uber, we returned to the small Club of Boat Owners and Fishermen where every Sunday they serve a Portuguese Cozido, a huge mixed plate of stewed meats and vegetables. My travel buddy, Schim, and I wandered in there a couple years back, saw the entree on a nearby table, pointed to it, and enjoyed as much of it as we could devour. Schim talks of that meal yet today, actually in an email as recently as last Monday. The place was packed last Sunday and we couldn’t get a table, inside or out. We got the last available table yesterday and the meal was fantastic! What Schim liked best about the meal, of course, was the price; the price certainly must have increased since then, but at 22 euros for two was still an enormous bargain. The newly-adventurous Joan tried everything, even the scrumptious blood sausage, and came close to matching Schim’s record consumption. The stew included carrots, potatoes, turnips, cabbage, another delicious, dark- green leafy, spinach-like vegetable we couldn’t identify, plus beef, pork, several different sausages, and, for some reason, two, cigarette-pack-sized pieces of pork fat. The price also included a huge dish of rice and red beans in which we barely made a dent. As much fish and seafood as is served in this country, it’s great to have a place where once a week one can become carnivorous. We did great damage to the platter; check the before and after photos.
     Uber has been very dependable here, except for an occasion or two. Yesterday was one of those days when, because of the assemblage of hundreds of motorcycles, two consecutive Uber drivers couldn’t locate us. Finally, when we’re about to give up and dine close-by, a Punjabi driver in the country for the five years required for citizenship, located us and whisked us off to the Clube do Armadores y Pescaderos for our huge Sunday afternoon feast. The previous week a problem with my Portuguese SIM card provider prevented us from reaching Uber when we couldn’t get a table at the Club and we ended up legging it home while putting over 7,500 steps on our pedometers. We were exhausted last week and seem to have ironed out all those phone problems now.
     Incidentally, I haven’t received a phone call since I’ve been here; that may be because people probably have gotten exhausted dialing the numbers required to reach me. It also might be because I haven’t previously shared my Portuguese number. To reach me by phone from the USA, the numbers required are 011 (to exit the US), then 351 (Portugal’s country code), then 935-052-011. That’s 011-351-935-052-011 for all the friends, relatives, and debtors who have been trying to reach me. You will be charged a per minute international rate but, if you keep the conversation short, it will seem a minimal expenditure to all but Schim. Boa tarde!

02/17/23 - Cascais, Portugal
     We have been undertaking one adventure a day though, at this age, getting out of bed, showering, and getting dressed is usually challenge enough each day. Yesterday, we undertook the challenging adventure of locating the manicurist with whom I had made an appointment for my wife, long overdue for a new gel coat or whatever her hands require. I got a recommendation from a waitress with great nails at a Japanese noodle shop where we enjoyed an early dinner on the way home after an adventure by train to a huge dining market (restaurants and common seating everywhere) in Lisbon a day or two earlier. The waitress said the shop was close by and we were already only a few minutes walk from home, so what could be the problem?
     I got the appointment from Rita whom I thought spoke rather good English on the phone. I didn’t have her address, however, so she sent it on WhatsApp, used commonly to communicate here and in Costa Rica, so I re-activated my WhatsApp app, forgetting that, even though I had the address of a nearby establishment, we were clueless about any street names other than our own. No problem thought I, we’ll just take Uber to the place. After a 30-minute ride through the numerous, narrow streets and alleyways of Cascais and on the third address search of his cellphone, we arrived at Rita’s nail shop only a short walk from our apartment and past which we must have walked twenty times previously, including the night we ate the noodles. We got there only a couple minutes late and Joan was delighted with Rita whose English wasn’t so good, after all, but who was thrilled to be able to practice since she and her boyfriend are traveling to New York City in March for a week’s vacation. Joan was excited to converse in English with a local; she worked on Rita’s English, warned her of the dangers of the Big Apple, and made two additional appointments for manicures that only cost $18, an amazing bargain, I’m told. During the entire procedure, including the English lessons, I strolled a half-block away to a little plaza where I took a seat outside in the brilliant sunshine and enjoyed a hot chocolate while doing some intensive people watching. The outside temperature had reached 65 degrees and I was loving it.
