writing for self-discovery

I didn’t know what to expect, but Portugal is beyond. Way beyond.

I’ll start from the beginning…

After the 3-hour drive from my home in the frigid deep north (my sister informed me that it was -35°F yesterday morning), I spent the night in Minneapolis. The next day, my daughter took me to the airport to catch my 1:15 p.m. flight to Philadelphia.

I cleared the checkpoints and was at my gate. It was a smaller plane for the domestic flight and definitely no frills. But we landed in Philadelphia safely and on time.

I was in terminal F and my next flight left from Terminal A. Meanwhile, I had a 4 1/2-hour layover, so I asked at the information desk which way to Terminal A. She pointed then said, “It’s a 25-minute walk.”

“Twenty-five?” I repeated.

She nodded. “But, there’s a shuttle right through those doors.”

I thanked her and took the shuttle.

Somehow, my flights always seem to be at the farthest gate possible. I found it, bought a roasted turkey wrap and bottled water, and settled in to wait.

They started the boarding process an hour before departure, which was a good thing because this dreamliner plane has the capacity for 240 passengers. Boarding that many takes a while. 

Once on the plane, we taxied for about 5 minutes, then sat for another hour on the tarmac while the plane was de-iced.

I had a window seat with a perfect view of the left wing.

At last, all traces of ice and snow removed, we were off to Lisbon.

Six plus hours later, the coast of Portugal came into view, a sight for tired eyes.

My friend, who has been here 5 times, had sent explicit instructions. Before leaving the airport, go to Vodaphone for an eSim.

I found the Vodaphone booth and got in line behind 8 others. I stood there…and stood there…while each person’s process took at least 20 minutes. At that rate, I’d miss the bus to Ferragudo. I connected to the airport internet and put in a quick WhatsApp call to my friend. Her advice: Forget the eSim, just get to the bus.

OK, will do. So, I pulled up my Uber app.

Where are you going?

Bus Station.

Now or later?

Now.

Your visa is being charged. Your driver, Lucido, is 4 minutes away. White Nissan, license plate….

He arrived. He spoke no English, and my Potuguese contains approximately four words. I was whisked to the bus station and dropped at the curb. Obrigado, thank you, that’s one of the 4.

I asked a woman lined up in a queue for one of the 20 or so buses where the ticket office was. Found it. Went to the wrong window. A woman asked me where I was going.

“Portimao.”

“Follow me.” I followed her and discovered that she was the ticket agent. “Your bus leaves in 5 minutes,” she said.  She printed the ticket then, again, “Follow me.” She led me to the bus.

From that bus window, I photographed the ever-changing Portuguese countryside.

I don’t know the names or the history of what I saw through that window leaving Lisbon, but it was magical.

Then we were in the country.

What a tour! Olive orchards, sheep, cork trees, figs, I had planned to sleep on the bus. Who can sleep in Wonderland?

My friend was waiting when we pulled into the station at Portimao. Twenty minutes later, we were at her house. She gave me a quick tour, then showed me my private suite (bedroom, bath, and balcony). By then, I’d had 2 hours of sleep in the past 40 hours.

“We’ll go out to dinner,” she said.

“If I’m awake,” I replied.

In a heartbeat, I was dead to the world. At around 5 p.m. she knocked.

Who? What? Where am I?

“Come downstairs when you’re ready. There’s wine and cheese. Then we’ll go to dinner.”

If you aren’t familiar with Portuguese wines, you should be. She had a bottle of red and a white, mixed cheeses, a baguette… Who needs dinner? I thought.

But an hour later, we were out the door and on our way to Restaurant Aria for A) more wine, B) an appetizer of marinated olives, and then…

Baked Octopus.

It was DIVINE.

When our engaging, single, middle-aged waiter with two cats told us there was one slice of raspberry cheesecake left, we decided dessert was essential. My friend had the cheesecake. I ordered a carob, fig, almond cake that was…well…you remember the scene with Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally? It was THAT good.

We got back to the house – a very short walk – and I slept so well…!

I can not tell you how happy I am to be far, far away from ice and snow exploring this Portuguese fishing village. The journey was so worth it! I sunned stretched out in a lounge chair on the upper terrace amid cacti and palms today. Ahhhh…bliss!