If you scroll down this blog a ways, right above the “Top Ten Things We Love About Portugal” list, you’ll see the image to the right:

The truth is, today, we kinda might actually now be inclined to make an entry for Number One, entitled: “The Portuguese Bureaucracy.”

Although “hate” is probably too strong a word. While we’ve occasionally been flummoxed, led astray, or put in a chokehold while navigating the Portuguese Bureaucracy, we’ve mostly dealt with it with some degree of bemusement. This is because A) We’re guests here right now, so we’re not about to complain about our host especially when everything else is pretty much paradise, B) Some of the confusion can be attributed to the language and cultural barriers, and C) I give Portugal a lot of grace because despite the fact that it’s Europe’s oldest country, it actually is a relatively young country in terms of government, because they didn’t throw the yoke of their dictatorship off until the 1970’s. So they’re still figuring some of this stuff out.

My latest plunge into the bureaucratic morass involved getting a Portuguese driver’s license. I did a search online to see what I had to do and where I should do it. Searching in Google with the term: “documents needed for a portuguese driver’s license” gave me the following top result:

So I looked up where the closest “IMT,” or “Instituto da Mobilidade e dos Transportes” office was (their version of the DMV), and after dutifully filling out the IMT Modelo 13 form and gathering up the other documents, I confidently walked in and took the obligatory number (even though it was in metric, I still understood it), and waited about 20 minutes (which is a helluva lot less time than I usually wait for the DMV, even in metric time), after which I found myself in front of a reasonably pleasant government worker who spoke no English whatsoever.

That was fine, because I can say, “How are you?” and “Lunch was delicious,” and “There is a dog in my pants,” so we were able to muddle through, well, really to nowhere. I actually do know how to say, “I only speak and understand a little Portuguese, so can you please speak slowly?” in Portuguese. After I said that, she proceeded to repeat whatever she had just said, only slightly faster.

After it was clear I would not be able to understand her, and in turn, she had no interest in finding out why there was a dog in my pants, she called in another employee who knew English. He translated for us, delivering the unfortunate news that out of the four documents I had, only one of them was actually necessary, and that I would need three completely different ones that Google neglected to mention, one of which is a doctor’s note that I’m healthy enough to drive. The IMT Modelo 13 form was tossed dismissively to the side: “You don’t need that.”

Google clearly is just as flummoxed with Portuguese bureaucracy as we are.

Another document I was told I needed is a certification that my current US driver’s license is valid. When I asked where I could get such a thing (especially since in the US the driver’s license itself is generally considered enough proof of its validity, so I had no idea what they were talking about), they indicated that they, too, had no idea.

They want me to get a document I’ve never heard of, and they have no idea where I can get such a thing. Huh.

They did suggest maybe that I could contact the US embassy in Portugal to find out. So I did, because we’ve gotten to know them pretty well since we’ve had to get our fingerprints retaken and then taken again for a form to get our visas, and ohmigod I was going to write about that too but now this entry is already too long and my head hurts just thinking about that bureaucratic mess, part of which is the US’s fault. And the US has a 200 year head start on Portugal with its government bureaucracy. Anyway, our embassy helpfully responded that I needed to go to our state capitol and get an “Abstract of Driving Record,” duly certified by the Secretary of State with an apostile, which is kind of like an international notarization. (It’s a little known fact that Jesus needed twelve of those to get into heaven, because when you have an infinitely old bureaucracy, the necessary paperwork is ungodly.) What? Oh. Aposteeel. Not apostle. Okay, nevermind. Although I’m sure he only had to fill out form 09834-B and write a short essay about what it means to be in heaven for eternity, which, as we all know, is a very long time, even in metric.

So, in order to get a Portuguese driver’s license, which they require me to have after being in Portugal for six months, I have to fly back to the US to get a document first.

I fear there are too few of us Americans who are emigrating to Portugal to make a business out of this, but I remember when I moved into a new home, a helpful company provided a basket with all sorts of local coupons and information about the area. That would be a nice thing to have for a move like this.

