Dear Readers,

Portugal’s Atlantic coast has a way of surprising people.

For many visitors, the beaches here exist first as postcards — long stretches of golden sand, dramatic cliffs, rolling surf, colorful umbrellas, seafood lunches that drift into late afternoons. Even after several years of living here, Paul and I still occasionally pause at certain coastal views simply because they feel almost impossibly beautiful.

But the Atlantic is not a decorative backdrop.

It is alive, unpredictable, and sometimes humbling in ways that deserve respect.

Recently, reports began circulating again about sightings of the so-called “Blue Dragon” washing ashore on beaches in Portugal. Tiny, electric-blue, and strangely delicate in appearance, the creature looks almost unreal as though it belongs in a piece of glass artwork rather than along the tide line of a public beach.

And yet, despite its beauty, it is one of those reminders that nature does not always announce danger in obvious ways.

The Blue Dragon, or Glaucus atlanticus, is a small sea slug that drifts along the surface of the Atlantic Ocean. What makes it unusual is not simply its appearance, but what it feeds on.

Among its prey is the Portuguese Man o’ War — another deceptively beautiful marine creature known for its painful sting.

Over time, the Blue Dragon is able to retain venom from the Man o’ War within its own body, meaning that even a tiny specimen washed ashore can still deliver a painful and potentially dangerous sting if touched.

It is not something most people expect to encounter during a summer walk on the beach.

Encounters with Blue Dragons on Portuguese beaches are still considered rare. But marine researchers note that shifting Atlantic winds, storms, and changing surface currents can occasionally carry these tiny creatures closer to shore.

In Portugal, sightings have historically been isolated, most often in the Algarve or the Azores, sometimes appearing after unusual weather patterns move through the Atlantic. Observations collected through the GelAvista project have helped track occasional appearances of unusual marine life along Portuguese shores.

The same ocean currents that shape Portugal’s coastline, fishing traditions, weather, and surf culture also carry unexpected visitors from far beyond the horizon.

Living near the Atlantic in Portugal slowly teaches a different relationship with the ocean. One based less on ownership and more on awareness. Locals understand this instinctively.

Beach warning systems here are taken seriously. Lifeguards monitor conditions carefully. Flags do more than indicate swimming conditions — they communicate changing realities within the sea itself.

Two flags that visitors sometimes overlook are the purple and blue flags, which warn of potentially dangerous marine life in the water. Sometimes that warning relates to jellyfish. Sometimes to Portuguese Man o’ War sightings. Occasionally, it may simply serve as a reminder to pay closer attention to what the ocean has brought ashore.

And yet, there is remarkably little panic around any of it.

People adjust.

Children are warned not to touch unfamiliar sea life. Walkers become more attentive near the waterline. Lifeguards post notices when needed. The ocean is respected rather than dramatized.

That calmness feels important.

Modern travel often encourages us to experience nature as curated scenery — beautiful, accessible, safe, and designed entirely for our enjoyment. But Portugal’s Atlantic coast still retains something wilder than that.

The currents shift. Storms reshape beaches overnight. Winds change unexpectedly.

Some days the sea appears soft and welcoming. Other days it feels immense and untouchable and even the most beautiful things washing ashore may not be meant for human hands.

There is, oddly enough, something comforting in that reality.

Not because danger itself is comforting, but because it reminds us that the natural world still exists independently of us. The Atlantic does not exist for photographs, tourism campaigns, or summer itineraries. It follows older rhythms than our own.

And perhaps that is part of what makes living beside it so meaningful.

The Blue Dragon is unlikely to become part of most people’s Portuguese beach experience. Encounters remain uncommon, and serious incidents are rare. But the story surrounding it offers a useful reminder for anyone spending time along Portugal’s coast this summer:

Pay attention. Respect the warnings.

Admire beauty without assuming it is harmless.

And remember that the Atlantic, for all its beauty, is still gloriously, stubbornly wild.

Share

If You Visit Portugal’s Beaches This Summer

A few simple reminders for staying safe along the Atlantic coast:

• Never touch unfamiliar marine life, even if it appears dead.

• Pay attention to beach warning flags and posted notices.

• Purple and blue flags indicate potentially dangerous marine life.

• Portuguese Man o’ War can still sting even after washing ashore.

• If stung, seek assistance from lifeguards or medical personnel.

• Conditions can change quickly along Portugal’s Atlantic beaches, especially on windy days.

Resources & References

• Information about the Blue Dragon (Glaucus atlanticus):
  Wikipedia overview of Glaucus atlanticus

• Portuguese marine observation project:
  GelAvista Project

• Beach warning flag meanings:
  https://www.safecommunitiesportugal.com/find-information/for-tourists/water-and-beach-safety/

Leave a comment

Thanks for being on this Journey with me.

Thank you for reading Our Portugal Journey. This publication is free and open to everyone, and it exists thanks to the support of readers like you.

If this work resonates with you, you’re warmly invited to subscribe - or, if you’d like, to support it as a paid subscriber and help keep it independent.

You can also buy me a coffee (or a glass of wine) anytime right here.

However you choose to support this work, I’m truly grateful you’re here.

Until next time…

Obrigada!

Carol.

A small wedding symbol that came to mean more over time.

There is a small piece of white rope in our home that has followed Paul and me through our entire married life.

It isn’t decorative. It isn’t expensive. And to anyone else, it would probably look like the sort of thing that belongs in a junk drawer rather than a place of honor.

But it has stayed with us all these years, no matter where home has been.

The rope is made of three strands, fused together at both ends. It has yellowed with age, as old white things tend to do, but it is still intact. Still strong. Still holding.

And somehow, so are we.

When we were married, we decided on an ecumenical ceremony. Because our families came from different religious traditions, and because the church itself was familiar to nearly everyone attending, we were married in the Catholic church my parents belonged to, but without a full Mass or communion. It seemed like the simplest way to keep the peace and make everyone feel comfortable.

That part, thankfully, worked.

Because it was a Catholic church, there was always going to be a priest officiating. But to balance things out, we also asked a Protestant minister to take part in the ceremony.

I’m not entirely sure the priest was thrilled with that arrangement, but he complied. Whether out of generosity, diplomacy, or perhaps a well-timed donation from my parents, I’ll never know.

During the rehearsal, the priest asked the minister what vestments he planned to wear.

The minister, who was practical and unbothered by such things, simply said he’d be wearing a nice suit.

The priest seemed surprised by this and offered to lend him vestments from the church, but the minister politely declined.

So, on our wedding day, a warm June Sunday afternoon, there we all were in our proper places: the priest in his vestments, the minister in his nice suit, and Paul and me at the altar in all our wedding finery.

The priest spoke first and did what priests do. He talked about the sanctity of marriage, the blessings of children, and how God would watch over us. It was thoughtful and kind and exactly what you would expect at a church wedding.

It was lovely.

But it was the minister’s part that stayed with me.

When it was his turn to speak, he began by saying that he had gone to several hardware stores earlier that day looking for a very specific kind of rope — one made of three intertwined strands. After a few tries, he said he had finally found the right one.

Then, from the pocket of his nice suit, he pulled out a small piece of white rope, no more than five inches long.

He looked at Paul and me and explained that the three strands represented husband, wife, and God. Then he lit a match and carefully sealed both ends so the strands would remain permanently fused together.

He said that a cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

Then he gave the rope to us with his blessing.

I never forgot that moment.

At the time, I don’t think I fully understood why it affected me so deeply. Perhaps because even then, it felt like more than a wedding illustration or a borrowed bit of ceremony. It felt like something we were being handed to carry.

Years later, I learned that the phrase the minister used came from the Bible’s Ecclesiastes 4:12. I’m not especially religious, and I didn’t know the phrase back then. But somehow that hardly seemed to matter.

Because over time, the rope stopped being about a wedding ceremony or theology and became something else entirely.

It became a symbol of what it means to stay.

To endure. To keep holding when life asks more of you than you expected.

And life does ask.

It asks through ordinary years and difficult ones. Through uncertainty, reinvention, disappointment, grief, change, moves, risks, and the thousand small adjustments that make up a life shared over time.

Marriage, at least as I have come to understand it, is not held together by the beauty of the ceremony or the eloquence of the vows. Those things matter, of course. But they are only the beginning.

What holds over time is something quieter.

A willingness to remain. A decision made again and again, to keep pulling in the same direction.

To hold onto the rope, especially when the ground shifts beneath you.

That small piece of rope still has its place in our home. Most of the time it simply rests there, easy to overlook unless you know its story. But there have been years when it has felt less like a keepsake and more like a lifeline.

And although it has yellowed with age, the strands are still firmly fused together.

Still strong. Still holding.

For me, at least, that has come to mean something simple and lasting:

Whatever else life may ask of us, we can endure it together.

This piece is part of The Wider Quiet.

Carol.

Dear Readers,

There are places in Portugal that don’t immediately explain themselves. They ask you to slow down first. Gondramaz, a Schist village, is one of those places, and to understand it, it helps to begin with the stone.

This post is a bit longer than what fits comfortably in email. If it’s cut off, you can continue reading here.

What Is a Schist Village?

Across central Portugal, there is a network of small mountain communities known as the Aldeias do Xisto. This is a group of 27 villages, many with origins that stretch back centuries, built using locally sourced schist, a dark, layered metamorphic stone that gives these places their distinctive appearance.

Often mistaken for shale, schist is stronger and more durable, forming the stacked stone homes, slate-toned rooftops, and narrow pathways that define these villages.

For generations, they were agricultural communities—remote, self-sufficient, and closely tied to the land. Over time, many were abandoned as populations shifted toward cities.

In the past two decades, they’ve been carefully restored, not as replicas, but as living villages, now part of a growing movement toward slow, intentional travel.

Where It Began for Us: Cabeça

Our first experience with a Schist village came a few years ago in Cabeça.

That visit stayed with us.

There was something about the stillness, the texture of the stone, and the way the village seemed to exist slightly outside the pace of modern life. At the time, Paul and I left with a simple thought:

What would it be like to actually stay a few days in one of these villages?

That question lingered.

Choosing Gondramaz

When we began looking more seriously, we realized quickly that not all Schist villages would be the right fit for us.

Some are steep. Some require long walks just to enter. Others feel more remote or physically demanding than we wanted.

Gondramaz stood out:

• Compact and manageable

• Accessible without overly difficult navigation

• Walkable, without extreme elevation changes

• Connected to walking and biking trails throughout the region

It felt like the right balance.

Reaching the village is part of the experience. The road winds steadily into the mountains, narrow in places, and best approached with patience, but it’s also what begins to separate you from the pace of everyday life.

Staying Within the Village: Mountain Whisper

We chose to stay in one of the restored homes through Mountain Whisper, which has carefully brought several village houses back into use as guest accommodations.

Rather than building something new, the approach here is to work within what already exists, allowing visitors to experience the village from the inside, not just as observers.

Our stay there became a meaningful part of the experience and one that deserves its own story, which I will share separately in a future article. In the meantime, you can read my review on TripAdvisor here.

Life in Gondramaz

There is very little here in the traditional sense of tourism. No shops. No galleries. Only a small chapel, a public fountain, and the quiet rhythm of daily life.

The fountain sits along the main street, near the chapel, a simple stone structure fed by water from the surrounding mountains.

One afternoon, we met a resident (there are only 10 full-time residents) filling a container at the fountain. Between English and Portuguese, Paul asked her if the water was good. She smiled and said yes.

So, we tried it.

The water was cool and clear, with a slight minerality present, but not overpowering. Paul paused after his first sip and said it might be the best water he had ever tasted.

Moments like that seem small at the time, but they stay with you.

Like many small villages, Gondramaz has its own rhythm including a few dogs that roam freely through the streets, day and night. They appeared well cared for and entirely at ease in their surroundings, part of the everyday life of the village.

It’s a detail that may feel entirely natural to some, and worth noting for others.

On our first night, Paul and I stepped outside. There was silence. The kind that makes you suddenly aware of how much sound usually surrounds you. Not empty. Just still.

Above us, the sky opened wide. Without light pollution, the stars felt closer, brighter, almost layered across the darkness.

Inside, we lit the fireplace, settled onto the sofa, and let the evening unfold, slowly finishing the last of a bottle of wine while soft jazz played in the background.

Time, in those moments, felt unstructured.

Another evening, the mountains shifted again. Clouds rolled into the Lousã Valley, gathering quietly at first. Then the sky broke open with thunder echoing across the hills, lightning illuminating the landscape in brief, brilliant flashes.

It was dramatic, but not unsettling. Just another expression of the place.

During the day, we wandered the narrow stone paths that wind through the village.

There is a particular feeling that comes from walking there. The walls are not just built, they are marked. Sculptures, carvings, and small etched details appear unexpectedly, reminders of the artisans who once lived and worked here.

At times, I found myself reaching out to touch the stone as we passed, feeling its texture, its unevenness, its weight.

It’s easy to think of places like this in terms of restoration. But Gondramaz feels less like something recreated and more like something carried forward.

Exploring Beyond the Village

We used Gondramaz as a base to explore nearby villages, including Cerdeira.

The drives are beautiful but narrow, winding, and best approached with care.

We had planned to visit Talasnal as well, but weather shifted our plans, something that feels entirely appropriate in a place like this.

Gondramaz at a Glance:

• Region: Serra da Lousã, Central Portugal

• Type: Schist Village (Aldeias do Xisto network)

• Vibe: Quiet, reflective, nature-focused

• Best For: Slow travel, hiking, photography, disconnecting

• Distance: ~45 minutes from Coimbra

If You Visit:

• Plan to arrive before dark.

