Portugal Is Like Home
Portugal is like that friend you haven’t seen in ages, but the second you’re back together you slip right back into an instant comfort level. Conversation flows like wine, and you feel a true sense of welcome.
You only need a quick glance here to see that Portugal doesn’t need to work too hard to impress. Their food avoids the frills that distract from substance and flavor. Everything from the seafood to the sausages speaks for itself, stands on its own, and needs neither garlands nor garnish. And my god the cheese.
These images only hint at the true palette of architecture, food, people, and culture, which ironically fill your heart and leave you empty for more at the same time.
On The Plate
From the Azores to the mainland itself, everything we had felt like something you would make for friends coming over — those friends who don’t need the “special dishes”, and don’t mind the lived-in look of your comfortable home.
Personally, I loved the lack of pretense that leans heavily on what they have on hand, like their dairy and abundant seafood.
The other part of eating in Portugal is that the food is not skimpy. Again, as they would do if they had you to their home, the volumes are ample, simply prepared, and warmly served (without even one snooty waiter).
On The Street
When we landed in Lagos, Dottie and I took an hour or so each day and just walked through the back streets to get the feel of this place. It was great to simply pick a direction and go, not knowing what to expect (other than that we itched to get off the touristy wharf). We found the most amazing fish market, teeming with the slippery scales of the best swordfish we’d ever had, plus more way more varieties than we had time to eat.
We sought out to the backstreets, where no one flips flyers at you. I can do without tours that will “change your life”, or any of the zillions of trinkets baubles and bangles that you can carry back home to show your friends your authentic experience in foreign lands.
We followed this strategy later when we drove up to Lisbon with our friends Babs, Tim, Felicity, and Nico. We all walked daily through the architectural bones of this 3,000 year old stately city — its arches, buildings, and byways, all watching us watching them, patient because they know they’re not going anywhere.
The vibe in Lisbon is gracious, without the frenzy of New York, aloof self-importance of Paris, or chilly reserve of London. You’re welcome and feel it in the relaxed clutch of young people hanging on the steps together, the ready eye contact and smile of people in the street, and the comforting feeling of safety from one place to the next.
When we were there, they were having Pride Weekend. So many people, events, tents, and activities, with no margins of ugly anger, as you may expect to see in other places.
I know every country has pockets of ugliness, and no nation is completely sanitized from it. But here, I felt that the atmosphere was not angrily defiant — as if they needed an entire segment of their society to get over itself. It wasn’t apologetic either, just refreshingly normal and normalized.
Sadly, we had to leave Portugal. But it was with happiness in our hearts because, like a dear friend’s home, we knew we’d be back to pick up our cultural conversation right where we left it. With warmth and love, this country became the long term friend we never knew we had, and would now not soon forget.