     Despite her fear and trepidation at being unable to find me, Joan, beautiful nails and all, located my place in the sun and we decided to have a not so great lunch at a Brazilian restaurant, then take an exploratory local bus ride. The first bus at the stop we chose turned out to be a local that wound through one tight turn after another, before stopping at Cabo de Rocha, the westernmost point on the European continent and once thought to be the end of the earth. We didn’t disembark, having seen Cabo on another visit, and continued on to Sintra where we had also visited before. We boarded a “slow” bus along with quite a few secondary students headed home after attending school in Sintra. We retraced our steps, or curves on the bus with spectacular views of the ocean, picking up loads of workers commuting back to Cascais. Many were picked up at Cabo and, as all seats were taken and the bus began to get crowded, we opted to put on surgical masks. Good thing, too, as more passengers boarded at every stop until the bus was packed as tightly as the famous sardines from the Algarve. Really, if the new bus’ capacity was 50 people with seating for 30, room for wheelchairs, too, this bus must have had at least 75 passengers on board. So many that some folks couldn’t even get on while others lowered their heads and plowed the standing passengers even tighter to enter. What a three-hour bus ride and local adventure! We were very relieved to reach Cascais!
     Our varying schedules, mine and hers, are causing a bit of marital discord, although each of us is attempting to make compromises. Traveling alone, I would normally be up and out by 8:00 or 9:00 a.m., walk, dine, and return to my apartment by 1:00 or 2:00 p.m. to read, write, nap, or just to study my navel. Because not much starts in Portugal before 9:30 or 10:00, I have altered my schedule somewhat, leaving about 10:00, but returning with a breakfast sweet for my wife around 11:00. Her schedule of staying up late (I’m in bed by 10 or earlier) and sleeping in means she’s not ready for lunch or an adventure before 1:00 or 2:00. This sometimes means that any adventure ends around 5:00 or even at dusk and there is not much time to nap, read, write, meditate, or navel browse. Couple this with the fact that most restaurants don’t open until 7:00 p.m. and you have the makings of discord. We’re working on it, but may require counseling! Boa tarde!


02/22/23 - Cascais, Portugal
     Eggs over medium, hash brown potatoes, and heavily-buttered toast! Each year about this time when traveling overseas I begin to miss a food item or two from my regular diet at home. Corn fritters, corn on the cob, PA Dutch chicken pot pie (boiled, not with a crust), short ribs of beef, barbecued pork spare ribs, a barbecued, pulled-pork sandwich topped with cole slaw, a good steak - these are some of my favorite meals that I begin to crave after a couple of months abroad. I’m always amazed that I never crave pizza, Chinese fried rice, sushi, Japanese ramen, or spaghetti, some of the things I also love at home. I don’t crave them because those dishes are pretty universal; I can get reasonable facsimiles in almost every country in which I’ve traveled and I do. Restaurants open in the morning here are cafes that serve a variety of sweet rolls, bread, freshly-squeezed orange juice (fantastic!), and coffee. These folks take their coffee seriously and there are morning lines in many cafes as people queue up for their coffee, usually an espresso. Real restaurants that serve meals usually are open from noon to 3:00 serving lunch, then closing until they open for dinner at 7:00. No breakfasts there! Right now, I’d pay good money for an American breakfast, but I haven’t found a restaurant serving a menu even close and, of course, that makes me crave one even more.
     Today is the day that two of our grandchildren (26 & 18) take off on an overnight flight from Philadelphia through Madrid to spend a long weekend with us, arriving tomorrow. Our granddaughter, our eldest grandchild, has been here once before and is excited to revisit. Our next to youngest (grandson) has not been to Portugal and this will be a new experience for him. Now, what do we do with them? Both are very active, outdoor enthusiasts, regularly running for exercise; their grandparents could no longer run to escape a serial killer. That may present a minor problem, since the old folks are wearing out quickly on even short walks and have discovered that the local buses and Uber have fit perfectly into our daily activities. There are great, oceanside trails on which to run or walk and, this is tempting, there are electric, rental bikes and leg scooters for rent in several locations. Can the tottering, old couple survive an electric ride with the youngsters? Can the Portuguese health care system repair damages caused by a bad decision with the eBikes (the scooters are out!)? The world may learn the answers to these questions in the next update or medical bulletin. Ciao!

