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A Wandering Heart, Santiago de Compostela (2026)

15/07/2024

Every day is a good day in Portugal, but some days stand above the rest. This past Saturday, we met some dear friends at one of the many festivals that crowd the summer schedule in Braga. This time, it was the Vinho Verde Fest (green wine festival).

There was absolutely nothing to not love about this day. The weather was spectacular; cool and breezy, skies dotted with lazy puffs of clouds. The fest was crowded with wine lovers (basically every resident of Portugal), all milling about and enjoying samples of many vineyards.

In a turn of luck, the favorite watering hole/living room of the immigrant community in Braga, a lovely bar called 43 São Marcos Street, was also hosting their one-year celebration. None in our party can turn down a slice of cake, so we ambled over there and parked ourselves at a street-side table as the sun was setting.

At some point, a group of strolling troubadours from Porto happened along and serenaded us. Drink flowed. Laughter echoed off the tiled storefronts along the narrow street. For a few hours, this was the center of the universe.

02/11/2023

This is a story about life in Portugal. It's about pride in one's work. It's about nachos.

It was just after noon, and mid-day peckishness had set in. After the usual discussion, Angela and I decided that I'd pop over to a local cervejaria and pick up lunch.

We used to order using Glovo, a food delivery app, but a while back, the manager at this particular place (Cervejaria F by the Tribunal for my Braga peeps) advised me that it'd be cheaper to order in person and avoid the app surcharge. People are like that here. If there's a cheaper way to get something, be it hot wings or medications, the person serving you will almost always point it out. That's nice enough on its own.

I popped down the street to place the order. The manager greeted me with a hearty handshake, as he always does, and generally made me feel like a long-lost friend who turned up out of the blue. I got us some wings, a salad, an order of nachos, and two beers. He let me know that the large bottle of Chimay beer was cheaper than two regular ones, and slightly larger as well.

After a short wait, during which I drank my complimentary shot of their house-made liqueur, he brought me my order and an explanation. He advised me that he had been careful not to put any of the customary sauces, such a sour cream or guacamole, directly on the chips because then they wouldn't be crispy when I got home. Nice, right?

I walked home through a sunny break in the recent rain and unpacked. Sure enough, all the wet bits had been placed in their own recycled and recyclable little paper containers, and sealed with a little plastic wrap to prevent leakage. The whole thing was so carefully put-together that I almost didn't want to unwrap it.

I ask you, American friends, when was the last time you saw someone put this sort of care and, for the lack of a better word, pride, into something as simple as a to-go lunch order? And it wasn't a one-off, either. Almost everyone we deal with takes their job, no matter how seemingly menial, very seriously. They give their all to it. It's not a bad way to live.

(Pic from the same spot, back in the summer)

02/10/2023

Wow, it's been ages since we posted anything on this page. Fortunately, this is a classic case of no news = good news.

It has been exactly one year since we were handed the keys to our new home in Braga and began our journey here. Yesterday, a friend asked if we had any regrets. The only one I could come up with is that we didn't make the move sooner!

Yesterday was a fine example of why we're so charmed by living here. We got up at the crack of (pre) dawn and met our friends Rajan and Scott in a Makro parking lot to board a bus for a day of touring Santiago de Compostela, Spain that ended with a mussel tasting cruise on the bay at the town of O Grove in Galicia.

Santiago is a gorgeous city of sandstone-colored edifices. It's a pilgrimage destination, where thousands of the faithful wind up each year when hiking one of several Caminhos de Santiago paths that fan out from the city across Europe.

The big draw is the cathedral, which is glorious, but we found the whole old part of the city to be incredibly charming. Plus, there was tapas. Winning!

After leaving Santiago, we took an hour's bus ride to O Grove, a charming city on the Atlantic with a wide, calm bay. The water is dotted for as far as you can see with floating platforms made of lashed timbers that are used as mussel cultivation farms. Each timber is strung with hundreds of strands of rope, and apparently mussels attach themselves to the ropes in droves. After about a year and a half, they're ready to pull up, pluck off, and send to the market.

Oh em gee, are they delicious! They came around and gave each table a tray of them. We were all being very polite and civilized, taking one or two and nibbling on them. Then came another tray, and another. By the end, it became an out-and-out gorge-fest. We finally had to turn away another batch.