• Expect winding mountain roads.

• Allow time to walk into and around the village.

• Bring what you need. There are no shops.

• There is just one restaurant in the village only open occasionally on weekends serving traditional regional dishes such as goat.

• Be prepared for a slower pace.

• Wildfire Awareness: This region of Central Portugal can experience wildfires during the warmer months. Before traveling, especially in summer, check current conditions and road access on Fogos.pt.

Gondramaz is not about activity or spectacle. It is about stepping into a place that has endured through time, through abandonment, and now through careful restoration and allowing yourself to move at its pace.

It’s in the quiet of the night sky, the warmth of a fire, the taste of water drawn from the mountain, and the feeling of stone beneath your hand.

And if you’ve ever wondered what it might feel like to live, even briefly, inside that rhythm…

This is one way to find out.

Thanks for being on this Journey with me.

Thank you for reading Our Portugal Journey. This publication is free and open to everyone, and it exists thanks to the support of readers like you.

If this work resonates with you, you’re warmly invited to subscribe - or, if you’d like, to support it as a paid subscriber and help keep it independent.

You can also buy me a coffee (or a glass of wine) anytime right here.

However you choose to support this work, I’m truly grateful you’re here.

Until next time…

Obrigada!

Carol.

Dear Readers,

For many people who move to Portugal, or begin planning a visit or longer stay, learning the language quickly becomes part of the conversation.

In cafés, in shops, in small exchanges that happen throughout the day, there is a quiet awareness of what is understood … and what is not.

And for many of us, Paul and I included, learning Portuguese doesn’t happen in the way we might expect.

Note: This post is sponsored by DailyNata. I received access to the platform, but all opinions expressed here—good or bad—are my own.

The Expectation and the Reality

Before moving to or visiting Portugal, it’s easy to imagine a path.

You take a few lessons. You study consistently. You download a “cheat sheet” of the most commonly used phrases. You build a foundation and, over time, expect that fluency follows.

Paul and I started that way.

We worked with an online tutor before we arrived, trying to prepare ourselves for what was ahead. But like many things that happen in transition, life intervened. There was too much to do, too much to organize, and not enough space to focus.

We tried again shortly after we arrived.

But living here—really living here—requires attention in other ways. Setting up a home. Navigating systems. Establishing routines. The language is all around you, but the time and energy to study it in a structured way can be difficult to sustain.

Over time, I began to realize that we weren’t alone in this.

Many people I’ve spoken to have had similar experiences. Some enroll in intensive classes, only to find the focus leans heavily toward grammar rather than conversation. Some hire private tutors or enroll in immersive language courses, often an expensive option. Others turn to popular language apps, hoping to build consistency, but struggle to stay engaged.

Most of us, in one way or another, learn Portuguese in fragments.

A phrase overheard. A conversation attempted. A word that finally makes sense after hearing it enough times.

Progress happens, but rarely in a straight line.

The Space Between Knowing and Not Knowing

There is also something else that comes with learning a language, especially later in life.

A certain hesitation.

You are asked if you speak Portuguese, and the answer is often, “We’re trying.” Personally, I often find myself saying, “Mais ou menos” (more or less)—one of the few phrases that has stayed with me over the years from my college days.

You understand more than you can say. You piece together sentences. And sometimes, you get it wrong.

It can feel uncomfortable. Embarrassing at times. And yes, discouraging.

And yet, something shifts.

You begin to recognize patterns. You hear familiar sounds. A phrase lands a little more clearly than it did before.

Not fluency, but movement.

Staying Connected to the Language

If there’s one thing I’ve come to understand, it’s that learning Portuguese isn’t always about finding the perfect system.

It’s about finding a way to stay connected to the language consistently, without turning it into another obligation.

Recently, I’ve been exploring a platform called DailyNata, which approaches language learning in a slightly different way. One thing that sets it apart from many online language tools is its exclusive focus on European Portuguese, which can still be surprisingly difficult to find.

Instead of structured classes or rigid schedules, it offers short, weekly lessons built around real phrases and everyday situations—small enough to take in without feeling overwhelming but grounded in how European Portuguese is actually spoken.

How It Works in Practice

At its simplest, DailyNata begins with a weekly email, often a short quote, story, joke, or phrase—something you can read and listen to in just a few minutes.

The free weekly email serves as the entry point and feels especially approachable for beginners who want to start building familiarity with European Portuguese without immediately committing to a subscription.

For those who want to go further, the Plus version expands on each lesson with audio, pronunciation guidance, and interactive exercises. There are also weekly challenges tied to the lessons, where members can submit responses and receive thoughtful feedback from a tutor. Members can also ask questions directly within the lesson comments, where the tutor responds personally.

As I spent time with both the free and Plus versions, what stood out most was not just the structure, but how it felt to use.

I didn’t feel the same kind of pressure or intimidation that can come with a classroom or tutor setting. The lessons were engaging and, at times, challenging, but never overwhelming. It felt possible to work through them at my own pace, to pause, and to return when I was ready.

There were also small details that felt particularly useful. Some lessons highlight how phrases are actually said by locals—the kind of phrasing you begin to recognize when you’re out in a café, at a grocery store, or listening to conversations around you. The audio versions can be downloaded and revisited later, making it easy to listen again while walking or going about your day.

DailyNata was created by Amin, a foreigner who moved to Porto and wanted to learn European Portuguese himself. Over time, he found that many language tools either lost his attention or didn’t quite reflect how Portuguese is actually spoken in everyday life. What worked better for him was learning through stories, jokes, quotes, and regular exposure to the language, which eventually became the foundation for DailyNata.

The platform continues to evolve, with many features shaped by feedback from members, which suggests the developers are receptive to the customer experience. DailyNata has also been quietly building a small but steady learning community for nearly four years now.

There is a step-by-step onboarding section to help you get started, which I felt was extremely useful to review, along with a growing library of stories, grammar references, and practical language examples that span early to intermediate levels (roughly A1–B2), depending on the section and lesson type.

But what stood out most for me was the flexibility.

The approach seems rooted in regular exposure rather than intensive study, which may be one reason it feels easier to return to over time.

At one point, Paul listened to a few of the stories and remarked that it felt like something he could return to at his own pace, which in many ways is the challenge for both of us.

You can spend a few minutes reading and listening, or take more time to work through exercises and engage with the community. The pace is entirely your own.

Share

What This Is and What It Isn’t

It’s important to say that this approach isn’t for everyone.

Like any form of language learning, it requires some consistency. It’s not something you absorb passively, but something you return to, in small ways, over time.

It’s also not designed to replace formal study if your goal is certification for permanent residency or citizenship, where more structured coursework is usually necessary. But I can see how it could work alongside that kind of preparation as a way to stay connected to the language between classes or study sessions.

But for many people, that isn’t where the challenge lies.

The challenge is staying engaged long enough for the language to begin to take hold.

And for those who find themselves somewhere in between—living here, planning to live here, visiting, or simply trying to build confidence, this kind of approach may feel more aligned with how life actually unfolds.

If You’re Learning Portuguese

• There is no single “right” way to learn.

• Consistency often matters more than intensity.

• Real-life exposure plays a larger role than expected.

• It’s okay for progress to feel slow or uneven.

• Finding an approach you can return to matters more than finding the “perfect” one.

Final Thoughts

If there is one thing I’ve come to appreciate over the past several years living in Portugal, it’s that language reveals itself slowly.

Not all at once. Not on a schedule. But in moments.

A conversation that goes a little more smoothly. A phrase that makes sense. A small moment of recognition.

And perhaps that is how many of us find our way into Portuguese—not by mastering it all at once, but by staying close to it long enough for it to begin to feel familiar.

If you’re curious, I’ve included a link button below to explore DailyNata further:

Explore DailyNata

Until next time…

Obrigada!

Carol.

Leave a comment

Dear Readers,

One of the things I have missed since moving to Portugal is wandering through English-language bookshops or browsing titles from an online bookseller. Portugal is deeply literary and bookstores are woven into daily life, but finding books in English sometimes requires a bit of detective work.

When we moved to Portugal in 2021, I included a couple of boxes of books in English in our shipping pallet so that I could have a decent supply of reading material while living abroad, until I could find local sources. My preference has always been to read a physical book and not something on a tablet, so this was important to me. I suspect I’m not alone. Many of my readers have asked where they can buy books in English in Portugal, and those questions inspired this guide.

Over the past few years, Paul and I have discovered that English books are everywhere here, just not always where you expect them. They appear in historic Chiado bookshops, tucked into markets, or arriving weeks later from an online seller somewhere across Europe and beyond.

This guide gathers what I have learned and what readers often ask about where English-speaking folks can buy books in Portugal, both in person and online.

Quick Picks

Best English-focused shop (Lisbon): Good Company Books

Best Porto indie: Rosebud Bookshop

Best atmospheric browsing: Ler Devagar

Best coastal surprise: GB Store Cascais

Best budget online option: AwesomeBooks

Best VAT-included UK seller: Blackwell’s

Lisbon: English-Friendly Bookshops

Good Company Books - A welcoming English-language bookshop that feels built for readers living abroad. Expect curated fiction, thoughtful nonfiction, and a sense of community.

Bookshop Bivar - A long-standing second-hand favorite with shelves packed tightly with English titles. Perfect for browsing and building a library without breaking the budget.

Salted Books - A newer addition to Lisbon’s literary landscape, offering contemporary English-language titles alongside a strong community vibe.

Fable Lisbon - Part café, part cultural space, part bookshop and very much a gathering place for readers and writers. English books appear alongside events, workshops, and conversations.

Livraria Bertrand Chiado - The world’s oldest operating bookstore is primarily Portuguese, but it does carry a rotating English section. Worth visiting for its history alone. Any English books you find feel like a bonus. There are also several Bertrand bookstores throughout Portugal selling English books.

Ler Devagar — LX Factory - One of Lisbon’s most iconic bookshops. While multilingual, it maintains a solid English-language section including classics and contemporary titles. Come for the books, stay for the atmosphere.

Color Square - Not a traditional bookstore, but a wonderful place for English children’s books and family-friendly titles.

Poets & Dragons Bookshop - A small independent bookshop and publisher dedicated largely to English-language poetry and children’s literature. Located near the beach in Costa da Caparica, Poets & Dragons offers a thoughtfully curated selection of English titles alongside original illustrated works and literary events. It’s a quieter, more specialized space perfect for readers looking for something a little different from mainstream bookstores.

It’s a Book - A beautifully curated independent bookstore known for illustrated books, children’s literature, and art-focused titles. English-language selections appear throughout its collection, making it a lovely discovery for readers seeking something beyond mainstream paperbacks.

Porto: English-Language Finds in the North

Rosebud Bookshop - An independent English-language bookstore in Porto known for both new and used titles. A rare and welcome find for English readers.

Flâneur - A beautifully curated bookstore that includes English-language literature among its carefully selected titles.

Livraria Lello - Primarily a Portuguese literary landmark, but occasional English titles appear among its multilingual offerings. Expect crowds (a paid reservation to tour is required) and treat English books here as a serendipitous discovery rather than a guarantee.

Cascais, Parede & the Lisbon Coast

Tantos Livros Livreiros — Parede - A local independent bookstore that occasionally stocks international and English titles. Ideal for expats who want to support neighborhood bookshops while keeping an eye out for English editions.

Indie Not a Bookshop — Cascais - A curated cultural space where books are part of the experience rather than the primary focus. English titles may appear among design objects and independent publications.

RG Livreiros — Cascais - A well-known Cascais bookstore with foreign-language titles, including English.

GB Store — Cascais - A British goods shop that quietly keeps a small room with shelves of English books, sometimes even second-hand or free. A wonderful reminder that expat life often happens in unexpected places.

Beyond Lisbon & Porto

100ª Página - Braga - A highly regarded independent bookstore that includes a modest multilingual selection, with English titles appearing alongside Portuguese literature.

Owl Story Books - Lagos - A long-standing Western Algarve favorite offering one of the region’s largest selections of English-language books, alongside German and Portuguese titles. Expect everything from holiday reads to nonfiction, travel guides, and children’s books plus a buy-back system that keeps books circulating.

Faz de Conto Livraria - Coimbra - A specialty bookstore known for illustrated and children’s titles, with a small but thoughtful selection of English-language books available both online and in-store.

Community Book Sources

Silver Coast Volunteers Book Exchange — Óbidos - This volunteer-run book exchange is one of the most community-driven places in Portugal to find English-language books. Shelves are largely filled with donated English titles, and visitors are encouraged to take a book, leave one behind, or make a small donation supporting local projects. It feels less like a shop and more like a shared library. A reminder that the expat reading community here often grows through generosity rather than retail.

Unexpected Places to Find English Books

Portugal rewards curiosity. English titles can appear in:

• Apolónia Supermercados with locations in the Algarve (small but reliable selections)

• Museum and cultural center shops

• Airport bookstores

• Charity shops or swap shelves

• Community cafés

• Public libraries

These discoveries rarely replace a dedicated English language bookstore, but they add a sense of adventure to the search.

Online English-Language Booksellers That Ship to Portugal

Portugal-Based & EU Options

Amazon Spain - Often the easiest ordering experience for Portugal. I have used this company personally. Delivery is quick, especially for Prime users.

FNAC - Reliable for mainstream English titles. I have personally used this company and delivery is quick. There is also a pick-up in store option.