02/27/23 - Cascais, Portugal
     What a fantastic, long weekend that we spent with two of our grandchildren! Fantastic, but exhausted, the old folks kept up, step by step, though a tad slower, with the 26 and 18 year old youngsters. Pedometer readings indicated that daily distances stretched from 4,139 steps (1.7 miles with several sets of stairs) to a whopping 8,523 strides (4.0 miles) on Saturday, the day we toured Lisbon! Even the youngsters were pooped, although they possessed enough energy to run out to the Italian restaurant in the nearby market to pick up a couple pizzas for dinner when we finally got back to the apartment. Sunday, we toured the beach areas of Cascais, having a late breakfast outside in glorious sunshine on the edge of the ocean cliff at Casa de Guila. After walking on the wonderful walking/biking path along the cliffs to an oceanside feature called the “Boca do Inferno, the mouth of hell,” we Ubered for a late lunch overlooking the large beach at Guincho while watching surfers trying to catch the perfect wave.
     BUT, when we returned to the apartment and the youngsters finished packing for their early, Monday morning departure flight home, our granddaughter started feeling sick and came down with symptoms that sure looked like food poisoning. So ill that a morning flight was unthinkable, we hustled to postpone the 5:30 a.m. airport transfer and rearrange flights through Madrid and home. It currently appears that they will fly home on Wednesday, although my granddaughter hasn’t made a Monday appearance yet at noon so that I can judge her recovery.
     Can’t figure out what food could have caused her illness; the restaurants in which we ate were very reputable, crowded touristy establishments. The restaurant at Guincho was in a beachside resort. The food she ate, a vegetarian empanada for breakfast and a beautiful (see photo), grilled octopus her favorite, at Guincho, certainly looked fresh and wholesome, no matter how many of you are thinking it was the octopus! Hopefully, her recovery will be sufficient that she and her brother can catch the Wednesday flights which both the airlines and the transfer company were able to adjust with no charge. Her symptoms have apparently abated somewhat, so her grandmother says after checking in on her. Boa tarde!


03/01/23 - Cascais, Portugal
     Here we are in March and I have more than enough news for an update. My granddaughter’s health improved rapidly with no further intake of solid food and copious amounts of Powerade and Schweppes ginger ale. Our grandchildren's return home was delayed by only two days and both of the airlines and the airport transfer service were able to reschedule their tickets with no additional charge. They headed for the airport at the ridiculous hour of 3:30 this morning; I didn’t even know there was a 3:30 in the morning before this! I made sure the transfer was here and got them safely aboard and I returned swiftly to bed. My granddaughter kept in touch from the Lisbon and the Madrid airports. They are now safely aloft over the Atlantic and should be greeted by their parents around 3:00 this afternoon at the Philadelphia Airport. Granddaughter was feeling much better, took a little solid food during her layovers at the airports, and should be good to go back to work tomorrow. The 18-year-old grandson stayed healthy, hungry as a horse, and is eager to see his buddies at school tomorrow. They appeared to have enjoyed their visit to Portugal.
     Ahh, fried eggs! The menu at the cliff side restaurant where we dined on Sunday in warm sunshine had scrambled eggs on the menu and they were creamy and delicious, especially with the mushroom side that was scrambled with the generous portion of three or four eggs! My craving for eggs has been scrumptiously satisfied! Now, I’m figuring that I’ll search a long time to satisfy the chicken pot pie and corn fritter cravings, but the barbecue and steak cravings will be somewhat easier to quell.
     With less on the agenda today, I headed through the market downtown where I bought more great Portuguese bread and breakfast at a pasteleria, went to an ATM for more cash, and got haircut #2 of the trip. Walking past a beauty/barber shop the other day, it suddenly hit me that that shop was where I had gotten my hair cut in previous winters in Cascais, so I strolled in there after breakfast and got a wonderful haircut! The woman who did the very professional job has been cutting hair in that same, large shop for 36 years. I also had her give me a shampoo when she finished with her straight razor work on my neck and around my ears. Remembering the 31 euro price on the #1 cut in Lisbon, I inquired as to how much I owed and was pleasantly shocked to hear, “14 euros.” Much better haircut than #1, hair finished and trimmed with a straight razor, and a shampoo - what a deal! Of course, I left her a generous tip for which she was most appreciative (I think - she didn’t speak a word of English)!
