Americans are issued Social Security Numbers in the USA which are used to identify them—from taxpayer to pensioner.

Other countries assign their citizens (and residents) a variety of numbers. In Portugal, for example, in addition to a social security number, many of us also have a separate health care number, driver’s license number, and – of course – the ubiquitous “fiscal” (or taxpayer) number, technically known as our NIF but more popularly referred to as the número contribuente.

Every time we go shopping, we’re queried “Contribuinte?” by the cashier.

Merchants are required to ask if want to provide your “número contribuinte” for that purchase … although you aren’t required to give it. But, if you do, it’s recorded and reported to the tax office.

Will providing your NIFs for Lidl or Continente purchases affect your tax bill in Portugal?

It could!

Part of the reason behind tracking money spent and received is to thwart the “underground economy” and its financial transactions. But, thanks to giving our número contribuente, our own tax records display deductions we can take on our income taxes. And we’re entered in lottery-like “drawings” held regularly by Finanças and the tax office.

(Unless you pay income taxes here, however, you can’t claim these deductions. If you do pay taxes here, some “costs” are reclaimable.)

In welcoming us to their country, we want Portugal to know that we are investing in it, too, by purchasing from its businesses.

So, although not required or requested, when I head to SEF to renew my residencia, I’ll also be handing over a printout of the spending I’ve done here … attributed to my número contribuente!

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.

What do you do when your doctor decides you cannot go up and down the 37 stairs (a dozen times daily) in your house anymore? Especially with your three dogs—which you walk twice around the village: once with the two little ones and, again, with the bigger boy? And, further, that the aches and pains in your back and your bones are unable to withstand the uneven cobble stones paving your streets because of the stresses and strains they put on you—especially when walking your dogs around your beloved village four times each day?

You don’t have 37 steps? Or three dogs? And your streets are paved with asphalt, not cobble stone, you say? Or you live on a quinta?

No matter.

Consider this scenario, one quite familiar to Americans seeking to move abroad to Portugal (and Spain). One of the indispensable requirements of obtaining a residency visa is documenting that you have a dwelling … at least for your first six months here.

You can rent or buy.

Though some opt for renting, knowing they will have to relocate when their lease is up, it’s a sensible choice—especially if you have few household items and worldly goods to transport. You’ll have a chance to live up close and personal and understand the lay of the land as you explore other neighborhoods, nearby towns and villages and cities, or (perhaps) elsewhere entirely in the country.

Your choice.

You have six months to travel and explore, gambling that, for whatever reason – a community of friends already living there, proximity to the coast and its Atlantic beaches, charm of the place that tugs at your heartstrings and beckons, a perfect plot to put down roots and live off the land instead of the grid – the time will provide opportunities so that you don’t have to rush to judgment about where you’ll live.

Others, like us, however, prefer to buy—submitting a property deed with our visa application, rather than a rental contract.

With all the moves we’ve made already, packing the mementos and monuments of our 25+ years together for a transatlantic shipment would be our last herculean undertaking before the Atlas in us shrugged.

Buying in a “foreign” country requires a different type of fortitude. For instance, you need to envision – even fantasize – the lay of the land where you want to be: Urban, suburban, or rural? Village, town, or city? On the coast, in the center, or along the border? Single-family detached house, “row” home, duplex, apartment, condo, or land enough to grow (maybe even sell) your edibles and comestibles? New build or resale, renovation or ruin to rebuild from scratch?

Along with such demographic factors, you’ll also want to weigh in with the “psychographics.” Close your eyes and picture your perfect place. What does it look like? More important, how does it feel to you? For the sake of seclusion are you opting for less in terms of Internet and telecommunications options—especially if you’ll be working online? If dogs are already part of your furry family (or will be), will you be comfortable in a home without any land, requiring you to walk and pick up after them, regardless of the weather … which can be day upon day and weeks at a time of continuous rain or brutal, scorching sun where it can be 100 degrees or more in the shade throughout the summer? Do you have special health issues or concerns which will dictate medical availability and accessibility?

