I don’t know why some of us are fascinated with archaeology, but I feel the urge on a biological level. I’ve gone well out of my way for every old bit of rock strewn from here to Syria and from Hadrian’s to Hannibal’s. So that’s basically the whole Roman empire… if we are not quibbling over bits of Persia which came and went between battles. I´ll get there one day if they let women drive cars, the taliban all die and the foreigners in fatigues go home. Rant over.
ancient looking landscape, tick
I don’t think it’s the same as a genealogist´s quest, but I sense these ancient peoples as though we are related. I think my curiosity has something to do with discovering the essence of lifestyle (pretentious little name for a quest, n’est-ce pas quoi?), taking notes from a time when ideas of democracy and philosophy were new and shiny, and the first time people were leisurely enough to lie under a shady olive and contemplate beauty. Just look at Roman house design (excellent examples at Conimbriga) and you get a clear shot that the Romans new how to live and had a taste for beauty. (Look at Portuguese houses by comparison – rooms without windows? Hello, are we dead yet?)
ornately tiled rooms centred on a leafy, watery, light filled centre - Romans had style
And although the class divides were enormous and lives were most often cruel and short, these great empires still set an example. Could we ever again build monuments so awesome as the Temple of Luxor or even the Parthenon, staring down on Athens as a constant reminder to how far civilisation has fallen?
Anyway, the Sepulturas of Midões are today’s subject and they are medieval graves, certainly not of Greek or Roman origin. But nonetheless intriguing and mysterious if only on a more personal scale.
brown sepulturas sign gets you to this chapel. follow the path at the far right of this pic
One of the nice things foreigners bring with them to a new country is their curiosity. And I suppose, their perspective. I was tickled when a gaggle of forum punters started gabbing about a tiny medieval site hidden away in some local scrub. It’s not in the guide books, it’s not on the internet. The local council don’t promote it. There’s just one brown sign pointing vaguely in the general vicinity and all it says is “graves”.
you´re on this path, take a left when the path divides
But you know, for us people drawn to bits of old rock, this is enough. Someone raises the question and in an instant, a team of Indiana Jones´ are on the case. I just get the feeling that archaeology, history, and grave robbing is built into human DNA. Or as Jose Franco at Remax Viana once wisely told me: the stones speak to us.
and you´ve discovered something spooky!
The Sepulturas of Midões are interesting, not just because they are old (maybe as old as 8th century or perhaps as young as 12th Century) but because they are individual and isolated. They are obviously graves, but they are not in a graveyard, and they are not adjacent to any site of worship, Christian, pre-Christian, pagan or Muslim. While variously referred to academically as Roman, after the 3rd Century AD you have to concede that the Romans had little or no influence in Portugal, and Coimbra having been controlled by Islamic Moors from the 9th Century, the idea that Christianity was holding sway, even in the countryside, is unlikely. And these graves support this idea. These appear to be private burials with no particularly religious aspect. Small family groups, or village groups, close to farms and houses. Also close to fontes, or basins and small tanks: in the midst of things, to be visited frequently.
dont miss the groovy cacti growing behind the chapel
There are a few other sites around the River Mondego of similar age where people have appeared to have been buried privately, in groups of twos or threes or fours, outside of cemeteries and away from places of worship. Somewhat uncharacteristic of Christian burials, or Islamic burials (although the Moors also built graves by carving out the rock). It seems the country folk, despite regular interruptions by marauding hordes of Vikings, Normans and Whosits were essentially left to their own devices. Bless their atheist socks. The other interesting thing is the graves’ design which is uncommon and typical only to this area; the holes have heads and shoulder spaces carved into them. The peoples of the Mondego were travelling between villages and sharing their burial rituals. And this suggests community. Independence. Cooperation. Peace.
anthropomorphic - dead people shaped
And so we wander away in search of cake to discover the very interesting modern history-mystery of Midões. This tiny town /big village has not really any shops to speak of, a couple of cafes, no banks. But there’s a whopping cathedral-like church and a collection of Palacetes. Signs of serious wealth! Yet the public squares, while pretty, are not on the same scale, so it’s not the town that appears to have had the money, but a few individuals. A brief chat with some locals and a quick look around and one could conclude it’s the usual olive oil and wine money. But unlike say, Castaneira de Pêra with its many big fat country houses – these are actual palaces, with statuary, parapets and overt decoration – which makes them way-more-curiouser, dude.
and it´s for sale
Did I mention yet the pastelaria yet? Of course, it’s way above standard and will provide satisfaction in large helpings with cheery hospitality, even on an especially hot and still Sunday afternoon. This Midões place sounds just like a day trip.
Local Big Richard has invited me to an afternoon of boring local history tête-à-tête. And I say, put the kettle on Dick, I’ll bring the cake.
And of course, if you have an uninteresting brown sign near you, or even a rumour of history about your place, please cough up. We should all be eternal travellers, and the bigger our world gets the more curious it becomes.
For a little more, in Portuguese, and to credit my sources:
http://www.igespar.pt/media/uploads/trabalhosdearqueologia/50/9.pdf
http://www.j-f-midoes.web.pt/historia.htm
where it all started, and thanks to Sophie
http://expatsportugal.com/phpBB2/viewtopic.php?t=7520&postdays=0&postorder=asc&start=0&sid=27f34e59d7846aac2148addd9f5714f2
another of Midões´ fontes
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Real estate is a bitch. Earlier this year I thought it might be good to have a swing at this business and make my hobby of house-perving into a money earner. House perving is an art. I have a friend who has drawn up architectural plans and with full landscaping designs based on what he would do if his random-house-favourite in Bondi happened to fall into his hands one day. No doubt the neighbours think he´s been sizing up the place for a robbery, for the last four years, or perhaps they have concluded, correctly, that he is simply a house pervert.
Anyway, back when I was looking for a house in 2007 I would meet lots of other people looking for a house … in cafés, at the markets, at the pousada juventude in Lousã… Central Portugal was teeming with foreigners on holiday-house-perves. Now I meet none. This is not the only reason my brief foray into real estate has not been a success. Firstly, I broke the golden rule of being a pseudo estate agent: I became emotionally involved with the clients. They became my friends. I liked their houses, I liked their dogs, I liked them. And we all know that a normal real estate person doesn´t do any gratuitous caring because in order to actually sell houses one must devote 110% of one´s soul to selling.
So back to being a fully-committed-builder-blogger it is for me…
But if you happen to thinking of following me in this crazy pastry-filled lazy life, and buying a house in Portugal, then I would like to share with you these three little house-gems I found. Three different ideas, three different concelhos, three different prices but with one thing in common. Three very nice honest owners who just want to move on.
Let´s start with this little beauty in Mosteiro, Pedrogão Grande. I discovered the cutsey little village of Mosteiro when I first moved here during my rampant Sunday drives. It´s tucked away in the middle of a quiet little forest, a short detour from the best bread kept secret of Vila Facaia. It´s a picturesque medium sized village with two cafés and and rather decent restaurant located at a flat grassed river beach with a charming bridge and plenty of shade. This village even has a bandstand (my dad just loved bandstands), and I strongly suspect it has recycling bins (which, believe-you-me is a clear sign of civilisation. I envy people who live in villages with recycling bins).