     Here’s a hard earned tip for European travelers, one I picked up too late from a contributor on Rick Steve’s European travel page: NEVER accept the bank’s exchange rate offered on ATM transactions! I always routinely said YES, I accept the rate, in fear that, if I said NO, no money would be forthcoming. NOT! When you say “No,” YOUR bank imposes the going exchange rate on the transaction, a much lower number. The first five or six times that I requested money and accepted the rate imposed, it cost me around $245 to get 200 euros. After reading the tip, I rejected the rate offered on the last two transactions and it only cost about $220 for the 200 euros - a significant difference. It is also important when paying for meals, etc., with a credit card and asked if you want the total in dollars or euros, ALWAYS SAY, or tap on the credit card machine, EUROS! Again, then your bank will make the conversion, almost always at a lower rate than local banks or businesses.
     Today is laundry day and tomorrow a cleaning service will clean the apartment so, naturally, my wife is busy cleaning the place before the service arrives. Go figure! We’ll go out for dinner, so just maybe, I’ll be able to get another craving quenched! Boa tarde!

03/04/23 - Cascais, Portugal
     I would estimate that 40% of the cars in this country have diesel engines. I have even seen diesel-powered Mini-Coopers, now just called Minis, I guess, and believe it or not, a tiny, diesel Smart Car! I’d also wager that at least 20% of cars on the road are totally electric, leaving only 40% of this environmentally-conscious country’s fleet to consume gasoline. Diesel fuel is relatively cheap here, comparatively speaking, and gasoline comparatively expensive.
     Interesting to me, at least, and I’m certainly no motor head, were the two vehicles I spotted in the last couple days with steering wheels on the right-hand side of the car, opposite where our steering wheels are located. Yes, they drive on the right side here and those vehicles must have been purchased in the United Kingdom, but their license plates both sported the European Union plate with stars in a blue circle, along with the Portuguese “P” displayed prominently. Curious!
     It’s taken a little adjustment being without our two grandchildren, but we’re getting accustomed to one another again and, today, we were not alone; our landlord brought two, young Brazilians here bright and early (9:30) to clean the house and change the bed clothing. Lovely young couple of best friends, she 24 and he 22, and they did a fine job sprucing up the place. While they were here, I headed to the market for breakfast and a little shopping and, by the time I returned, Joan had also become best friends with the young lady, learning about and seeing photos of her three-year old and her husband. I’m sure that it was Joan’s command of the Portuguese language that enabled the friendship because neither of the cleaners spoke a word (well, maybe only a word or two) of English.
     The place is spotless and we’re now discussing where to go to lunch, since my traveling companion is awake, dressed, and, apparently hungry. Boa tarde!

03/08/23 - Cascais, Portugal
     In the new world, food items offered by restaurants often have a life span. One of my favorite meals of all time was served at the Host Farm where I was a golf member for a few years. Their seafood newburg was a dish that I ordered every time it appeared on their menu and, although I’m no longer a member there, I haven’t seen seafood newburg on any menu in more than 20 years. I’m almost positive that the Host or whatever its current iteration may be named no longer serves that favorite dish. Though not a real dessert person, I have also been known to order chocolate mousse on occasion to top off a meal. Try to find mousse on a restaurant’s dessert menu these days! That rich, creamy dessert has gone the way of the dodo bird (extinct) in American food circles.
     Here in the old world, chocolate mousse is still on almost every restaurant’s list of sobremesas (desserts) and I have indulged myself several times. When my grandson was here, chocoholic that he is, he must have ordered mousse or mousse cake at the end of every meal. Sometimes, there is still a demand for foods whose time has passed in our restaurant world.