Wook - A Portuguese online bookseller with a growing English section.

Kennys - Ireland-based, meaning fewer customs complications for EU readers, although shipping can be expensive and delivery can take between 8 and 20 business days.

Libristo - An online bookseller based in the Czech Republic boasting 23 million titles in over 150 languages including English. Ships only within the European Union, so no additional VAT or customs fees apply. Flat rate shipping.

UK & International Sellers

Blackwell’s - Often includes delivery and VAT in the price. One of the smoother UK options post-Brexit.

AwesomeBooks - A favorite among budget readers. Huge catalog of new and used English titles, frequently with free delivery to Portugal. Delivery times can vary depending on where the book ships from.

Bookdelivery.com - Portugal-specific pricing and ships directly with VAT included at checkout. I have personally used this company and have been satisfied with the service. Shipping times can vary from a few days to a few weeks.

ThriftBooks - U.S. based. Sometimes ships internationally, though availability depends on the individual listing. New and used books.

A Note on Customs & VAT

Since Brexit, ordering from UK sellers can be unpredictable. Some companies include taxes and customs fees in advance, while others may result in delays or additional charges upon arrival.

As a general rule:

• EU-based sellers tend to be simpler.

• UK sellers that advertise VAT-included pricing offer more predictable deliveries.

  ---

Tips for Book Browsing in Portugal

• English sections are often smaller. Ask staff if you don’t see one immediately.

• Independent bookshops may order English titles upon request.

• Weekday mornings tend to be quieter for browsing in Lisbon and Porto.

• Combine visits with nearby cafés. Many Portuguese bookstores are designed for lingering.

  ---

Accessibility Notes

Many historic bookstores are located in older buildings with narrow aisles or stairs. Larger modern stores such as FNAC or Bertrand branches may offer easier access, while smaller independents vary widely.

Disclosure

The links above are provided for reader reference and convenience only. Our Portugal Journey is not affiliated with, sponsored by, or compensated by any of the bookstores or online sellers listed, and no affiliate links are used in this article.

A Quiet Companion to Life in Portugal

Books have always been a form of continuity for me holding language, memory, and a sense of home, even as our lives take root somewhere new.

Living in Portugal has taught me that finding English books isn’t about replicating what I left behind. It’s about discovering new rhythms of reading - mixing Portuguese and English shelves, local cafés and online orders, historic bookstores and unexpected supermarket finds.

And perhaps that’s the real gift: learning that a good story, like a good journey, rarely stays confined to one place.

Have a favorite English-language book spot in Portugal that I should know about? Share it in the comments so fellow readers can discover it too.

Leave a comment

Note: My annual Summer Reading List - Books that Travel Through Portugal publishes on June 18th. Included in this expanded list are recommendations from Our Portugal Journey readers. Stay tuned…

Thanks for being on this journey with me.

Thank you for reading Our Portugal Journey. This publication is free and open to everyone, and it exists thanks to the support of readers like you.

If this work resonates with you, you’re warmly invited to subscribe - or, if you’d like, to support it as a paid subscriber and help keep it independent.

You can also buy me a coffee (or a glass of wine) anytime right here.

However you choose to support this work, I’m truly grateful you’re here.

Until next time,

Obrigada!
Carol

Dear Readers,

There’s a phrase I still hear from time to time, sometimes from travelers planning their first visit to Portugal, sometimes from readers beginning to dream about a life abroad, and often from Portuguese American families whose memories stretch back decades: “You can live like a king in Portugal.”

It’s a sentiment rooted in history. For generations, many Portuguese emigrated in search of broader opportunities and higher wages abroad, particularly in some parts of the United States. Even today, young Portuguese adults often leave to build careers elsewhere, drawn by the promise of income and stability that can feel harder to achieve at home. When some eventually return, or purchase a second home here, the contrast in purchasing power can make life in Portugal feel unexpectedly comfortable.

A few years ago, I explored that idea more directly in my essay “Live Like a King in Portugal.” Since then, both Portugal and my own perspective have continued to evolve. Today, I find myself thinking less about whether Portugal is “cheap” and more about what it actually means to live well here and how easily a single word can obscure the deeper reality of daily life.

A Memory of Affordability - and Its Limits

There is truth behind the perception. Compared to certain parts of North America or Northern Europe, aspects of daily life in Portugal can still feel accessible: a morning coffee at a neighborhood café, fresh produce from a local market, or the slower rhythm of a place where time seems to stretch.

But affordability is always relative. For many Portuguese families, whose wages remain modest compared to other European countries, rising housing costs and taxation make everyday life a careful balancing act. In some areas, increased demand driven by tourism and international interest has added additional pressure to housing and local economies. What feels inexpensive to someone arriving with foreign income may feel very different to someone whose livelihood is rooted here.

Understanding that contrast requires holding two truths at once: Portugal has long been perceived as more affordable from the outside, while for many who live here, it has never felt easy.

The Weight of Words

One afternoon not long ago, Paul and I found ourselves in a neighborhood market, waiting at the meat counter. A visitor from abroad was enthusiastically ordering specialty cuts for a barbecue, commenting openly and loudly to his spouse about how inexpensive everything felt compared to home. The clerks behind the counter remained gracious as they always do, but the moment carried a subtle tension that was impossible to ignore.

It wasn’t the purchase itself that felt uncomfortable; it was the tone. Words that sound celebratory in one context can feel dismissive in another, especially in a country where many people are navigating rising costs and economic uncertainty.

Over time, I’ve come to see how easily the word “cheap” can create distance rather than connection. Portugal’s generosity and beauty are real but describing them through comparison alone can unintentionally overlook the experiences of those who live here every day.

A Different Kind of Abundance

If Portugal doesn’t offer a universal version of luxury, it does offer something else: a different rhythm of living.

Life here often unfolds in smaller, quieter ways. Conversations linger. Meals stretch longer. Public spaces invite people to slow down rather than rush through. Many of the moments that feel richest aren’t tied to spending more, but to noticing more - the sound of waves through open windows, the hum of voices in a praça, the simple comfort of familiarity with a neighborhood café owner who remembers your order.

These are not luxuries in the traditional sense, but they are forms of abundance that reshape how daily life feels.

Beyond the Idea of Royalty

Perhaps the real shift is understanding that Portugal doesn’t promise a life of extravagance, but rather invites a different relationship with time, place, and expectation.

For some, returning here after years abroad may indeed feel like a form of prosperity, shaped by the contrast between economies. For others, especially those building their lives locally, the experience is far more complex. Both realities can exist at once and acknowledging that complexity allows us to see Portugal more clearly.

As more people discover Portugal, the question may not be whether it remains “cheap,” but how both visitors and residents can engage with it thoughtfully as it continues to evolve.

Living well here, I’ve come to believe, has less to do with status and more to do with intention - with the rhythms that anchor your days and the quieter ways a place reshapes how you move through the world.

A Quieter Kind of Richness

Travel, and especially living abroad, has a way of reshaping our assumptions. What begins as a search for affordability often becomes something quieter and more enduring: a shift in how we measure comfort, connection, and what it means to feel at home in a place that isn’t originally our own.

If the idea of “living like a king” first drew your attention to Portugal, you may discover that the real richness here is far less performative. It lives in everyday rituals, in the cadence of conversation, and in the understanding that to live well in another country is not simply to spend differently, but to see differently, with curiosity, humility, and respect.

Thanks for being on this Journey with me.

Thank you for reading Our Portugal Journey. This publication is free and open to everyone, and it exists thanks to the support of readers like you.

If this work resonates with you, you’re warmly invited to subscribe - or, if you’d like, to support it as a paid subscriber and help keep it independent.

You can also buy me a coffee (or a glass of wine) anytime right here.

However you choose to support this work, I’m truly grateful you’re here.

Until next time…

Obrigada!

Carol.

This latest Out & About with Carol and Paul captures the quieter transition from winter into spring here in Portugal.

It’s been a season of rain, time at home, shared meals, and small outings along with a road trip to the Schist Village of Gondramaz. Not a dramatic season, perhaps, but a meaningful one in its own way.

Prefer watching on YouTube or saving for later? You can view this episode here.

As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts. These videos continue to evolve based on your feedback and the experiences we’re living through here.

Leave a comment

Thanks for being on this Journey with me.

Thank you for reading Our Portugal Journey. This publication is free and open to everyone, and it exists thanks to the support of readers like you. If you’d like to receive new posts and help keep this work independent - and help support the research, time and travel that goes into it - you’re warmly invited to become a free or paid subscriber.

You can also buy me a coffee (or a glass of wine) anytime right here.

However you choose to support me, I’m truly grateful you’re here.

Until next time…

Obrigada!

Carol.

On an old poem and the life that followed it.

Dear Readers,

At its heart, Our Portugal Journey remains what it has always been—a publication rooted in Portugal, travel, culture, food, place, and the everyday experience of building a life here.

That is not changing.

But over time, I’ve come to understand that some of the writing that matters most to me doesn’t always begin with a destination, a village, or a journey outward. Sometimes it begins in a quieter place—in reflection, memory, uncertainty, and the small emotional truths that sit just beneath ordinary life.

That is where The Wider Quiet begins.

This is an occasional space for essays that don’t always fit neatly into the publication’s usual lanes, but still belong to the same voice, the same life, and the same way of paying attention.

Some pieces may begin in Portugal. Some may not. But all of them grow from the same thread: the part of this work that notices not only where we are, but what life is asking us to carry, question, or understand while we’re there.

If Our Portugal Journey is often about where we go and how we live, The Wider Quiet is for the thoughts that travel alongside us.

I’ll share pieces here from time to time, when they belong.

Carol.

There are certain things we write when we are young that stay with us, not because they are polished or profound, but because they contain something true that we somehow already knew.

Decades ago, I wrote a short poem called Castles in the Sand. I’ve carried it with me ever since.

When I read it now, I can still hear the younger voice behind it. But I also hear something else—an early understanding that dreams are often fragile, that life is never as permanent as we imagine, and yet still worth building with care.

Perhaps that is why I’ve never let it go.

It was written long ago, but it still feels, in its own small way, like an honest map of how I’ve tried to live.

Here it is, lightly polished, but still very much as I wrote it then.

Castles in the Sand

I’m going to build my dreams
from castles in the sand.
I’m going to make my life a reality—
and when my time is over
and all my dreaming is done,
I’ll watch the castles wash away
and leave me one by one.

At the time, I couldn’t possibly have known all the ways life would shift, undo itself, surprise me, and ask me to begin again. I didn’t yet know where I would live, what I would lose, what I would build, or how many times a person can quietly reinvent a life.

And yet, when I read those lines now, I recognize something familiar.

Even then, I seemed to understand that much of life is built from things that are not especially solid at the start—hope, longing, imagination, love, reinvention, courage, timing, luck.

We build anyway.

Perhaps that is all any of us have ever done.

We make homes, relationships, careers, identities, and stories from materials far more fragile than we admit at the time. We call them plans. We call them certainty. We call them the future.

But often, they are castles in the sand.

That does not make them foolish.

If anything, it may be what makes them precious.

There is something both humbling and comforting in realizing that so much of life is temporary, not because it makes things meaningless, but because it reminds us that permanence was never really the point.

The point, perhaps, is that we built something at all.

That we loved, tried, hoped, made, moved, risked, changed, stayed open, and shaped a life while we were here.

In time, the tide comes for all of it—the plans, the roles, the certainties, the versions of ourselves we once believed would last forever.

And still, we build.

That may be one of the quietest forms of courage there is.

When I wrote Castles in the Sand, I had no idea how long a few simple lines could follow a person.

I only know that they did.

And perhaps that is what old poems, old photographs, old letters, and old selves sometimes offer us—not nostalgia exactly, but recognition.

A reminder that even before we had the language for our lives, we were already trying to name them.

And sometimes, if we’re lucky, we discover that the younger voice was not wrong.

This piece is part of The Wider Quiet.

Dear Readers,

Traveling with pets, whether in past chapters of life or present journeys, changes the rhythm of travel in quiet and lasting ways.

You notice things differently; shaded terraces, quiet walking paths, the gentle pause before stepping into a café to see whether a wagging tail will be welcomed. What once felt spontaneous now becomes a little more intentional, and in many ways, that slower pace can deepen the experience of travel itself.

Paul and I are pet lovers. And although we’re no longer “pet parents,” we know what it’s like to travel with a four-legged companion or to move to a new home alongside one. Those experiences stay with you, shaping how you plan, how you move, and how you notice the world around you. It’s also a great way to meet people and start conversations.

Over the years, I’ve come to appreciate how the right resources can quietly support those moments. Not by dictating where we go, but by reducing the uncertainty that sometimes comes with traveling alongside an animal.

This isn’t a list of every pet resource available. Instead, think of it as a curated toolkit - tools that make traveling with pets smoother, calmer, and more enjoyable without overwhelming the journey.

Planning the Journey: All-in-One Pet Travel Apps

BringFido is one of the most widely used pet travel platforms, helping travelers locate pet-friendly hotels, cafés, parks, and attractions worldwide. Filters allow you to search by pet size, number of pets, or specific amenities. Rather than scrolling endlessly through reviews, BringFido offers a practical starting point when planning travel with animals. iOS | Android

Pawtrip blends travel planning with discovery, allowing users to explore pet-friendly destinations and experiences through a community-driven platform. It feels less like logistics and more like joining a network of travelers who move through the world with pets. iOS | Android (unavailable as of this writing)

The Pawtrip app also functions as a social platform where travelers share cafés, parks, and destinations that genuinely welcome pets. Think of it as a social layer for pet-friendly travel.