Unfortunately, what’s true is that the documents required can sometimes vary from office to office. It literally wouldn’t surprise me if I went into another IMT office only to hear that they want four completely different documents. I’ve seen that very thing in action, trust me. After flying back to the US and getting that certification, I’m going to return to the IMT and take ten numbers from the number-dispensing machine and refuse to talk to anyone else except the woman I saw, despite our language barrier. She wrote down what I needed by hand, and by God, I’m going to hold her to it and not risk having someone else change the rules. I may even get an apostile on her note before I go back in.

In the end, my answer to the Google query would be, “Go to your local IMT office and ask them before you do anything.”

That’s the best advice you’ll ever get if you’re an American trying to switch to a Portuguese driver’s license.

 

After driving in Portugal for the last ten months or so (I can’t believe it has been that long!), I think I finally understand A) Why they drive so crazy and B) Why it actually makes sense.

The Swedish-born husband of our attorney says, “The Portuguese are so nice… until they get behind the wheel of a car, and then they turn into devils!”

It’s true. I’ve puzzled over that incongruity every time I’ve been on the road grimacing at the pesky motorcycles who weave in and out of traffic like flies in a windstorm, enduring the honks of irritated drivers if I take too long to make a right turn, and being startled by a car passing me on the left who wasn’t even in my rearview mirror two seconds before.

But now I get it. And it’s a system that actually works. Here’s my analysis as to why:

There are very few traffic cops. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a police car just sitting on the side of the road, ready to pounce on a traffic scofflaw. I’m not sure they even own radar guns. Either they decided they just don’t need them, or they can’t afford them. Either way, as a result, Portuguese society has apparently decided everyone will drive under a certain set of unwritten rules. And when virtually everyone agrees to a set of rules, who needs cops?

First of all, there are really no speed limit signs. On the freeways, you’ll see three different speed signs on the three lanes, with the left being the fastest and the right being the slowest. Trust me, if you actually drove in the left lane at the speed indicated, you’d quickly have a line of very irritated drivers behind you, their horns sounding like rabid geese, flashing their brights like they were transporting a woman in the final stages of labor. They would then pass you on the right making sure they swerved back in front of you within two centimeters of your bumper. Got the message yet buddy?

And so the meaning of those speed signs is actually: “Here are comparative speeds only.” In other words, if someone is driving 160 km/hr on the left, and you’re doing 140 km/hr (which is about 86 mph), you sure as hell better not be doing it in the left lane, despite the fact that in the US, it would net you a pretty hefty ticket. It’s not too out of line to say you can almost double most posted speed numbers to set proper expectations of actual speeds.

And you know what? It works. Everyone understands it, and they don’t need any cops to hand out speeding tickets.

According to a study conducted by the University of Michigan, Portugal has 12 road crashes per 100,000 population, while the US has 14. So even though they’re driving the freeways at 100 MPH, have no cops to keep things under control, and sometimes seem to drive like maniacs, they actually crash less per person than in the US.

In addition, our car insurance is about 33 euros a month. If memory serves, that’s a fair amount less than half of what we were paying in the US. If accidents were far more prevalent in Portugal, one would assume that out of all things, insurance would be the first place to reflect that.

Here’s how I think they accomplish all this:

There is a cultural/social agreement that everyone understands the following rules. If you violate these norms, someone will essentially feel obligated to let you know about it via their horn. So in a sense, the rules of the road are enforced by public shaming, with no hesitance to let you know when you’ve done something wrong.

The ten agreements I’ve observed are as follows:

1. The fastest drivers go on the left. If you’re not passing, you better be all the way on the right.
2. Use roundabouts properly.
3. If a pedestrian enters a crosswalk (zebra), stop to let them cross. Immediately. Slam on the brakes if you have to.
4. If a pedestrian tries to cross even a parking lot without being in a zebra, they’re fair game. You can even speed up to scare the hell out of them if you want.
5. There are no speed limits.
6. Motorcyclists can drive any way they want. They’re the ones who are going to lose in a crash anyway. Just watch out for them before you switch lanes.
7. Being polite and letting people into a line is very much appreciated. Not all of them do it, but I’ve received numerous gracious waves anytime I’ve done it, and I’ve seen it done far more often than in the US.
8. You can drive on the shoulder, or up on a sidewalk, or through a hedge to get around someone waiting to make a left hand turn.
9. Don’t be stupid.
10. Honk at anyone who violates any of the above.