     Imagine my surprise and thrill to see lobster newburg on the menu at a rather expensive restaurant which we accidentally chose for last Sunday’s repast. Shivers ran down my spine; I broke into a cold sweat and I completely ignored the 45 euro price tag listed on the hoity-toity, linen menu. I sprang for it while Joan ordered a vegetarian tagliatelle dish she found delicious. As I dined, the generous sections of lobster in the rich cream sauce caused my eyes to roll back in my head in ecstasy as I relived the days of yore when the Host produced a similar dish. Actually, though taste bud memories cannot always be depended upon to be accurate, I would say the mixed seafood of the Host’s newburg was superior to that of Entreagua’s (the restaurant). It was very, very close, however, and who can complain about a newburg with all lobster? Not I!
     My wife has become a little more adventurous on this trip with her food selection. Never a fish lover, she will now, on occasion, recommend a sushi dinner or a Japanese Noodle Shop for an evening meal. She’s even beginning to display some chopstick skills heretofore unseen. I’m proud of her! The other night at such a Noodle Shop (see photos) she was enthralled and took photos of the small army of motor scooter delivery drivers awaiting orders of noodles to be delivered. Uber Eats and Glovo drivers were both used by this establishment. Joan marveled at their numbers, something she has never seen at home. There are so many things, some very small, that make up the difference in cultures.
     We are eagerly awaiting the arrival in Lisbon of close friends of our second son and his wife, parents of the two grandchildren who visited us. Their friends are doing a Barcelona, Valencia, Lisbon tour and we are planning to meet them for lunch or dinner in Lisbon and, if their schedule allows, to give them a peek at Cascais and Sintra, too. Boa tarde!


03/15/23 - Cascais, Portugal
     My webmaster, alynn, reminded me by email this morning while I was enjoying freshly-squeezed, orange juice, coffee and a shrimp & mushroom empanada for breakfast at my regular shop in a very busy market this morning that I hadn’t updated in a week. I don’t think that they call them empanadas here, but the coffee shop owner speaks English and I’m also very fluent in pointing. Wow, nobody else noticed the absence of my updates but, here I am, following alynn’s directions:
     It has been a busy last few days. Sunday evening, we met my son’s family’s friends, now also our friends, at an Argentinian restaurant in Bairro Alto, the very neighborhood where I once spent a weekend. They were on the last leg of a three-city tour of Barcelona, Grenada, and Lisbon and it was good for all of us to see friendly, familiar faces. It helped that the restaurant offered a spectacular view of the city, see photos, and that the Argentinian beef was scrumptious, but it was great just talking about friends, family, and Spain. Shelley was intrigued at home by the Alhambra and their visit didn’t disappoint her at all. I ate more beef in that one sitting than I’ve eaten all winter long. Surprising to me or I wouldn’t have ordered the caipirinha or the glass of wine, Mark picked up the entire check! Traveling with my buddy, the Schimster, I am completely unaccustomed to that and am now feeling a tad guilty that I allowed it to happen. It must have been a substantial check. It was genuinely appreciated!
     On the way to the dinner meeting, we thought that we had timed our 5:00 p.m. departure in plenty of time to take the 30-minute train ride to Lisbon and catch a taxi to the restaurant, only to find, as we were waiting on the platform, that the train was canceled. Train employees are still on strike, so the frequency of train service is greatly reduced. Seems like all of Europe is on strike these days. We used our ticket to quickly exit the train turnstiles when a man we asked informed of us the cancellation. Acting quickly, we called for an Uber and a lovely, entertaining, young lady rushed us to Lisbon ($30 during the high-demand time) and got us to the restaurant only three minutes late. While traveling, one simply has to be flexible and use alternative choices for whatever.
     Feeling a little bored with day to day activities, even with Joan’s salon experience for a cutting, shampoo and whatever for her hair, it looks great by the way, and another appointment with Rita for her nails, we decided to go on another adventure as we begin to start thinking about packing and heading home in a couple of weeks. One last hurrah!
     I scheduled a rental car for tomorrow and Friday and we are going to head South along the Atlantic coast, a much less-developed area and one that I have never traversed, not even when I had the flexibility of my motor scooter. One of our Uber drivers explained that the area is one of his favorites because it is so undeveloped. Heaven only knows what we’ll find, but the adventure in and of itself will be exciting; new scenery, new restaurants, and new people will guarantee that. Now, if I can remember how to drive the stick shift once again and am successful in picking up a map, this should be a piece of cake. Eurocar couldn’t guarantee that the car would have a GPS (they did in Portimao earlier in our stay), so the map or a compass would make the trip a little less eventful. I’ll report on the experience, provided we can find our way back. Ciao!

