There’s just so much you can do with 55m2 (not even 600-square-feet), when one-third of the space is taken up by a bathroom and terrace. When a double/full-size (“matrimonial”) bed occupies the majority of the bedroom level. When the only other floor (ground level) measures just about 10 X 15 (15m2 at most) … and comprises our entry and reception area, an office, kitchen, eating space, and living room. Quite the creative challenge to reclaim that three-story townhouse and return it to a home that’s functional, yet comfortable and cozy.

But such was our task when we purchased a little vacation bolt in one of the “pueblos blancos” dotting Andalucia (southern Spain) almost 15 years ago … sold it to a British chap when “la crisis” decreased its value by at least 50% … and then bought it back from him when he decided that he preferred life on the coast.

We purchased the property for €43,000 at the height of the property boom in 2006; when “la crisis” hit in 2008, we sold it (at a substantial loss) for €28,000; as the financial crisis continued to plague the international property sector — and the seller was eager to sell it and move, after listing it to no avail with local property agents — we repurchased it for €24,000.

Almost half the price we originally paid … and in far better shape, all things considered.

The town is Olvera, a hamlet with a population of about 10,000 (including a great assortment of expats from more than a dozen countries), with spectacular vistas and lots of steep streets. Most of these streets would be called “alleys” elsewhere; but many do allow for two-way traffic, as well as parking on one side of the street (which often rotates on a monthly basis). Trying to move vehicles through this obstacle course of pedestrians and pets competing with cars and trucks for limited space results in dings and scratches, bangs and bumps, which the natives affectionately refer to as “Olvera Kisses.” It also makes it difficult to transport, load, and unload both passengers and cargo – groceries, furniture, supplies – since, every time you stop, the street backs up and the horns start blaring. Redecorating can be trying when one needs to remove old stuff and bring in the new.

That’s what faced us as we made the six-hour drive from Portugal in a van loaded with two adult men, three pet dogs, and household items ranging from towels and linens to pots and pans … pet food, pet toys, and pet beds for three very spoiled Schnauzers … objets d’art, kitchen gadgets, tools, and other assorted essentials.

In the years since we’d sold the place, little had changed: most of the furniture, appliances, artwork, dishes and glasses that we’d originally put in place were still there – and then some – even if their current placement and arrangement didn’t agree with our personal tastes.

We emptied bureau drawers filled with odds and ends of papers and outdated manuals; we removed posters taped to the walls; we sorted through what had once been complete sets of dinnerware, flatware, and glasses; we moved furniture to discover hidden art treasures (along with other debris); we donated an oversize recliner chair to charity; we took out numerous bags of rubbish for pick up by the bin men, while a 10-year-old mattress slept on by who knows how many people went down to the dump.

Then the “real” work began: replacing old, single pane windows and doors with heavy metal frames that took up valuable space by opening in rather than sliding side-to-side on tracks with bonus fly screens; painting the concrete walls which had been damaged by replacing the windows and doors (as well as the toll taken by years of “damp” and mold that build up when fresh air doesn’t circulate in unventilated spaces during the wet weather); dealing with an obsolete, overflowing water tank on our roof and a fickle water heater on the terrace; rearranging the furniture to better suit its purposes; and shopping, shopping, and more shopping for all the stuff that we needed (and things that we didn’t need but wanted).

We made what had been ours (then) ours, again.

But better!

Shared here are personal observations, experiences, and happenstance that actually occurred to us as we moved from the USA to begin a new life in Portugal and Spain. Collected and compiled in EXPAT: Leaving the USA for Good, the book is available in hardcover, paperback, and eBook editions from Amazon and most online booksellers.

Thinking about shipping your household goods from the USA to Portugal, Spain, or anywhere else in the European Union?

Think again. And again. Very, very carefully!

From finances to frustrations, the entire process of getting your stuff from there to here (or here to there) can take a toll on even the most patient and persevering people.

I’m persistent, yes! But patient? Hardly.