That’s it. It’s all self-policing. Most everyone agrees to these things, and everyone drives with this knowledge.

Of course, without risk of fines (only of death and gruesome dismemberment I suppose), there are those who drive a little crazy. That’s to be expected. But because everyone understands the rules above, they don’t pose nearly the risk to themselves or other drivers as they would in the US.

I understand that none of this would work in the US, because the US doesn’t have a singular cultural mentality like Portugal. Unfortunately, this difference means that in the US, there is more of the idea that you try to get away with things while trying not to get caught. It’s all about dodging the authorities. In Portugal, it’s all about dodging the ire of everyone else on the road. Ironically, I think their more aggressive driving is a byproduct of a more congenial society. And in a way, it’s like every other driver is a cop.

The US can’t really get to the same place because there’s a big difference between pulling back fines, enforcement, and the omnipresence of the police, versus adding all of that to a system largely without them. If you eliminate the reliance on authority the US has, chaos would probably ensue. But if you don’t have it in the first place and self-policing is already entrenched, then, once you get used to a little bit of the craziness, it all starts to make sense.

 

When learning Portuguese, I use a lot of mnemonics to help me remember specific words. Mnemonics are really helpful. For instance, if –ironically– you can’t remember the word “mnemonics,” you can use the following process:

Mnemonics feeds the brain, so think of eating M&M’s. Except M&M’s aren’t all that nutritious so we have to bump it over a letter, which turns it into “M&N,” giving us an easy-to-remember first two letters of the word.

Playing a game with only two letters reminds us of Sesame Street, which has Big Bird, who is sort of like an emu, but because ignorant little kids watch it they probably spell it with an “o,” so now we have “emo,” which gives us “M-n-emo,” so far. All of that might be a little confusing, so we might want to nix it, but no! We can’t! So we just misspell “nix” a little instead, which adds “nics” to the word, and there you have it!

To be honest, some mnemonics work better than others.

Also, I’ve found that it works better with Portuguese words because no one can understand what we’re saying anyway.

In any case, to me, Alentejo sounds a lot like “Allen ties his shoe.” Of course, every time I say that, Carolyn tells me to put a sock in it.

Portugal is about the size of Indiana, although it has about 11 million people compared to Indiana’s 6.6 million. I did a search on Things to Do in Indiana. Other than Indianapolis, it’s, uh, well, let’s just say there’s a lot more to see and do in Portugal. So every now and then we take a road trip to see more of it. This was just a two day/one night venture, since it’s only about a two to three hour drive from our home.

Alentejo is a section of Portugal, sort of like a state or county is in the US, and accounts for almost 30% of the area of Portugal while only having 5.1% of the population. That’s because it’s just a whole lot of nothing. To be fair, there are lots of rolling fields with a ton of agriculture, mostly consisting of corn, olives, grapes, and cork trees. But nothing cool, like amusement parks, grand canyons, or the world’s largest ball of twine.

However, nestled among the sparse population are some cool castles and other sites, as you’ll see below. On our short adventure, we saw the oldest thing a human eye can see, one of the oldest decorations a human being has ever created, and a whole bunch of extremely dead people.

Monsaraz

Monsaraz is one of the oldest Portuguese settlements in southern Portugal, having been occupied since pre-history, which is usually right after English Lit. The Monsaraz Castle was an important military base due to its proximity to Spain and commanding view of the surrounding countryside. The views from there are impressive, allowing for a 360 degree field of view about as far as the eye can see.

 

We were shown this galaxy (Andromeda) through a telescope outside during an entertaining two-hour hands-on tutorial, although to be honest it looked more like a smudge than what you see here. We also saw the Great Globular in Hercules (aka M13), which lies 25,000 light-years from Earth and contains up to 300,000 stars.

Just to make you realize how really, really, really, really big the universe is, there are about 100,000,000,000 stars in the Milky Way, where we live. Scientists estimate that there are 100,000,000,000 galaxies in the known universe (I think scientists just like saying “one hundred billion”).

It would take you almost 32 years of continuous counting to count to one billion, and that’s without sleep. And God help you if you lose your place at 839,432,012. “Dammit! I have to start all over again!”