03/18/23 - Cascais, Portugal
     Safely back in Cascais after an exciting overnight adventure to Sines along the Costa Azul and back through the Alentejo region and Evora, about a 325 mile trip, and we loved the drive! I picked up a brand new, small - though not the smallest - Fiat that had only 950 kilometers (about 570 miles) on the odometer at 10:00 a.m. Thursday morning. Experimenting with the clutch and gear shift as I went around a couple blocks and back to our condo building, I picked up Joan who rolled her suitcase and my backpack through the labyrinth-like, two-elevator route through the garage out our entry door and we were on our way after I quickly loaded the bags into the car. No GPS, except the Google maps on our phones, we missed the exit off the Marginal Street from Cascais and wound up dodging through a few unwanted narrow streets of Lisbon where my seat-of-the-pants navigational skills, always maintaining an idea where the sun and the Tejo River were, finally got us back to the huge, famous 25th of April Bridge and we crossed the Tejo while Joan finally was able to get Google GPS directions for the destination of our first stop, Setúbal.
     For those following on a map, I know that Schim, at least, is following and eating his heart out for missing this adventure: Setúbal sits on a bay 30 or 40 miles by car South of Lisbon and has quite a quaint, attractive main street along the harbor where our spontaneous timing was perfect to catch a 30-minute, fluorescent-green, auto ferry (see photo) across the bay to Troia, a town we never saw as we apparently skirted it and began a drive South down what appeared to be a mostly-undeveloped, barrier peninsula along the Atlantic coast. A lot of scrub pine, sand, and one or two failed attempts at resorts were about all we saw although, at times, we had the bay on our left and the Atlantic on our right until reaching a couple tiny towns where we scoped out the few buildings for a lunch stop. Some of the two and three house villages were where huge rice paddies, along with fishing in the sea, must have provided employment in the area. Just south of Comforta, a village of about 300 inhabitants, we spied a restaurant with a few cars lined up beside it on the street that produced an acceptable lunch, roasted chicken for her and two Tigre shrimp for me with a couple of Cokes. Replenished, we continued our path South on the two-lane rural road, passing through copses of recently-harvested, Cork Oak trees and eventually groves and cultivated plantations of the evergreen that helps Portugal produce more than 50% of the world’s cork and over 70% of the cork used for wine bottles. See our photos of the unique, dark scarring of the tree trunks, done every six or eight years and, interestingly, marked with numbers to indicate the order of harvesting.
     We left the “main” route South to visit a couple beach towns marked by business failures, a few abandoned hotels, and waves breaking over beautiful, sandy, desolate Atlantic beaches. Paved, narrow, two lane roads wound to the beaches through more cork oaks and then pines with almost no vehicular traffic. As dusk approached we first tried in vain the village of Santo Andre in search of a hotel, before arriving in Sines where, with Google’s assistance, we found the luxurious Dom Vasco Hotel where I booked a room after negotiating the price of the night’s lodging down to 100 euros. We were delighted to find the hotel where Joan described the accoutrements as the most luxurious in which she had ever stayed - gorgeous marble and thick carpets everywhere, the price included a very good breakfast.
     The amiable, young, desk clerk recommended the best of the three restaurants available and we had a delightful dinner with fantastic service. We shared a tasty, small, crab-stuffed, roasted, red pepper appetizer that we had never seen offered on a menu. I enjoyed fried cuttle fish, here called chocos and scrumptiously tasting like calamari on steroids with a seafood-mixed rice, while Joan had a go at a huge, grilled Tiger shrimp. Her go pretty much ended in a draw! We shared a bottle of very good Alentejo white wine, each had coffee and dessert, and the tab was only 71 euros, a real bargain.
     Sines is the center of the imported petroleum business of Portugal and we spotted and photographed huge storage tanks and many large pipelines as we entered town. There is a refinery, but the town also has a large sardine processing plant for canning sardines. Unfortunately, because fresh, grilled, Portuguese sardines are fantastic, they are out of season. The grilled, fresh sardines are unlike any canned sardine I have ever tried, but Joan picked up a can for me at the supermarket and I haven’t opened the can, yet. It’s on my foodie to-do list, though.