Some international shipping companies are thieves, cheaters, and liars. I’d call how they operate and charge “highway robberies,” but they’re on the seas, not on land. So, let’s just say I think they are pirates …

Start by trying to get a price quote on shipping your household goods – clothing, furniture, linens, artwork, tools, etc. – from various international shipping companies. Here’s how:

Go to Google. Enter “International-shipping-household-goods-USA-to-Portugal (or wherever).” Oilà! Up pops a list beginning with paid advertisers that supposedly are in the business of shipping your domestic drayage anywhere around the world. Most of the ad listings, especially, include “click-me” bait, offering free price quotes and/or estimates by filling out their online questionnaires on the specifications of your shipment. Your information is then shared with a number of shipping companies that will contact you, offering the “best deal anywhere,” if you’ll only complete their own set of questions, too.

Avid art lovers and collectors, all we really had wanted to ship from the USA to Portugal were about two dozen pieces of artwork that we treasured, because we’d found them in our 25 years of life together. Everything else we could leave behind: Adios, clothing. Adieu, furniture. Sayonara, dishes and glassware. Arrivederci, rugs and rags. Adeus, America.

But, time and again, we were told by these international moving companies that it’s “more practical … much cheaper, too,” to ship a full container (a contrivance that measures approximately 8’ x 8’ x 20’) than to share one with someone else or to ship – regardless of the transport means – a dozen or so boxes containing whatever.

So, we filled out the forms identifying what we would be shipping, including how many boxes and cartons of various sizes.

Responses ranged from the ridiculous to the sublime.

One highly-regarded and recommended company proposed an “all-inclusive” charge that brought its fee to more than twice what the others wanted … but they shared an invaluable nugget of wisdom: Whichever company we ultimately chose to carry the contents of our lives across the Atlantic, be sure that (1) it included destination terminal handling charges and port charges, which many don’t include or even mention; and (2) it is a member in good standing of FIDI, the largest global alliance of professional moving and relocation companies.

Based on our online communications, we narrowed our choice of international shipping companies to three. Only one belonged to FIDI. All were members of other moving industry alliances. We researched everything we could find that had been reported in reviews about each – positive and negative – and paid particular attention to their ratings and how they responded to complaints posted with the Better Business Bureau. We asked lots of questions, expressed our concerns, and requested clarifications.

Ultimately, we chose an international shipping company based on its price, communications, and reputation. Even before signing the contract and paying a deposit, we understood that the company was, essentially, our “broker” and liaison to other companies … kind of like the hub of a wheel with many spokes: the company that came to our house to pick up everything we were shipping and deliver it to the port of Chicago; the company in the port of Chicago that unloaded the truck, packed it into a container, and put it aboard the ship; the actual “ship”ping company that would transfer our goods from one of its ships to another (and another), before arriving here in Portugal; the logistics company in Lisbon that handled all the paperwork and clearance procedures with Customs; and the company that would ultimately unload our container and deliver its contents to our home in Lousa.

Before anything at all can be imported “duty-free” to Portugal, however, one first must be granted a residence visa from a Portuguese consulate. Suffice it to say that household goods and personal effects can be imported duty-free by people establishing residency in Portugal who have secured a residency visa … provided that these “household goods” were part of your previous residence and you don’t have a furnished home in Portugal.

To qualify for this duty-free status, the goods must be accompanied by a “Baggage Certificate” (Certificado de Bagagem) issued by the Consulate handling your visa. The goods must be cleared through Customs within 90 days of their arrival in the country.

Obtaining the certificate isn’t that difficult: You submit a list in triplicate of all items that you’re sending to Portugal. Each numbered page should state, “List of Personal Effects of (Name)”; it can identify items by box (Box #1: Clothing, Box #2: Kitchen Utensils, Box #3: Books, etc.) or by description (King Size Bed and Mattress, Chest of Drawers, Artwork, etc.); and all electronic appliances must clearly list their serial numbers. The Consulate wants you to leave a few blank spaces after the last listing on each page for official signatures, and this statement must accompany your list: “I hereby certify that the above items have been in my use and possession for over six months” (Signature and date). Finally, a company, bank, or certified check – or a money order – payable to the Consular Section-Embassy of Portugal must be included and a postage paid, self-addressed (preferably trackable) envelope enclosed.