The house is for sale for €43k. For this price I can´t quite work out how Sergio is making any money out of it because it is a recently renovated stone cottage. OK maybe he inherited it and spent €39,000 doing it up. But let´s not look a gift horse in the mouth.´Tis indeed a charm-packed little two storey one bedder, with renovated bathroom and kitchen, heating in the ground floor kitchen, small walled patio for the barbie, pushbike, plants and winter woodpile. In other words, a low maintenance, with all the facilities, nothing more to spend, weekender and summer holiday house… about two minutes walk from the river pool with café, icecream and rather tempting looking restaurant.
The owner, Sergio, is a local schoolteacher and antiques collector. We met at the Figueiró Vinhos Velharias fair. So the house is filled with really nice furniture and interesting bits. This makes the place even more special, because it´s unusual for Portuguese who most often like their things new and shiny. The antiques work so nicely with the stone interior… well if it were me I´d be negotiating a price with contents included. Too easy.
The next one is the paradise I really wanted when I was looking but didn´t have the money for. It´s €55k, a 120m2 ruin on one hectare (10,000 m2 or almost 2 and a half acres, thank you sophie 
), and if you can´t imagine that, well it´s about a 20 minute walk around the circumference and pretty much what you see in the pic above minus the background mountains). It´s located in a gobsmackingly beautiful valley about 5 minutes outside of Figueiró Dos Vinhos. Your nearest neighbours, about 1km away, would be the rather groovy dutch couple who run Quinta da Fonte, a nice eco-holiday type arrangement, which might give you some ideas about what to do with your place. One hectare of land has potential. You could plant more olives (there are already about 50), more fruit, or plants trees for timber. You could have sheep, horses (although the terrain is quite steep in places) or 5000 chickens. With no neighbours, you could do what you liked. The ruin itself begs for a spacious, passive solar, low impact, simple stone design. The water supply is ridiculously good, with a small river running through the property, two wells and about another 4 tanks. The last time I visited, Figueiró council were running “company” water along the road anyway. The electricity is about a 25m connection.
So peaceful, so beautiful… I think it´s a very precious little spot. You´d want to have at least another €70k to get the house done … but after that, it would be Gins and Tonic on the balcony overlooking the garden in perfect serenity for ever.
Option number three is actually three and four because there are two of them. They´re in Castaneira de Pêra, which is a little disneyland town created by the Mayor of Big Things. Castaneira is home to a Big Fake Grass Rat, Four Big Ugly Things on Roundabouts (on the bright side there are several Nice Big Old Mansions one Megalith Pink Magnolia) and one Very Big Pool. My very cool niece, when visiting, named the pool succintly: ”Mega Pool”.
Mega Pool, aka Praia das Rocas attracts hordes of sweaty punters from all about who are perfectly happy to queue for an hour before opening time in order to secure their resort style deckchair and table by the “beach” for the day. By “beach” I mean graduated sandy-coloured painted concrete and a wave machine – ´the biggest waves inland of the sea´, would you believe? The thousands come prepared with buckets & spades, lilos, eskies, hats & blow up crocodiles and they make a day of it. Actually they make a whole summer of it, as Castaneira´s cafés heave with the aprés-pool crowd.
But where the hell do they all stay? There are some tiny cabanas at the pool, so that sorts out about 16 people, there is one nice old house which sleeps about 10, two small but nice hotels and a medium sized camping ground. The masses I speak of come literally in their thousands… and here´s where Joe´s houses come into the picture.
A few years ago Joe, a civil engineer, built these two houses with his family´s future in mind. With one son a chef and Joe and his wife Mariza heading towards early retirement, he had the idea that at least someone in the family would fancy having a B&B, and Joe having seen the development of Castaneira since Praia das Rocas, saw the potential in it. He built two houses, both with two attic bedrooms with ensuite plus three more middle-floor bedrooms plus a ground floor apartment. The lounge, kitchen, dining and garages are all big and they have massive backyards with room for a pool. Both houses have been ducted for central heating, the living rooms already have closed fireplaces and the kitchens have chimneys. Natural light pours into the houses from all sides, there is double glazing and security shutters. The front door has a intercom system accessible on each level of the house. The houses are fully wired for all manner of telecoms, there is an outdoor dining area off the kitchen, plus the ground level barbecue area, smashing town views from most rooms, at least one bathroom on each level, landscaped gardens and, and, and… Gee it looks like the only thing Joe didn´t think of when building these places was to make them wheelchair accessible because as soon as they were 95% complete some jerk crashed his car into Joe´s and landed Joe in a wheelchair. Permanently. Paraplegic-Like. So now he can´t even get through the front door of his own houses, much less down the stairs. Shit and a half, I say to that.
Então, slight change of plans for the Ramos family then.
The 95% finished bit is a good thing. It´s just the interiors that are unfinished. There are no kitchens (plumbing of course is there, but you´d choose the look and arrangement) Ditto for the attic en-suites – plumbing, no fixtures. One house has floating timber floors and the other has unfinished concrete. The final final job will be yours. The ground floor apartment space in not enclosed. All the wiring and plumbing, and a bathroom, is in, but right now they look like outdoor entertainment/basement spaces. So hence, these are new-builds that leave room for your taste, and I like that. New places are all very convenient and clean but I inevitably want to rip out their ugly pine kitchens and start again. Just thanks that Joe has taste in bathroom appliances, because those I rather like: a bit luxy but not pretentious.
So let´s talk business here. One house is €175k and the other is €210k. Say you spend another €5k making them ready for business. During the summer you could have at least a monthly income of €1200 (based on a modest guess of 5 nights out of 7 of the two attic rooms @ €30ea /night). OK so the summer is only 2 months – but then there´s the apartment downstairs which can be rented out full time or you live in the apartment and rent out the 5 bedroom house upstairs. What I´m talking about is the potential of immediate income. I haven´t done all the research but what I see are full cafés and thousands of people and not thousands of places to stay. I would also say again loud and clear that you should not attempt doing business in Portugal without speaking the language. Your main clientele will still be Portuguese, not English-speaking foreigners. My gut tells me this is a goer, and let me tell you Mr Joe is no idiot either.
All of these properties are listed with Chavetejo Imobiliaria LDA who are based in Tomar. The office number is + 351 249 32 77 00 but you know, every time I call it I get the answering machine and that really pisses me off. So what I suggest is that you call the mobiles of Derek +351 918 479 978 or Nicky +351 918 484 547. The best time to catch them is at 7:30am, after their two hour yoga session and just before 8am mass in Tomar. Cruise their website at www.chavetejo.com. These places can be found listed as:
Mosteiro ref 806/10
Fontainha ref 878/09
Castaneira De Pêra €175k ref 5135/09 and €210k 5134/09
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I’ve got a thing for bath houses. While in Turkey I did my best to get a sweat, a steam, a scrub and a wet down everyday. I just think it’s the height of decadence, and cultural intimacy, to mix it with the locals in a watery way. And after communal bathing in Turkey, the Mid East, North Africa, Northern Europe, in Sydney and even once at the Paris Ritz I tend to think that the people of the world are much more at ease with nudity than is commonly thought. But I digress, because this post is about Spas, which are related to bathhouses in their water treatment way. And because there is an antique architectural element that attracts me to them both.