Accordingly, you’d have to have start counting every second of every day since the time of the Egyptian Pharaohs to count every star in just our one galaxy. If you wanted to count all the stars in the universe, well, that’s about 10,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 stars, give or take one or two or 20 billion. This is the reason mathematicians and scientists calculate that there is virtually no chance that we have the only planet in the universe with life on it. Otherwise, that’d be like putting a guppy in an otherwise lifeless ocean and telling him to have a ball… and not to get too lonely!

While we drive in a new area, we like to stop anytime we see signs indicating a castle or any other historical monument. Sometimes they don’t pan out all that great, like this one, which was just an empty field inside the walls. Here are two of the only shots we bothered with: taking pictures of each other at the same time.

Another of these random stops featured neolithic remains of megalithic monuments. The Neolithic era began about 15,200 BC and ended somewhere between 4500 and 2000 BC, which was just a little bit before the last time Donald Trump ever read a book.

What was so genius about the people of the Neolith was their unique ability to grow rocks. They planted this entire rock garden knowing they wouldn’t reach full maturity for many thousands of years. Today, we don’t know what to do with them, so we just look at them. They probably provide some secret of the universe –or perhaps make a terrific rock soup– but now we’re too stupid to figure it out.

Evora

The next day, on the way back from Monseraz, we stopped in the town of Evora, which has a historical center with some Roman ruins (currently under refurbishment so we didn’t get to see them), a castle and church, and the famous Chapel of Bones.

I’ll dispense with the usual pithy wordplay on each picture, and just show the highlight photos from that visit, followed by dem bones dem bone, dem dry bones…

The Chapel of Bones

In the 16th century, they started getting tired of using up good land to bury people. While most put them into mausoleums and the like, the monks who ran this church decided to put them on display in order to “provide a helpful place to meditate on the transience of material things in the undeniable presence of death.” This is made clear by the thought-provoking message above the chapel door: “Nós ossos que aqui estamos, pelos vossos esperamos,” which means: “We bones are here, waiting for yours.” We almost knew how to translate most of that on our own, although I was sort of stuck at: “Our bones are here, but yours are experiments.” I couldn’t figure out why they’d say that.

About 5,000 people contributed their skeletal remains to the project (most of them unwittingly, I presume). Barring a major calamity, I’m certain it will be the largest number of human remains either of us will ever see in our lifetimes.

 

 

I’ve been asked that question more than a few times. When all you know is work, retirement can seem a pretty foreign concept.

I guess it’s best described as a permanent vacation. You wake up when you want, and do whatever you want… pretty much every single day. Everything just sort of blurs together; on most days, I have absolutely no idea what day it is.

But people shouldn’t retire without some interests or things to do. I mean, The Price is Right is definitely worth spending 8-10 hours a day watching, but after a couple of years of that, well, you’ll probably see nothing but caskets dancing in front of your mushed-out brain. At least you’ll have a good guess as to what they’re worth. I doubt they even show it in Portugal, but if they do have a Portuguese version, the prices would be in euros for heaven’s sake. Who can guess prices in euros? So, with our first choice off the table, we decided to take up some hobbies.

One of which for me is doing a bit of gardening. I think it’s a good idea to know how to grow your own food, and the Portuguese climate seems very fertile for growing. Most of our neighbors have crops of some sort in their yard. We have mostly rocks and concrete in ours, so I set up a table (which is handy because I don’t have to bend over), and planted corn, tomatoes, melons, spinach, and peppers. Being retired means I can tend to them every day, and I already have at least a dozen regular tomatoes growing on a single plant, with a bunch more cherry tomato plants on its heels.

I also bought myself a telescope. The air here is so clear and it’s almost always cloudless (we do get mist once in a while; we are very close to the ocean after all). And of course the air is warm so you can be out at midnight without a coat and enjoy the stars. Thus far, the moon is too bright to see some of the planets and galaxies I want to see, but it allowed for some great shots of the moon, shown here at the right. I also posted some at the bottom of this blog entry.