And what many of us forget to take into account is our age: Will what seems reasonable, doable, and accommodating now feel or be just as easy to cope with down the road five, ten, twenty years hence?

In our case, we didn’t know if Russ would be able to continue working remotely. Would his close-knit Door County performing arts company consent to him not working under their thumb? Would they be willing to contract communications and marketing – as well as attendance, virtually, at staff meetings – from a time zone six hours later?

We didn’t know when we began planning our move; yet, discretion being the greater part of valor, we concluded that we’d best assume that we’d be “freelancers,” with new income flowing from the USA except for Social Security.

Along with a relatively modest budget, that was a reality which dictated many of our choices and criteria where to look and live in Portugal.

Eyes closed, we envisioned our new home set in an idyllic village with cobble stone streets and a picturesque church whose bells would mark the tempo of our daily lives. Our home would be easily accessible by car to shopping, dining, and entertainment. After ten years of flying to our vacation bolt in southern Spain, it would also be within an easy driving distance. Importantly, too, it had to be approved for commercial use, as we planned to open our “Tapas Americanas” to produce income.

All told, we made three round-trips between the USA and Portugal in search of the “right” property, searching for places between Coimbra and Castelo Branco that met our needs … and wants. We scheduled one of our trips to coincide with a Pure Portugal seminar on buying and building, losing one possibly perfect property close to Miranda do Corvo because it sold before we could make an offer; we bypassed another property after learning at the seminar that a “build,” enclosed on three sides by a mountain, would be difficult to maintain because of the moisture and constant battle against damp and mold.

Towards the end of our second tour, we found a house that ticked off all of our boxes. In a village just 15 minutes outside of Castelo Branco, it was postcard picturesque. On the street level, it had housed a café before the owner’s husband died and she put the property for sale—including the lower-level café, a courtyard, and large kitchen.

Above, rose two more levels. On the first was a huge living room, two smaller rooms (formerly bedrooms, but offices for us), and a separate wing above the downstairs kitchen with a large guest quarters and en suite that not only would provide privacy, but could be used as an AirBnB rental. The top floor featured a master bedroom with walk-in closet and separate en suite, an adjacent multi-purpose room with a second (service) kitchen, and a huge covered terrace. The house also included a large attic with ample room for storage.

The drawbacks? After being vacant for several years, the elements had taken their toll on the premises which needed repairs, mold remediation, and painting … not to mention an entirely new kitchen constructed downstairs. Those 37 steps would be our daily exercise. And, although the café was zoned “commercial,” the landlady had allowed its license to lapse. To be granted a new license would require bringing the café up to current code—at least €10,000 in construction costs to make it handicapped accessible, more mobile and modern.

Not that it mattered, anymore …

Russ’ employers wanted him to keep working for them. This was well before Covid closures and work restrictions; they were willing, at least, to give it a try. Fortunately, everything worked well. Not only did it prepare the organization for the new realities of work caused by the pandemic, but it also prepared the way for other employees and contractors to work remotely as well.

We fixed up and improved the house, using the former café as our gathering area for friendly get-togethers. Walking the streets with our dogs, we got to know our neighbors. Because few in this provincial village spoke English, our conversational skills grew beyond “Bom Dia” and “Obrigado.” These good-hearted yet private people knocked on our door, bringing baskets with fruits and vegetables from their gardens or quintas. We came to enjoy the local holidays and festivities, even as we respected the solemn processions of locals paying their last respects to those dearly departed. Living on the main street brought life’s realities and rituals to our windows, balcony, and front door.

With each chime of the church bells, I grew older … crossing that milestone from sixties to seventies, from an energetic “senior citizen” to an “elderly” fussbudget. Limbs broken 20 years earlier sent me not-so-gentle reminders with increasing frequency. New ills, aches, and allergies began to trouble me. Never particularly patient to begin with, I increasingly identified with grumpy old men filled with frustrations, feeling (felling) my physical limitations and life passing me by.