Caldas Da Rainha, the Hot Springs of the Queen, is a classic spa town. Spa towns always hint at a 19th century grandeur, where the monied would while away their days “taking the waters” and relaxing. These days the old spa towns are gracefully fading, and the ailing have moved on to detox and rehab. But the grand old hotels, gardens, tea rooms, and what used to be fashionable architecture, remain. Spa towns are quaint and gentle, and often very pretty. Caldas certainly is all of these things.
The Spa is a predominantly European phenomenon, but Katoomba in the Blue Mountains outside of Sydney has exactly the personality I’m talking about. Cauterets in the French Pyrenees is a classic place, and I’ve been to a wonderful old pool/spas in Berlin and Stockholm. Luso in Portugal is also a favourite town of mine here, especially as the hospital-spa still offers many kinds of water treatments, like a “Vichy” hose down, steam inductions and a variety of strange massages. I’ve met delightful spa town in the colonies too. Dalat in Vietnam is a charming 19th century gem and I would imagine there might be a few ex-spas in India.
One day I’d love to do a tour of the great spas of Europe. I’d start in Budapest, certainly the bath capital of the world, and move south seeking them out in Switzerland and Austria. You can never be too clean.
Anyway back to Caldas… the first stop should be the hospital itself, located in two lovely old buildings just down from the main square. At the back of the main building is the gorgeous Nossa Senhora do Pópulo, which has a fabulous bell tower, and where patients can go to bolster their faith in modern medicine. Opposite the church and beside one of the many lovely Manueline palacetes in the back streets of Caldas, is the Hospital Museum. I can never resist a hospital museum, and although there’s nothing much macabre about this one it certainly reinforces the image of an olde worlde cleanliness and some hysterical hypochondriasis… fainting spells and smelling salts and that sort of thing. Quaint, rather.
Of course it made me feel like a lie down in a cool room followed by a good professional pummelling by Irmã Perpétua (or whoever the Portuguese equivalent of Swedish Helga might be). But alas! Unlike at Luso, the hospital isn’t open to people just-chucking-a-sickie – and seriously Caldas CM - this should change. Honestly they must have no idea how arduous being a tourist is and just how willingly we will shell out €15 to have someone in a white coat give us a rub down.
Actually it’s probably a good thing because there is really no time to waste if you want to see everything else that Caldas has got going on. The first thing you should start noticing is Caldas´ very special street signs. There aren’t many left these days so keep your eyes peeled, especially around the hospital area and along the park. The parque Dom Carlos I is gorgeous, with ponds and row boats and an excellent café/restaurant with loads of shaded outdoor seating. A wander around the José Malhoa Museum (naturalist / impressionist painter 1855-1933) inside the former park boat house is relaxing and mildly interesting. There’s also this enormous dilapidated building which they call the pavilões do parque, which appears to have been a former school. Stunning building, superb location and if this was Sydney it would have been turned into some seriously nice and expensive apartments by now. Looks like the pigeons will have it to themselves for a while longer.
Don’t let it get past midday or you’ll have missed the Caldas market. It’s on every day in Praça de Republica, right in the middle of things. It’s one of the nicest markets around, with the perfect balance of fresh veg, charcuterie, bread, sweets and stacks of different local handicrafts. But especially it has a spread of the famous ceramics of Caldas de Rainha. What you see at the market is not strictly Rafael Bordalo Pinheiro but it’s still fun and highly photogenic.
Just beside the market square is my favourite café in Caldas, Café Central. Here is a café as we knew them in the old country, a place that does proper lunch, as in, light meals with salad. The food is inventive and wholesome and there is serious gelato and cakes too. But it’s the interior design that does me. Like the Brasileira in Braga, it’s like the owner (I don’t know her name but she’s always there and I want to be her when I grow up) has done the most restrained renovation possible, simply restoring the original design and adding a fresh coat of paint and some new chairs. It’s a rejuvenation of art deco/ mid century elegance. It looks modern and vintage at the same time. Thoroughly divine.
And right outside the café is one of those unique street signs. Cute. On the same side of the square is Residencial Central which is where I like to stay. It’s a big homey oldie of course, run by the super welcoming Diogo and Fatima who have three great girls. Watch Diogo or that welcome drink will end up with you under the table. It’s the kind of hotel I’d like to live in, and it felt like I did. Still a bargain at €20 single, €35 double.
But the real reason I visit Caldas so often is to catch up with my mate Rafael. Caldas is a good place to get to know him, first in the Museu de Ceramica where you can see his work in context with the other wacky ceramicists of the era. Then at the Bordalo factory there’s another little museum which explains more specifically about Rafael’s life in Caldas. After that you can lose a couple of hours in the shop where there are new editions of bizarre giant fish and crab artworks, fresh copies of large scale commissions, figurines and of course cabbage things in all colours. But what else the factory produces is some of the most lovely table china I’ve ever seen. Opulent, classic, whimsical. Oranges, rabbits and palm trees. Funny and just pure elegance… and the most adorable little coffee cup sets in the world.
You’re bored? But there’s still the new cycling museum, Atelier-Museu António Duarte (1912-1998), some groovy Henry-Moore-like sculpture at Atelier-Museu João Fragoso (1913- 2000), the Museu Barato Feyo and yet more 20th century art at O Espaço da Concas. And a bunch of small interesting shops. And Mango. But never mind, you can always pop off to the beach at Foz de Arelho (20 minutes), a pleasant strip of golden sand and no swell to speak of, and if Caldas hasn’t tickled your cute inner pony enough you can clip clop up to Obidos (15 minutes) which will twee your tail off.
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Most everybody has heard of the Festa dos Tabuleiros, which takes place in Tomar roughly every 4 years in July. Actually, there is no set date: a month or two ago the mayor called the populace and asked them if they wanted the festa next year (YEAH!!! roared the crowd) and if anybody was willing to be the mordomo1 (VICTAL!!! Shouted the crowd on behalf of the very popular mordomo of the last festa). So, after the three celebratory firecrackers were thrown in the Praça, it was settled. But there were times when it was every 2 years and some press for a Festa dos Tabuleiros every year. As a matter of fact, this big event in Tomar dates from the 50’s: before that, every parish made its own separate procession in honour of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost Sunday, where young girls dressed in white carried baskets of bread interwoven with flowers to be blessed in church.
Nowadays, only one parish keeps the tradition every year, Carregueiros. Here, the flowers of the fields don’t fear the showers of May, unlike the paper flowers of the big production of Tomar, that made the whole thing move to the rain-proof month of July. Here, the Holy Spirit has not been forgotten, just like in the distant-cousin-festas of the Azores. Here, no tourists, virtually no outsiders, only the local youth donning the traditional clothes capped by the most modern haircuts and fancy sunglasses.