Kruiz - AI Pet Travel Guide - Kruiz focuses on the complex side of international pet travel airline policies, documentation requirements, and travel rules that can vary widely between countries. It’s especially useful for travelers navigating cross-border journeys or longer relocations. iOS | Android

Flying With Pets: Airports, Airline Rules & Travel Requirements

Flying Paws goes beyond accommodations helping travelers locate airport pet-relief areas, track flights, and find nearby vets or pet-friendly restaurants while traveling. It’s one of those niche tools you don’t think about until you’re standing in an unfamiliar airport with a nervous companion. iOS | Android

Pet Travel Planner - Airline Policies & Entry Requirements
Pet Travel Planner focuses on the practical side of flying with animals. It helps travelers compare airline pet policies including carrier size limits, cabin requirements, and travel restrictions while also outlining entry requirements for different countries. For anyone navigating international flights with pets, it offers a clearer starting point than searching airline websites individually.

iOS | Android (unavailable as of this writing)

TravelReadyPets brings together airline guidance, destination rules, and travel checklists in one place. While still evolving, it reflects a growing shift toward more structured tools that help travelers prepare pets for international journeys without feeling overwhelmed by logistics. It’s ideal for travelers who want a simple overview of requirements before booking flights or planning longer stays abroad.

Website: https://travelreadypets.com/

Passpaw — Digital Pet Travel Documents - Passpaw assists with preparing international pet travel paperwork, helping travelers organize health certificates and documentation required for cross-border journeys. It works best as a planning companion alongside veterinary guidance.

Website: https://passpaw.com

And for travelers whose companions move a little more quietly through the world…

Traveling With Cats: Quiet Tools That Support the Journey

Many pet travel apps lean heavily toward dogs, but cats often benefit from different kinds of support with tools that help maintain routine, manage documentation, and monitor health while adjusting to new environments.

PadsPass Digital Pet Passport - Stores vaccination records, microchip details, and travel documentation in one place. Especially helpful for international journeys.

iOS |Android

VetPassport

Keeps health records organized and accessible when visiting new veterinarians or crossing borders. Website: https://vetpassport.app/

PetBuddy: Pet Care Companion - Tracks feeding schedules, medications, and daily routines. Valuable for helping cats maintain stability in unfamiliar places.

iOS | Android

PawTrack - Especially useful when dealing with multiple pets. Manage your pet’s care, keep track of schedules, and find veterinarians near you.

Website: https://www.pawtrackapp.com/

Pet Care Tracker DogCat App – A calendar-style tracker for vaccinations, feeding, and symptom monitoring. iOS | Android

Travel Pawsport (A Fun Add-On) - A playful app that lets travelers document cats (including your own) encountered around the world. It’s a charming addition for those who love photographing feline companions along the way.

iOS | Android (unavailable as of this writing)

Traveling With a Service Animal: Tools That Support Access & Confidence

Here are some resources when traveling with a service or emotional support animal.

ServiceDog.Cloud

ADA Service Animals

Kruiz

Discovering Pet-Friendly Places Along the Way

DogPack assists travelers to locate dog parks and outdoor spaces, making everyday walks an opportunity to explore local communities.

Website: https://www.dogpackapp.com/blog/download-app/

Care & Support Along the Way

Rover connects travelers with local pet sitters and boarding options particularly helpful during longer trips, relocation transitions, or moments when travel plans shift unexpectedly. iOS | Android

Website: https://www.rover.com

Share

Safety, Tracking & Peace of Mind

Traveling with pets often means thinking a few steps ahead. A few thoughtful tools can offer reassurance without adding complexity to the journey.

Tractive GPS Tracking - A lightweight GPS tracker that allows travelers to monitor a pet’s location in real time. Especially useful in unfamiliar environments or outdoor destinations. For both dogs and cats. Website: https://tractive.com

PawBoost Lost Pet Recovery Network - A global platform designed to help reunite lost pets with their owners through alerts and community support. Active coverage in the United States, Canada, United Kingdon, Australia, Brazil, Mexico, and South Africa. Website: https://www.pawboost.com

American Red Cross Cat & Dog First Aid Course offers pet first aid training designed to help travelers recognize emergencies and respond calmly. They also offer an app that works as an on-the-go reference guide for pet owners. A thoughtful layer of preparation for those exploring new environments with animals. iOS | Android

Portugal-Specific Pet Travel Tools

Portugal has quietly become one of Europe’s more pet-friendly countries. Outdoor cafés, coastal paths, and slower rhythms often make traveling with animals feel natural, but a few local apps can make the experience even easier.

Walkbox is a self-guided walking routes app across Portugal that often leads to quieter paths and scenic areas where pets can move comfortably. iOS | Android

The Fork - Many Portuguese restaurants use The Fork for reservations. Filtering for outdoor seating can make dining with pets easier. iOS | Android

If You Travel with Pets: A Few Practical Notes

• Always check airline policies well in advance.

• In Europe, pet passports and vaccination records are often required.

• Portugal’s café culture and outdoor spaces often make traveling with pets easier than in many destinations.

Accessibility Notes

For some travelers, pets are companions that support mobility, comfort, or emotional well-being. Policies vary between airlines and destinations, so confirming requirements ahead of time remains essential.

A Gentle Checklist: What to Bring When Traveling with Pets

Even the most pet-friendly destinations require a little extra preparation. Over time, I’ve found that a simple checklist rather than a long packing list helps keep travel days calm and predictable for both people and animals. Here are a few essentials - many that have been among my favorites - that pet travelers may find helpful:

Travel & Health Documents (keep these in a waterproof pouch)

• Pet passport or vaccination records

• Microchip information

• Airline confirmations or travel permits (if flying)

• Contact details for a local veterinarian at your destination

Comfort & Familiarity

• A favorite blanket, mat, or small bed

• Familiar toys or chew items

• Portable water bowl and travel food containers

• Enough food for the first few days of the trip

Walking & Safety Gear

• Collar with updated ID tags

• Harness and leash suitable for walking in busy areas

• Waste bags (not always easy to find immediately after arrival)

• Reflective gear or small light for evening walks

Everyday Practicalities

• Towels for sandy beaches or rainy walks

• Pet wipes or grooming supplies

• Medications or supplements, packed in original containers

• Pet raincoat or sweater for cooler days and nights

• Paw booties for chilly weather or extra hot temperatures

• A small supply of treats

Pet Travel Suggestion: When Paul and I traveled with our whippet, we carried most of her necessities in an inexpensive backpack.

Traveling with pets doesn’t mean packing everything; just the items that help maintain familiar routines in unfamiliar places.

Additional Resource Links

EU Pet Travel Rules

BringFido has many excellent posts on pet travel

USDA Pet Travel Information

Portugal Beach Safety (Info Praia)

Traveling More Lightly, Wherever You Go

Whether you’re planning a short journey or settling into a slower rhythm abroad, I hope this guide offers a gentle place to begin. And as always, if you’ve discovered a tool that has made traveling with your companion feel easier or more meaningful, I’d love to hear about it. Feel free to share your suggestions in the comments so this resource can continue to evolve alongside the journeys we’re all taking.

Leave a comment

Because in the end, traveling with pets isn’t only about getting from one place to another, it’s about learning to move through the world a little more thoughtfully, together.

Thank you for reading Our Portugal Journey. This publication is free and open to everyone, and it exists thanks to the support of readers like you. If you’d like to receive new posts and help keep this work independent - and help support the research, time and travel that goes into it - you’re warmly invited to become a free or paid subscriber.

You can also buy me a coffee (or a glass of wine) anytime right here.

However you choose to support me, I’m truly grateful you’re here.

Until next time… Obrigada!
Carol

Dear Readers,

If you’re planning a trip to the Douro region of Portugal soon, there’s a moment on your trip you’ll never forget: the first time you board a rabelo and drift gently downriver, surrounded by terraced hillsides and silent quintas. These wooden, flat-bottomed boats once carried barrels of Port wine from the vineyards to the cellars in Gaia and Porto. Today, they carry guests and stories. From Pinhão, you can catch short scenic cruises or longer excursions that offer a river’s-eye view of the Alto Douro’s beauty and history.

After seeing the Douro River by train last Fall, Paul and I took a rabelo cruise for the first time.

The History of the Rabelo Boat.

The rabelo (sometimes spelled barco rabelo) is a vessel unique to the Douro River. No other place in the world used this specific design.

These boats were painstakingly engineered for the challenging river conditions:

• A flat bottom and no keel allowed them to navigate shallow, fast-flowing stretches.

• The name “rabelo” comes from the long steering oar (espádela) projecting from the stern, akin to a tail (“rabo”) used instead of a conventional rudder.

• They typically ranged from 19 to 23 meters long and could carry 40 to 100 barrels of Port wine, crewed by six to twelve men.

Records place rabelo use as far back as the 13th century in local lore, but modern regulation appears around 1792, when the Companhia Geral da Agricultura das Vinhas do Alto Douro set formal rules for their capacity and navigation.

Because upstream navigation was difficult, boats were sometimes hauled by men or oxen along towpaths (caminhos de sirga) carved into the rocky banks.

The rise of rail transport in 1887 reduced the rabelo’s dominance for cargo, and with damming in the 20th century, their commercial role largely ended. Some of the last wine-carrying voyages occurred in the 1960s and early 1970s.

Today, rabelos live on in tourism, tradition, and regattas, most famously the São João Rabelo Boat Regatta held every June in Porto, celebrating the vessel that once defined the valley.

What a Rabelo Cruise from Pinhão Feels Like.

When Paul and I boarded our two-hour rabelo boat in Pinhão, the sun was already warm on the river - one of those brilliant autumn Douro days that make the landscape shimmer. The wooden boat was nearly full, a cheerful mix of travelers from the U.S., France, England and beyond, each looking forward as we were, to see the valley from the water.

As we pushed away from the dock, the hum of conversation gave way to silence. The hillsides rose steeply on both sides, covered with the precise geometry of terraced vineyards. Every curve in the river revealed another beautiful scene: a stone wall, a solitary olive tree, a distant quinta perched like a castle among the vines. It was spectacular!

The rhythm of the water was soothing, and the heat seemed to slow everything to the Douro’s pace, unhurried, reflective, timeless. By the end of the journey, we’d chatted and laughed with our fellow passengers, trading travel stories and tips for local wines. It was more than a cruise - it felt like a floating community, connected by sun, scenery, and the shared joy of the moment.

Cruise Options & What to Expect:

From the Pinhão riverside docks, you can choose from a variety of rabelo experiences:

• 1-hour scenic cruise: the most popular and accessible, gliding upriver for 20–30 minutes before returning.

• 2-hour journey to Tua and back: a deeper voyage into quieter, more remote stretches of the river. This is the cruise we chose.

• Private or electric rabelo cruises: smaller and quieter, ideal for couples or groups.

Each trip offers panoramic views of the vineyard-clad slopes, historic quintas and sections of the Douro inaccessible by road - a rare chance to see the valley as 19th-century wine shippers once did.

Some cruises include audio commentary about the valley’s geology and winemaking traditions, while others offer tastings of local Port or table wine on board. Our cruise had both audio and Port tastings.

Here’s a short video of our rabelo boat cruise.

Watch the Video

Suitability & Accessibility.

Boarding a rabelo involves a few steps and narrow gangways, so full wheelchair access is limited. However, most boats are stable, with gentle movement, and suitable for travelers who can manage moderate steps.

If mobility is a concern, it’s best to call ahead and confirm accessibility with the operator, especially during busy summer months when docking areas can be crowded.

Share

How to Book a Rabelo Tour.

Magnífico Douro - offers both 1-hour and 2-hour departures with audio guide. You can also request private tours.

Living Tours - their 1-hour Rabelo cruise departs from Pinhão’s pier.

Viator – offers 1-hour Rabelo cruise includes an audio guide. Departs from Pinhão’s pier.

GetYourGuide - offers 2-hour tour includes a Port tasting and audio guide. This is the tour we booked.

If You Visit:

Booking & Timing

• Cruises operate daily from April through October, with shorter rides offered hourly and longer ones typically mid-morning or mid-afternoon.

• The Pinhão docks (“Cais”) are easy to reach by foot from the train station or nearby hotels. Street car parking in the town is limited.

• Reserve ahead in peak season to secure seats, especially for the longer 2-hour cruises.

Practical Tips

• Arrive 10–15 minutes early for boarding.

• Bring a hat, sunscreen, and water. The Douro sun can be intense, even in early autumn.

• Light layers help; the temperature can drop slightly when the boat turns into the wind.

• If you’re bringing young children along, be sure to always keep an eye on them. Although there are life preservers on board, the boat is low in the water and accidents can happen.

• Keep your camera ready, the perspective from the water is entirely different from what you’ll see on the road or on the historic Douro train.

Combine your cruise with a visit to a nearby quinta for a tasting or vineyard lunch afterward. We enjoyed refreshing Port Tonics (white Port and tonic water over ice) and a cured meats and cheese plate at a Quinta do Noval Wine Shop and Tasting Room in town up from the docks.

A rabelo cruise is more than a scenic diversion, it’s a link to the past. Floating where the old wine boats once braved rapids and rocks, you glimpse the valley’s soul from the perspective that made it famous. Whether your day is calm and sunny, as ours was, or moody with mist on the hills, the Douro always feels timeless from the water, a journey back through history, carried by the slow rhythm of the river itself.

