I keep dreaming in Portuguese.
Well, not exactly. All the people in my dreams are Portuguese trying to speak to me in English with me concentrating to hear them accurately. I wake up asking them to please return my regular cast of characters so I can understand better. They smile and keep talking.
Traveling to Europe many times, I never felt like my dreams were being hijacked. A slow re-entry and return to normal, I guess. Or, someone is truly trying to tell me something.
When I think about it, there is a triangle of feminine spiritual energy we visited, from Our Lady of Fatima, where three children saw visions of the Mother Mary who prophesized to them, to the coast of Nazare’ where another miracle involving Mary occurred and also where a Black Madonna is located (some think the Black Madonna is Mary Magdalene) and then to the Megaliths, 95 stones 7,000 years old representing fertility, the eclipses and so much more.
The feminine energy of the place might be affecting me more than I thought. I will keep listening for messages.
The people in my dreams could just be being nice to me like in Portugal. We experience the Portegeuse as kind, unpresumptuous, humble,
patient, accepting, and quick-witted. We first encounter their wit at a Michelin Star restaurant, our first experience with such refinement and a big splurge. The server, Anthony, asks us, have you ever eaten a Langoustine before? My Guy blurts out yeah, that’s where you suck the head off and eat the rest. Without missing a beat, Anthony smiles and says, we all want to say the same thing, but we are not allowed.
Refined, we are not.
Later, delicious crunchy fish skin is served. I remark, no wonder Penelope (my dog) loves these. We laugh ourselves silly and bring the Michelin Star experience to our level.
About that, we did have a wonderful time at the beautiful Casa de Cha da Boa Nova, a Rui Paula restaurant north of Porto along the coast. Sting says it is the most beautiful restaurant in the world. Not sure about that, but it is a stunning view of the ocean as long as you don’t turn around and see the oil refinery behind you.
It felt like dinner and a show with pyro techniques, hidden surprises, and comic book place cards to explain the gastro evolution of Portugal whose history is full of navigators bringing back spices and techniques from across the world like tempura from China. We enjoyed the attention and the morsels of fine, fine dining. AND, we will probably never do it again. In the end, we prefer eating like the locals in the best local restaurants. I did like having The Bear experience though.
Back to the people. The Portuguese seemingly live without fear of danger of others. The taxi driver who drops us off from the airport, tells us there is no crime in Porto. Except we are warned of pickpockets in touristy places. He must be speaking for everyone else because we are certain he charges us double for the ride. We know because the ride back was less than half of what we paid him. Our fault, we took a chance. Tired after an all-night plane flight, we come out of the airport and find a cue of at about 50 people waiting for a taxi. He walks up to us and asks us if we need a ride. Why yes, we say. Come with me, he says. Oh Lord, is sucker written on my forehead? Are we making a big mistake, is he going to rob us?? Exhausted we plop the bags in the car and get in.
He does point out local interests along the way and lets us know the English soccer team, Manchester, is playing Porto that night. When we hit the streets later, we hear the loud chants, see fans in their jerseys, and hear a lot of English accents. It feels like we are on a Ted Lasso show. He safely drops us off and wishes us a great vacation. All’s well that ends well. He saves us time instead of money. Even exchange.
I didn’t look it up to verify but the low crime level must affect how people freely interact with strangers. In Coimbra, we couldn’t find our Airbnb. We seem to have one on every trip that gives us a bit of trouble locating. Up and down the pedestrian avenue we go. The address numbers we have do not coordinate with the numbers on the doors. Frustrated we stop in a shop and ask for help. The owner comes out onto the street leaving his shop open and directs us, the fourth floor he says.
We follow his directions and climb an old wooden staircase spiraling up to the fourth floor. I’m wondering as I take each step, did I really reserve this place without an elevator and dragging luggage? There are two doors at the top. No numbers. Not knowing what to do, I reach out and turn the doorknob. Locked. We turn to go, and the door flies open. A man stands there looking at us. Embarrassed, we haltingly explain we are lost. Instead of getting upset that I just tried to break into his flat (so glad he had the door locked, or we would have walked right in), he says, here let me help you translate. He puts the address into his phone which gives us a location. We apologize and thank him profusely. It turns out our place had no identifying numbers on it. Once I saw it, I did recognize it from the pictures. Bless him and his willingness to help a stranger who would have walked in and used his bathroom.