First the Band, followed by the Brotherhood carrying the Holy Spirit’s crown and flags and then the couples with their offerings to the Holy Spirit (or perhaps it´s really Ceres) pass under the windows of Carregueiros’ Main Street and the residents lean out over their best bedspreads to throw petals at the crowd.
The procession takes place between the two churches of the village, and small children carry their little baskets with flowers with great gravity and even greater courage.
The walk is long and the lazy are already waiting at the second church watching the long, colourful snake approach through the fields, up and down, and finally up a steep flight of stairs.
For thirsty onlookers, the “water” man has a mixture of beer and soda (a little beer and a lot of soda, to maintain the decorum of the festivities), and for the hungry there are bolos da cabeça to help them wait for lunch.
After mass everybody walks back to the centre of the village and the first church, where the baskets are blessed. The bread is then distributed among the people, who keep it throughout the year in the hope that they will be blessed with abundance.
The great Festa dos Tabuleiros of Tomar, that attracts hundreds of thousands of visitors, brings together the Tomarense who for a year work tirelessly to transform their city. But the connection with the mystical origins of this celebration is all but lost. Here in Carregueiros, and even more in the Azores and Brazil, the cult of the Holy Spirit still echoes the utopia of a Third Age, which would bring universal and egalitarian love and total freedom which comes from the direct inspiration of the Holy Spirit.
1 the elected administrator and organiser of the event.
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I’ve been researching this post for the last three years and on doctor’s orders, it’s got to stop.
There are just too many cafés in Central Portugal and having to sample all of their coffees and pastries is going to be the end of my arteries and me. I can no longer justify a diet of pasteis, bolos and caffeine for the sake of the blog. Sorry.
In any case the parameters of my research have become blurred. Do I stick to the boundaries of the three Beiras regions or shall we just call it Central Portugal instead? Is it really a post about the best pastelarias in which case does it become a study of fabrico proprio? Is it really just a competition of coffee brands, because I think I’ve developed a preference for Delta. What if I catch a great café on an off day? What if they do the best duchesse in the region and I order a marselhesa by mistake?
But the main reason to stop is that there are just too many good cafés and a post can only be soooo looong…
So I’ll just tell you about my favourites (so far) and you can tell me yours, ok? Let’s go.
How I judge a place. The coffee has to be good on successive visits, with or without milk, bastante quente (who actually likes their coffee luke warm? I don’t know) and a good café IMhO serves directo whether you ask for it or not (or if you can’t tell the difference, that’s impressive). These things show a respect for coffee.
Either a good range of pastelaria, or a unique, small range. I look for specialities, or if they do a classic exceptionally well.
And that’s it: this is not about interior design, comfortable chairs, history, fame or even the temper of the staff… it’s just strictly a coffee and cake experience.
There are certainly many good places. What made it to this selection is being exceptionally good, and I do confess that the surprise of their sometimes obscure locations may have influenced their ranking. How do they compare with my favourite cafés of Lisbon? Certainly not well for décor(!), but for the quality of their coffee and cake, yes, I do believe they are as good.
In alphabetical order, we start in Avelar… a funny little town with really nothing much to recommend it except a pretty church, the Casa Farrica hardware shop and this outrageously good pastelaria. When I was new here I thought I was a genius to discover a cute side alley old fashioned little café which then abruptly closed its doors. I felt guilty and unfaithful when I decided to go to the new big modern place, whose pastries were possibly even better… until I realised it was the same place, they had just expanded. Phew!
Pastelaria Rocha’s thing is sonhos, and they don’t call them dreams for nothing. Their miniatures are adorable and their savoury things also are great.
Ansião is also nothing much of a place (sorry Ansianense) but it does have Pastelaria Diogo, or two, actually. Massive display of goodies, consistently good coffee.
In Condeixa-a-Nova, conveniently located across from the centro de saude, is O Pote de Mel. It is slightly infamous for turning out more unusual creations, in life threatening sizes. If you’re up for something truly decadent, pop in here for a escrapiada or a delicia. After your blood tests.
Technically still in Condeixa, but tucked away in a bairro they call Urbanização Nova de Conimbriga (it’s off the roundabout that joins the IC3 to the IC2, towards Soure) is a little gem of a café called O Bom Forno. It serves more polite, but no less decadent, cake portions of divine invention. And they make the cutest baby berlims I’ve seen. Chocolate berlims too. And it’s wookie friendly.
Coimbra has a few good places. There are three close together on Rua de Sofia near Praça 8 Maio. My favourite is the old fashioned stand-up-only Pastelaria Palmeira, whose speciality is the weird-but-yummy pastel de santa clara. Almost next door, Pastelaria Penta has a bigger range of mouth watering sins and arguably better coffee. Across the road, Pastelaria Sirius is also very good.
When in Leiria I always go to Martin & Thomas on Praça Rodrigues Lobo. It quite rightly uses “gourmet” in its self description and indeed would not be out of place in any modern foodie location in the world. Great bread. Great everything. I think of Leiria as the Braga of Central Portugal. It’s civilised. It has Zara.
And now to Tentúgal and Vouzela. But these places and their pastelarias are SO good that they deserve their own day trip posts. It’s certainly worth going all the way to Vouzela for a visit to Café Central, and to eat a pastel de Vouzela. But the town itself is such a treasure that it’s a destination in itself. Similarly, at first glance Tentúgal’s pastelarias dos doces conventuais look like a truckies´ stop. But Tentúgal not only has an exceptional café but an unforgettable restaurant and a fascinating historic church as well. It’s not just a lay-by, it’s a lay-day.
But after visiting hundreds of other cafés, I always come back to my local. Pastelaria Pingo Doce in Figueiró Dos Vinhos, behind the Câmara, is so inconspicuous you’d normally not notice it. The coffee here is just as I like it and while I’m very fond of their bolos de arroz and tigeladas, it’s their pasteis de nata that are by far and away the best in Central Portugal. I’m tempted to say, the best outside of Pastéis de Belém. I know, it’s a big call, but I have tried, I have tested and I have the belly to prove it.
I would like to hear I’ve missed something in Castelo Branco, or that there’s a gem in Guarda (I’ve never been to Guarda). Have I passed on something in Pombal? Fundão? Do you have a favourite in Aveiro? Does Sertã have something hidden? Anything new in Lousã? Let me know. Not for any more serious research, no, just in case I’m passing…
innocent and unassuming... and the best pastel in the region
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I sometimes get emails from people who are looking to simplify their lives. They are tired of the stress, the traffic and noise of the city, of working all their waking hours for little personal reward and never having enough time for the people they love. Perhaps you too are wishing you had more time to do things you actually enjoy? Would you like to escape the tyranny of spending and consumerism and the desire for things you don’t need? Do you fill your life with possessions as a reward for the pressure, pain and emptiness of modern living? Maybe you’re thinking about downsizing, having less clutter, no more drawers overflowing with unused mobile phone chargers. And you would like to reduce your carbon footprint, and have a more sensitive relationship with Mother Earth? Can you see yourself, happy and free, running naked through a sunny field of daisies?