P.S. If you’re new here, or if you’ve only been reading OPJ from your inbox, you can always visit Start Here & Explore to browse the publication by topic.

Thanks for being on this journey with me.

Thank you for reading Our Portugal Journey. This publication is free and open to everyone, and it exists thanks to the support of readers like you. If you’d like to receive new posts and help keep this work independent - and help support the research, time and travel that goes into it - you’re warmly invited to become a free or paid subscriber.

You can also buy me a coffee (or a glass of wine) anytime right here.

However you choose to support me, I’m truly grateful you’re here.

Until next time… Obrigada!
Carol

Dear Readers,

Each summer, I put together a reading list that travels through Portugal without ever leaving the page.

Some years, the journey begins in a village square, a tiled kitchen, or along a quiet road. Other years, it unfolds through poetry and memory, food and history, murder mysteries and adventure, or fiction that captures what it means to live in Portugal, or to be shaped by it from a distance.

That’s part of the pleasure of a summer reading list: Portugal reveals itself in many voices and many forms, sometimes quietly, sometimes with suspense, and occasionally with a sense of escape.

As I begin thinking ahead to my 2026 Summer Reading List, I’d like to open the process and invite you to take part.

Whether you live in Portugal, once lived here, visit often, are Portuguese, or simply feel connected to this country through reading, cooking, research, or imagination, your recommendations are welcome.

What You Can Recommend

I’m looking for books - classic or contemporary - that belong in a reading list shaped by Portugal. I especially welcome titles published in both Portuguese and English, though this is not required. What matters most is that Portugal sits at the heart of the story, whether as setting, subject, or subtle presence.

Suggestions may include:

• Fiction set in Portugal

• Non-fiction, memoir, or essays rooted in Portuguese life or history

• History, biography, or cultural studies

• Poetry by Portuguese writers or inspired by Portugal

• Travel writing that goes beyond the surface

• Murder mysteries, adventure, or genre fiction grounded in place

• Books about Portuguese food, wine, or regional traditions

• Portuguese cookbooks, traditional or modern

How to Share Your Recommendation

Please leave your suggestions in the comments (or message me) and include:

• Book title

• Author

• A link (if possible) to where the book can be purchased or found

• (Optional but welcome) A sentence or two about why you’re recommending it

For transparency: I’m not affiliated with any bookseller, and sharing a link does not imply endorsement of a particular retailer. The links simply help readers (and me) locate the book more easily.

Feel free to recommend more than one title.

What Happens Next

I’ll be gathering your recommendations over the coming months as I curate the 2026 Summer Reading List, which I plan to publish in mid-June. Where appropriate, I’ll credit readers whose suggestions are included.

Every year, some of the most meaningful additions to this list come from reader suggestions - often books I might never have discovered on my own.

Leave a comment

With Thanks

Reading, like travel, is rarely a solitary act, even when done quietly. Thank you for sharing the books that have helped you better understand Portugal, wherever you happen to be reading from.

I’m looking forward to seeing where your recommendations take us.

Warmly,
Carol

Last year’s Summer Reading List…

A small, personal and inspirational story for Sunday to share with you.

Dear Readers,

Sometimes the advice that stays with us the longest comes from people we never see again.

Not from experts. Not from books. Not from someone who sits us down and tells us how to live.

Sometimes it comes from a stranger on a patio on an ordinary evening, and for whatever reason, it stays.

This is one of those stories.

Years ago, when Paul and I were living in Arizona, we would occasionally take a road trip to Tubac, a small historic village south of Tucson that always felt like a bit of an escape.

Tubac has long been known as an artists’ village, filled with galleries, shops, cafés, and old adobe charm. It was established in 1752 as Arizona’s first Spanish Presidio and sits not far from the Mexican border. But for me, what made Tubac memorable was less about its history and more about its feeling.

It always felt as if we had gone somewhere farther away than we actually had traveled.

There was something about it — the slower pace, the desert light, the artists, the architecture, the sense that life there unfolded just a little more gently — that made it feel almost like visiting another country without ever leaving Arizona.

And during those years, that feeling mattered.

It was a decade marked by uncertainty. The Great Recession had unsettled so many lives, and even if your own footing remained steady, it was impossible not to feel the strain of what was happening around you. We knew people who were losing homes, losing work, losing confidence in the future. It was hard to watch.

And as I’ve learned more than once in life, when the world feels unsteady, creativity often does too.

Those occasional trips to Tubac felt restorative in a way that is hard to explain unless you have had a place like that yourself — somewhere that doesn’t solve anything, exactly, but somehow helps you breathe again.

When we visited, we usually stayed at Tubac Golf Resort, situated on the old Otero Ranch. What I loved most about the property was its Spanish Colonial architecture and the way some of the original ranch buildings had been restored and repurposed rather than erased.

The restaurant, Stables Ranch Grille, was one of those places I always looked forward to. It was named for the building’s original purpose, and from there you could look out over the golf course and toward a distant pasture where cattle grazed peacefully. There was something so expansive and calm about the whole setting.

Even now, I can still picture it.

One evening after dinner, Paul and I wandered outside to the patio where live country western music was playing. It was one of those mild Arizona evenings that makes people want to linger a little longer. The patio was full — guests from the resort, local residents, and no doubt a fair number of creative people who had made Tubac home.

By pure luck, we managed to grab a couple of seats.

People were enjoying the music, talking quietly, sipping wine or beer, and now and then some would get up and dance. It felt easy. Unforced. The kind of evening that doesn’t ask much of you except that you be present for it.

And then I noticed a couple dancing.

There were several people on the patio floor at that moment, but this pair stood out. Not because they were flashy or trying to draw attention to themselves. Quite the opposite.

She was tall and slender, with long dark hair streaked with gray silver, and dressed casually in an oversized sweater and jeans. He was tall, with a rustic kind of good looks, wearing a plaid shirt and jeans. They looked like ordinary people you might pass in a grocery store and never think twice about.

But when they danced, they were absolutely beautiful.

They moved together so effortlessly that it didn’t seem practiced at all. They glided in time to the music as if they had been doing it forever. He would twirl her now and then, and there was such joy in the way she moved — not performative joy, just the real thing. Ease. Pleasure. Comfort in the moment.

It was lovely to watch.

When the band took a break, the couple happened to walk past where we were sitting, and I stopped them to compliment them on how beautiful their dancing was.

Then I asked what I really wanted to know.

“How did you learn to dance like that?” I said. “Are you professional dancers?”

The woman smiled at me.

“No,” she said. “We’re not professional dancers. We heard the music from our kitchen window and decided to walk over.”

That alone would have been memorable. But I was still curious, so I asked if they had taken dance lessons because I told her I would love to learn to dance like that.

And then she said something I have never forgotten.

“No,” she said softly. “We just dance in our kitchen.”

I looked at her and said, “Really?”

She smiled again.

“Yes, honey,” she said. “You can do the same thing. Just dance in your kitchen.”

That was it.

A simple sentence.
A passing moment.
And somehow, a lesson I carried with me.

I never forgot her.

I never forgot the softness in her voice or the way she said it so naturally, as if she were offering not advice exactly, but permission.

And over time, I realized that what stayed with me was not really about dancing.

It was about how people hold on to joy.

Not the big, planned joy. Not the expensive kind. Not the kind that waits for a vacation, a celebration, or a season when everything is finally in order.

Just ordinary joy.
The kind you make room for.

I think many of us spend years waiting for life to feel less demanding before we allow ourselves more delight. We tell ourselves we’ll rest later, travel later, create later, enjoy later — once the bills are paid, the uncertainty passes, the work eases up, the world settles down.

But life has a way of continuing to be life.

There is always something.
Always a worry.
Always a headline.
Always a practical reason not to stop and enjoy what is right in front of you.

And yet, it seems to me, the people who move through life with the most grace aren’t necessarily living without difficulty.

But they are the ones who quietly make space for simple joy.

A favorite song while making dinner.
A walk at the end of the day.
A cup of coffee in a quiet corner.
A place you return to because it restores something in you.
A kitchen floor and the decision, however briefly, to dance.

Over the years, I took her advice.

Not because I suddenly became a good dancer. That definitely did not happen.

But because I understood what she meant.

When life feels stressful — and in this world, that can happen more often than any of us would like — or when we simply want to step outside of whatever heaviness the day has brought, Paul and I sometimes dance in our kitchen.

Not often enough, probably.
But enough.

Sometimes it’s just for a minute.
Sometimes it’s because a song comes on that takes us back.
Sometimes it’s because one of us needs to laugh.
Sometimes it’s because there are moments in life when the most sensible thing you can do is stop being sensible for a little while.

And every time, I think of that woman.

She likely has no idea that a brief exchange on a patio in Tubac, Arizona stayed with someone all these years later.

But it did.

Because now, whenever life begins to feel too serious, too uncertain, or too loud, I remember what she said.

You do not need a special occasion. You do not need to be talented. You do not need to wait until life becomes easier.

Sometimes, all you have to do is just dance in your kitchen.

Thanks for being on this Journey with me.

Thank you for reading Our Portugal Journey. This publication is free and open to everyone, and it exists thanks to the support of readers like you. If you’d like to receive new posts and help keep this work independent - and help support the research, time and travel that goes into it - you’re warmly invited to become a free or paid subscriber.

You can also buy me a coffee (or a glass of wine) anytime right here.

However you choose to support me, I’m truly grateful you’re here.

---

Until next time…

Obrigada!

Carol.

Dear Readers,

Some places ask you to arrive slowly. Bom Jesus do Monte is one of them. (Click on the image above to see a brief aerial view video).

A few months ago, Paul and I made our way up the forested hillside just outside Braga, following a route pilgrims have taken for centuries. Whether you arrive by foot, by funicular, or as we did, by a mix of curiosity and convenience, the Sanctuary of Bom Jesus do Monte has a way of drawing you upward, both physically and emotionally. This isn’t just a destination; it’s a journey measured in steps, pauses, and perspective.

A Hill Shaped by Faith

Long before the sweeping stairway and elegant basilica defined this hill, Bom Jesus was already a place of devotion. A small chapel stood here as early as the 14th century, marking the site as sacred ground. Over time, that devotion grew quite literally, up the mountain.

In the early 18th century, the Archbishop of Braga envisioned something far more ambitious: a monumental Baroque stairway representing the Stations of the Cross, guiding pilgrims upward in both body and spirit. Over the next century, the staircases, fountains, chapels, terraces, and finally the neoclassical basilica took shape. The result is a “Sacred Mount,” designed to mirror the soul’s ascent toward reflection, redemption, and reward.

Today, Bom Jesus remains an active pilgrimage site, but it also welcomes travelers like us - those drawn by history, architecture, engineering, and the simple pleasure of a beautiful view. In 2019, its cultural and spiritual significance was recognized with UNESCO World Heritage status.

Climbing the Story: The Stairway

The heart of Bom Jesus is its monumental stairway, the Escadórios, rising more than 100 meters through a carefully choreographed sequence of landings and flights. The climb unfolds in chapters: the Portico Stairway, the Stairway of the Five Senses, and the Stairway of the Three Virtues.

As you ascend, you pass fountains, allegorical statues, and chapels depicting the Stations of the Cross. Each pause invites reflection, or at the very least, a deep breath. Views over Braga gradually open below you, rewarding your effort step by step.

For many visitors, the climb is the experience. For others, it’s enough simply to admire it. And thankfully, Bom Jesus offers options.

The Water-Powered Funicular

For those who prefer a gentler ascent or simply want to experience one of Portugal’s most charming feats of engineering, the historic funicular runs alongside the stairway.

Dating to the late 19th century, the Elevador do Bom Jesus is powered not by electricity, but by water. Two cars are connected by a cable on parallel tracks. The upper car is filled with water until it becomes heavier, and gravity does the rest, pulling it downhill while lifting the other car upward. It’s elegant, efficient, and surprisingly peaceful.

The ride takes about five minutes and offers forested views without breaking a sweat. Tickets are inexpensive, and for older travelers or anyone conserving energy, it’s a gift.

At the Top: Basilica and Terraces

Reaching the summit feels like arriving at a quiet exhale. The neoclassical basilica stands calmly at the top, framed by broad terraces and long views across Braga and the surrounding countryside. The gardens and parkland encourage lingering. This is not a place to rush.

We found ourselves slowing down our pace here, watching visitors arrive by different paths, listening to the wind through the trees, and taking in the layered symmetry of architecture and nature.

The Basilica

The interior is relatively simple compared to other Portuguese churches, with soft light filtering through and drawing attention to the altar and sacred space rather than elaborate decoration. It feels intentional - an architectural reminder that the ascent, reflection, and effort are as meaningful as the destination itself.

Stepping back outside, broad stone terraces open toward panoramic views over Braga and the surrounding countryside. From here, you can trace the path you climbed, watch the funicular glide quietly up and down the hillside, and take in the sense of elevation both literal and emotional.

The surrounding garden park invites lingering, offering shaded paths and benches where it’s easy to sit, breathe, and simply be present.

Lakeside Calm: Boat Rides and the Park

Although we did not do this during this visit, just beyond the basilica, and tucked into the wooded park and up an incline, is a small lake where simple rowboats glide quietly across the water. For a few euros, you can spend fifteen minutes floating beneath the trees, watching the sanctuary reflect back at you.

Eating and Staying on the Mountain

Bom Jesus is not only a place to visit; it’s a place to stay awhile (and a beautiful spot for a wedding!)

