Well Done, Portugal …

I could be talking about Portugal´s amazing win over Hungary in an awesome Euro 2020 football game. Not only did Portugal do an amazing job in an awesome game, but Cristiano Ronaldo’s after-game moves favoring water over Coca Cola were the icing on the cake.

Nonetheless, I am writing here about other matters where Portugal has done well. Stuff even we expats and immigrants residing here often become used to and take for granted. So, here´s a “shout out” of thanks to Portugal for what it’s doing so well on a bunch of things – large and small – that make our lives so much better here … presented in no particular order other than my current stream of consciousness:

• Obrigado, Portugal, for your majestic beauty and splendors. Rather than tear down and demolish, you value your history … the people and places that created such masterpieces. Who knew that you´re the oldest country in Europe, with borders defined in 1139 CE? Before you even were acknowledged as Portugal, the area had passed through the hands of many empires and civilizations.

• Obrigado, Portugal, for your bakeries (pastelarias), among the finest in the world. Those responsible for my affairs know that, when my time comes, I want nothing more than a memorial service in a Portuguese bakery.

• Obrigado, Portugal, for your vast array of excellent wines–many priced cheaper that bottled water. And obrigado, too, for your café culture where — as in other Western European countries — we gather with friends to discuss this, that, and the other thing over wines, coffees, teas, and nibbles.

• Obrigado, Portugal, for our free and low-cost health care. While the country provides excellent, universal coverage to all who reside here, it’s great to know that a couple aged 72 and 58, respectively, can purchase top-of-the-line private health insurance for less than €2,000 per year. When we left the USA almost four years ago, the premium for one month of basic, bronze health insurance cost US $1,200—for one person, then aged 54.

• Obrigado, Portugal, for your wonderful outdoor markets. Whether fruits and vegetables, clothing, plants and flowers, textiles, or antiques and collectibles, for those of us who love bargains and hunting around flea markets, yard sales, and auctions, there´s plenty of great and festive finds at bargainable prices.

• Obrigado, Portugal, for your IBANs and Multibancos, enabling us to conveniently conduct financial transactions from our home computers or ubiquitous “ATMs.” Now, if only banks in other countries (to the west) would replace routing and account numbers with IBANS, it would be so much simpler to transfer funds from here to there.

• Obrigado, Portugal, for incorporating English in every school´s required curriculum—rather than as an elective “foreign” language (i.e., Spanish, French, Italian, Latin, Greek, etc.).

• Obrigado, Portugal, for your coin-dispensed shopping carts. A 50 céntimo coin or euro deposit is enough to entice customers to return the carts to their corrals, instead of leaving them, helter-skelter, in parking lots to scratch and dent our cars. Now, if only your drivers would make more of an effort to park courteously, within the designated lines.

• Obrigado, Portugal, for your beloved bombeiros (firemen and women), models of national respect and admiration. The world needs everyday heroes to look up to, now more than ever. In addition to fighting the fires that blaze through Portugal, bombeiros deliver water to outlying properties. If you need water for irrigation or drinking, the bombeiros will deliver it to your property. Many bombeiros are skilled in rock-climbing techniques, and rescue people from cliffs. They rescue animals, as well. In the winter of 2017, bombeiros were called to rescue a baby whale that had washed onto Monte Clerigo beach. Bombeiros also retrieve people and animals stuck in wells. Attend car accidents. Provide first-aid treatment to locals. Support the community in the event of flooding, earthquakes or landslides. Assist in underwater searches. Transport accident victims and others in need to hospital.

• Obrigado, Portugal, for being recognized as one of the most peaceful countries in the world. You have maintained your place as the third most peaceful nation (behind Iceland and New Zealand), according to the venerable 2020 Global Peace Index. On an individual basis, peace translates to safety and security … of not being in the wrong place at the wrong time (or the right place at the right time) for fear of being a victim of violent crime.

• Obrigado, Portugal, for your wind turbines and solar panels seen throughout the country—visible reminders of your commitment to deliver cleaner energy and a sustainable environment.