WELL SNAP OUT OF IT YOU DAYDREAMER AND GET BACK TO WORK.
If there’s one thing I know now it’s this:
POVERTY IS OVERRATED.
Yes, trouble is, once you have a healthy cash flow it’s rather difficult to remember what it’s like not having one. Of course, I know you’re not planning on being poor and desperate, but if you’re going to give up working your bum off, then you are inevitably going to have to adjust to living on less. A lot less. And then, as time goes on, even less and less. It sounds fine as an idea, but believe me it is extremely difficult to change your mentality from “rich” to “poor”, and to change it fast enough to keep pace with your economic status.
How much do you need to live on in Portugal? The minimum wage here is €450/ month: I cannot see how anyone can live on that. I get by, in a painfully, unhappily, penny-watching way (see the Support button below) on about €600, and some months this blows out dramatically: all it takes is a sick car or dog, an insurance bill or a visitor or two and my budget goes out the window. I estimate that a couple with a cat should budget for $1200/month or €15000 a year. PLUS accommodation – allow another €250/ month for renting a 3 bedroom house (you’ll need a guest room, or two). Readers please throw in your two cents worth on this, as costs, as people, vary region to region.
Debt is the enemy. I seriously do not recommend giving up work if you have any debt. What you are undertaking is already enormously financially challenging and complicating the risk with old financial baggage is a bad idea. If you have a mortgage at home or on your new life, then either you or your dog needs a regular job. Sorry about that.
Should the math still be working in your favour, I have this to say. Doing without feels quite good at first. But after a while the novelty wears off and you’d rather have back a flushing toilet, a kitchen with plumbing, a shiny black golf and a goddam dishwasher. So here’s my first piece of advice for those who are persisting with the idea:
1. Don’t Throw the Baby Out With The Bathwater.
I know some people who have tossed their lives away, like me, but they are still living comfortably in a house with modern appliances, eating interesting meals, and maintaining proper standards of personal hygiene. Their secret has been better financial planning coupled with a more moderate approach to deprivation. In essence, they started with more money and they did not elect to live in their ruin.
So, if your other half (or your other identity) is advising caution and saying `let’s give it another 6 months and then we’ll be more financially secure´, then listen to them. On the other hand, that advice would not have saved me. As a freelancer, I may have been waiting forever for that last 50 grand to appear, and it is critical to getting a new life that you don’t put it off forever and to know when you have to make the leap. So if you think your team mate (or you yourself) is just procrastinating and they don’t really want to go and live in Portugal, then dump them and move on. 
The point I’m trying to make is when you’re making-frugal, don’t go overboard. Going from living in a penthouse to living in a tent is not nice. Try not to overestimate your stamina and try not to underestimate the length of time your money has to last.
2. Start Living Frugal Immediately And Be Committed.
Somehow you have to guess at the most basic living conditions you can tolerate for an unknown period of time… and then start living that life and stick to it. Even though your money hasn’t run out yet try to live as though it may run out tomorrow. It might sound a bit contradictory to the first advice, but this is about not living in denial about your financial situation. As soon as you stop earning you need to stop spending. Make a long term budget and be sure to include a bucketload of contingency.
One of the trickier things is getting other people to understand your new situation. I am still being invited to skiing trips in Val d’Isère when I haven’t earned a dime in three years. And I don’t even like skiing. You’ll have to tell your friends and family loud and clear, and over and over. No more lavish gifts, no more expensive restaurants. You are Frugalling. You may have to start a blog as well or get a tattoo on your forehead.
3. Go Bush
Mission Frugal should involve the switch from city to country.
The biggest advantage for country living for the ex-city materialist is the absence of temptations. I really appreciate not being surrounded by shops full of shiny things. And there’s something about living in the city that results in needing $15 cocktails on a Friday night. As much as I miss the food, I am glad that I cannot accidentally blow $50 on a sushi tray. Thank god rural Portugal is not a glamorous place – or rather, it is a very unpretentious place. One may comfortably go about looking like a sack and no one snorts or huffs or looks you up and down… On the contrary, I’ve been complimented on my nice dressing gown.
4. Making Friends With The Natives
Let’s now assume you’ve quit your job and moved to Portugal.
Your Portuguese neighbours will be an enormous support and resource to you, even if they want to kill your dog. Firstly because frugality is a way of life in rural Portugal, and secondly they will help you overcome the foreigner/local price divide.
In most places in the world, foreigners are presumed to be better off than the locals, based on the simple principle that you’re travelling and they’re not. It is now your job to undo this misunderstanding. You will ingratiate yourself with your neighbours by complaining about the price of things, griping about being poor and moaning about your poor health. Once you graduate from whingeing you can move onto the higher subjects like local supermarket specials. After that it’s carte blanche on cheap tips: what price they get on sand, which car mechanic won’t rip you off, and what you should have paid for those onion seedlings. And all this invaluable assistance just for your time, your witty banter and your liver.
Unlike your friends at home, your Portuguese neighbours will not expect you to bring a fine wine every time you drop over. On the contrary, my neighbours have scorned all my gifts like home made jam, spaghetti sauce and marinated olives because this gift giving nonsense is just not on. It’s not because they are stingey or ungrateful (no siree, just watch them force food on you) it’s because they don’t have money to waste. Christmas is the best. They gave me crap (but useful) gifts like tea towels, and in return I gave them crap (but useful) things like tea towels.
4. Trading
I discovered the village bartering system by accident. Tia Maria had been abandoned by her children (they went to France to work) which meant she had to walk up and down the hill to tend to the crops. It’s a bitch of a hill and she’s 30 years older than me, so we’d throw the pumpkins the back of my van and I’d give her a lift. No biggie. But then in return she’d try to give me three weeks worth of green beans, a dozen eggs and a bottle of wine.
Once we’d negotiated a more restrained quantity of produce, this became a regular thing. Then I realised that everyone was up for this trading thing. Next door would drop over some lemons, I’d leave a bag of dog food my dog doesn’t like. Lately we’ve been getting into car swapping, internet access for labour, land clearing for firewood. Of course it’s been going on between them for ever: one historic transaction was when one neighbour fixed the other one’s car for 6 jars of honey. It seems so right that I wonder why we aren’t living like this all our lives…
5. Grow Your Own
Of course you’ll need something to trade, and your exotic city tastes may help. I can’t compete with my neighbour’s talent for horticulture, but I can offer them things they don’t grow or have never tried. My stuff has novelty value. And other friends will appreciate your efforts too – so instead of bringing a bottle of wine you can take a pot of basil, cherry tomatoes or some rocket – things we can’t often find in our local markets. Of course anything else you can grow in your garden will help your frug-style. Growing stuff in Portuguese soil will be made easier if you also raise chickens, and while you’re at it, get a pig, some goats and sheep too.