Official website: https://bomjesus.pt/

Dining

Restaurante Panorâmico (Hotel do Elevador) offers regional dishes paired with sweeping views over Braga, ideal for a leisurely lunch or sunset meal. Paul and I enjoyed a light, delicious lunch with a window-view of the city.

Lodging

• Hotel do Elevador, a four-star property within the Bom Jesus complex, offers comfort, views, and the luxury of waking up on the mountain.

• Hotel do Parque, set among the trees in a 19th-century building, feels peaceful and refined, with easy access to the sanctuary.

Spending the night allows you to experience Bom Jesus early in the morning or at twilight when the crowds thin and the hill feels almost private.

If You Visit:

Region: Braga District, Northern Portugal.

Distance: About 5 km from Braga city center (10–15 minutes by taxi or Uber; we took an Uber from our vacation rental).

Highlights: Monumental stairway, water-powered funicular, lake boat rides, scenic dining.

Ideal for: Older travelers, couples, day-trippers from Porto, tour groups (there were many buses full of tourists on the day we visited).

Best Time to Visit:
Spring (April–June) and early autumn (September) offer pleasant temperatures and fewer crowds. Summer can be hot and busy.

Travel Logistics:

• Getting there: Bus line 2 from Braga city center, taxi, or Uber to the funicular base or right up to the top.

• Time: Plan 2-3 hours to explore, eat, and enjoy the lake.

• Accessibility: The funicular makes the site accessible for those avoiding stairs. Some park paths are uneven, but terrace and hotel areas are mostly level.

Practical Tips:

• Wear comfortable shoes.

• Arrive early for quieter photos.

• Reserve restaurant in advance for window seating, especially during high season.

• Public restrooms are located near the basilica in a separate building, with basic facilities (no toilet paper, no toilet seats, limited accessibility). Using restaurant facilities is often easier.

Why It Belongs on Your Journey

Bom Jesus do Monte captures something Paul and I often seek in Portugal: depth without hurry, beauty layered with meaning. It’s a place where faith, engineering, landscape, and hospitality intersect, and where travelers can choose their own pace.

For Our Portugal Journey, it represents exactly what we love to share: places that invite reflection, reward curiosity, and remind us that sometimes the journey upward is just as meaningful as the view from the top.

Thank you for reading Our Portugal Journey. This publication is free and open to everyone, and it exists thanks to the support of readers like you. If you’d like to receive new posts and help keep this work independent - and help support the research, time and travel that goes into it - you’re warmly invited to become a free or paid subscriber.

You can also buy me a coffee (or a glass of wine) anytime right here.

However you choose to support me, I’m truly grateful you’re here.

Until next time… Obrigada!
Carol

Dear Readers,

In recent years, conversations about tourism have begun to shift in tone. The question is no longer simply how to attract more visitors, but how tourism can serve the places and communities that welcome them.

At its best, tourism should benefit residents as much as visitors.

That idea surfaced again recently in conversations surrounding new regional tourism planning being developed by Turismo Centro de Portugal, which oversees one of the country’s largest and most varied regions. The initiative reflects a growing recognition that tourism works best when it strengthens the communities that make destinations meaningful in the first place.

In a country where tourism has become one of the most important economic engines, this is not a trivial conversation.

Portugal’s success as a destination has brought undeniable benefits. Historic buildings have been restored, restaurants and small hotels have opened, and communities that once struggled economically have found new opportunities.

But success has also introduced challenges. In parts of Lisbon, Porto, and the Algarve, the pace of tourism growth has sometimes outpaced the ability of communities to adapt comfortably.

The Centro region of Portugal (Central Portugal) presents a different landscape.

Stretching from Atlantic coastlines to mountain villages in the Serra da Estrela, the region is filled with historic towns, vineyards, forests, and small communities whose rhythms have changed little over time. There are, of course, significant destinations such as the Sanctuary of Fátima, which draws pilgrims from around the world. Yet much of the region remains defined by smaller towns and villages that sit quietly within Portugal’s interior landscapes.

Although the Centro region does not have a major international airport of its own, most visitors arrive through Lisbon or Porto before continuing easily by road or rail into the region’s towns, villages, and mountain landscapes.

For visitors, this slower pace is part of the region’s charm.

For me, the region also carries a more personal connection. My maternal ancestry traces back to this part of Portugal, which perhaps explains why its landscapes and villages hold a particular resonance.

Long before moving to Portugal, I also saw how tourism unfolds in smaller communities while serving as Executive Director of a Chamber of Commerce in a seaside town in Rhode Island. Many of our members depended on seasonal visitors who came not for major attractions but for the atmosphere of the place itself — local beaches, familiar cafés, and a pace of life that felt distinct from larger destinations nearby such as Newport or Providence. It was an early reminder that smaller places often possess a quieter but equally powerful appeal.

Over the past few years, Paul and I have visited many of Centro Portugal’s larger towns and cities, but we have only begun to explore the smaller villages that quietly shape the region’s character.

Some of these villages reveal how tourism can unfold on a very human scale. In the tiny mountain village of Cabeça, for example, residents come together each December to transform their home into one of Portugal’s most distinctive Christmas villages, using natural materials gathered from the surrounding forest. The celebration draws visitors while remaining rooted in community life rather than spectacle.

(You can read about our visit here: The Village of Cabeça.)

Experiences like this hint at something important about the Centro region: it offers an opportunity to shape tourism in ways that remain closely connected to local life.

Regional tourism organizations across the Centro region have already begun exploring ways to encourage this kind of balanced growth, recognizing that the long-term health of tourism depends on the vitality of local communities.

Tourism here does not need to follow the same path as larger destinations. It does not require crowds, large resorts, or constant expansion to succeed.

Instead, the region offers an opportunity to think about how tourism can grow differently.

Visitors who come here tend to move more slowly. They explore small towns, linger over regional dishes, talk with shopkeepers, and discover landscapes that feel removed from the pressures of global tourism. Rather than overwhelming a place, this kind of travel can quietly support it.

Small guesthouses fill rooms.
Local restaurants welcome new customers.
Traditional crafts and agricultural traditions find new audiences.

It is tourism that complements community life rather than replacing it.

If tourism continues to grow in the region, the opportunity (and the challenge) will be ensuring that growth strengthens the communities that make the Centro region special in the first place.

As Centro Portugal continues to shape its tourism future, the region may have a unique opportunity to demonstrate how thoughtful growth can strengthen both communities and visitor experiences.

Portugal has long understood the power of hospitality. But in my view, the most memorable places are rarely those that feel designed for tourists. They are places where daily life continues naturally and where visitors are welcomed into an existing rhythm rather than reshaping it.

The villages and landscapes of the Centro region still offer that balance.

Because travel, at its best, is not about consuming a place.

It is about learning how to enter it gently.

And perhaps that is the quiet promise behind the idea of tourism that puts people first.

Thanks for being on this Journey with me. Thank you for reading Our Portugal Journey. This publication is free and open to everyone, and it exists thanks to the support of readers like you. If you’d like to receive new posts and help keep this work independent - and help support the research, time and travel that goes into it - you’re warmly invited to become a free or paid subscriber.

You can also buy me a coffee (or a glass of wine) anytime right here.

However you choose to support me, I’m truly grateful you’re here.

Until next time…Obrigada,
Carol.

Dear Readers,

Living in Portugal has taught me many things, but nothing keeps me humble quite like trying to communicate in Portuguese. Some days, my Portuguese comes out smoothly enough to give me confidence. Other days, it reminds me just how far I still have to go. But no matter how many phrases I practice or translation apps I rely on, there are moments when words fail entirely, leaving me flustered, embarrassed, or laughing at myself after the fact.

Two recent encounters, one involving a garage door remote device and the other an unexpected reference to handcuffs, reminded me just how vulnerable (and human) language learning can be.

The Locksmith in Cascais

Paul and I recently walked into a small locksmith shop in Cascais to get our remote garage door opener checked (in Portugal, locksmith shops also often repair garage door remotes), because one day - no matter what we tried - it just stopped working. Cascais is a heavily touristed area, and we’ve grown accustomed (or perhaps lazy) to at least some English being spoken. So, politely and with what I thought was decent pronunciation, I asked:

“Fala inglês?”
(Do you speak English?)

The response was immediate and stern.

“No. Only Portuguese.”

No smile. No softening. Just a clear boundary.

We pressed on anyway, holding up the remote and explaining through gestures and limited vocabulary, that it wasn’t working. We were hoping it might simply need a new battery. The clerk disappeared into a back room with our device, and soon returned, speaking rapidly in Portuguese and explaining something technical about the remote - well beyond our language skills and understanding (I was lucky to comprehend every fourth or fifth word).

I pulled out my phone and opened DeepL, hoping translation would bridge the gap. He took my phone and typed his explanation in Portuguese himself. Unfortunately, what came back in English made very little sense. Portuguese doesn’t always translate cleanly, especially when technical details are involved.

That’s when the frustration hit me.

My chest tightened. My hands began to shake. Tears welled up in my eyes - not because of a garage door opener, but because of the exhaustion that comes from frequently having to translate my way through daily life.

The clerk noticed.

“Calma,” he said gently.
Calm.

I took a deep breath.

At that moment, Paul stepped in and somehow pieced together what the clerk was explaining. The remote was simply too old and needed to be replaced. But to program the new one, we would need our landlord’s remote so the two could be paired.

We did exactly that. Borrowed her remote, brought it back, and watched as the clerk worked his magic.

By the end of the exchange, the tension had completely dissolved. We were smiling, talking with our hands and saying lots of obrigadas and obrigados. For a moment, language no longer mattered. We weren’t a frustrated immigrant couple and a stern shopkeeper; we were just three people figuring something out together.

The Tailor and the “Cuffs”

The second incident still makes me smile (sort of).

Paul needed a pair of dress pants altered and wanted to keep the bottom cuffs. The tailor brought him into a tiny dressing room, too small for all of us, so I waited by the counter.

After the measuring and pinning, the woman came over and asked me something in Portuguese. I believed she was asking whether Paul wanted to keep the cuffs at the bottom of the pants.

But just to make sure I understood correctly, and feeling cautious but also rather proud of myself, I pulled out DeepL once again and translated from English to Portuguese:

“Yes, please keep the cuffs on.”

I showed her my phone.

She burst out laughing.

I stared at her, confused.

She held out her wrists to me and laughed again.

And suddenly, it clicked.

Apparently, cuffs do not translate the way I thought they did.

What I had actually asked her to do was to keep the handcuffs on.

Embarrassing? Absolutely.
Hilarious? Without question.

I’m quite sure I made her day and I suspect this story made its way home with her that evening, shared over dinner with family or friends. “You won’t believe what this American woman said today…”

Learning, One Misstep at a Time

Moments like these can feel uncomfortable and sometimes even overwhelming while they’re happening. But with a little distance, they become reminders that learning a new language isn’t just about grammar and vocabulary. It’s about vulnerability. It’s about patience. And it’s about being willing to show up, mistakes and all.

Every misunderstanding teaches me something. Every awkward exchange nudges me forward. And sometimes, what begins in frustration ends in laughter, kindness, and unexpected connection.

And maybe that’s the real lesson. Language doesn’t always have to be perfect to bring people together.

So, now I’m curious

Have you experienced any embarrassing or funny language moments? I’d love for you to share them in the comments so we can laugh, learn, and remind each other that none of us is alone on this journey.

Leave a comment

Thanks for being on this journey with me.

Thank you for reading Our Portugal Journey. This publication is free and open to everyone, and it exists thanks to the support of readers like you. If you’d like to receive new posts and help keep this work independent - and help support the research, time and travel that goes into it - you’re warmly invited to become a free or paid subscriber.

You can also buy me a coffee (or a glass of wine) anytime right here.

However you choose to support me, I’m truly grateful you’re here.

Until next time… Obrigada!
Carol

Publisher’s Note: Portugal recently held a presidential election, which felt like a good moment to revisit one of the more practical topics for anyone living here or considering a move: how the Portuguese government actually works.

For many foreign residents, the structure of Portugal’s political system can feel unfamiliar at first glance. This updated guide offers a clear, high-level look at the institutions and roles that shape governance in Portugal today.

Dear Readers,

This article was originally written two years ago as a straightforward overview of Portugal’s government. As Our Portugal Journey has evolved, I’ve revisited and updated it to provide a clearer, more structured explanation for readers who want a solid but accessible understanding of how Portugal’s political system functions.

As American citizens, Paul and I are knowledgeable about how the U.S. government works: how it is structured, the names of the political parties and what they stand for, and what the different branches of government do.

But here in Portugal, I admit, I was rather ignorant. I would notice billboard signs along the roads that were obviously political in nature. I knew there is a President and a Prime Minister, and that Portugal is a democratic republic, but beyond that, my understanding was limited.

Perhaps other foreign residents in Portugal have a deeper grasp of how the system works. But if you are like me - living here, considering living here, or simply curious, you may want a solid, high-level overview of how the Portuguese government is structured and how it operates.

This article is not intended to be political in nature. The goal is not to debate policy or advocate positions. Rather, it is to provide a structured overview of Portugal’s government and its major political parties so readers can better understand the civic framework of this country. Many of Our Portugal Journey readers are Portuguese citizens or long-term residents. Although I research carefully before publishing, if something meaningful has been omitted from an educational perspective, I welcome thoughtful feedback.

