This Is Not a Vacation

Braga welcomed us with ideal warm-but-not-hot weather, colorful flower gardens, striking Baroque architecture, and friendly neighbors. The night we arrived, we enjoyed the prato do dia of bacalhau á Braga (salt cod with fried potatoes, onions, and red bell peppers) at a family run restaurant a short stroll from our apartment. We toasted ourselves with the local vinho verde as we realized we would soon be regulars at this cozy dining spot. Between the jet-lag, wine, and relief to finally be in Portugal, I was a bit giddy. It felt like a dream. 

A summer evening at Santa Barbara Gardens

Seriously? We get to live here?

We had the foresight to pack some essentials like bed sheets, bath towels and toilet tissue, along with a portable litter box and a couple of day's worth of pet food. That allowed us to get by until we could shop for groceries and home goods after a night's rest. Our real estate agent, Carlos, was kind enough to set-up our utilities before arrival so we had lights and flushing toilets upon arrival (bonus!). It did take some time pouring over appliance manuals (in two languages, neither of them English) and an inquiry to Carlos before we realized that we still needed to manually turn on the gas and water from a central control panel. Oh yeah, and we did have to ask Carlos to stop by our apartment and help us find the valve to turn on the water heater. I may or may not have taken my first bath in the apartment with water heated on the stove. After freshening up, we were ready to Bolt (our preferred ride service, since we are living here car-free) to a local shopping mall for household supplies. We spent several hours at IKEA before realizing we would need to come back another day with room measurements (in centimeters) to buy a new bed frame, mattress and living room couch. Gone are the days of simply choosing between “queen” or “king” sized. The sizing options here are mind-boggling but even the biggest bed in the store was considerably smaller than American king sized.

Mall culture is still a thing in Portugal. As we passed through the entry into the vaulted glass atrium, my nose was hit with a nostalgic medley of floral perfumes, cinnamon pastries, and fast food grease. This, combined with the sound of upbeat pop music took me back to mall shopping as a teenager in the 1980s, this time with a decidedly Euro flair. Groups of well-dressed “see-and-be seen” teens strutted their stuff. Mother/daughter duos tried on designer shoes or sat for makeovers at cosmetic stores. Middle-aged men stood at the pastelaria counter drinking coffee from small ceramic cups. Little kids raced around in tiny, brightly colored cars as their parents chased behind. I rolled my eyes at the sight of Taco Bell and KFC in the food court but I must admit, it was comforting to know I could always find an over processed taste of home if I was ever hit with a craving. We found essentials at a pet store and made our final stop at Braga's largest Continente (sort of like a scaled-down Fred Meyer or Super Walmart) where we picked-up TP, laundry soap, and 'must have' groceries like fresh fruit, yogurt, cheese, and coffee. I mostly enjoyed the hunt for household staples and new delicacies. The one thing I could not seem to find was any type of fresh milk or creme for our morning coffee. I was lost in a parking lot of refrigerator cases packed with an impressive variety of plant-based, lactose-free, and locally produced cheese, yogurt, and butter. This was clearly the dairy section so I had to be close to finding milk. I finally asked a store employee for help. The bemused clerk clarified my clumsy Portuguese. “Leite? Está a procura de leite aqui?” She shook her head at the absurdity of this foreigner looking for milk in the cold dairy section, then motioned towards the other side of the store. Turns out, most milk in Portuguese supermarkets is ultra-pasteurized and shelf stable, making refrigeration unnecessary. It was in the center aisles next to the fresh eggs. But of course!

Settling In

There was still so much to do, and an August heat wave seriously sapped my energy. Jack reminded me that since we had no jobs to rush to and no house guests arriving for almost a month, we might as well take our time setting-up house. It didn't take much to convince me to take it slow. I fell into a pattern of completing one or two tasks each day. As we unpacked, assembled furniture, and stocked cabinets, the apartment slowly became livable--almost comfortable. One of the big draws to our place was the large shared garden (called a “backyard” where we come from) where Julep could frolic, sniff, and find her ideal potty spot and where we could lounge and catch a breath of fresh air. Unfortunately, the only access door to this walled garden was through the basement and it was locked when we arrived at our new home. The landlady had warned us before move-in that the previous tenant had lost the key and we would have to wait “for a while” for her to get a replacement key made. I tapped into my patience (something experienced immigrants told us would serve us well) when I realized that we would need to take Julep for frequent walks to the nearby praça (a park-like neighborhood open space) for...well, “a while.” Finally, three weeks after move-in, our landlady appeared at our door and explained in a matter-of-fact tone that she was just informed that the very key that opened the main door to our building would also unlock the garden door! Suddenly, our home turf expanded to include a shady spot of land with citrus trees, flowering vines, and a soft lawn. We spent those first weeks pouting that we still didn't have access to the garden while carrying around the key the entire time. Had we tried all of our keys, we could have been using the garden from our first day of arrival. We were too relieved and happy to dwell on how dumb we felt.