6. Think Global, Buy Local
The biggest immediate saving to you is that you’ll spend less on petrol, but that’s the next point. You have to buy locally because rural areas are in rapid decline and things will get more expensive if we don’t invest in our tiny towns. Your custom with local business will help you forge relationships which will get you better prices in the long run. If you don’t take an interest in your local shop you might find that it no longer exists next year.
While regular customers are the most valuable, you should try to share the love around. The most obvious example is to buy whatever you can from local markets and not from big supermarkets. At the market I even prefer the smaller, older stallholders who are not importing fruit and vegies, but growing it themselves. Your money goes directly into the local’s pocket and keeps the local economy working. Just now a neighbour proudly showed me some apples that have come from Argentina… can you imagine the real cost of those apples, and can they be so much better than what’s hanging on the tree outside? Maybe they are not paying the extra cost right now, but the economy and the planet’s environment is, and if you’re thinking big picture, it is relevant to your personal operation frugal.
7. Step Off The Gas.
Apart from the urgent need to stop burning fossil fuels, the cost of petrol and the distances you often need to travel in the country is a major handicap to the frugal life. I consider every hour in the car costs me nearly €10. Most of the time I’m better off spending more on individual items at the nearer corner shop than driving further to the supermarket. And I prefer to buy things from my neighbours for more than I’d pay elsewhere because of what I save on petrol. It’s a strong argument for using the bread, fish and veg trucks that visit the village. My neighbours, the dedicated bargain hunters, once recommended I buy car tyres about 1 1/2 hrs drive away. So those cheap €20 retreads really cost me €35 each… and they’ll need replacing again in a year’s time… see more about “false economy” below.
When you have to use the car, take your foot off the gas. Driving slower in this country may even save your life. And while on the road I try to encourage others to slow down too. I flirt lasciviously at men who attempt to overtake me, which works a treat. My parents had a test of not using the accelerator on the way home from the shops. In turn us kids would do it too, and make it more fun by not using the brakes either… I still do this today, when there are no other cars around, of course.
8. Beware of False Economy.
There are false economy traps everywhere. Initially I bought cheap vacuum cleaners, cheap power tools and kitchen appliances which all had to be replaced. Buying stuff at the bottom of the market is rarely worth it unless you are really only using it once. When I researched my purchases properly by using organizations like Choice (Australia) I bought things that actually worked, and still work today. Beware especially the lojas chinesas (el-cheapo import shops) in Portugal. I have some strict rules about the things I am allowed to buy in them. I can’t tell you how many hose fittings I’ve been through because I stubbornly refuse to spend three times as much for something that actually functions. So instead I buy things that break before I get them home. Clever.
Frugal shortcuts; Electricity is not your friend. Use the free Espaços Internet if you are only an occasional net user. Give up cheese, or save it for restaurants. Eat less meat. And if you like to take a coffee, you should do as the Porties do and drink espresso… a 55c café is the kind of treat you never have to do without.
For specific prices consult the following:
http://www.mosqueteiros.com/. They publish their brochures on line for both groceries (Intermarché) and hardware (Bricomarché). See “Folhetos”.
More groceries http://www.clubeminipreco.webside.pt/index.htm
Groceries and larger stuff http://www.modelo.pt/promocoes/folhetos
Now, nudie hippie dude, go forth and frugal yourself!
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This is the first in a series of Day Trips; brief reviews of some worthwhile places to visit…
What’s not to like about Tomar? It’s not too big, but has plenty to keep you busy at least for a day. Tomar is a gentle, medium sized town. It’s not glamorous but it is certainly charming. Tomar has a little bit of kitsch, a little bit of retro, a smidge of fun.
Let’s start with the gob-smacker, bound-to-bowl-you-over UNESCO World Heritage Listed Convento Do Cristo. It was the headquarters of the Knights Templar, aka the Iberian Crusaders. The knights were a religious order, but this place has a certain macho robustness that helps you remember that it was also a serious military base. Built in the 12th Century, the convento is a complex complex of courtyards, chapels and living facilities and there isn’t a single corner that’s not photogenic. My favourite bits are the stone spiral staircases of the Santa Barbara cloister leading to the terrace (where there is a top view of the gaudy and carbuncular pièce de résistance Manueline window) and the refectory; a vast dining room that would make the ultimate location for a debaucherous medieval feast-party, convent and piety notwithstanding. If you can’t get a bit of joy out of this joint then you have no imagination.
Time for a coffee, so we’ll go straight down to the corredore, the cobbled and pedestrianised thoroughfare in the old town. Café Paraiso is a classic, where the story goes that the local ladies had a seating system according to social ranking. Windows, most preferred. Toilets, least preferred. Don’t sit in Mrs Wapnobbles place or you´ll get a pastel in the face…. that sort of thing.
Also in the corredore is one of my favourite hotels in Portugal the Residencial União. It is the type of intimate, family run, character laden place that I want all guest houses to be like. Prim and proper like an English hotel but also cosy like staying at nanna’s. The dining room is so cute that I expect to see Poirot or Miss Marple reading in a corner. And it’s all genuine. They are not trying to be quaint or boutique, it’s just the authentic and stopped-in-time nature of the place. I can’t fault it. And it’s a ridiculous bargain to boot. The last I looked at their rates they hadn’t put them up in 3 years.
And now I’m going to rave about the museu dos fósforos. I would never have gone to a matchbox museum in a pink fit if it wasn’t for two funny Australians who directed me to the breasts in the chapel at Busaco (another sublime little secret of Portugal for another time) and on the strength of this tip, I listened well when they urged me not to miss this museum. And there you are: you might never imagine that the largest matchbox collection in the southern hemisphere could be so fascinating, or hilarious. The collection, belonging to the fabulously named Aquiles Da Mota Lima, is ridiculously vast, a superb snapshot of 20th century graphic arts. It is severely kitsch, and big fun.
What really lights my fire is that it’s the inverse of most museum collections. Your regular art collector wants their good taste, their wealth and their cultured intelligence to be admired through their collections. It can be all rather vulgar and pretentious sometimes. On display here is a plebeian obsession taken to the extreme. It is curious maximus. The first room is cute, the second interesting but after the third room and 20,000 matchboxes, you get the picture. This guy is nutty. The madness of it becomes slightly overwhelming – when there are still another 20,000 matchboxes to go – and the humanity so palpable that you can almost hear Mrs Da Mota Lima nagging Aquiles to get these damn bloody matches out of the house. So, don´t miss it. It’s (unbelievably) free and only open in the afternoons.
The best towns always have more than one historic café and my other hang is Estrelas do Tomar. I rate a place that does its specialities in a specially printed box and at Estrelas you can take home `kiss me quick´- Beija me depressa – little gooey custardy globs that look yummy, but frankly I just want the box. The rest of their pastries are just too darn tempting anyway, and the green tiles and matching dark tables and chairs are totally up my street. AND, very unusually for Portugal, they have a wicked tea selection, like they saw me coming.