• Obrigado, Portugal, for upkeeping our infrastructure. Rare is the pothole or dangerous debris found on your highways and national roads. In our own neighborhoods as well, you´re continuously upgrading our electricity, water pipes, and sewer lines. We may be frustrated by all those unexpected detours (desvios) … but we´re thankful, too.

• Obrigado, Portugal, for taking on the mantle of melting pot for refugees and immigrants, welcoming us with free health care and education, relatively low-cost housing and property insurance. And minimalist taxes, compared to whence we´ve come. We’ve met Indians and Israelis, people from Belgium and Germany, China and Russia (as well as the UK and USA) within your borders. Up close and personal, our differences – albeit skin tone, LGBT or hetero, country of origin, or language spoken – fade, as we exchange extremist nationalism for patriotism. Tudo bem!

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Sometimes, the system works.

Against what I’d imagined to be the greatest of odds in this socialist bureaucracy, where Covid vaccinations are only available through government departments and dispensaries, I got called to come in for my jab.

What’s amazing about this is that I’m neither a citizen nor permanent resident … just another expat-immigrant still classified as a “temporary” resident, even though we’re working on four years since we arrived in Portugal.

Even more extraordinary was the fact that I was called – not messaged, emailed, or contacted via the postal system – by a real person speaking Portuguese so quickly that, twice, I had to ask her to slow down a bit.

“Pode a senhora falar um pouco mais devar, por favor?”

At first, I thought she was another salespeople, calling like MEO telemarketers to sell me something. “A senhora quer vender-me alguma coisa?” I asked as she came up for breath. “Não, não, não!” she insisted, stating that she was calling me in Alcains, Castelo Branco, to schedule my first Covid shot. Odd, though, that she said she was in Évora, despite the fact that my caller ID showed her location as Estremoz.

I asked her where I was to go and when.

“Elvas. In the old business center located in the industrial zone, at 1:30 pm on Thursday,” she replied.

“Can I get the shot here in Alcains, instead?” I asked. Elvas is a good two-hour drive away.

She didn’t know. I’d have to ask the officials here in Alcains. But, if I wanted to get my shot two days later, I would have to confirm with her for Elvas now. I’d tried getting information from my local centro de saúde, but the doors were (almost) always shut and the people inside just shook their heads when I knocked on the door and spoke Portuguese with my English accent peppered with Spanish.

So, I confirmed.

This, in itself, is a matter of no small significance!

See, we divide our time between small homes in Alcains (Castelo Branco) and Vila Boim (Elvas). When in Elvas last year, I suffered from some gastrointestinal malady that forced me to consult with a doctor, who insisted that I undergo a colonoscopy—something I’d defiantly avoided for 70 years.

To undergo the colonoscopy, however, I’d have to bring proof that I tested negative for Covid within 48 hours of the procedure. The Affidea clinic (in Évora) offered to do the test while I was there, before my colonoscopy—for €120. The same test was free in Elvas, the concelho where we lived.

But I was registered with the health department in Alcains, our first and primary home.

“Not a problem,” advised the drive-up Covid technicians. “Just have the test prescribed by your physician here in Elvas … take it to the hospital … and they’ll schedule an appointment for your test within 48 hours. Come back here, the same place, when you’re scheduled.”

Trouble was, my doctor was off for the week. Her receptionist suggested that I go directly to the hospital, which I did. Very pleasant people. But, before they could attend to me, I would need to get my “Utente” (health care) paperwork changed from Alcains to Elvas at the Centro de Saúde in Elvas and then return to the hospital to be scheduled for the test.

All that accomplished, we were ready to head to Affidea in Évora for the colonoscopy, when an SMS (message) arrived on our mobile: My procedure had been cancelled because I hadn’t booked a Covid test at the clinic.

We ran to the doctor’s office, negative Covid results officially in hand, where the receptionist called Affidea and gave them a piece of her mind. In rapid-fire Portuguese. Turning to us with a smile, she said “Sem problema. Tudo bem.” And off we went.