With all required documents in hand, scanned and sent to the shipping company, we began packing and making certain that every box, along with every non-boxed item, was clearly numbered and identified exactly as listed on our official baggage certificate. Measuring off an area slightly less than 8 x 8 x 20 feet in our garage, we made sure that we didn’t go beyond what would fit in the container.

Recalling the fires that had left so many Portuguese homeless and destitute not far from where we’d be living, we bought blankets, comforters, quilts, spreads, linens, towels, and curtains that could be used to wrap our household goods and then donated to those in need.

Unfortunately, the shipping company had other ideas.

The company insisted that, for insurance reasons, they needed to pack and “shrink-wrap” all of the furniture that we had so carefully covered with layers of blankets held tight to their contents with bungee cords. The unused blankets and coverlets would be shipped in other boxes.

Honestly, we experienced no real problems until about three weeks before our container was scheduled to arrive in Lisbon. The Portuguese “partner” of our American agent then requested additional documents.

Because our “contribuinte” – or fiscal – numbers had been obtained for us by our Portuguese attorney when we assigned her power of attorney to purchase our house, the forms showed her address. Not acceptable. To release our container from the port and deliver its contents to our home in Lousa, our address – not hers – was required. We contacted Liliana, our lawyer. Though it was no simple matter to have our address changed on the official documents, she was able to accomplish it for us. The new documents were forwarded to our Portuguese shipping agent.

“Perfect!” they exclaimed. “Now you must send us an official copy of your Atestado de Residencia,” the document issued with a seal by the town hall of our jurisdiction and signed by its president. The Atestado declares that we are known to be living in the town. With a note hastily translated by Google and printed out, we rushed off to our local town hall (freguesia), where the document was produced for a small fee. Since the freguesia shared space with the local post office, the document was dispatched via DHL with guaranteed next-day delivery.

It got there just fine, but the document wasn’t …

“No,” said customer service agent at our shipping company. “The Atestados must state that you have been living in Lousa since the 25^th of March.”

But that wasn’t true. I tried to explain that we had arrived on the evening of the 26^th, due to delays in our flights.  Then, each time we attempted to visit the town hall, it was closed. After all, it was the week before Easter and everything (along with everyone) was operating on limited schedules and hours. Very limited. It was April 3^rd that we were finally able to get our Atestados de Residencia.

“No matter,” she replied. “It is not our choice. Portuguese law requires that the documents be worded and dated precisely as I have stated.” Well, fiddle-dee-dee. Now what? A newcomer to town, was I supposed to annoy the town hall clerk by trying to explain what was wrong, why and how it needed to be revised? “Never mind,” the agent advised. “We will take care of it for you.”

And they did. Somehow, they contacted the town hall’s clerk in our tiny village and convince him not only to revise the document, affix the official seal, get the president to sign it again, and send it via courier to the shipping company’s offices in Lisbon … without involving me or even an additional fee.

With all our papers and documentation in order, we waited for our shipment to arrive. Three times, we were notified that our ship would be delayed. Finally, it arrived: ten days later than anticipated. All things considered, not too bad.

But, then came the bills from our Portuguese shipping representatives: €420 in port charges, to be paid immediately. I dashed out to the bank and transferred the funds. Immediately, came this reply: Your balance remaining is €970,00 … another €420 in “terminal handling charges” (THC)  plus €550 for shuttle van service, as our street is too narrow for a truck to park and unload a 20 x 8 x 8 container. We knew we’d have no choice but to pay for this shuttle: we couldn’t block the two-way traffic coming and going on the “main” street in town!

“Why did you wait to send me this second invoice?” I asked. “I just came back from driving to the bank to transfer the funds from your first payment request. Now, I have to go back again to transfer more money!”

Her explanation didn’t make any sense whatsoever to me but, at that point, I didn’t care anymore. It was only more money hemorrhaging. As long as the contents of our container were delivered on Wednesday …

They were.