Portugal as a Democratic Republic

Portugal is officially the Portuguese Republic (República Portuguesa), a democratic state governed under the Constitution of 1976, which was adopted after the Carnation Revolution of 1974 ended decades of authoritarian rule.

Portugal operates under a semi-presidential system. This means executive authority is shared between a President and a Prime Minister. Unlike purely presidential systems, power is distributed across institutions that balance one another.

Understanding that shared structure is key to understanding how Portugal governs.

The Executive Branch

The executive branch includes both the President of the Republic and the Government.

The President of the Republic serves as head of state and is elected directly by the people by popular vote for a five-year term (with a two-term limit). The President’s constitutional powers include:

• Appointing the Prime Minister based on parliamentary election results
• Dissolving Parliament under certain conditions
• Vetoing legislation (subject to parliamentary override)
• Serving as Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces
• Acting as a constitutional guardian and stabilizing authority

While the President has meaningful powers, the daily administration of the country is carried out by the Government.

The Government is led by the Prime Minister, who is typically the leader of the party (or coalition) that holds a majority in Parliament. The Prime Minister works with the Council of Ministers.

The Government is responsible for:

• Proposing legislation
• Implementing and enforcing laws
• Managing public administration
• Directing domestic and foreign policy
• Overseeing public services such as healthcare, education, and infrastructure

The Legislative Branch

Portugal’s legislative body is the Assembleia da República (Assembly of the Republic).

It consists of 230 deputies elected through proportional representation for four-year terms.

The Assembly’s responsibilities include:

• Drafting and passing legislation
• Approving the state budget
• Supervising and holding the Government accountable
• Ratifying international treaties
• Proposing constitutional amendments

Because Portugal uses proportional representation, multiple political parties are typically represented in Parliament. Coalition governments are common.

How the Pieces Fit Together

For readers coming from a presidential system like that of the United States, the most confusing aspect of Portugal’s government is understanding how the President, Parliament, and Prime Minister relate to one another.

A simplified way to visualize it is this:

The President serves as head of state and constitutional guardian.
The Parliament creates laws and oversees the Government.
The Prime Minister leads the Government and executes policy.

Authority is shared and balanced across these roles rather than concentrated in a single office.

The Judicial Branch

Portugal’s judicial system operates independently from the executive and legislative branches.

The court system includes:

• The Constitutional Court, which reviews the constitutionality of laws
• The Supreme Court of Justice
• Administrative and fiscal courts
• Lower courts of first instance

Judicial independence is protected under the Constitution and forms an essential part of Portugal’s democratic framework.

Autonomous Regions and Local Government

Portugal includes two autonomous regions:

• The Azores
• Madeira

Each region has its own regional government and legislative assembly with certain self-governing powers.

On the mainland, local governance is organized through:

• Municipalities (Municípios)
• Civil Parishes (Freguesias)

Municipal governments are responsible for local infrastructure, urban planning, public services, and community-level administration.

Major Political Parties in Portugal

Portugal has a multi-party system. Among the most significant parties in recent years are:

Socialist Party (PS – Partido Socialista)
A center-left party advocating social democracy, public services, and welfare-state policies.

Social Democratic Party (PSD – Partido Social Democrata)
A center-right party (despite its name) supporting market-oriented policies, economic liberalism, and moderate conservatism.

Chega (In Portuguese, this means “Enough”)
A right-wing populist party advocating stricter immigration policies, law-and-order initiatives, and institutional reform.

Liberal Initiative (IL – Iniciativa Liberal)
A classical liberal party supporting free markets, tax reduction, and reduced state intervention.

Left Bloc (BE – Bloco de Esquerda)
A left-wing party supporting labor protections, social justice initiatives, and progressive social policies.

Portuguese Communist Party (PCP)
A left-wing party with historical roots in anti-dictatorship resistance, advocating worker protections and strong public-sector involvement.

Other smaller parties and coalitions also participate in elections, and political dynamics continue to evolve.

Why Civic Understanding Matters

Understanding the structure of Portugal’s government is not about partisanship. It is about civic literacy.

For those living in Portugal, whether temporarily or permanently, knowing how the system works provides context for elections, public policy decisions, and national debates.

It clarifies:

• How leadership roles differ from other democratic systems
• Why coalition-building is often necessary
• How laws move from proposal to implementation
• How regional and local authorities function

Portugal’s democratic framework is shaped by its history, its Constitution, and its multi-party parliamentary tradition. Taking the time to understand that structure is one small but meaningful way to understand the country itself.

Further Reading & Official Resources

For readers who would like to explore Portugal’s government in greater depth, the following official and educational resources provide detailed and up-to-date information:

Official Government Sources

• Assembleia da República (Assembly of the Republic) – Official parliamentary website
• Presidência da República – Office of the President of the Republic
• Governo da República Portuguesa – Official Government portal
• Tribunal Constitucional – Constitutional Court of Portugal
• Comissão Nacional de Eleições – National Election Commission

As with any political structure, institutions evolve, and elections change the composition of Parliament over time. For the most current information, consulting official government websites is always recommended.

Thank you for reading Our Portugal Journey. This publication is free and open to everyone, and it exists thanks to the support of readers like you. If you’d like to receive new posts and help keep this work independent - and help support the research, time and travel that goes into it - you’re warmly invited to become a free or paid subscriber.

You can also buy me a coffee (or a glass of wine) anytime right here.

However you choose to support me, I’m truly grateful you’re here.

Until next time… Obrigada!
Carol

An article related to Portugal’s president:

The Belém Palace, formally called the National Palace of Belém, is the official residence of Portugal’s president and the seat of the nation’s head of state. Its distinctive pink façade faces one of Lisbon’s most ceremonial public spaces. Every third Sunday of the month at 11:00 a.m., the Republican National Guard (GNR – Guarda Nacional Republicana) performs the Ceremony of the Solemn Changing of the Guard directly across from the palace. Lasting about an hour, the event draws visitors and locals alike and is often cited among the top twenty changing-of-the-guard ceremonies in the world.

A reflective follow-up to my 2022 essay, published four years after the beginning of the war in Ukraine.

Dear Readers,

Four years ago, I wrote an article called There’s a War on Our Continent. At the time, the words felt heavy and unfamiliar and I was angry and scared. Paul and I had been living in Portugal for less than a year, still learning the rhythms of our new life, when the news from Ukraine began to dominate every conversation and every screen.

This reflection feels, in many ways, like a quiet continuation of that earlier moment - not a new beginning, but a pause to consider what has changed since then.

I remember how surreal it felt sitting at our kitchen table, looking out toward the Atlantic, while trying to understand what it meant to live on a continent where war had returned. Events that once felt far away suddenly felt immediate - part of the world we were now living in rather than something happening somewhere else.

Back then, everything felt uncertain. The headlines were relentless. The future no longer felt distant or abstract; it felt present, unfolding around us.

Today, four years later, the feeling is different.

Not lighter, exactly, but steadier.

The Quiet Shift from Shock to Awareness

The first months of the war were filled with disbelief. For many of us who had grown up far from Europe’s borders, the idea of living within reach of conflict felt unfamiliar and unsettling.

Over time, however, something changed.

Life here in Portugal continued with its characteristic calm. Cafés opened in the morning. Neighbors paused to talk in the street. The ocean beyond our kitchen doors remained constant, its rhythms unchanged by the news cycle. Slowly, the sharp edge of fear softened into something quieter: an awareness that uncertainty exists, but so does resilience.

Living in Europe today does not feel like standing on the edge of crisis each day. Instead, it feels like living in a place that understands history deeply, a place where people carry on, even when the world feels unsettled.

Everyday Life Against a Larger Backdrop

One of the most surprising realizations has been how ordinary life remains.

There are moments when the news intrudes - a notification on a phone, a passing mention in conversation - but most days are defined by familiar routines: a walk along the promenade, grocery shopping at the neighborhood market, messages from readers planning their own journeys through Portugal’s villages and landscapes.

From here, Portugal often feels like a gentle anchor: a country that values stability, community, and the art of living well even in uncertain times. The contrast between global headlines and lived experience can feel striking. While the world discusses strategy and geopolitics, daily life here continues with a calm steadiness that is difficult to explain unless you’ve experienced it yourself.

What We Notice from Home

Over the past couple of years, we’ve become more aware of subtle changes in our surroundings.

From our kitchen doors, we sometimes watch Portuguese Navy ships move slowly across the horizon, quiet silhouettes against the Atlantic sky. A branch of NATO sits only a few kilometers down the road from us, something we barely thought about when we first arrived. Knowing that Portugal was among NATO’s founding nations adds another quiet layer to daily life here, even if most days unfold as peacefully as ever.

These observations don’t feel dramatic or urgent. Instead, they serve as gentle reminders that the world is shifting, even in places that appear calm on the surface.

Conversations across Europe often reflect a mix of determination and uncertainty. From Portugal, that evolution feels measured - steady rather than hurried. Life continues with its familiar rhythms, shaped as much by local tradition as by global events.

Living Forward, Even in Difficult Times

One of the feelings that has remained constant with me since 2022 is admiration for the resilience of the Ukrainian people.

Despite harsh and dangerous conditions, so many continue to live forward, raising families, maintaining routines, and seeking moments of normal life in circumstances most of us can hardly imagine. Watching that resilience from afar has been deeply moving.

Here in Portugal, that connection feels closer now. Many Ukrainians have made new homes here, becoming part of the quiet fabric of everyday life, neighbors, families, familiar faces along the same seaside paths. Their presence is a reminder that the story of this war is not only about headlines, but about people rebuilding ordinary lives wherever they can.

Seeing life continue here while knowing that others are doing the same under far more difficult conditions has shifted my perspective. It has made me more aware of the small privileges of peace and more appreciative of the strength that exists across this continent.

Choosing to Stay Present

When Paul and I first moved to Portugal, we were searching for a different way of living: one that felt calmer, more intentional, and deeply connected to place.

That hasn’t changed.

We are no longer paralyzed by global events, and we are not preparing to leave. If anything, living here during uncertain times has deepened our appreciation for the quiet resilience of Europe and for the everyday beauty of Portugal itself.

History is always unfolding somewhere. Yet life, with all its small rituals and familiar comforts, continues alongside it.

Perhaps that is the real lesson of the past four years: uncertainty does not erase the possibility of peace in our daily lives. It simply invites us to notice it more carefully: the morning light over the ocean, the quiet rhythm of conversation in a café, and the steady feeling of belonging to a place that continues, even when the world feels uncertain.

Thank you, as always, for walking this journey with us.

Thank you for reading Our Portugal Journey. This publication is free and open to everyone, and it exists thanks to the support of readers like you. If you’d like to receive new posts and help keep this work independent - and help support the research, time and travel that goes into it - you’re warmly invited to become a free or paid subscriber.

You can also buy me a coffee (or a glass of wine) anytime right here.

However you choose to support me, I’m truly grateful you’re here.

Until next time…

Obrigada,

Carol.

Updated and revised for 2026.

Dear Readers,

Since living in Portugal, Paul and I have experienced a remarkable number of holidays and festivities. For such a small country, Portugal celebrates in wonderfully big ways: saints’ days, village festivals, religious processions, and seasonal rituals layered throughout the year.

So naturally, I found myself wondering whether Valentine’s Day held any special meaning here. Are there uniquely Portuguese traditions tied to love and romance?

In modern times, Valentine’s Day in Portugal looks much like it does elsewhere. Dinners out, flowers, chocolates, and quiet moments shared between couples. But look beyond the shop windows, and you’ll find that Portugal’s relationship with romance is rooted in legend, symbolism, and centuries-old customs that feel far more poetic than commercial.

Love, Legend, and Saint Valentine

The origins of Valentine’s Day in Portugal as in much of the world, are shaped more by legend than documented history. One of the most enduring stories comes from the third century, during the reign of Roman Emperor Claudius II.

Determined to build a powerful army, the emperor outlawed marriage for young men, believing family ties made soldiers weak. A Christian priest named Valentin openly defied the decree, secretly performing marriages for couples who wished to wed.

When his actions were discovered, Valentin was imprisoned. Legend tells that during his captivity he received notes and flowers from young people who supported his belief in love. He also befriended the blind daughter of his jailer, whose sight was miraculously restored. Before his execution on February 14, 270, Valentin is said to have written her a farewell note signed simply, “From your Valentine.”

Pagan Roots and the Birth of a Tradition

An earlier story traces Valentine’s Day to the ancient Roman festival of Lupercalia, celebrated each February to mark purification, fertility, and the coming of spring.

In the late fifth century, Pope Gelasius I abolished pagan celebrations in favor of Christian observances, replacing Lupercalia with the Feast of Saint Valentine. Over time, handwritten love messages and symbolic gestures became associated with the date.

Interestingly, the Catholic Church later removed Saint Valentine’s feast from the liturgical calendar in the 1960s, citing limited historical evidence. By then, however, the romantic symbolism had already taken root.

The Valentine Scarf: Love, Stitched by Hand

One of Portugal’s most charming expressions of romance dates to the 17th century: the Lenço dos Namorados, or Lover’s Hankerchief.

Originating in the Minho region, known for its fine embroidery, young women stitched delicate scarves adorned with hearts, flowers, birds, and poetic messages often spelled phonetically, reflecting limited formal education.

Tradition held that a young woman would offer (or discreetly drop) her embroidered scarf where a young man she admired might find it. If he accepted her affection, he wore it publicly. If not, the message was quietly understood.

Today, these scarves are no longer courtship tools, but they remain beloved symbols of Portuguese folk art, still found in shops selling traditional linens.