It was an incredible day; balmy and breezy, and we left with our senses fully sated from all the art, history, food, and good friends. And for all the exotic locales we visited, we were never more than 2 hours or so from home. So yes, to say we're feeling smug about our choice of home city would be putting it mildly.

20/05/2023

After a few days away from my PC, here's the second of the promised "walking about town" posts from last weekend.

A couple of friends were visiting the UK last week, and we offered to look in on their plants and make sure all was well in their absence. Little did they know, it was mostly a ruse designed to give me more chances to explore Braga on foot!

Our neighborhood is cozy and has a tremendous number of convenient services. There are a couple of great bakeries on our block, some restaurants, and even a supermarket directly across the street! For livability, it's hard to beat. However, it's not what you would class as quaint - possibly owing to the fact that it was built in the 1980s.

Braga being Braga, that old, historic, and marvelously decrepit city center is only about a five-minute walk from our door, however. Along the way, there are some older apartment buildings that hail from perhaps the 1950s - 70s, all sporting variations on the ubiquitous Portuguese tile walls. One of these (photos below) is a particular favorite of mine. The draw, in this case, is not necessarily the architecture, but rather all the trees surrounding it, and the lush front gardens.

About halfway through my walk, the street took a dog-leg turn and narrowed into one of the truly old thoroughfares. The buildings here were much older, generally more decrepit, with incredible detailing. I now want a hand-shaped door knocker really badly.

Just past the parish church of São Victor, for which our neighborhood is named, I turned onto an even narrower, older side street. The restored houses crowded along the pavement were absolutely adorable, dressed in a dizzying variety of tile facades.

I hadn't noticed this before, but the sidewalks in our neighborhood were made of traditional calçada Portuguesa (paving stones in mosaic designs), while the streets are standard asphalt or concrete. In this old part of the city, it was reversed, with beautiful cobblestone streets and simple, super-narrow, concrete sidewalks. I made a mental note to compare other parts of town for a possible emerging pattern!

It was also along this part of the walk that I came across a sight that will be familiar to anyone who has spent more than 10 minutes in Portugal - a brace of ruined houses. For a complex web of reasons, houses that have been passed down through generations in this property-rich country frequently find themselves falling prey to the forces of time, gravity, rain, and fire, to the point that they're essentially a pile of bricks and rubble. There's something very compelling about the extreme decay. I can say that, because it's not next door to our apartment. ;-)

In the fifteen minutes it took me to go from door to door, I had passed through several centuries of history. It's the sort of variety that drew us to this city in the first place, and that keeps us endlessly fascinated.

15/05/2023

I did a bit of walking around town this weekend. The weather has been spectacular, and it's nearly impossible to stay indoors. Here's what Braga looks and feels like on a gorgeous spring day...

On Saturday, I took the river walk along the Rio Este, which flows just a couple blocks from our apartment. Calling it "rio" is a bit grandiose, as it's more of what I'd call a creek. Regardless, the city has built a lovely set of paths along it, lined at intervals with parks and sport complexes and the like.

The thing that stuck me on my stroll was how ludicrously wholesome this city seems. I passed a group of kids comparing tricks at the skateboard park. Right next to them, what appeared to be a mariachi band was practicing, in full regalia.

There were couples canoodling on blankets, a volleyball tournament underway at the sport center, and lots of families out taking in the beautiful weather. I even passed a group of teenagers who were seated in a circle, holding hands and singing.

As I moved upstream and away from the crowds, the trail narrowed, and the river became more overgrown. At one point, I spied a guy sitting below the trail, on a large rock by the water. I don't know how long it will take before my American radar for nefarious activity will stop throwing false alarms, but I was immediately suspicious. I cut my eyes around at him quickly, only to discover that he was carving a small block of wood into animal shapes. Seriously. Carving.

Throughout my stroll through this idyllic playland, did it once occur to me to pull out my phone? Of course not. Okay, once, on the way home, to document a wide spot in the river.

Anyway, this is getting long and ramble-y, so I'll stop here and talk about my Sunday walk in the next post. I promise it'll have a lot more photos.

09/05/2023

SEF appointments... what a long, strange trip it's been.

For those not familiar with the process of moving to Portugal, there are several milestones on the road to gaining residency. The first is applying for your visa. It can be confusing, and there are a lot of moving parts to an application. It's generally the step that causes the most grief among applicants. It took us quite a while to complete our applications, but we managed it without undue stress.

