Here’s the Story – Part 2

Back in February 2020, right before the world got super duper weird, Rob gave me one of the best gifts EVER. He drove me to North Hollywood to see the Brady Bunch house.

I won’t go into detail – my February 6, 2020 blog about that visit can fill you in. Suffice it to say, I am a HUGE Brady Bunch fan. HUGE. Enormous. Big Time Brady Fan Girl right here.

Back in 2020, the best a superfan could do was drive up to the house and gaze at it from across the street. There was a security guard positioned in the driveway preventing any lingering, and absolutely no approaching the front door. But that was good enough, since visiting the interior was completely incomprehensible.  

Fast-forward to September 2023. HGTV decided it had gotten all the ratings it could from totally renovating the house’s interior to match the studio sets the series had been filmed on. The network put the iconic house on the market and a fellow Brady Bunch Superfan named Tina snatched it up for a groovy $3.2 million. Reportedly Tina’s husband, the former CEO of HBO, had only one question for her: “Have you lost your mind?” Apparently he thought his Gen X wife wanted to live in the house.

Oh, to be so lucky!

So what did Tina actually want to do with the house? Well, first she got it designated as a Historical-Cultural Monument by the City of Los Angeles. Then she decided to share it with fellow Brady Superfans.

The Bradys' house is the first property in
Los Angeles to get this protection
as a filming location outside of a studio lot.
The designation protects the outside AND
the inside. How groovy is that?!

WHAT?!?

Yes, you can buy tickets – with proceeds going to Tina’s favorite animal shelter – for a one-hour visit inside the totally furnished Brady Bunch house!! Truly! Yes, I pretty much bounced off the couch chanting, "Take my money!" when I learned this.

When I first read about this opportunity, I thought for sure it was only for fancy people. Connected people. Industry people. Not for a 58-year-old woman whose only Hollywood connection is once posing for a photo with Ted Danson and an alpaca.

Back in 2011 when we were all
much younger.

Because I have the most amazing and supportive husband EVER, today I was a passenger princess as Rob drove across the trafficky Los Angeles metro to make my dreams come true.

Yes, we spent an hour INSIDE the Brady Bunch House today! IT WAS INCREDIBLE!!

I was just a few yards ahead of Rob out of 
unbridled excitement to GET INSIDE!!

When I knocked on the front door as instructed, it slowly opened to reveal a friendly woman in a blue maid’s dress welcoming us inside. We were asked to take off our shoes, wear provided socks and booties, and not touch anything or sit on the furniture. “Treat it as a museum.” We could, however, take photos with abandon and wander on our own.

The door knobs are PERFECT!
It felt surreal just standing there.

Fortunately, all of this information had been provided ahead of time via email. Because once I was inside The Bradys’ house, my listening ears turned off. Instead, I heard the voices of my adopted TV family speaking a mishmash of dialogue from 117 memorized episodes. I spent the next hour walking around with an enormous smile, wide eyes, and a couple of times, tears.

OH. MY. GOSH!!!!!!!!!

I was not expecting to feel so emotional in The Bradys’ house.

I gasped at the sight of The Staircase. I smiled at the couch in Mike’s den where Jan sat and lamented, “Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!” I stared at the groovy 1960s rectangular art at the foot of the staircase, realizing how it is instantly identifiable by any fan. It was all absolutely perfect.

I wanted to touch EVERYTHING!

There it is!! Every Brady fan knows
that paneling!

The tears came when I entered the Brady girls’ bedroom upstairs. I stood in the middle of the room, taking in the three pink bedspreads, the giraffe stuffed animal in the corner, Kitty Karry-All on Cindy’s bed. It was so familiar, so comfortable, so nostalgic. Suddenly, it struck me.

“Oh my gosh. I grew up in this bedroom.”

This was after the tears. And please ignore
the fashion booties.

And that was it. That was the emotion. The Brady House was home. My home. I grew up there. I watched multiple episodes every day after school for years. When I told my mother-in-law a few days ago that we were going to see the inside of the Brady Bunch house, she asked if there would be a tour guide. My reply? “I don’t need one!”

It was fascinating to me which rooms I felt the most drawn to. The girls’ bedroom was the strongest. The kitchen, too. And Mike and Carol’s bedroom. And the dining room table. And the couch in the living room.

I hate to cook and yet, I totally
wanted to hang out in this kitchen.

The screen behind us really got me. I have
no idea why. But wow, it was important
to me to see it.

Sadly, the best photo I have of the
dining room table. It was hard to balance
being present, being in awe, and being 
a photographer.