Otherwise, duh, I have this blog. (Trust me, it takes me a lot longer to write it than you to read it. Especially since so many people I know just read the headline and maybe look at some of the pictures. I know I’m providing for a lost art: reading. Congratulations, though, you’ve proven to be a reader. Now we can make fun of all of those other people. Most of them have breath that smell of cod and wear ill-fitting shoes. Ha!)

Personally, I still read a lot of news. The U.S.’s political situation has devolved into a 24/7 reality show, which makes sense because we elected a reality show host as President. I’m about ready to try to find a no-politics filter though, because it has become really very tiresome; although that comes at the risk of being exposed to more news about the Kardashians. I’m not sure which is worse.

I also take long walks and get workouts ala our Wii Fit. It’s a pretty good program that not only provides yoga with a balance board –so there’s no way to cheat and have your balance off– but it also works up a sweat with runs and balance games and boxing and more.

And let’s not forget our Portuguese lessons. We meet with our tutor once a week, but we also try to get on memrise.com once a day in order to enjoy a half hour or so of the computer telling us how bad our memory is.

And that doesn’t even take into account our occasional forays to the beach where we can watch great sunsets like this, as well as our explorations of Portugal. We haven’t even thought about getting to the rest of Europe yet, one of our main reasons for coming here.

What’s amazing is that with just those limited number of things to do, there are many days when we just can’t get to them all. That said, it’s not like we’re running from one thing to the next out of fear of a boss breathing down our necks. Especially since in between some of those activities there’s always the heavenly naps. And laying by the pool. Man, all of a sudden I’m tired recounting all of this! I think it might be time for a nap.

Now that I’m all rested again, I will add that Carolyn was so happy to get her old reliable sewing machine delivered in good shape with the rest of our stuff from Oregon. She hemmed all the drapes (when do you haw by the way?) and made some pillows as well as a special outfit for me to wear while watching the stars. I guess she has a ways to go on that one.

She has also taken up painting with acrylics. She wants me to emphasize that these are her very first efforts, and were only posted with a very reluctant blessing. I mean, this is the first time she’s even picked up a brush to create a painting. I may be prejudiced, but I think she has some talent! We’ll revisit a few dozen or hundred paintings from now, but I’m confident that her art will grace our home in no time.

She also stays very busy keeping the house pristine. She’s a laundry-hanging maniac now too, which is funny because she was so insistent on having a dryer when we moved over here. I suppose when you live in rainy Oregon, hanging out clothes just isn’t an option. But in sunny Portugal, it saves money and energy, and it’s a lot easier on the clothes. Plus, when you’re retired, you have all the time in the world!

Which is one of the best things about retirement. Now, no matter what we do, we take our time. It used to be that I would maximize every second of my time with every little task at hand. For instance, if I was dragging a garden hose across the lawn and it caught, I would tug and pull and do everything I could to avoid walking back toward where it caught to untangle it first, even at the risk of tearing the hose apart. Now, I just meander back, unstick it, smell some roses (well, tomatoes) and meander back to the front of the hose as if I had all the time in the world. Which I do, I guess until they bury me in one of those “$6,250 dollars Bob!” caskets.

(In the meantime, I have plenty of time to take pictures of sunsets and the moon!)

When we were first arranging to come here, people would ask me what my greatest fear about it all was.

The answer was about my ability to learn Portuguese. I figured I could handle whatever else would be thrown at me. You just figure it out or ask someone or make your best guess and move on. But learning a new language is really the first time I’ve tried to force my brain to learn something completely new and major in decades. In business, you learn things bit by bit. It’s a slow process of accumulation. But when learning a new language, you’re being asked to memorize completely new stuff over and over again.

Even though the famous language struggles of the Chinese make me feel a little better about it all, thus far, I’ve discovered my fear wasn’t unfounded. I am often exposed to a new word in Portuguese and then ten seconds later am asked to repeat it. And it’s just not there. It’s like I never heard it. After three, four, or sometimes ten times, it starts to sink in. And that’s just one word!

Then they ask me to string a bunch of words together to form a sentence. There don’t seem to be many rules about what goes where and why. The Portuguese just put it in a certain order and you’re supposed to just remember it, not try to figure out why.