     Leaving Sines and heading home, we opted to head east through the agriculturally-rich, Alentejo region on back roads to Evora, a very old, university city and a frequent stop on tours. The agriculture through which we passed included major sheep and cattle ranching operations with many animals grazing through grassy, cork oak stands of trees. We also spotted rice and wheat fields and an unidentified crop where farmers were “burning-off” last year’s plants. Other fields were recently plowed showing soil much lighter in color than that in Pennsylvania’s “Dutch country.”
     Having visited Evora on a previous visit to Portugal, we swung through the center of the old walled city, looking for, you guessed it, a place for lunch. After several failed tries, we stopped in a “hole-in-the wall,” place that had a surprisingly-large, dining room in the rear that was full of locals. We had wandered into the perfect place to eat! After reading the “prados do dia” on the wall on a single, large, handwritten menu to which we were directed by the busy, wait staff, we (I) decided that we should both have the “feijoada” special. Feijoada, Joan learned, is a delicious, uniquely Portuguese bean and meat stew (see photo) that we both greatly enjoyed. We had found a local, diner-type place with the kind of local cuisine rarely experienced by tourists. It’s great to be lucky; I venture to say that not many tourists would even have entered that rather seedy-looking establishment. Schim would have loved the place: two feijoadas, bread & butter, a coke, a small carafe of red wine (Joan’s - I was driving), and two coffees, were 19 euros!
     We headed home, avoided getting involved in any of the tiny streets of Lisbon’s busy Friday night, and arrived before 5:00 p.m. Adventure over; time to start thinking about packing for return trip home. Ciao!

03/24/23 - Cascais, Portugal
     We have enjoyed wonderful, Spring-like weather over the past couple of weeks that has enabled us to even eat lunch beachside last Sunday along the ocean promenade in glorious sunshine while watching Cascaisians (Cascaisites?), tourists, and canines cavort on the beach. We saw paddle ball players, skilled footsvolei participants, soccer enthusiasts, and even a few hearty souls swimming distances in the ocean in what must still be very chilly waters while dogs raced around the beach playfully chasing one another.
     We have also increased the distances we’ll walk, rather than Uber, to restaurants for meals. The weather gets credit for this increase but, so too, does our increased stamina and endurance gained through the winter as we ventured a little farther each day on barking knees (mine) and grating hips (her’s). These days we even mention while walking that we would have never attempted walks of this distance in January when we first arrived in Portugal. Now, if we can keep walking those distances, from 1.5 miles to 3 or even more miles daily, once we get back to the States we’ll be in good shape.
     From what we can see from watching weather reports at home, we won’t be able to blame the weather if we slide back into our “couch potato” existence once back in our daily routines. Shockingly, we have noticed a couple days where the daily high temperature at home was a couple degrees warmer than we were enjoying. Night time lows, however, were considerably warmer here and many folks continued dining alfresco day or night throughout the winter. We’ve had no snow and only a few January, daily, low temps fell into the upper 30’s. Rainfall has been light, very infrequent, and unbelievably cooperative, since almost all the precipitation this winter fell while we were asleep.
     Traveling for three months and packing lightly for the trip produces a tiring of the garments one wears. Though they have served me well, I hate these clothes and can hardly wait to return and raid my closet. I’ve been wearing black or blue jeans daily, though I brought a pair of khakis that I’ve worn just once. I brought a pair of Bermuda shorts that haven’t made it out of the suitcase and one of the two golf shirts I brought has gotten no further than the closets in our two AirBnbs. I’ve been wearing LL Bean’s blue or white, cotton, Henley shirts under one of the two long-sleeved Orvis shirts on an every-other-day rotation, but lately those shirts have also served as untucked, outerwear, light jackets. I have not worn the black, fleece sweatshirt for several weeks now, but the light, black, oiled Orvis jacket has served me well throughout the winter and even now for breakfast and dinner trips. The plan was to layer in similar matching colors to reduce baggage while providing protection from the cold or rain and that plan has been very successful. Did I mention that I hate these clothes? A few photos to follow. Boa tarde.