All of the preceding is prologue, a digression, if you will, to contextualize my marvel at how the Portuguese system had actually worked: Despite all the changes and complications, I had been called to come in for my first Covid shot.

The process was precise and professional. I showed my identity card and it was confirmed against the list the facility had of who had been scheduled that day and at what time. Remaining outside, they brought me a clipboard with a short form to fill out: Had I ever had Covid? Had I ever had a Covid shot? Was I suffering any of the (listed) symptoms?

Handing me a card that said Astra-Zeneca, the guard escorted me inside, where six cubicles had been set up for the injections. Within two minutes, a nurse entered, had me roll up my sleeve, and jabbed me. Amazingly, I didn’t feel the shot at all!

Another attendant led me to a seating area, where people were purposefully seated in the order we’d received our inoculations. First shot, first seated. We sat there for 30 minutes, watching a slide show about Elvas play over and again. Half an hour had passed when the guard came to escort me out, asking how I felt.

“Tudo bem,” I said, as I really did feel fine at that moment.

“Do I need to schedule my next appointment?” I asked before leaving … even though my second jab wasn’t to be given for another three months. Three months!

“Não,” responded the guard. “We will call you again.”

Over the next three days, I suffered chills and flushes, alternatively feverish and cold. I was “spacey” in that way that older relatives can become. My bones felt like jelly, jamming in a loosey-goosey way that made walking an exercise in futility.

It passed.

As Portugal heads into the next stage of its vaccination process – those over 65 are being jabbed – I look at my Astra-Zeneca card and feel a bit more confident and trusting.

Despite their tendency to be helpful and courteous, in Portugal and Spain, you don’t call them. They call you.

And they do! It just takes time …

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.

Remember the days when American Express advised us not to leave home without the company’s ubiquitous traveler’s checks, accepted and exchanged virtually everywhere … for a fee?

Forget about them.

They’re no longer accepted at banks and few offices (far between) will convert them to the local Euro currency.

It’s not only American Express checks. It’s all checks. Especially, personal ones. Even if you have a bank account in Portugal or Spain, you can’t just deposit your Christmas card gifts from back home or birthday presents sent on paper. Some banks won’t accept them at all; others, will charge a hefty fee – upwards of 25€ — for the privilege of waiting while each check is sent back to the USA for conversion before posting to your account.

EU countries are becoming cashless societies where plastic is the financial instrument de rigeur—at least at retail stores and points-of-sale. No longer are cards inserted, slid, or swiped; they’re hardly even touched, since the card “reader” comes within kissing distance of approval or denial, as your hand hovers over it. Increasingly, too, is your telephone as the tool of choice in financial transactions. Same concept, different instrument: card or mobile.

It may be awkward for some, but remind anyone from the USA in the habit of sending you checks that, not only can it take up to two months for you to receive it in the mail … and most banks (if they’ll even accept American checks) charge a minimum of 12.5% of the check’s value to convert and deposit it to your Portuguese or Spanish bank account. In the end, it’s a lose-lose proposition with you paying coming and going.

Best bet? Impersonal as they may be, international funds transfer services – Paypal, (Transfer)Wise, Western Union, etc. – will charge a small fee and choose the exchange rate, but the money will be received by you usually within 24 hours. Money can be transferred quite easily from home via the Internet.

Online, too, deposits, withdrawals, and transfers are now virtual, if not literal. Buying and paying online has boomed thanks to stay-at-home shoppers who purchase everything not available to them through local merchants or shopping centers.

Think that’s going to change once Covid no longer is such a threat?

Brace yourselves for the brave new world of banking.

Neither Spain nor Portugal typically credit your money that they’re holding (and investing) with interest. Quite the contrary: For the privilege of granting banks the right to serve as clearing houses for your recurring bills and financial transactions, several of Spain’s largest banks are charging fees of 90 Euros quarterly – that’s €360, nearly US $500 per year – to steward your funds, plus additional fees for withdrawals, transfers, and other transactions. While few banks or any in Portugal (that I know of) charge such usurious fees, they all do eat away at your savings with fees for every transaction. Adding insult to injury is that – on top of these fees – banks are also required to charge IVA (sales tax, if you will) of 21% in Spain and 23% in Portugal.