They also throw in these “o’s” and “a’s” from out of the blue. “This is my dog” translates to: “este é o meu cão.” Where the hell did that “o” come from? It’s just my cow –er dog! Este meu cao! That’s it! I don’t need no damn “o” providing some sort of exclamation! He’s a lousy dog anyway, he doesn’t deserve an “o.” Actually, we don’t have a dog right now. I miss having a dog, which translates to: “Sinto falta de um cão.” Where’s the “o” now homies?

On top of all that, every noun is either male or female, which is common in lots of languages. But why? Who the hell came up with that bright idea? And why is “ovo” (egg) a male noun? And “guerra” (war) a female noun? You can’t tell me violence isn’t a male-dominated activity. I’d commit some male-dominated activity on the numbskull that decided every noun needed a sex.

Like Spanish, if a word ends in an “o,” it’s probably a male word, and “a” for female. Probably. “Um mapa” (a map) and “um dia” (a day) are both male, just to mention a couple of exceptions.

Most of the time when I say things in Portuguese to Portuguese, I get a blank stare in return. Carolyn’s pronunciation is much better than mine. Hell, I don’t pronounce so well in English. Anyway, you try saying “carrrrrrrlllllo” (car), or “lhes,” (them), which is pronounced just like it’s spelled. It sounds like I’m having a seizure.

Anyway, I’m posting all of these Chinese signs to make me feel better.

The Portuguese can’t quite keep up with the Chinese in the Signs Hijinks category, but we’ve found some of the translations on ads and products to be pretty funny. Enjoy!

As most of you know, Carolyn’s profession was in interior design. Before we moved, she must’ve been asked a hundred times if we were going to be on House Hunters International. Lo and behold, ultimately the answer is, “yes!”

We just wrapped up filming for our episode, which won’t air for another six months or so, and we won’t be able to see a lick of it until it does. We’ll certainly let everyone know when we find out the air date. Alas, we can’t reveal a whole lot about the show ahead of time.

So we can’t say much other than to see we had a great experience! Stay tuned!

 

We interrupt our regular blog-casting to bring you the latest hot news. In this case, very hot!

On our way to lunch after wrapping up a week of filming (more on that later), we spotted a plume of smoke about six miles from our house. Before we were done eating, the TVs in the restaurant were all tuned to the news, showing the fire that was maybe three miles from where we were. After lunch, we drove home after watching the smoke roil from the road for a while, and turned on the news.

Since we still don’t understand a lick of spoken Portuguese (unless it’s our tutor speaking to us very slowly and clearly, something the rest of the Portuguese simply never otherwise do) and not knowing how big it was going to get, we used it as an opportunity to practice our evacuation procedures, which involved a lot of screaming and shouting and running into each other while throwing photos, laptops, and dirty underwear into a couple of beleaguered suitcases. It was good for us to practice, because we learned that, for instance, our beloved car Marco will actually not go through the metal gate properly if the gate isn’t opened, especially when the occupants of said car are screaming in terror at the top of their lungs.

Just kiddin’ about most of that. We did practice an evacuation though, especially since we’re not familiar with Portuguese evacuation procedures. They might be broadcasting from a truck, “Stay in your homes, all roads are closed!” and we might think they’re saying, “Get out of your houses NOW! And don’t forget to open the gate!” Plus, since there are only two roads that lead from the peninsula we’re on, one doesn’t want to dawdle and end up in the middle of a 5 kilometer line of cars, especially when you’re the ones most likely to get picked for something bad. “Hey! Those guys are Americans! Send them through that firestorm first to see if we can get through!”

One very large advantage to selling everything you own and having almost nothing to your name besides beleaguered luggage, a couple of laptops, and dirty underwear, is that you can pile everything important into your car in a matter of minutes and be on your way.

Fortunately, the fire was contained by first 50, and then 100, and then 200 “bombeiros,” which translates to “firefighters,” but was also the war cry of the Ukutacks, who lived next to the Eiros and didn’t like them.

They also used firefighting planes, which we could see dropping water from our new perch on top of the Sesimbra Castle, which we figured was as safe as anyplace seeing as how it hadn’t burned down yet even after hundreds of years.

In any case, here are some “during and after” pictures of the conflagration. We’re happy to report we’re safe and sound, and also that our underwear is now clean.

