Hon, I don't think I'm going to get the recycling done today.
Just because we haven’t gone out photographing yet here in Portugal doesn’t mean we don’t have anything to blog about. Join us in this week’s somewhat lengthy musings about ships, horns, food and more food as we transition from totally lost Americans to a more normal life as Portugal residents.
Our past couple of weeks were our first in Portugal where we started to really integrate into a sense of normalcy with our lives. Driving that, in part, was the need for me to return to work and having a pile of cases dumped in my lap to work on. I keep telling myself that: a) I expected it to happen; b) it’s necessary for us to continue our adventures: and c) . . . well, one way or the other, I’ll survive it. That and the fact that we’re slowly settling into our new home town.
That doesn’t mean that the “transition” is not continuing. As you know from previous posts, we are now residents of Portugal. In footballing terms, it means I feel somewhat obligated to root for Portugal (which I often have over the years- face it they’re usually the underdog and generally punch well above their weight) and Braga in any competition they are competing in. Fortunately, there are no Portuguese teams left in the Champions League (which will play their final rounds in Lisbon - with no fans in attendance unfortunately), and I can still root for Barcelona. (Len, in case you’ve forgotten, Athletico Madrid knocked Liverpool out of the competition, so, as Devon would put it, it sucks to be you!). Go Leo!
Also this past week, on the same day we had our SEF (Immigration) interview, our household goods were loaded onto a ship in Seattle! July 9, 2020 was a very good day.
As I mentioned in a previous post, we knew it was happening soon. Face it, the pick up of our goods from Emerald Moving in Eugene happened with only a day’s notice, and we know for a fact shippers don’t like containers to sit around for very long. But it wasn’t until the 7th that we found out exactly when our ship was leaving (literally). And Ann being Ann, and being friends with Kelly who does similar things with airplanes, Ann tracked down an app to identify where our ship might be.
And on the 8th, it was still just off the west coast near Puget Sound.
Yup, the ship is the Captain Jackson (there’s a joke in there somewhere, I just can’t figure out what it is). On the 9th it was on Harbor Island in the Duwamish Waterway getting loaded. With our container of household goods.
So you want to know what the Captain Jackson looks like? Ann has the answer for that one too!
The app Ann found tracks all of the ships sailing the oceans at any given time. This is how many ships are out there!
Anyway, a couple of days later, after a stop-off near Vancouver for more loading, the Captain Jackson was on its way to Southern California for another stop on its way to Leixões, Portugal just north of Porto. About 40 miles away. Expected arrival date - September 2, 2020.
[I guess one advantage to writing a long post that takes several days to complete is that you can update what you’ve already written. As of Thursday morning (our time), here’s where the Captain Jackson is in dock in Oakland:]
So what does normalcy look like? Normalcy is is not needing to turn on the GPS to get from our home in Fraião (one of the southern-most neighborhoods in Braga [we know because we walked to the Braga City Limits sign Sunday morning]) to IKEA, in the north of Braga and back on Saturday. And it happened to be a very productive trip since we got (and built) a pantry and some storage shelves, not to mention acquiring some baking accessories (why do we say “not to mention” when we then go on to mentioning what we’re not going to mention?). Which Ann put to good use on Sunday morning making an ad-hoc blueberry crisp.
Normalcy is looking at Google Maps on your phone when your GPS doesn’t understand an address, telling yourself, “Wait a second, that’s near Antarte - I know how to get there!” and you just drive there. Normalcy is “there” being a sporting goods store so you can buy some stuff so you can introduce exercise other than just walking into your normal weekly routine.
Normalcy is beginning to recognize people. And even better - to begin to give them nick names despite not knowing their names. For example - Honking Man. Now, you might think that sound like a strange name, but believe me, it is not. It all started the first week we lived here. A couple of days in a row I was in the kitchen making coffee and this guy comes driving up the road in his beat up white Citroën with his horn blaring. At first I couldn’t tell whether it was his engine wining, or whether his horn was stuck.