Milestone two is being approved for the visa, and having it inserted into your passport. This one wasn't totally smooth for us, but it went fairly quickly, and (except for needing to return to the US to get the actual visas affixed) it was fairly straightforward.

The third milestone is having an appointment with SEF, the Portuguese Immigration and Borders Service. They review your documents in-person in Portugal to make sure you meet the requirements for residency, and if so, they mail your residency card a few weeks (or months) later.

This is where our journey took an abrupt turn from a paved road to a bumpy cobblestone track.

Your appointment with SEF is generally set up in the system when they issue the visa. In fact, most visas have a custom web address printed on them that takes you to your appointment page on the SEF website. Even though we applied at the same time and are together in every sense, my appointment was set for April 5 in Lisbon. Angela's wasn't until May 2 in Viana do Castelo, a seaside town about a half hour from where we live.

I dutifully got on a train from Braga to Lisbon before dawn on April 5. After a 3.5-hour ride to the city center and an Uber to the suburb of Odivelas, I discovered that SEF had gone on strike that morning, and the office was closed for the day. I muttered some phrases I won't repeat here, but mostly I chalked it up to experience and headed home after a nice lunch with my friend Sergio.

Others who had been through a SEF strike advised me to sit tight and wait for the email that I'd been automatically rescheduled. So, I did. That meant religiously checking my email spam folders, trash folder, etc. every day to make sure the message wasn't weeded out. I also checked the website every couple of days in case they notified me that way.

For days, nothing.

Then on April 18, I finally saw a new appointment listed on the website. Yessss!! When was it? April 15. Nooooo!!!! Somehow, they didn't notify me until after the appointment had passed. So, what next?

Some people have had luck going with a spouse or partner when they had their appointment and asking to be included in the process. This is where I began to be happy that Angela's appointment was so far after mine.

On May 2, we got a car to Viana do Castelo to try and put it all to bed. I explained the situation to the guy doing SEF check-ins at the door of the small office, and he said he'd ask if they could see me along with Angela. I explained again when she was called into the office, and the lady processing her nodded and asked me to wait outside until Angela was finished.

The good part was that her appointment was very quick - maybe 20 minutes, and she was ready to pay and leave. I nosed my way back in at that point, and once again asked politely if they could take me as well. The SEF agent asked if I had an appointment, and after a huge mental sigh that I tried hard to keep off my face, I said no, and told her the whole story. She just shook her head and said sorry, but if I didn't have an appointment somewhere in the country for that day, there was absolutely no way they could see me.

My inner American wondered what sort of twisted system has full access to nation-wide records, but only on the day the applicant was scheduled to be seen. I have learned, however, not to try and apply logic where bureaucracies are concerned. Down that road lies only madness.

Better to nod and agree when I was advised to keep calling the main SEF number until I got through and book a new appointment that way. The agent and I had a good laugh about that. Nobody knows how tangled and opaque SEF systems are better than their employees. It's possible to call them hundreds of times without getting through once. I won't lie, although I was ecstatic that Angela had been approved so easily, I was fairly dejected on my own behalf.

On the way home, Angela mentioned that she'd seen an immigration attorney being discussed on our local Braga expats Facebook group, and that maybe I should give her a call and see if anything could be done.

And right there, our story turns back out onto fresh, smooth pavement. The attorney agreed to help. All I had to do was purchase a document review package of services, and they would include making the appointment for me as part of it. It's never a bad idea to have another set of eyes look over the mountain of paperwork, and for 300 euros, I thought it was a reasonable deal.

Within hours, they had not only booked me a new appointment for the next week, but had gotten it in Braga as well - a 5-minute ride from our front door! We went this morning, and after a short wait, I had my interview. If anything, it was even faster than Angela's.

Now, we are finally both entered in the system, and awaiting the mail delivery person to bring our prizes in the form of two beautiful residency permit cards.

There you have it. Easy-peasy. Nothin' to it.

23/04/2023

If you've followed many expat bloggers, you have no doubt heard the stories of healthcare in Portugal as experienced through American eyes. And here I am to add another!

It starts with me, standing 1m up on a stepladder, trying to drill picture rail holes in our bedroom wall - one that happens to be an exterior wall, and therefore incredibly hard to drill through.