Anyway, that’s the last time I’ll ever toss the fireplace ashes into the woods!

What will they find of our civilization 3,000 years from now? The way things are going, it might be a surprise if anyone’s left to find anything. Maybe it’ll be a planet of apes, or dinosaurs will make a comeback. Or, maybe earth will be a way station for spacefaring human beings who overcame all of our niggling little problems. Although I think the ape thing might be more plausible. When I was growing up, I read all sorts of science fiction which made it look as if anything past the year 2000 was going to be full of space flights and flying cars, or teleportation and enormous gleaming silver cities, some of which would float on clouds or be buried deep in the ocean. Sadly, those things are excised from budgets built on supporting an aging population and blowing up everyone else. Even worse, scientists are now telling us that our planet is going through its sixth major extinction event. And The Great Barrier Reef was just declared dead. Dead!

I think it seems surreal (or unreal) because we’ve been conditioned to think that extinction happens all at once. But when it happens over a period of decades –which still isn’t long at all, it’s just not, like tomorrow– a lot of us just shrug and hope it’s fake news. Those durn scientists, always getting in the way of our wanton decimation of the planet!

But I digress. On our trip to Porto, we stopped in Conimbriga, which is an ancient pre-Roman settlement in Portugal. The ruins include some homes that were absolute mansions. One can only imagine how amazing they might have looked two or three thousand years ago.

 

 

We enjoyed the visit. The cool thing about it was that we simply saw some signs that, roughly translated, said, “There’s some really old shit over here!” on our drive home from Porto, and so we wandered in and were delighted to find this very cool place.

Carolyn and I are endlessly fascinated both by ancient Roman ruins as well as castles. They’re all just so cool! They are two of the big reasons why we love traveling around Europe. The other reason is that I’m a lot less likely to get caught if I stay mobile.

 

One of the main attractions of the Porto area is the Douro Valley, where vineyards are as prolific as a politician’s lies, which is an apt metaphor because they both produce a product that provides feelings of euphoria for some, but also nausea and vomiting if you’ve swallowed too much of it.

It truly is a beautiful place, as these pictures will attest. We simply drove around, taking in the seemingly endless hills of vineyards. The only negative to the whole trip was the lunch we designated as our anniversary lunch. While the food in Portugal is generally awesome, this one meal happened to be the worst we’ve had (there has to be a worst one, right?). We both had cod, and it tasted very much the way the big flats of cod smell in the supermarket, which attracts flies like politician’s — oh wait, I already used that metaphor. The next day we went to a restaurant in Porto, and decided to replace the dinner as our anniversary meal. Lo and behold, it was probably the best meal we’ve had since we’ve been here! Which means, in the end, the food there was just average for us. Ha!

Anyway, without further ado, we bring you… Douro Valley.

 

On the way back, we were subjected to the hardest rainstorm either of us have been in, especially for such a protracted time. The rain got so bad, we took a cue from some other drivers and parked under an underpass to wait it out. It went on for so long we started making out because, hey, it was our anniversary.

And yes, there is such a thing as a “ugal.” It is an Indonesian instrument, played with a small hammer. Indeed, it’s a little known fact that Port didn’t get its name from Portugal, it was the other way around. Someone named Hyierin Lisboa was playing an ugal in a bar in a little town on the coast, and some drunkard stumbled over the thing and spilled an entire bottle of port everywhere. When he came to, they asked him if he knew where he was, and he could only drunkenly stammer, “Hyierin…. Lisboa… Port… Ugal…”

And it stuck!

Anyway, now you can use this picture combination next time you’re playing picture-charades and get the word Portugal! You see, this blog is not only informative, it helps you with games that don’t really exist!

For our fourth anniversary we decided to motor up to Porto, which is about a three hour drive from Lisbon, and is Portugal’s second-largest city. It’s also famous for port wine, which was named after Porto (except someone forgot the “o”). Porto reminded me of a smaller version of Lisbon: hilly, the same architecture for the most part, some narrow streets, and lots of Portuguese people in it too for some reason.

We took a couple of day trips outside the Porto area, but for this post these pictures are all within the city center.

Well it is.