Just as well god created the day with morning and afternoon tea. And just as well there’s lunch and dinner too because there is a lot of good food to be had in Tomar. I’m always on the look out for the side alley, small but personality-filled bistro, and the Tomar baixa is full of such treasures. My current favourite is Restaurant Piri-Piri which is a slight cut-above the usual, possible owing to its success with the house made sauce, and a very good wine list. The hosts are even more hospitable than your typical Portuguese restaurateurs. More great hosts and buckets of atmosphere can be found at Casa das Ratas and her sister-across-the-laneway Casa Matreno. They have the same short menu of tasty and satisfying fare with an interesting seasonal special or two, so you’ll just have to choose between the taverna style of the Ratas or the pink and green diner tiles of the Matreno.
Finally, when in Tomar, I never miss a visit to The Princesa. If the time is right and the weather is mild, she may just make herself available. However, The Princesa only conducts visits from her first floor window where she can look down on the people as they crane their necks adoringly. Is she not the most beautiful cat in all of Portugal?
are you talking to me?
Restaurant Piri Piri Rua Moinhos 54 T:249 313 494
Residencial União Rua Serpa Pinto 94 T:249 323 161
Pastelaria Estrelas do Tomar Rua Serpa Pinto 12/Rua Alex Cruz 13B T: 249 313 275
Café Paraiso Rua Serpa Pinto T: 249 312 997
Casa Matreno / Casa Das Ratas Rua Doutor Joaquim Jacinto 7 T: 249 315 882
Museu Dos Fosforos Av General Bernardo Faria, near the train station.
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I was going to apologise for the lameness of the subject but I’ve just seen ‘primavera’ as the title for Miguel Esteves Cardoso’s column in Público today. Now I have to apologise for being so unoriginal.
But the thing is, the arrival of spring is indeed worth noting. As Sr Cardoso points out, the season of spring in Portugal is a true season, not just summer light. The charm of spring is that it definitively marks the end of the winter. OK that’s obvious, but its psychological effect is really significant. Quite suddenly this year, the sun has come out, I’m not wearing a coat and insects are everywhere. And the flowers! Spring has sprung!
That the malady named SAD (seasonal affective disorder) actually has been given a name (and what a dumb name) seems ridiculous to me. Of course winter makes you unhappy. Winter is miserable. Winter is bad for you. It’s cold, wet and dark. Winter should be renamed depressing. I concede that some things about winter can be nice, like a roaring fire, woollen scarves and hot chocolate or a warming whisky. And I do like snow, for an hour. But the rest of it totally sucks. I could tolerate winter in Sydney, because it’s not really winter, just summer again, watered down. We don’t need beanies or gloves, for instance. I hate beanies. If there are laws against wearing headscarves I think there should be laws against wearing beanies too. To me beanies represent something dangerous, oppressive and separatist. Beanies are a political statement.
And this winter has been the worst winter ever, according to my neighbours. Tia Maria says she has never seen a winter as long and cold and despicable as this one. You know it’s a bad winter when matches won’t light. This year the firelighters won’t light either. The vet told me we have had five days of sunshine since October. And not just a bad winter in Portugal either. Even the Swedes were complaining about the snow, still falling in April (just for me and the film crew). And Swedes are pretty tough.
So thank god that some buds have appeared on the bare trees at last, confirming what we were all quietly suspecting, that it’s not quite so cold as the week before. Like the trees, I’m relieved to have survived the hibernation. I’ve run out of firewood, because it’s been longer and more fierce than expected, but now I don’t have to run around after twigs like my life depended on it. The panic of basic survival is over. And that’s what the little flowers are saying: it’s not something twee or quaint or puerile: it’s time to get on living, which is not what I’ve been doing this winter.
I look around the still soggy, green-with-moss-house, and my ruin looks more ruined than ever. It seems years since I did any building work. I have watched while others continued to point and pour in the hours between showers, but up here in the mountains I just can’t see building in winter as a feasible proposition. During the multiple trips back and forth from the Tomar plains I calculated there must be five degrees difference in temperature, and if it’s cloudy down there, it’s raining up here. And it never seems to be just raining here; it’s either gusty & rainy or bucketing. Or it is just that I’ve lost my nerve? A financial beating is psychologically crushing as anyone knows: it’s an dark and omnipresent worry. Being sick is humiliating and boring, and both of these things are tangible obstacles to building work. But the winter has smothered me, like my eyes are still full of dirt from the burrow and my mind is foggy from the deep sleep of internment. My stores of incentive are as empty as my garden.
And I confess: I can see the projection that some weaker wills judge me to be. A dreamer. A procrastinator. An ingenue. HEY! STOP RIGHT THERE CAPTAIN! I only have to write those words to see how wrong there are. Moi, ingenue? Given the choice between the crotchety, tired and disappointed old woman of the winter, and a blithe virgin-of-life: I’ll take the wrinkles thanks. Young I was once, but naive I’ve never been.
If there’s SAD for winter, is there a diagnosis for spring? Is it contagious?
Goodbye winter. Good riddance. Shower me with spring rain, let me walk in compost and estrume and adubo and the sun:- shine, warm and colour me… and watch me grow a house with my hands.
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Dear Sir/ Madam
We would like to explain Emma’s protracted absence this month, and hope for your understanding on this matter.
To start with, Emma had a cold. We cannot provide a doctor’s certificate but as we are recovering from the worst winter on record I’m sure you appreciate that a few sick days are to be expected.
We believe the cold was brought on by stress, first initiated when Emma’s old but faithful ibook refused to start up. Thus began a search for the nearest apple repairer which led to the fateful trip to Coimbra.
On the way home was when the accident occurred. In a setting of rain, congested traffic and roadworks, the driver in front braked suddenly and in reacting, Emma’s vehicle slid into oncoming traffic and collided with the another vehicle. Yes, yes, all her fault, technically. Fortunately, no excess of speed was involved, and Wookie simply slipped from the passenger’s seat onto the floor.
In service of expediency, Emma admitted fault and she and the other driver got all amicable together. It was then that Emma had the dumb idea of calling the cops. In the meantime, Emma was experiencing shock and some confusion regarding the circumstances of the accident. She stood staring at the large amount of debris on the road, particularly at a broken number plate that did not belong either to her vehicle nor to the other driver. The quantity of broken plastic and glass was most bewildering, especially the Fiat badge on a busted front grill and a discarded bumper bar. A road worker approached Emma and taking her by the shoulders, guided her back off the road. “This is the seventh accident here today. They only just finished sweeping the road after the last one,” he said.
Then Emma realized how the accident had happened. The road was as slippery as an ex-prime minister at a tribunal hearing, covered in a fine and compromising layer of dirt and oiliness. She had unwittingly ventured into an accident black spot. Bummer.
The coppers arrived. They didn´t help. They were mean, in a bad mood, and I´ve met some surly pigs in my life. Egyptian police for example; you have to carry cigarettes for them to calm them down. I encountered Turkish police after being sprung kissing in a public place, and even though I had apparently broken the law and they took us down to the station, there were quite ok, possibly a bit embarrassed as I kept asking them what they were doing at a remote lookout at midnight… was there a murderer?