There was grunting, pressure applied the drill, and suddenly feet in the air, the ladder tipping, and utter chaos. The next thing I know, I'm lying on the floor, legs akimbo, wondering what the hell happened. This was followed quickly by the sinking feeling that things were not right at all with my bod.

A few ibuprofen and ice packs later, I realized that my right heel was messed up something fierce. I couldn't put pressure on it at all, and it was starting to bruise. My shoulder also sported one mother of an abrasion, and the purple was rising rapidly there as well.

Being a stoic dude-type, I toughed it out overnight, hoping that I'd wake to a calmer situation. By morning, it was obvious that the opposite was happening. I consulted Dr. Google, who informed me that indeed, you can break your heel, and it's kind of a big deal if you do. So, I decided to haul my butt to the local private hospital ER to get a professional opinion.

In the US, I'd have thought long and hard about dealing with the ER, especially on a Saturday. The crowding, the long wait, and the very real chance of contracting COVID just from breathing the same air as the rest of the masses would definitely have been topmost in my mind. In Braga, the experience could not have been more different.

First off, I was literally the only patient there. It took all of 1 minute to get checked in and explain my problem to the enthusiastic receptionist who spoke very little English. We managed to cobble together a Portuglish conversation, and she told me that a doc would see me soon.

Five minutes later, I was chatting with a very nice doc who had a quick look at my foot, typed furiously on her computer with two fingers (I've never seen a faster hunt-and-peck typist), and led me to the X-ray department for some foot photos.

A nurse took me to a changing room and had me exchange my sandals for some paper booties, while exclaiming "sorry for my English." From a back room I heard two voices chorus "ooh, my English!" We all had a good laugh.

The X-rays were a quick affair, and ten minutes later the doctor motioned for me to come back to her office. The first words out of her mouth were, "nothing broken!" Relief. She sent me out with a prescription for some anti-inflammatories and told me to stay off it as much as possible for several days.

The entire affair lasted about 45 minutes. The cost, with our very affordable private insurance policy, was around 40 bucks, US.

Now I'm sure that it might have been a very different experience at the public hospital, and this was a pretty minor emergency, as they go. Still, I would not hesitate to return to the ER post-haste if (perish the thought) something else happened. I may be walking with a limp for the next few days, but it won't be for lack of good care.

15/04/2023

It's that time of year again! Everything is blooming, and all around Braga the local farms are starting to produce. We stopped by the municipal market this morning for a few things, and it was insanely busy! Gorgeous fruits and vegetables of all sorts were on display, along with cured meats, cheeses, a full section of incredibly fresh fish, live animals, and plants.

On top of that, Braga has done a particularly good job of redeveloping the old outdoor market, glassing it in and providing great all-season coverage for the vendors and shoppers alike.

27/02/2023

We took advantage of a gorgeous Sunday to visit a spot that we hadn't seen yet. The sanctuary of Our Lady of Sameiro watches over Braga from atop a nearby mountain. In addition to the dining basilica itself, the views of the city are incredible!

At luck would have it, while we were inside, we ran into a couple of new friends who are considering moving to Braga from Lisbon, so it was a double treat.

23/02/2023

For some people, coffee is recreational. For others, it's medicinal. Apparently, the latter group hold sway here in Portugal.

One of my American habits that I used to hold dear was sitting with a cup of hot coffee in the morning, sipping contentedly while I welcomed the day. That sort of drinking requires a largish mug, filled to the rim with black gold. Not only does that provide the necessary quantity of coffee for a good half hour of slow drinking, it also ensures that the contents don't cool off quickly.

In Portugal, ordering "um café" will net you a tiny cup of syrupy espresso. It's great, don't get me wrong. We've taken to finishing every meal with it. When you're looking to linger over a cuppa for a while, however, this will not do.

It's the difference between sipping a nice Bordeaux and slamming tequila shots until you hit the floor. Remind me not to go drinking with my new Portuguese friends.

11/02/2023

Apparently, spring has quite nearly sprung already here in Braga. We're still getting used to zone 10 living!

A Wandering Heart

15/07/2024

02/11/2023

02/10/2023

20/05/2023

15/05/2023

09/05/2023

23/04/2023

15/04/2023

27/02/2023

23/02/2023

11/02/2023

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