The Cantarinha dos Namorados: A Promise in Clay

Another enduring symbol of romance comes from Guimarães: the Cantarinha dos Namorados (Lover’s Pitcher).

Handcrafted from red clay using centuries-old methods, these small vessels were traditionally offered by a young man as a symbolic proposal. If accepted, and approved by the woman’s family, the cantarinha might be used to save money for wedding items or treasured gifts.

Each piece carries symbolic meaning: the wide base represents prosperity, the narrower upper section symbolizes the challenges couples may face, and the bird at the top is said to guard the couple’s secrets.

While no longer part of courtship rituals, cantarinhas remain beautiful works of folk art. Personally, I’d happily choose one over chocolates or flowers.

Portugal, Naturally Romantic

Portugal may not have invented Valentine’s Day as we know it today, but it hardly needs manufactured romance. Love here feels woven into everyday life: in historic towns, winding streets, rivers at sunset, and meals meant to linger.

Whether it’s a quiet café moment, a walk through an old village, a glass of wine overlooking the Douro, or a candlelit dinner tucked down a cobbled street, Portugal offers romance without trying too hard.

A Seasonal Note
With Valentine’s Day falling on a weekend this year, some hotels across Portugal are marking the occasion with quietly seasonal programs. In the Algarve, for example, Victoria Golf Resort & Spa is framing the moment as a cherished hideaway, pairing gastronomy and spa time with the region’s slower winter pace. It’s a contemporary echo of something long familiar here: that romance in Portugal often takes the form of retreat, ease, and time set aside rather than spectacle.

Perhaps that’s the real lesson behind these traditions: love doesn’t require grand gestures - just time, intention, and a beautiful place to share it.

Leave a comment

Thanks for being on this journey with me.

Thank you for reading Our Portugal Journey. This publication is free and open to everyone, and it exists thanks to the support of readers like you. If you’d like to receive new posts and help keep this work independent - and help support the research, time and travel that goes into it - you’re warmly invited to become a free or paid subscriber.

You can also buy me a coffee (or a glass of wine) anytime right here.

However you choose to support me, I’m truly grateful you’re here.

Until next time…

Obrigada!

Carol.

Dear Readers,

Some sponsorships arrive with a checklist. This one arrived with a story.

This post was created in collaboration with Portuguese Treasures, and I received free product samples. As always, all thoughts and experiences are my own.

When a package from Portuguese Treasures showed up at my door, it contained just two items: a hand-carved olive wood salad/fruit bowl, and a matching serving spoon. Simple. Unassuming. And yet, from the moment I lifted them out of the box, they felt less like products and more like pieces that had already lived a life somewhere else, perhaps on a farmhouse table, in a sunlit kitchen, or beside a bowl of freshly picked Algarve oranges.

These weren’t objects asking to be admired. They were asking to be used.

The Beauty of Portuguese Olive Wood

The first thing you notice about olive wood is its character. The grain isn’t subtle. It moves and swirls in warm tones of honey, amber, and deep caramel. No two pieces are ever the same, because no two olive trees grow the same way.

The bowl immediately earned a place on our counter. Filled with fruit, it felt grounded, sturdy, and warm. Filled with a simple salad it took on a rustic elegance. Empty, it was just as striking. The serving spoon, smooth and perfectly weighted, felt instinctively right in my hand, balanced in a way that only comes from thoughtful craftsmanship.

Olive wood doesn’t try to be perfect. Its beauty lies in its individuality.

Share

From Grove to Table: Where This Wood Comes From

Portuguese olive wood carries centuries of agricultural tradition. Across regions like Alentejo, Trás-os-Montes, and the Douro, olive trees are pruned regularly and cared for over generations. When a tree reaches the end of its productive life, its wood is not wasted.

Instead:

• No forests are cut down solely for olive wood.

• Artisans use pruned branches or older, non-productive trees.

• Each piece is a by-product of olive cultivation, not deforestation.

This makes olive wood inherently sustainable, not because it’s trendy, but because it has always been practical.

Why Olive Wood Works So Well in the Kitchen

Olive wood is exceptionally dense and durable, which makes it ideal for everyday kitchen use.

The bowl works perfectly for fruit, small salads (to serve 2-3 people), bread, or shared dishes (22 cm in diameter). It is strong enough to handle daily use, and it is naturally resistant to absorbing odors. Dinner guests admired the bowl when I filled it with a variety of Portuguese bread.

The serving spoon is excellent for tossing salads directly in the bowl, it is gentle on cookware, and it’s heat-resistant and comfortable to hold. I have other olive wood spoons, but this one has a nice, long handle (35 cm long) and is solid without being too heavy.

Both pieces are made to move easily from kitchen to table. Functional, not fragile.

Naturally Antibacterial (Without the Fuss)

One of olive wood’s most reassuring qualities is something you can’t see. The natural oils in olive wood help inhibit bacterial growth, reducing the ability of bacteria to penetrate the wood’s surface.

It’s one of those benefits that quietly supports daily life without needing any special coating or treatments.

Living With Olive Wood: Care and Use

Olive wood is refreshingly low maintenance:

• Hand wash with mild soap

• Dry immediately

• Occasionally condition with food-safe oil (I use extra-virgin Portuguese olive oil)

Over time, the wood deepens in color and becomes even more beautiful. Small marks don’t detract; they tell the story of meals prepared and shared.

This is kitchenware that improves with use.

Portuguese Treasures – A Family Business

Founded in 2011 by Portuguese national Bruno Figueira, this family-run business grew from a genuine desire to share Portugal’s traditional, sustainable, and eco-conscious home products with a wider audience. The company partners with a carefully curated network of Portuguese suppliers, chosen as much for their values as for their craftsmanship.

Sustainability is not an afterthought, it’s central to every decision. Before any product is selected, Bruno and his team personally visit supplier workshops and facilities to ensure materials are responsibly sourced and production practices align with their standards.

Some suppliers are small, family-run workshops; others are larger, well-established enterprises. What they all share is a commitment to quality and tradition. Every product is made in Portugal, supporting local artisans and helping preserve the country’s rich heritage of craftsmanship.

When Everyday Objects Carry a Sense of Place

The olive wood bowl and serving spoon from Portuguese Treasures didn’t arrive as décor. They arrived as companions; objects meant to be woven into daily rituals.

In a world filled with disposable things, olive wood reminds us that some of the most meaningful pieces are the ones we reach for time and again. They carry the story of the land, the tree, and the hands that shaped them, and then quietly become part of our own.

Sometimes, a bowl and a spoon are all you need to tell the story of Portugal.

Explore More

If you’d like to learn more or bring a piece of Portugal into your own home, visit the Portuguese Treasures Ltd. website to explore their carefully curated collection of high-quality Portuguese products. Whether you’re shopping for home décor or thoughtful gifts, they ship worldwide, and Bruno and his team are known for being exceptionally responsive to customer inquiries. English and Portuguese are both spoken, making the experience easy and welcoming from anywhere in the world.

Read about Portugal’s Cork Industry and how Portuguese Treasures shares their passion for traditional, sustainable Portuguese products.

Until next time…

Obrigada!

Carol.

Dear Readers,

Feliz Ano Novo (Happy New Year) to you.

I wasn’t going to share this, but over the holidays I took a brief pause away from writing, to sit with life for a moment and to reconnect with the quieter things that compel me to put words on the page. This is my first post of 2026.

There is a particular stretch of time each year that feels suspended, as if the calendar loosens its grip. The days between Christmas, New Year’s, and my birthday don’t fully belong to what’s ending or what’s about to begin. They exist in between: quiet, unanchored, and heavy in ways that are difficult to name.

I’ve come to think of this as my three weeks of melancholy. Different weeks, the same narrow span of days, and every year, the same emotional weight. It’s a time when reflection arrives uninvited, when the noise of celebration fades and something softer, more persistent takes its place.

My parents told me my birth was expected at the end of December, but as usual, I arrived late. My timing in life has never been impeccable. I always seem to be slightly ahead of or behind the moment. And a birthday that falls immediately after the holidays has never quite felt like a real birthday to me. By then, the rituals are spent, the table cleared, and the calendar already moving on.

Each year, Paul asks what I want to do to celebrate my birthday, and my answer is always the same: nothing much. By that point, I’ve already been out to lunch or dinner more times than usual, eaten far more than I normally would, and had plenty of cake - lots of cake. When my birthday arrives, I’m full, tired, reflective, and a few pounds heavier. Emotionally and physically, I’m simply done.

Okay. Enough about that.

The truth is, I don’t really know why these particular days carry such weight for me. But I’ve learned I’m not alone. Reading the reflections of others who struggle quietly during the holidays reminds me that this in-between space between celebration and routine, between endings and beginnings can be difficult for many of us.

For me, the holiday season is a time of reflection and sometimes I reflect on all the wrong things. I dwell on parts of the past I can’t change and worry about a future I might somehow get wrong.

Long ago, I escaped from the “Holiday Spirit” box. You know the one. The one that insists I should be merry and bright. That I should go into debt buying presents for relatives I barely know. That the holidays are somehow “magical,” and if I’m not feeling it, the problem must be me.

Instead, for many years now, Paul and I have taken the quieter route: sharing a meal either together or with friends, listening to soothing, instrumental holiday music, taking a walk, enjoying a glass of wine, or watching the rain fall, and feeling deeply grateful that we have warmth, food, and love, especially when so many others do not, through no fault of their own.

And perhaps this, too, is part of the melancholy.

It’s hard to fully lean into celebration when the world feels so heavy. There is so much sadness, so much anger, so much conflict unfolding all around us. So much unnecessary loss, displacement, and suffering, much of it relentless, much of it impossible to ignore. Holding joy alongside that awareness can feel complicated and sometimes even disorienting. Sometimes it feels easier to step quietly to the side and simply notice.

So, I think about life.

About the people who have come and gone. Those who have passed away, those who remain in touch, those who drifted away, those who now live with dementia and no longer remember me, and those I knew only briefly as our lives crossed paths for a moment in time.

I think about the choices I’ve made. The good ones (like marrying Paul) and the not-so-good ones (I’ll spare you the details). I think about the world itself: its madness, its suffering, its uncertainty, the excess and entitlement of some, and the most basic unmet needs of others. I wonder where I fit into all of this: why I’m still here and not there (wherever “there” is).

The space between these days often opens into other in-between places: the spaces between who we were, who we are, and who we are still becoming.

Maybe it’s because of my birthday (the second one in this new and advanced decade) that these in-between days open the door to familiar questions. Not dramatic ones. Quieter questions. The kind that surfaces when time slows and there’s room to notice what no longer fits.

I sometimes reflect on why I didn’t stay in Rhode Island my entire life, like so many people I know there. And if some left, it was usually a move to Florida. So why wasn’t Florida an option for me? Why did I keep feeling as though something was unfinished?

Looking back now, I see that period less as a desire to leave and more as a growing awareness that our lives had become too tightly contained. Paul and I had built something solid - family, friends, work - but over time it began to feel worn thin. Not broken. Just narrow.

We were often the steady ones that others leaned on, the people everyone assumed would always be there. Life was full and familiar, but increasingly predictable. Days blurred together. We weren’t unhappy so much as restless, moving through routines on autopilot, sensing that there might be more space to inhabit than the lives we had carefully assembled.

We tried different versions of “normal.” We worked. We owned a home. We ran a business. We took vacations. We stayed busy. On paper, everything made sense. But underneath it all was a quiet sense of postponement as if something essential was waiting to be named.

When we moved west to Arizona it wasn’t about leaving people behind as much as it was about giving ourselves room to breathe. Room to step outside what was expected and see what might happen if we allowed life to widen a little.

Arizona felt like an opening. A new horizon filled with energy and possibility. Moving there felt right in that gut-deep way that doesn’t require logic, only trust.

But distance, as it turns out, changes things.

The farther away we moved, the more our former lives and the people in them drifted. At first, everyone tried to stay in touch. Then the visits slowed. Calls became less frequent. Emails and holiday cards faded. Sometimes we learned about major life events only well after the fact.

“Out of sight, out of mind,” it turns out, is very real.

I know now that some people were hurt by our leaving. To protect themselves, they let us go. I understand that. I’ve done the same in my own way.

During these three weeks of melancholy, I thought about our move abroad in 2021 and realized that many of the same hopes, fears, hurts, and moments of joy remain. But this time, the understanding feels different.

What I see now is not an escape or a pursuit, but a gradual turning toward a life that feels more honest.

Living in Portugal has opened my eyes, not because it offers certainty, but because it has taught me to sit more comfortably with questions. It has made me more aware of the beauty in differences of opinion, of the people we meet, and in the unexpected connections formed along the way. It has been a life lesson and a true gift.

And that is what I’m holding onto.

Not the certainty that everything will be easy, or even clear, but the understanding that this life, imperfect and unpredictable as it is, still feels honest to us.

Even when the world feels tumultuous and frightening, I believe Paul and I are exactly where we are meant to be, for now. Still moving forward. Still learning. And still finding our way, safely, together.

Leave a comment

Thanks for being on this journey with me.

Thank you for reading Our Portugal Journey. This publication is free and open to everyone, and it exists thanks to the support of readers like you. If you’d like to receive new posts and help keep this work independent - and help support the research, time and travel that goes into it - you’re warmly invited to become a free or paid subscriber.

You can also buy me a coffee (or a glass of wine) anytime right here.

However you choose to support me, I’m truly grateful you’re here.

Until next time…

Obrigada!

Carol.