But a bunch of stuff that we didn’t pack, the movers did – an antique chest-of-drawers, a large baking “stone,” some collectible glassware – arrived broken beyond repair. I sent emails and pictures of the damaged goods to everyone professionally involved with our move, but I still haven’t heard a word back in reply. It’s been over a week now.

As I said at the beginning of this chapter, if you are considering shipping household goods internationally, please think very carefully about it. Then, think again. And again.

Consider your options.

Shared here are personal observations, experiences, and happenstance that actually occurred to us as we moved from the USA to begin a new life in Portugal and Spain. Collected and compiled in EXPAT: Leaving the USA for Good, the book is available in hardcover, paperback, and eBook editions from Amazon and most online booksellers.

“Come here for a second, Russ, you have to see this …”

En route from Racine, Wisconsin, to Jacksonville, Florida, where I had accepted the call to pastor an interdenominational church, we stopped to pick up some cat food for the kitty we’d rescued.

“What do you want to show me?” Russ asked, his hands holding catnip and toys for our three-day drive from the upper Midwest to the lower Southeast.

“Look!” I pointed at a small white puppy playing alone in a kennel crate, rolling over repeatedly and making the funniest faces.

“Cute,” Russ contributed.

“Can we ask to see him in one of the cubicles and play with him a bit? The dog is a Miniature Schnauzer. Have you ever seen a white one?”

“But we’ve got a three-day drive ahead of us,” Russ interjected. “Besides, it’s a male.”

We’d never had a male dog, always assuming females were friendlier, easier to train, more obedient and loyal.

(You know what’s said about ass-u-me!)

Discretion being the lesser part of valor when it comes to canines in our lives, within 30 minutes the puppy had become the newest member of our family … accompanied by bags filled with food, toys, and treats.

The little boy and I bonded during our drive to the sunshine state, me driving and he lounging comfortably on the rented Chevy Tahoe’s massive center console. Russ had the cat in his car, growling at him.

We named our new family member Jackson – Jax for short – in respect to our Florida destination. It was there that he’d have his first bath, his first grooming, his first set of rabies and distemper shots, his first taste of a poison (“Comfortis”) pill his sensitive system couldn’t quite handle to combat the ferocious fleas and ubiquitous bugs – flying, crawling, hiding, biting – inhabiting the same space that we did.

Walking him around our block in the Springfield area where we lived, I would sometimes encounter a gentleman walking his two dogs: a tiny Yorkshire and a larger black one that looked like another terrier.

“Is that a Scottie?” I asked.

“No. She’s a black Schnauzer.”

“I’ve never seen a black Schnauzer …”

“And I’ve never met a white one!” he said.

Jackson is the smartest, most sensitive, and affectionate dog we’d ever adopted. Yes, males can be quite loving. Still, when the cat had passed on, we decided to find Jax a female companion.

# # # # #

The chance of finding any Schnauzers in the classified ads of our local back-home-in-Virginia newspaper was next to nil. Yet, there was the ad: “Miniature Schnauzers. Home-raised. Parents on premises …”

“Should we call?” I asked Russ.

No answer was needed.

“Hi, I’m calling about your newspaper ad for Miniature Schnauzers,” I began when the phone was answered. “We’re looking for something very specific: a sweet black female. I don’t suppose you have one?”

“Actually, we do. Two pups are left: a black bitch and a salt-and-pepper male, the runt of the litter. Want to see them?”

“We’ll be right there,” I informed the pets’ surrogate parents. Looking at Russ, I then matter-of-factly stated, “You know what this means.”

The black girl was exactly what we’d hoped for; but the little silver and gray boy was totally unexpected: a bundle of joy that jumped into our laps, licked our throats, and rolled over for his belly to be rubbed. Russ shot me a look that clearly declared, “We’re not leaving with one dog. Either both of them are coming home with us, or neither will.”

That’s how we came to have three dogs – the “children,” as we refer to them – who totally have changed our lives.