Shared garden behind our building. That's more like it!

Friends and family from the U.S. messaged to ask how things were going so far. I gleefully shared photos with picturesque views of our medieval city's quaint houses and ornate cathedrals, a leisurely lunch in nearby oceanfront town, Julep chasing butterflies around rose bushes. “Looks dreamy”, some friends replied. Another said, “You two are living the dream!”

In Portugal, it's pestiscos, not tapas. Personal faves include blistered patron peppers, octopus salad, and alheira (garlic chicken sausage)

When the inland summer heat became too much, breezy Esponsende was a quick drive away

Trouble in Paradise

That dream bubble popped abruptly one August morning when I opened my email to find a note from our landlady. It was written at a level of Portuguese I could not fully decipher, but I could tell immediately from the tone that it was stiffly relaying a complaint. Sure enough, Google Translate clarified that our neighbors had alerted her that our dog Julep was loudly barking and whining, at times keeping them awake late at night. I reflected to the night before when we had enjoyed a late night dinner with our expat friends who were visiting from Porto. Dinner time in this part of the world is not in full swing until after 10 pm and on that night, we were happily chatting, downing wine, and enjoying our alfresco meal until well after midnight. We returned home to our hot, stuffy apartment to find a very agitated Julep with an empty water bowl. I could only guess at how long our parched pup's yelps had been echoing throughout our small building that night. We were in the habit of leaving Julep home alone without a second thought. While she was usually content to be left unsupervised for a few hours, apartment living brought new dog stressors like unfamiliar smells and sounds from shared walls and open windows. It should have come as no surprise that Julep might feel insecure and react in her own shrill, frantic way. Feeling like lousy pet parents, not to mention horrible neighbors, we began to stoke each others irrational fears. We just knew the move so far had been too good to be true. We will be the Ugly Americans in the building! We will be evicted and have no place to live! Our landlady will report our irresponsible behavior to other property owners and we'll be black listed and no one in Portugal will ever rent to us again! Those thoughts all came back to one real fear. Our residency status is dependent on proof of long-term housing. After coming so far in the process and complying with Portuguese laws, the next phase of our residency permits could still be denied and we could be immediately deported back to the U.S. You might be thinking, What's so terrible about that? And you would have a fair point. Despite the complicated and expensive prospect of re-establishing a household in the U.S., we are hardly facing the threat of losing our family, livelihood, and dignity (or far worse) like so many immigrants around the world are facing right now. In light of current events, this distinction should not be lost on any of us. We have come to expect certain privileges as American-born citizens and I am infinitely grateful for every opportunity and lucky break I got. It would be a financial set-back, a headache and you know...a really big bummer, to have our Iberian retirement upended just as it was getting started. But we would likely recover. Still, the knowledge that we are foreigners here is never far from my thoughts. We are living here, for now, only because the Portuguese government has granted us permission. Our residency status is temporary and one bureaucratic error, political reversal, or even a bout of bad luck, could quickly change everything.

 

The Menace 

After some deep breaths, we gained more a lucid perspective. This was problem with a solution. We would need to be more conscientious while living with pets in an apartment building. Time to teach an old dog some new tricks. A little remedial training and a visit to the vet for a prescription for canine anti-anxiety meds, along with more time to adjust, helped Julep to relax and stay (mostly) quiet when she is left home alone. Thankfully, we've had no further complaints and our close neighbors assure us that the dog is no longer causing a commotion. Phew! International incident averted.

Smug Singha. "I told you guys not to get a dog"

      Julep's take: "Problem solved. Just take me along next time"

This first mini-crisis helped me see that life in Portugal will bring unforeseen challenges. Scary, yes, but that's part of what makes it exciting. While I try to prepare myself for the infamous red tape, slower pace, and language barriers, I cannot possibly anticipate every possible reality bite. It makes me think of those ads for retirement resort communities that claim residents will, “Live like you're on vacation!” Really? Every day? Dream on.

One of Braga's more humble churches. Igreja do Carmo dates back to the 17th century