(If/when you do open an interest-bearing account, it’s almost not worth it: we deposited €11,000 in a U$D account for six months—you need to specify how long the investment period will last. At the end, we had earned about 40€ on our deposit. But that was before taxes were deducted on our earnings. In the end, our €11,000 earned a whopping 14€! Plus, the account usually isn’t insured.)

A bank account is required for residency in both countries so that your recurring bills can be directly debited.

Then there’s the Multibanco:

More than the ATMs Americans are accustomed to, Multibancos do much more than disperse cash from your account, or allow you to move money from one account to another within the same bank. You can pay bills and/or transfer money to other people, businesses, and government agencies (regardless of their bank) and debit directly those recurring charges—like your electric, water, car payment, insurance, and telecommunication bills. Forgotten your personal IBAN number? You can obtain it – along with a detailed summary of your transaction history – electronically through your home computer or mobile device and, of course, the Multibanco.

We’ve come to appreciate the Multibanco, but know that all aren’t alike. There’s a difference between an ATM and the Multibanco.

The branch we bank at, for instance, has a Multibanco outside, while, inside the entrance is its own ATM. You can’t use any other bank’s credit or debit card at that ATM … but, theoretically, you can use your bank’s debit card at any Multibanco.

When using a debit card with a Multibanco to withdraw funds from a bank account in the USA, always be certain to reject the option for the amount to be deducted in dollars. It’s the last question prompted – twice, including a confirmation – before the transaction is completed. Instead, opt for the withdrawal to be done in Euros, with your home bank handling the transfer. The same holds true when using a debit card for purchases: always choose the “euros” option, not the dollars one.

On a withdrawal (or purchase) of 100€, we’ve saved ten to fifteen euros that way … enough to buy a really good lunch in Iberia.

Supposedly, you can’t withdraw more than two hundred euros (€200) on any day from the Multibanco. We ass-u-me they’re inter-connected … so if we withdraw €200 from this Multibanco, we won’t be allowed to withdraw another 200€ from that one, using the same card and account.

If one needs cash – more than €200 – on the same day, however, there are ways around the Multibanco’s limits. If you have more than one bank account and debit or credit card, for example, just use another one to draw out up to another two hundred euros. Keep going … until you reach what you need or run out of cards.

Then, of course, you can go into the bank itself to take out larger sums. But you’ll pay a higher fee for the personalized service.

Perhaps someone else can explain all the curious charges, fees, taxes, and take-aways affixed to our bank accounts in Portugal and Spain. You know: those amounts preceded by minus signs and abbreviations?

I understand “comissões” and my monthly “quotas” – fees charged for the bank’s associated accounts with additional benefits – but what about all those other encrypted letter deductions:

• IMP.TRF.P?
• DESP.TRF.P?
• I.SELO OP.BANC?
• COM SERV EST R O?
• COM OE STP NET 24?

For pure economics, financial institutions are making money on top of money through a variety of fees, charges, and commissions.

“It is well enough that people of the nation do not understand our banking and monetary system, for if they did, I believe there would be a revolution before tomorrow morning,” Henry Ford claimed.

Thomas Jefferson charged, “I believe that banking institutions are more dangerous to our liberties than standing armies.” Of course, neither man had access to the Multibanco.

Disclaimer: I share these stories of our experiences not to complain or seek sympathy, but because we are North Americans acculturating to another country’s norms and expectations. Information in posts such as this aren’t found in tourist or relocation guides … nor asked about and answered in most Facebook groups. Hopefully, some will learn from my anecdotes and be better prepared for the grit and grist, the grain of living abroad. We love Portugal for what it is, not what it isn’t, and have no intention of returning to the USA.

Bruce is publisher and creative director of Portugal Living Magazine. Read the current online issue and subscribe to the magazine at no cost whatsoever: http://portugallivingmagazine.com/our-current-issue

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.