# # # # #

If and when you decide to make a major move, to another country across the great pond, in addition to your own visa requirements, you need to ensure that all of your pets’ paperwork is properly presented. With pets originating in the European Union, you get official pet passports that enable them to cross borders. For pets coming into the EU from the USA, you work with your veterinarian and the U.S. Department of Agriculture to complete comparable documents, reasonable facsimiles.

Before all this happens, however, you must deal with the airlines if you won’t allow your pets to be transported in the plane’s cargo hold.

Because of disabilities, physicians qualified our dogs as Emotional Support Animals to fly with us in the cabins of three American Airlines’ flights—between Green Bay, Wisconsin, and Madrid, Spain. Upon landing in Madrid, authorities hardly glanced at all the details and data included on the 11-page document. They simply scanned the spots where each of the dogs had a microchip inserted and confirmed their numbers matched the papers.

The person handling our rental car warned us that, in Spain and Portugal, dogs and cats must be “restrained” in vehicles, either by keeping them in their carriers or affixing them to the seat belt locks through a simple device where one side connects to their collars, the other to the seat belt buckles. Amazon sells a set for about ten dollars.

Somewhat comforted to find great vets who speak English, you make an appointment and bring your pets in for exams – “consultations” – where you spend over an hour together and more than €200 … which not only includes thorough exams, but eight-month collars to guard against fleas, ticks, and the dreaded Leishmaniasis, more medicine to combat it and yet more medicine to guard against heart worms.

“You must realize,” the vet warns, “that dogs and cats from other countries (i.e., the USA) are more susceptible to disease, mosquito bites, and attacks.” In a plastic bag are the medicines, dosages and schedules they’re to be given, brochures, and other paraphernalia; you’re handed directly three official pet passports (included in the fees), enabling your dogs or cats to travel between EU countries.

In exchange, you hand over your Multibanco card and cringe when the ticket prints out a receipt for two hundred and eight euros, equal to about US $242.00. Then you remember how much time the vet has spent with you and your three pooches; all the medications, pills, and elixirs you’ve received to take home; the three, 3-in-1 combination vaccines protecting your cherished ones against Bordetella bacteria, Canine Parainfluenza virus, and Adenovirus Type 2. How much would all that have cost you in the USA? Undoubtedly, a heck of a lot more!

And when the vet hands you the itemized “factura” (invoice), you learn that professional health care for your pets is tax-deductible here.

# # # # #

Pet passports in hand, you and your pets now need licenses from your local junta. “You will want to have them,” your veterinarian advises, since without licenses, the police can come and take away your pets if people make complaints.”

Each of our dogs gets a license. Just € 10 for the first year—for all three, less in following years. We leave with the distinguished documents, words offset by seals and stamps and signed by the junta’s president.

Just when we think there won’t be anything else the dogs need, the devil pays a house call: one, then the others, fall sick. We grieve their pain, discomfort, and suffering, even as we curse the ceaseless messes everywhere. So, we make another appointment with the vet.

This time we bring just Jax, as he’s the only one sick at the moment. Again, we’re impressed by the thoroughness of care and concern shown by our dog’s doctors: a physical exam … x-rays to ensure there’s no “foreign” matter in his intestines (or other internal parts) … nearly an hour’s worth of IV solution to replenish the liquids lost during his “accidents” and absence of appetite … antibiotics by injection … pills, antibiotics plus probiotics to help him heal at home … advice to boil a skinless breast of chicken and some rice, feeding him in small doses.

The veterinarian hands us two little bags of pills and her card with the practice’s 24-hour emergency line, then jots down her own personal phone number on it, too. “If Jax isn’t improving in 24 hours – or if he has any more problems – call and bring him back tomorrow,” she said.

Ninety-four euros. The bill for all that attention!

Jax began to improve almost immediately. But the two littles ones quickly came down with the same symptoms. We concluded the problem was food poisoning, not from something they’d picked up in the streets from well-meaning people who’d leave bones and gristle for the town’s homeless animals. No, the problem was with their food.