When a series of gastrointestinal problems and my first bout with sciatica brought me to hospitals, laboratories, pharmacies, and clinics, my physician insisted that pharmaceuticals could just do so much to help; some major changes must now be made in our lives.

“You cannot continue to climb up and down all those stairs,” she stated, “especially with the dogs. And the uneven cobble stones in the streets aren’t helping, as the dogs pull you going after a dog or cat.”

“So, what are you saying; what do you suggest?” I asked, presuming her forthcoming answer.

“You must move!” she informed me. “Find a one-level home with a backyard, a quintal. Maybe a bungalow. You will see how much better you will begin to feel.”

Move? Again? After all that planning? From a village that had welcomed and embraced us: Newcomers! Over the last ten years or so, the local population had been halved—from 1,200 to 600.

I had adjusted and adapted my life in retirement to one of active involvement. Since moving to Lousa, I had one book published and was working on a new one. I wrote regularly for The American Magazine (UK) and The Portugal News. I created and administer several popular Facebook groups—one for “Portalegre People” (where our other home was located); another for “LGBTQ+ People and Friends in Portugal”; and a third, “American Expats & Friends in Portugal and Spain,” for expats, immigrants, the curious, and wannabes. Most important, however, was the progressive, interfaith congregation I pastored for hurting and spiritually hungry “People of Faith Online.” And, most recently, we launched Portugal Living Magazine, an English language magazine that covers the entire country, connecting people throughout … as well as those seeking to relocate.

Move? At this point, I needed to think of it not as moving out, but moving on. Nonetheless, it’s not as easy as one might think.

Stay tuned …

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.

A picture may be worth a thousand words, but nothing expresses the soul of a people quite like their music. Perhaps nowhere does this resonate so clearly as with the Portuguese fado and the Spanish flamenco. Those seeking to familiarize themselves with the unique character and personality of Spain v. Portugal need only wrap themselves in these two existential music genres.

Even if you don’t know a word of either language and haven’t studied its culture, you can still experience it profoundly as you listen – no, engage – with the primal emotions aroused by the music.

Spain is quixotic, teasing and tempestuous, outgoing and flirtatious. Portugal, on the other hand, is sadly melancholic, holding tenuously onto a yearning sense of nostalgia.

Fado is traditional folk music, a form of Portuguese singing that is often associated with pubs, cafés, and restaurants. This music originated in Portugal around the 1820s, although it is thought to have much earlier roots. Fado is known for its profound expressiveness and melancholy. A musician – often a woman — will sing about the hard realities of daily life, balancing resignation and hopefulness that a resolution to its torments can still occur.

Best described with the Portuguese word saudade, an impenetrable word which encompasses more than “longing” and stands for a feeling of loss, fado was brought to mainstream music by Amália Rodrigues (1920-1999), known as the Rainha do Fado (Queen of Fado). Acknowledged throughout the world, Amalia’s charisma, extraordinary timbre of voice, and beauty made her an acclaimed artist. She became one of the most important personalities for the genre and the main inspiration for contemporary and modern fado.

I first heard Amália Rodrigues in my elementary Portuguese classroom, singing one of her best-known fados through a downloaded file on a decrepit laptop computer. Nonetheless, I was enthralled. Much as I’ve come to enjoy other fado singers and songs, nothing will ever compare for me to “Uma Casa Portuguesa” as she delivered it:
 www.youtube.com/watch?v=RU-Z0SiQKgU

The only non-Portuguese singer I am aware of whose music – especially her song La Llorona — comes close to the Portuguese saudade inherent to fado is Chavela Vargas, a  Costa Rica-born Mexican singer known especially for her rendition of Mexican rancheras, although she is also recognized for her contribution to other genres of popular Latin American music. Hailed for her haunting performances, she was a muse to such figures as Pedro Almodóvar and called la voz áspera de la ternura, “the rough voice of tenderness.”

Here is Chavela singing La Llorona (The Weeping Woman):
www.youtube.com/watch?v=tP2R-kqtkJo

If the Portuguese fado is evocative, Spain’s flamenco is provocative.