03/28/23 - Cascais, Portugal
     News Flash:
     For the first time in 2023, we are experiencing temperatures above 70 degrees Fahrenheit!  After having a delicious, thin-crusted pizza for lunch at the Italian restaurant in the nearby market, we ambled over to the tiny shop where I get my breakfast every morning to top off the meal with a cappuccino and a galao (coffee with warm, foamed milk). We sat facing the sun trying to catch some rays before retiring to the apartment and continuing our packing plans. The sun’s rays were scalding hot and, no doubt, pushed the air temp to the 75 degrees reported by the Weather Channel. We didn’t stay there long in fear of returning home as red as some of the steamed seafood and the British tourists we’ve seen here.
     Another news item: last night’s dinner in a restaurant on the sea cliff’s edge, that we visited before during our grandchildren’s visit, was notable in that Joan, starting to finally flex her seafood, taste-bud receptors, sampled the fantastic, octopus salad appetizer that I ordered AND went back for seconds! This woman ate no fish or seafood when she entered this marriage, but will now order and consume seared tuna, will force a mussel or two and, suddenly take seconds on my octopus salad! Worse yet, or better, she tasted my grilled cuttle fish and uttered in appreciation, “that’s good!” She had tasted fried cuttlefish and enjoyed them in other restaurants. What’s next - Raw oysters?!?
     We are really counting down our stay in Portugal. We will sleep here in Cascais four more nights, then move to a Holiday Inn Express at the airport for Saturday night to make it simpler to catch our flight home on Sunday. In the meantime, we’ll focus our attention on laundry and packing. Here’s hoping our son and daughter-in-law haven’t forgotten that they volunteered to pick us up in Newark once we land or that our friends can find our son’s house the next day to carry us home on the final leg of the journey. Ciao!

03/29/23 - Cascais, Portugal
     Breaking News:  We climbed the hill for lunch today to reach Soya, our favorite noodle shop, finished lunch, and for exercise decided to stroll down the hill in the other direction to sit in front of the Bahia Hotel to catch some rays and watch people on the beach and others strolling by. We saw a sea kayak school of six to eight year olds go through their pre-kayak exercises, then take their kayaks out on the harbor clogged with anchored fishing boats, some kayakers clumsily paddling on the sea for the first time.
     Suddenly, two young folks, one male and one female, both in their twenties, confronted us as we sat on the bench and introduced themselves as representing either the Cascais Chamber of Commerce or the Cascais Tourist Bureau (I didn’t take notes). They said they were producing a video of visitors and asked, because of the upcoming April Fool’s Day, if they could video us explaining what was the biggest lie we ever believed. We agreed and Joan went for Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, while I said something about her loving me until death us do part. Apparently, the clip will be on their website over the next few days. You’re welcome to try to find their site and watch our performance.
     Then, and I always say that I can’t make this stuff up, two, gray-haired, bathing-suit-clad men walked onto the beach right in front of us, removed their tee-shirts, and walked down the beach until the water reached their waist. Joan pointed out that a man in a suit and a woman in a full, first class Portuguese Navy uniform who were standing by the low beach wall were guarding the two men. I noticed another man in a blue suit on the other side of the stairs to the beach alertly watching the two bathers. I joked that the men must be famous, maybe even the President of the country.
     As the men exited the water, people began to recognize the older of the two who stopped, shook hands, and took selfies of himself with anyone who asked. People started to congregate around the beach stairs, some even hurrying onto the sand to get a picture with the very congenial man. I don’t think that he refused a photo with anyone, even sitting in his bathing suit on the beach wall and allowing all comers to sit next to him for a photo. I sidled over to the pretty, naval uniform and inquired whether she spoke English. She replied with a smile and in perfect English, “why yes, I do.” I asked who the friendly celebrity was and she said (I told you I couldn’t make this up), “that is the President of Portugal and the other man is his bodyguard!!” Wow! Just amazing! I got several good photos of the man and, when we got back to the apartment, I asked Google for the President of Portugal and there he was, Marcelo Rebelo de Sousa! I feel certain seeing the people’s response to him, and he to them, that he is a very popular leader!
     I never expected to update today, but it was something I just had to share! I’ll also have to share a few more photos. Ciao.