We’d purchased the best food available– dry and canned – in a shop similar to Fleet & Farm, since everything in the supermarkets has cereal as a primary ingredient and far too much fat for dogs who suffer from pancreatitis.

Forcing them to swallow their pills, followed by feeding them the boiled chicken and rice, all three quickly regained their health. Portuguese friends recommended a new pet supply shop that had just opened, where we purchased excellent low-fat and grain-free dry food: just two small bags (2-3 kgs), along with four cans of low-fat, “all-natural” food without any additives—turkey with raspberry, chicken with pineapple, chicken with apple, and chicken fillets.

With a new customer discount, our bill totaled € 33—almost US $40.

Whether standard, off-the-shelf supermarket brands heavy with fillers, or highly nutritious specialty foods found only in limited locations, pet foods are among those daily breads (or breeds) that can cost more here in Spain and Portugal than in the USA.

Even so, the money is well spent on health care for our families.

Shared here are personal observations, experiences, and happenstance that actually occurred to us as we moved from the USA to begin a new life in Portugal and Spain. Collected and compiled in EXPAT: Leaving the USA for Good, the book is available in hardcover, paperback, and eBook editions from Amazon and most online booksellers.

We know people who take trips to fabulous places by air, sea, and land. Some of them have been almost everywhere the world wantons, seeking its seven wonders and exploring places far from the beaten track.

For them, it’s one exciting trip after another, going to places most of us only imagine and dream about, courtesy of TV’s travel channels and the worldwide web.

What wonderful opportunities to be strangers in strange lands, to get away – truly away – for the vacation of a lifetime (or two).

We, however, have chosen another path … towards destinations that many simply cannot fathom: While enjoying periodic cruises, shopping for stuff purchased impulsively on a tourist’s whim, and seeing how other people live (albeit from an American perspective), we prefer to return – year after year – to the same two places: a Spanish town where we’ve spent a month unwinding after nearly a year’s worth of frustrations and, a small village in Portugal where dealing with frustrations occupied much of our time. More recently, we added another small property in Portugal–this one is on the Spanish border by Badajoz.

Sometimes, if we could manage it, we made more than one trip to these places … spending an additional ten days to two weeks there the same year.

I not only got to speak with the natives, I spoke as the natives do … picking up new slang and jargon, along with rapid fluency. Where and when I couldn’t converse, I learned how to communicate.

For a month, we moved around with the locals—either walking a lot or driving cars with clutches that required us (sometimes) to pull up the emergency brake when forced to stop and then start again in the middle of a steep hill, with traffic honking behind us. For a month, we ingested different kinds of foods and “delicacies” (pig jowls, snippets of bull tails, pizza made with unusual ingredients, linings of cow stomachs, etc.). And, for a month, we tried not to eat three meals daily – breakfast, lunch, and dinner – at our “normal” times: morning, noon, and (very) early evening … but, instead, to consume smaller “tapas” portions in the mid-afternoon and evenings (although we preferred to eat at 7:00 PM, not 10:00 PM).

But the biggest difference, we’d found, between being travelers passing through and living as part-time residents was learning to accept that other people and cultures tend to do things differently than we do … which is perfectly all right.

Take patience, for instance—something I am sorely lacking.

In Iberia, we may wait at the bank for an hour or more while those ahead of us receive “personalized service” from customer reps. We had an 11:30 appointment at the Notario (the ultimate “lawyer’s lawyer” in many EU nations), only to be seen an hour later than scheduled because the Notario’s attention had been diverted by other matters. We sat in our attorney’s office for much longer than planned because – like our insurance agent – he takes the time (as much as needed) to be interrupted by telephone calls, other people coming into the office “just to ask a question,” and whatever business our agents can conduct while we’re sitting there with them.

We have come to understand that when contractors tell us they’ll be here at 10:00 but don’t show up until 11:30 – and then take a two-hour lunch – before returning and working until 19:00 or 20:00, it’s not because they’re lazy or taking advantage … it’s because the hands of a clock don’t control them. They move to the beat of different drummers.