Sultry and seductive, flamenco brings together distinctive chirping, cooing, “come hither” voices with dance and instrumentals (mostly guitar) responsive to the speakeasy Spanish spirit. Flamenco features the call and response known as jaleo, a form of bravado involving hand clapping, foot stomping, and audiences’ encouraging shouts. clapping, finger snapping, and foot stomping.

Though somewhat mysterious, the roots of flamenco seem to lie in the Roma (gypsy) migration from Rajasthan in northwest India to Spain, between the 9th and 14th centuries. These migrants brought with them musical instruments – tambourines, bells, and wooden castanets – as well as an extensive repertoire of songs and dances to Spain, where they encountered the rich cultures of Sephardic Jews and the Moors. Their centuries-long cultural intermingling produced the unique art form known as flamenco.

In the U.S. and elsewhere, flamenco is a pervasive Spanish national identity marker. For proof of its pop culture currency, look no further than Toy Story 3: Buzz Lightyear is mistakenly reset in “Spanish mode,” and becomes a passionate Spanish flamenco dancer.

Indeed, the world outside Spain often stereotypes the country as inhabited by flamenco dancers, singers, and guitar players so “passionate” that they have little time to engage in the day-to-day world of the mediocre and mundane.

Much like our soap operas (telenovelas in Spanish).

Flamenco performance was once ostracized, considered a vulgar and pornographic spectacle. Over the years, many Spaniards considered flamenco a scourge of their nation, deploring it as an entertainment that lulled the masses into disorientation, hampering Spain’s progress toward modernity. Flamenco’s shifting fortunes show how Spain’s complex national identity continues to evolve to this day, where it is widely enjoyed as performance art.

This brief clip hardly does justice to the flamenco genre, where a single song can go on – with audience participation – for hours:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=XNhfV_53W7A

Spain and Portugal.
Flamenco and Fado.
Spirit and Soul.
Yin and Yang.
Salido and Saudade.

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.

Since 2020 has been such a bummer, with restrictions on movements and gatherings continuing today into 2021, we aren’t able to host our annual Open House get-together with family, friends, and neighbors. So, I will make do by reminiscing — and sharing — last year’s “festa” and hoping that this new year will be a time of recovery for all!

Feliz ano novo.

The day dawned delightful during my early morning walk with the dogs, providing Portugal’s blue and bright skies amid a string of belle weather days. Already the sun was beginning to rise earlier … with the roosters advancing their “wake-up” calls, while the town’s bells never missed a beat.

With the help of Facebook to prod people with props and reminders, we had decided to continue our annual tradition of celebrating the New Year with an open house. Last year, we combined the open house with a house-warming, as it was our first, full year of living in Portugal (and Spain), and we’d finally finished furnishing and making needed improvements.

An open house wasn’t that difficult to describe to those who spoke Portuguese: we explained that we invited guests to visit, at their convenience, between certain times … “stay as long or as little as you can,” we clarified. A house-warming, however? It simply didn’t translate.

Along with wines and beers, a variety of cheeses and appetizers are joining our fulsome-food buffet: Pisto, a vegetarian dish I’d learned to prepare from my grandmother in Spain more than 50 years ago (though I’m told the Portuguese people are familiar with it, too); the quintessential American mac-and-cheese, embellished by Russ but done Martha Stewart’s way; a new twist on my annual pot of beans and franks—beans and chourizo; meatballs served in a special, Piri-Piri sauce; and a heaping bowl of home-made Potato Salad. Plus all the little “side dishes” and samplers, of course.

Together, they offer an aromatic stew of smells, coalescing to greet our guests: friends, old and new.Side by side, the crockpots seem like similes – or metaphors? – for our lives: One, a humble slow cooker with but three basic settings (high, medium, low) purchased from Lidl for 20 euros; the other an oversize, state-of-the-art gizmo with settings and options galore.

Kind of hokey, huh?

Apart from four of us from the USA, most of those coming had moved to Portugal from elsewhere, becoming friends (first) online or meeting at gatherings with friends of other friends. Altogether, about two dozen are expected.