Then a few days later I saw him again. At one point, I mentioned to Ann about this weird guy who drives around with his horn constantly blaring. But a few days later, when we were on our walk, this car turns the corner and drives towards us. “Hey, Hon, that’s the guy whose horn is constantly blaring.” Well he drove by and it sounded normal. Then, as he approached a turn, he blared his horn. Ann said, “Maybe he blares his horn to warn these crazy drivers that he’s approaching. There is that sharp bend just up the road from our house . . . .” So we thought we’d solved the story about Honking Man. Boy were we wrong.
Just a few days later, Ann was in the kitchen and I was in my office. “Hey! Honking man just drove by and his horn was blaring all the way up the street! He was nowhere near the curve everyone speeds on. Something is wrong with that guy.”
Sure enough, a bit later he drives by the other direction, horn blaring.
Then the next day, Ann is in the kitchen again and he goes up the street, horn blaring. Awhile later Ann calls down. “Guess who’s parked in front of our house staring at the house across the street?” That got us thinking (struggle that it is . . .).
Well, Sr. Gomes (an incredibly nice guy), our landlord, told us we lived near the Mayor of Fraião. So Ann does what she does and googles “Mayor Fraião Portugal and comes up with this.
Yeah, kinda looks like the guy who lives across the street (three nice kids and a really nice looking German shepherd, and a couple of other dogs too - he can’t be all that bad). If you want to read about him, here’s a link to an interview with him. Anyway, we’ve decided that Honking Man has a grudge against the mayor. We are now immeshed in local politics. I feel a bit bad though, cuz Honking Man generally comes about 10 minutes after the mayor leaves his house for the day. Then again, maybe the mayor leaves 15 minutes earlier than he used to just to avoid Honking Man?
So what does Honking Man look like? Well, since I was writing a blog post, and Honking Man is so predictable, I had to get a photo of him. Well it took a couple of days for me to get that photograph, but I did! Monday I was primed and ready to go - and he didn’t show up (Did he know I was lying in wait for him? Or does he just take Monday’s off?). On Tuesday, I got an early start at work and lost track of time. Suddenly heard the blare of his horn off in the distance through my open door. Ann, who was in the kitchen, yelled, “It’s Honking man!” But he passed by beforeI even made it to the steps going upstairs. But persistence pays and I set my alarm on Wednesday. I headed upstairs at 7:55 and waited by the kitchen window with my camera phone at the ready. Sure enough, at 8:01 he drives past! Surprisingly, just as the neighbor’s housekeeper is entering the property and . . . the mayor was running a bit late Wednesday. Look closely and you’ll see the top of his Porsche Cayenne in the carport. What a capture!
Oh, but it gets even better! Thanks to the wonders (or not depending on how you look at it) of the Apple iPhone (which has a “live view” function that actually records several images [really, it makes a video ] and selects one to show you as a “still” photograph), the fact that I was doing the Dan motor drive thumb taking multiple pictures of Honking Man driving by, and Ann’s technical wizardry of realizing that I’d actually made a video of him coming by - WITH SOUND! - you can now watch and hear Honking Man in all of his sonorous glory!
[youtube=://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fWdm8IsEPgc&w=640&h=480]
Now, you might think I’m joking (what. me joke?), but I’m not. To prove it, here is this morning’s video (taken as a video this time) of Honking Man. I’d come up for breakfast after putting a bit of time in with work and realized the neighbor’s housekeeper was just arriving. I looked at the time and told Ann, “Hey, it’s almost time for Honking Man!” Within 2 minutes I heard the horn coming and pointed my phone to the street.
[youtube=://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ph0aebkTjH4&w=854&h=480]
And if you look closely, the Mayor’s car isn’t in the carport this morning - I guess he learned his lesson yesterday about the consequences of running late in the morning!
So yeah, we now even know some Portuguese Wacos! Well, not know them, but know them enough to know they’re not all there.
Normalcy is finding things in the food store. Not just one food store, but several food stores. In spite of the fact that you’ve gone to multiple food stores to specifically look for that item and haven’t been able to find it. Multiple times. At multiple stores. Ok, I told you in a previous post I wasn’t going to tell you the story about baking powder, but how can I resist? I’m on a roll.