Again, a little lost and looking for the Chapel of Bones in Evora, we get turned around and are heading the wrong way. My Guy stops a group of children around the ages of 10-12 and asks if anyone speaks English. They all point to one boy who is fluent. First, they get out their phones and Google it. Silly us. We could have done that. Baby Boomers. Don’t be like your parents.
It’s endearing the way they speak to each other in Portuguese and then try to translate for us pointing their arms the direction to go, laughing as they correct each other and point another direction. No, no, no, it’s this way. They are enjoying the challenge and like being engaged by Americans. I look around kind of sheepishly seeing if anyone is thinking we might be taking advantage of these children. No one looks our way. No fear. What a refreshing feeling. You don’t know you are holding fear inside until you no longer have to do it. A whole body release. I regret not taking their pictures. I second-guess myself about taking pictures of someone else’s children. American indoctrination.
Also, when you try to speak a few words of Portuguese, you get big broad smiles of appreciation. It’s not like France, where you have to try and speak French before you get help. It’s a pride that an American would learn a little Portuguese. The language sounds Slavic with a lot of ish and sh sounds at the end of words. Like the name of the town Obidos’. It looks like you’d pronounce it OH-BE-DOSE. It’s actually OH-BE-DOOSH.
Wherever we go we notice openly gay couples holding hands and being affectionate with one another. I Google it and find Portugal has no discrimination based on sexual orientation in their Constitution since 2004, one of the only European countries to do so. Progressive and accepting.
We eat the obligatory foods you read about in the travel guides starting with the francesinha sandwich in Porto, layers of toasted bread with roast beef, chorizo and smoked ham covered in melted cheese and topped with a flavorful gravy and fried egg. The Portuguese love to top foods with fried eggs. They are also found of boiled potatoes covered in olive oil and butter with herbs as a side. When they say ham and sausage, it’s not like the American versions. I ate a sausage with breadcrumbs, and the sausage was like pulled pork in some kind of casing that melted away. The flavor was like nothing I have had before and absolutely delicious.
While I am on pork, they have what they call Black Pork. My Guy eats it every which way he can get it. It is the most delicious pork you will ever eat. It comes from a black pig that eats special acorns. One of the versions My Guy had, cut, and tasted like a filet. Soooo good. They like to add sauces like honey mustard to it or citrus cream as well.
Cod is on every menu and served in so many variations like croquettes, salted with potatoes and onions and fresh with vegetables on top. Also, very tasty.
Of course, we make the side trip in Lisbon to the Pasteis’ de Belem pastry shop for its signature feature of the same name (also called
Pasteis’ de Nada) an internationally famous egg custard dessert with sweet flaky crust hot from the oven. You can tap a little cinnamon and sugar on top. Mmmm. There’s a line to get in, but it moves quickly. People tell you about the food in Portugal, but no one tells you there are delicious pastry shops on almost every block.
My Guy loves octopus too and ordered it several times. I used to like it but stopped eating it once I learned they have feelings, and those suction cups are especially sensitive. Can’t do it. I did enjoy a white bean and mushroom soup in spicy broth and roasted chestnuts with caramelized onions in addition to the cod dishes mentioned above.
There is no tipping culture in Portugal. It’s a hard habit to break though, and we leave 5-10 percent.
Not Everything Goes According to Plan
Checking the forecast before we left, we did not expect rain and clouds almost every day. We are met with Grace though and manage to step inside cafes’, our Airbnb’s, or Cathedrals right before a downpour which didn’t tend to last. Otherwise, the rain is light. The wind, though, shees. Knowing Hurricane Milton is hitting Florida at the same time, we have no complaints.
I told you about all the delicious food first before I tell you this:
I get food poisoning.