Our Portuguese friends and neighbors were grateful for the invitation, but felt some hesitation – perhaps reticence – about entering houses other than their own to share food and festivities. These bountiful and gracious people, often poor in pocket but rich in heart and spirit, would knock on our door, dropping off baskets of vegetables and fruits from their family quintas throughout the year.

No longer are we those “strange Americans” living among them … by now, they had adopted us. We’ve become their strange Americans!

Despite my limited language skills last year, I felt confident enough to do the honors by introducing friends and neighbors in Portuguese:

• Ele é o nosso amigo/Ela é a nossa amiga (He/she is our friend);
• Eles são os nossos amigos (They’re our friends);
• Ela é a nossa vizinha (She is our neighbor);
• Eles são os nossos vizinhos (They are our neighbors); and even
• Ela é a dona do mercado na esquina (She owns the market on the corner).

This year, my vocabulary and ability to use it have expanded.

Since January 1, 2019, we have dealt with Portuguese contractors on home repairs and remodeling. We’ve traveled and got lost around the roundabouts—asking directions and, finally, finding our way. Processing down the street with our neighbors, we mourned the passing of people we knew, and participated in our village’s ferias by placing flower petals along the street. We made purchases – major and minor – and financial decisions, dealing with salespeople and bankers. We suffered medical exams with doctors and staff who didn’t speak English, answering their questions as best we could. And we responded to the dictates of government bureaucracy, as well as those of big business: Freguesias, Cámaras, Centros da Saúde, Segurança Social, IMT, SEF, NHS, MEO, EDP. We began weekly Portuguese for Foreigners classes, applying our lessons about contractions (no, na, nos, nas) to others: do, da, das, dos; pelo, pela, pelos, pelas. While sitting on the “throne,” we read Portuguese advertisements of all shapes and sizes, newspaper stories and obituaries, and children’s books. We figured out the meanings of various signs lit on the motorways

.Last year, we could ask and answer simple questions; now, we are able to ask natives to speak more slowly—to repeat or explain what we don’t understand. Nonetheless, we can engage in limited conversations and dialogues … even if our accents still are awful and it’s all in the present tense. Our Portuguese pronunciation often falters, but we have learned to say “shkola” (escola), “shkreetorio” (escritorio), and “shkadera” (escadera), although we’re still at a loss about blending the end of some words with the beginning of others.

We have even begun to punctuate our conversations with typical pause phrases in Portuguese: “tá bem,” “pois, pois,” “pronto,” “é que …?” as well as to interject common rejoinders: “Tudo bem?” and “Não faz mal,” especially.

Language like this from our Portuguese textbook no longer is quite so intimidating: O Fernando é elecricista e trabalha por conta própia. Ele é casado e tem tres filhos. Os filhos são ainda muito jovens e por isso não andam na escola. A mulher do Fernando, a Ines, fica em casa com os meninos e prepara o jantar para o Fernando. Ele não almoça em casa, porque mora longe. Ele apanha o autocarro e chega a casa sempre cansado.

Still, there are many challenges ahead!

Our New Year’s resolutions include learning to correctly respond to the divisions of the day, so we know when it’s proper to say “Bom dia,” “Boa tarde,” or “Boa noite.”

Apparently, during mornings – until lunch – it’s “bom dia” … but, after eating lunch (13H-14H for the Portuguese), it becomes “boa tarde.” As for evening, there’s still some disagreement over whether “boa noite” is best said after eating dinner (jantar) … or after the skies turn dark and stars can be seen. And, what does one say – if anything – following that curious extra meal of the day: “lanche”?

Another resolution is to memorize our fiscal numbers (os números contribuientes), although our “números utentes” already are a forgotten cause.

We are so thankful for all of you, people who understand … people who care and share … people who love to live and live to love … people who follow those impossible dreams.

This is what the good life is about.

Good people. Good times. Good places. Good feelings.

Feeling good, knowing that you’re in a good place now.

We are. And we hope you are, too.

Happy New Year!

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.