But here goes the porty policia; after I so rudely interrupted their card game or something… They asked me to explain the circumstances, then banana 1 walked away, just as I started to speak. Banana 2 was not interested in looking at the scale of the debris left by other vehicles or speaking to the roadworkers on the scene. They wouldn’t even look me in the eye. B2 shouted. I replied, I´m foreign, not deaf. They made derisive remarks like “we. don’t. speak. engrish”. They accused me of excessive speed (based on what?). If they were so keen to do their job, the opportunity was there eating a doggie chew on my front seat – Wookie should have been in a box. But I surmise that these gents were as adequate at policing as they were at being decent.
But it´s just bad police PR: this behaviour I think is so very unportuguese. The other driver was embarrassed for them and within a few minutes of the police’s arrival apologised to me on their behalf. After several attempts, and despite me not holding the right bit of insurance paper, the other driver convinced me not to involve them.
Driving past the location a week later, the traffic was diverted and the same stretch of road is closed, like it was all some b-grade conspiracy movie about an hysterical blonde journalist.
Now car-less and computer-less I decide the time is right to chop off the dog’s nuts. Wookie becomes tomato-less. On a previous visit home (during houseminding) I met another 6 or 7 little wookie-poodles who may, any day, be abruptly given a new home in the wild. There are other male dogs in the village to father future furry tragedies, but at least I and mine will not be a part of it. So then, a couple of days leave-of-absence were spent passing the bag of frozen peas to the dog. I am secretly hoping that the desire to chase sheep and chickens was sexual, and has also therefore been neutered.
Speaking of home, houseminding bliss in the Ribatejo came to an end and I had to move back to the village. Nastiness awaited; my entire house went mouldy while I was away. The walls had mould, the toaster had mould, the picture frames had mould. Not just a few days were spent cleaning, scrubbing, washing, drying, painting and moving stuff in and out.
And just when I almost had the house habitable again, a film crew wanted to move me out again! They came to shoot an episode of House Hunters International, a cable show about foreigners and real estate. Naturally, with drama/disaster in my aura I took the whole filming thing like a visit from demons-past. Not only that they wanted me to re-live the whole house buying catastrophe but the ghost takes the form of the film industry and this time I am to be the instrument and not the musician, or even the composer. Warm props. Actors. Talent. Yuck.
Of course it wasn’t so bad. In fact, the crew were so adorable (hi to chris, davide & jeff, we are still missing you) that it made me want to be back in the business. They reminded me of some of the great people I worked with, and particularly of the world-wise, liberal, sharp and simpatico men the film industry has in its employ. As for the action, Mao stole the show by hiding in the stone oven just as I was trying to act out ´getting a feel for living here´ and poked him with a bread paddle. He flew out, towards camera, quite literally like a bat out of hell. Soory for the heart attack davide, but god I hope you got the shot.
Meanwhile the car is fixed and my 4 week shitfight to get a new mac is finally over (just cut to the chase and buy it from fnac, portuguese mac-people, and don’t be seduced by the price of the mac mini, as it’s a hassle and a half. The piece work then becomes cable wrangling and more whatnot. And how much is this non-mac keyboard shitting me? Just buy the macbook next time. Just buy the macbook. Just… Grr) Another few days spent unpacking boxes and searching for items lost (if filming is tolerable then try moving house and filming on the same day). But now there’s the internet connection problem. Apparently the phone line also went mouldy and PT hasn’t fixed it yet and nor do they seem interested in doing so. Usual game. It’s been said before, but when it comes to modern life, Portugal is a pain in the arse. They have the technology, they just don’t know how to work it.
Now if all that isn’t enough of an excuse, I also slipped off to Stockholm for the easter weekend to do another day’s shoot (again, super nice crew, Izzy Paul and Ray), and to hang out with some sorely missed Swedish friends. If I really could relive the house purchase, I would take a tin shed there rather than a stone chateau here anyday. Sorry tugas, but Sweden is truly utopian.
The only bad thing about going away is what I come back to. Not only did Mao abscond for 4 days of the 5, he also to broke a toe. But Wookie and I are back on track after a few months where there was no love left to lose. There’s a whole lotta brown furry love going on at my place.
So while I am not exactly online, I am at least trying to be. Standby for more, if you please.
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Coffee drinking is a serious business in Portugal. There’s no way you can come here and not have to order a coffee at some point, so here is some essential information.
These are general guidelines. No two cups of coffee will ever be identical no matter what words you use. Relax, it’s just a drink.
I’m sorry, tugas. I apologise, it’s just a sacred drink. Please go easy on me, I’m just a beginner, a humble student if you please. And please if you have some corrections, additions or some anecdotal contribution to make, be my guest.
The most popular coffee is an espresso. In Lisbon you would order um bica (oong beekuh) and in Porto um cimbalinho (oong simbalEENyo). Elsewhere um café (oong kaFEY).
There are infinite variations on how it comes, so don’t be shy about being specific about your needs. Cheia (shayuh) is a full espresso cup, tres- quartas (tresh kwartas) 3/4 full, a ristretto is called um italiano (small, strong, the first few seconds of the machine’s coffee). You could ask for it não quente (nowng kent; not hot;) and they’ll put a dash of cold water in it for you.
In this pic (below) there is um italiano (top), um bica (right) and um cortado (left). In Portugal a cortado is a standard measure from the ‘small cup’ button on the machine, not to be confused with a spanish cortado (cut with milk, see below).
Staying with the small cup theme, your poison may be um pingo (oong pingoo) also called um pingado (oong pingardoo); an espresso with a drop of milk (sometimes hot milk, sometimes not). Um garoto (below, left) has more milk; about 50/50 coffee-to-milk ratio but still in a small cup. In Spain this is known as a corto or a cortado. In Australia it’s a piccolo caffe latte. Uma carioca (below, right) is the opposite of a ristretto – a full small cup minus the strongest first two seconds of an espresso.
For a long black, or a large black coffee, you would order um abatanado. This could be also called um café americano, but ordering an americano may get you an instant coffee in some places. If that’s what you want then order um nescafe. If you’d like a double espresso, order um café duplo (oong kafEY DOOploo)
Going the milky way, um galão (oong galowng) is served in a tall glass and is about 3/4 milk. Traditionally a galão is made with a second passing of coffee from the machine and is very weak. If you want something more like a caffe latte than coffee flavoured milk, order a um galão directo (deeretoo). You can also ask for a dark one escuro (eshkooroo) or a light one claro (klaroo). Ordering a galão after midday will provoke funny looks, unless you’re over 80. It’s either for breakfast or it’s a nanna’s drink. You might save face by ordering uma meia de leite (maya de late) which is half milk in a regular cup, like a flat white in Australia. But like my half-Australian buddy, you could try ordering a layer de mate, mate
Special thanks to frogdropping for her impeccable production assistance in the rain and everything.
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