We arrive in the Douro Valley after a scenic but dizzying drive from Porto. We get a table at a restaurant over-looking the river, at a winery, and do the wine-tasting ending with port and have a light dinner. Returning home to our little bungalow, we sit outside, talk to the passerby’s, and enjoy the quiet evening with the view of the mountains. Oh no, I start to feel sick. It is bad; 6-7 hours of bad which I will spare you the descriptions of. My Guy starts to pace and thinks I need to go to the ER. We are in the middle of nowhere. He can’t rest because he’s so worried about me. I can’t respond to him I am that sick.
The only two foods I had he didn’t in the previous 24 hours are a green bean tempura I dipped in mayonnaise lime sauce and a coconut custard pastry. I choose to think it was the mayonnaise only because I don’t want it to be the pastry. I didn’t get out of bed until 11 am.
Well, we are in the Douro Valley to do wine and port tasting. That is not going to happen. So, we make the best of it. I’m able to get in the car
@ 2pm, and we take a scenic drive to a couple of little towns, enjoy the locals, and have coffee. Note to self: When you want to not look like a tourist in a little town in the middle of nowhere, don’t wear your salmon-colored pants.
Speaking of fashion, quick side here, Lisbon is very colorful with women wearing bright colored pants with floral or geometric designs. You will see women dressed like they are going out to a nightclub at breakfast. Some of the men dress like David from Schitt’s Creek. His fashion sense may have been influenced by Lisbon men. Lisbon is a very fashion-forward city. I try to look a little European when I travel, but just can never quite get there.
You have to plan ahead in the Douro Valley, and we previously made dinner reservations for that night. My Guy needed to eat, and we didn’t have many choices. I rally and go. I choose a warm red beet and pickle juice soup. My thoughts are that pickle juice helps with leg cramps and rehydration. This is all I can eat. I go back to the room and leave My Guy finishing on his own.
It takes me days to recuperate. I don’t think I ever really get rehydrated enough even though I am drinking gallons of water and juice. Also, the entire country is on hills, so we exert a lot of daily energy. If you travel to Portugal, you absolutely need good, nonslip shoes. The streets and sidewalks are mostly stone and very slippery when wet.
I did not have the Portugal wine and port trip I was anticipating which is not a bad thing and maybe even a message that wine doesn’t have to accompany a good time. The thing about food poisoning, is everything you’ve had to eat and drink previously is now suspect and turns your stomach. Each of our hosts gives us bottles of wine and port as gifts which My Guy enjoys. I am back to normal past halfway through the trip and gingerly resume my eating adventures within reason and have an occasional glass of wine. From now on, we will consider the travel health insurance.
Spiritually, I think about the idea that I am completely cleansed by the time I reach Our Lady of Fatima. There was nothing left in me. I can only be filled up at this point and what a perfect place to be. A real come to Mary moment. The energy here is powerful, humming through me. This is going to continue to unfold with time, I think.
Having said all of this, I still recommend a food tour through Portugal. What happened was a fluke, nothing more. We met a guy who got something similar in Italy from eating Sea Bass. It just happens. It didn’t change our good time only our expectations of how that good time would happen.
A few days later My Guy had his own digestive issues, and we missed our tour of one of the oldest continuously operating universities in Portugal and in the world (1290) in Coimbra and its famous library. By the way, in university towns, college students walk around in black cloaks with white shirts and ties. Very Harry Potter like.
All the best plans need to be adapted.
You can only see so many monasteries, Moorish castles, and holy cathedrals. We gravitate toward Mother Nature’s spectacular scenes like
the biggest waves in the world at Nazare’, the ocean at the western most tip of Europe south of Lisbon, and the stones circles and cork trees near Evora. We like watching the boats from across the river in Porto and seeing the city from the rooftop bar. We like Mercados and outdoor markets. These are all things you experience and feel with your senses and your spirit which give you the best experiences, I think.
Most importantly, we have exceptional patience and tolerance for each other even when confined to tiny spaces. It takes two of us to figure things out and work through challenges. We each value what the other brings. My Guy does all the driving for which I am so grateful. We have the best TomTom GPS system. Her voice is so calming and reassuring with directions that make complete sense. Google and Waz, take note. None of the, make a U-turn, make a U-turn, make a U-turn, kind of anxiety.
Somewhere along the way, we both experience a sense of calm. I’m not sure why or how, maybe it’s TomTom’s voice.
What we do know is that we want it to last.