After living here about a week, Ann decided she wanted to do some baking (who am I to say no to cookies?). So we started making trips to the food stores (Continente (multiple stores), Lidl, SuperCor) to find ingredients for her to cook with. You know, basic stuff, like flour, baking soda, baking powder. Easy right? No. Geeze Louise, you would have thought that she was trying to get the ingredients for a nuclear bomb, they were so hard to find.
First off, flour? Sure there’s flour, but what kind of flour? I know, you’re telling yourself, duh! Plain old baking flour, not wheat flour, not self-rising flour . . . . To which I say, “well, yeah”! What we want to know is, do we get Type 45, Type 55, Type 65, superfine, extra fine, flour for bread, for cakes, or for any of the numerous other types of flours they have? (They even have a special flour [and the inner mixings] for Nata!])
In Portugal there is no such thing as plain old flour.
Anyway, in our quest we finally found baking soda! The last item on our list. It took a lot of effort, but we did. After many futile (and frustrating) trips to the store, we did what all good people do who fail in such a quest (no, we didn’t go into a convent to seek refuge (“Spank me! Spank me! No, spank me!” ) [if you know Monty Python and the Holy Grail, you know exactly what I’m joking about, if not, you probably think I’m a pervert … which I think I’m not, but who am I to say]) - we resorted to Amazon. In this case, Amazon.de.
But of course, what happened the day before the package arrived from Amazon? I’m standing there in the baking aisle of Continente while Ann is frantically searching for a type of flour that someone on an ex-pat site said works really great for scones and I look down. “Hey, Hon . . . is this the stuff you were thinking of ordering from Amazon?” So guess what we now have?
Yeah, I found it at the local Continente. Which we had checked no less than 3 times - specifically for baking powder. Oh yeah, and we’ve found it at the Lidl, and at the SuperCOR. And at the new Aldi that opened a few blocks away from the other food stores! That’s now our running joke - Can’t find it at a store near you? Just order it from Amazon and you’ll start seeing it everywhere!
Normalcy is knowing just how much food will fit into your refrigerator. Again, that may sound a bit odd, but we’re getting very familiar with the notion that things are just bigger in America than in Europe. (You know that small-ish Honda CRV down the block? Those are HUUUUGE!).
Now at first glance, it looks like our refrigerator is quite large. In the photograph below, the bottom door on the right of the cabinet is our freezer, and just above that is our fridge. Pretty big aren’t they?
Nope. Opening the doors reveals a different story. The ice cube trays just fit in the top section front-to-back. And the bottom drawer is really only half as deep as the drawer above it - barely large enough to hold a loaf of bread.
The refrigerator, while larger, is still rather small. The door definitely won’t hold a half-gallon jug of orange juice (even if you could find one in a store) - forget a gallon jug. And only one drawer for fruit, or vegetables. We are learning that refrigerator space comes at a premium, especially if you start loading it up with some of the delicious melon that’s available here.
Still, we’re learning to adopt our shopping habits to accommodate the restrictions inherent in our refrigerator.
Normalcy is eating like a Portuguese. Take last Sunday for instance. After our trip to the sporting goods store (as good a find as the hardware store - they have camping and hiking stuff too!), it was a bit past noon. Given it was going to be 95 that day (we’ve been told this is an extraordinary heat wave for the area) and not wanting to heat up the kitchen, we decided to eat out. And like any good Portuguese lunch, it was a quick 2-1/2 hour social engagement. Because that’s what you do! But first we had to get there.
After a quick scan of trip advisor, we found a 5-star rated restaurant that was open, not far from where we were, but in a new part of town (north-north-east) - Ai o Alho. Getting there was a bit of an adventure. Despite our GPS saying it knew the address we entered into it, I managed to make a wrong turn (these old windy streets have so many turns coming at you the GPS can’t quite keep up - or the driver doesn’t do what the GPS says . . . I’m sure it was the former). Anyway, our detour gave us an answer to one of our unanswered questions. A few days earlier, on one of our walks, we looked out over the city of Braga to a far hillside where there’s this huge white building near the top of a hill. “I wonder what that big white building is? A hotel, a hospital?” Neither. It’s an old monastery - we know, we had to turn around in the parking lot to get back on course to the restaurant.