Ultimately it’s been good for us, learning to live in another culture that’s different from our norm, and that a “mañana mentality,” once adjusted to and accommodating it, indeed can be healthy.

In 2017, we no longer took month-long “vacations” to our Spanish town and village in Portugal. We stayed. We became residents, if not citizens, of international oases where we’d passed snippets of our lives. For lots of reasons – practical and political – we decided to make Portugal and Spain our home. 

We have come to understand that we’re no longer wayfarers or tourists, but rooted residents, part and parcel of places welcoming us to new homelands and communities.

Shared here are personal observations, experiences, and happenstance that actually occurred to us as we moved from the USA to begin a new life in Portugal and Spain. Collected and compiled in EXPAT: Leaving the USA for Good, the book is available in hardcover, paperback, and eBook editions from Amazon and most online booksellers.

“Get going, already,” motioned the young couple who had purchased our house in Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin, and were waiting, eagerly, for us to depart from what was now to be their new home.

In addition to our house, they had bought a good deal of our furniture … as well as my favorite toy, an all-wheel drive Jaguar.

We had disposed of most of our possessions and keepsakes.

Except for the contents of one 8 x 8 x 20 foot shipping container filled with an assortment of “household goods” and our beloved artwork, collected and curated together over 25+ years together (plus not too few U-Haul “wardrobe” boxes filled with blankets, comforters, bed linens, towels, and other household goods that we’d purchased for donation to the needy in Portugal–especially victims of the fires), everything else we owned, including Russ’s Jeep Grand Cherokee, had been sold, gifted to loved ones, or donated to nonprofit charities.

Turning back one last time to wave a final good-bye, I realized that we had divested much if not most of the content comprising our life in the United States, as we prepared to make the one-way journey to Portugal with our three dogs, three large suitcases, and two allotted carry-on bags containing computers, passports, and other essentials.

Over the past ten years, we had been fortunate and privileged to own “vacation bolts” in Spain and/or Portugal, and to travel there once or twice annually, enjoying a month to six weeks during each visit.

But, this time would be different.

It wasn’t a visit. We’d be staying, not returning.

One-way, not round-trip, tickets.

This was the first time we were traveling with our dogs, three miniature schnauzers, who’d accompany us in the cabin on the three flights taking us to our new home: Green Bay > Chicago, Chicago > Philadelphia, and Philadelphia > Madrid (where we would rent a car large enough to transport our family and assorted paraphernalia on the four-hour drive to our property in Lousa, a village of 600 on the outskirts of Castelo Branco).

Endlessly, we had talked about living in Europe alongside other the expats and immigrants – from the UK and the Netherlands, Australia, Canada, Sweden and elsewhere – who had become part and parcel of our family and circle of friends in Spain and, later, in Portugal.

But they were European Union nationals. Different rules applied to them than applied to us. Even the Brits, though fearful of potential consequences their “Brexit” might cause, were convinced they would never be forced to leave the countries to which they had emigrated. Certainly, protections and provisions would be included in the terms and conditions negotiated during the UK’s exit from the EU.

For our part, we loved our lifestyle in Spain and Portugal. Life was easier (or easy-going) and slower there. Calmer and more tranquil. Far cheaper, too. And healthier. We walked rather than drove most days; typically, we ate less but healthier; and we drank far more red wine. As a “mañana mentality” took hold, we felt far less stressed and much more liberated. All in all, our quality of life greatly surpassed our cost of living.

Yet …

Visits and vacations are different from full-time living and residence. So, we dawdled, too comfortable in our intimacies and surroundings to actually make such a major move.

Perhaps it was the regular, routine Social Security payments I had worked a lifetime to earn. More probably, however, the political changes – first subtle, then crassly overt – which had changed the climate of our country, provided the real motivation for us to get going and relocate.

Shared here are personal observations, experiences, and happenstance that actually occurred to us as we moved from the USA to begin a new life in Portugal and Spain. Collected and compiled in EXPAT: Leaving the USA for Good, the book is available in hardcover, paperback, and eBook editions from Amazon and most online booksellers.