At the bottom of the hill I had to make a left turn, and wound up almost getting T-boned by a car driving through a narrow gap between the houses (that medieval street thing again). I’m not sure, but I think I drove a bit up on the sidewalk so we could both fit in. We drove for another half mile or so and when the GPS said we were there . . . we weren’t. But given the nature of the road we were on, there was no way to turn around. “I guess we’re going exploring.”
Two kilometers later, the street widens up and . . . a sign for Ai o Alho. It’s in a house on the edge of a neighborhood that overlooks . . . the hospital (an even bigger building than the white one! Definitely modern.).
We immediately started chatting with the waiter because he started laughing at my “Desculpe, não falo portuguese. Fala inglês?” He followed it with, “Yes I do, come on in.” In-between our waiter and our waitress (who is studying English literature at Minho University), we had an afternoon of pleasant conversations while the restaurant was largely empty (which didn’t last for too long - by the time we left there was a steady stream of people coming in and out).
Both of them were shocked to learn we were not tourists, but lived there. They explained that Ai o Alho specializes in pastéis (think tapas - small plates of different foods) and when we told them we wanted to try a range of things, she asked what we liked (I noticed the word for mushrooms - cogumelos - on one item and said that for sure - they were ribs with mushrooms). When it came to wines, we said we wouldn’t be able to choose one from another so she should pick (“You trust me?” “Sure!”). The waiter asked if we’d tried Vinho Verde (green wine) yet, we said no, so he brought over a bottle (very refreshing and an excellent choice for a very hot day).
Then he brought over the first of what seemed like a flood of food - Pastéis de Chaves.
A meat-filled pastry. As you can see, I almost forgot to take a picture of it.
And then we were swamped. At one point, he made a batch of sangria for another table and he brought us over a couple of glasses. “You’ve got to try it!” Again, deliciously refreshing. In the photo below, under the presunto (their version of prosciutto) is Casa de Carvalho - oak skin melon. It was one of the most juicy and tasty melons I’ve ever had. Our waiter explained however, that it’s not very popular because there is no way to readily tell whether the melon you’re buying is actually any good - and it’s expensive. So people are essentially gambling every time they buy one. Well, we drew aces with this one!
You can also see some wrapped shrimp in the photo above, as well as my mushroom ribs. It was all delicious. Throughout lunch we were sending photos to Heidi, our friend and Ann’s former boss, who sends us photos of her delicious meals as well. (It all started with Piazza Italia in Portland - we do miss it, even here.) All of course to share in the joys of eating, not to try and make each other jealous. Of course. . . . .
And just when we thought we were done, the waiter brings over some Alheira - a type of Portuguese sausage. Now, you think Germans have sausages, the proliferation of Portuguese sausage types has left our brains spinning every time we’re in a grocery store. Spinning to the point of paralysis - we’ve been too confused to try any of it. It was enough for me to keep knockwurst, bratwurst and bockwurst straight in my head, here there is at least a dozen types of sausage. Being ever the optimist, I took this as a chance to learn about one type of Portuguese sausage.
If you don’t know Portuguese history, Alheira is at the heart of one of its story lines. During the Catholic inquisition, Jews of course were prosecuted. Many left (Portugal has a special residency visa status for returning Jews who were forced out during that period - and recently said it would accept several hundred who want to return from Turkey). But many stayed, claiming they would convert to Catholicism. Of course many of those that said they would convert did not. Alheira is a type of “sausage” that is actually made with white meat (chicken) and bread instead of pork. Jews would hang Alheira in their homes to convince their neighbors that they were now eating pork so couldn’t be Jews anymore. In any event, we are the beneficiaries of their deception - Alheira is delicious!
Well, supper didn’t just end with supper. There of course had to be dessert!
The waiter explained the custard to the left is made with 36 eggs by monks. One taste of it and Ann suddenly started eating faster and faster, which led me to eating faster too. Yeah, even though we were stuffed!
After dessert I made a trip to the loo, expecting to leave momentarily. When I returned what did I find on our table? A digestive. (How in the world the waiter talked Ann into that, I’ll never know.) You of course have to have a digestive after you’ve had your coffee and dessert the waiter explained.
So, yeah. When I told Ann I didn’t think I was going to get around to doing the recycling on Sunday, I meant it! In grand Portuguese fashion, it’ll get done, just not today.