I wasn’t as emotionally drawn to Greg’s attic bedroom or the family room or the boys’ bedroom or the backyard. I have no idea why.

It took me about 30 minutes to take my first lap. I then sat on a step in the entryway and tried to be fully present in one of the most surreal moments of my life. It sort of worked.

I still can't believe I was there.

On my second lap, I tried to notice all the little Easter Eggs that were scattered around the house, each a reference to a well-known storyline.

The architectural drawings of Beebe Gallini’s powder puff-shaped factory. Marcia’s drawing of George Washington that was mistaken for Mrs. Denton. The box of Safe Detergent in the laundry room. The egg on the pylon at the front of Mike’s convertible. The stack of letters to “Dear Libby.” The book about Jesse James that got Bobby in trouble. The typewritten gossip column written by Peter. The silver anniversary platter. Alice’s white sneakers. Jan’s wig.

Mike's drafting table in his den!
The powder puff is on the left, the
plans on the right are HGTV's plans
for renovating the original structure.

Marcia drew George Washington.
Then Paula found it and added the unflattering
note about Mrs. Denton. Marcia was in 
BIG trouble when the teacher found it.
Luckily, Paula fessed up and all was well
within 24 minutes.

The letters each of the kids and Alice
wrote to an advice columnist.

Alice's Keds!

The recreation of the Bradys’ house was astounding. The attention to detail was incredible. I kept forgetting the series was not actually filmed in the house. It was so real, so perfect, so complete. I was even more incredulous when I was told that there was only one original item in the entire house; everything else had been tracked down through antique stores and online searches to replicate what had appeared on the show. The Love of Brady runs deep.

The red sleeping bag is the only 
original item. It was in the episode
where Marcia has a slumber party.

Rob and I were the last to leave. We found out that Tina allows a maximum of 8 people to come inside the house each day from 12:30-1:30pm. There were just two other couples walking around with us, equally mesmerized and lost in memories. We all looked about the same age, all giddy and appreciative. We were mostly quiet, with whispered, “OH, WOW!” and “Come look at this!” One woman softly laughed and asked, “Why are we so quiet?”

I smiled at her and answered, “Reverence.”

My 8-year-old and my 58-year-old
brains are both utterly flabbergasted
by this photo!!!

On to Yon!

When we hatched this plan a couple of months ago – thanks to a sale and an impressively spontaneous husband – I was stunned and wary that we could pull it off. As I sit in London’s Heathrow airport for the second time in a week, my emotions haven’t changed. Although you could add “extensively jet lagged” to the list.

We arrived in a different terminal today. We had
to board a bus and ride 10 minutes to another
terminal. TEN MINUTES. Heathrow is 
enormous.

We were home for all of 70 hours this past week. During that time, we were a whirlwind of turbo-speed activity. We did laundry, mowed the lawn, paid bills, made some decisions about Tim, got haircuts, slept sporadically. My body has absolutely no idea what time it is. I have a recollection of doing laundry a few days ago as soon as the sun came up. I didn’t want to turn on our patio lights to trudge through our backyard with my laundry basket.

The current state of Tim.
The beam behind Randy to the left is going to
hit our new cabinets. After much discussion,
we decided to pivot it out just a bit. Much
better than moving the cabinets.

Oh, and we packed. Three suitcases again, but bigger ones. With a greater variety of outfits and shoes. And with enough clothes and medications to last us about twice as long as our Hither trip.

So where is Yon taking us??

A cruise. A long cruise. A 33-day cruise – longer than we’ve ever lived on a ship. A cruise that goes to 16 ports, none of which we have ever been to. Several are Bucket List places (Amsterdam!); a number are places I never imagined visiting (Estonia?!).

We are currently waiting (7 hours…) to board our flight to Cape Town, South Africa (MAJOR Bucket List location!) where we will embark the Crown Princess in a couple of days. We will sail our way northward…and then eastward into Scandinavia…and will disembark in Dover, England. We fly home on July 4.

We will be stopping at all the 
red circles, but mostly staying 
in one time zone.

I’m still bewildered that we are doing this. And I’m still not convinced this ridiculously fast turn-around was a good idea. But we’re all in and almost half-way there – no turning back now!

I cannot wait to get on the ship. But not just because it will be a vacationy adventure. What I’m really craving is normalcy. Routine. Familiarity.

Rob and I have been living out of suitcases and changing locations every 3-5 days since March. I can’t wait to finally unpack my toiletries and set them up on a counter! My back is looking forward to having the same bed to sleep in for weeks in a row. My tummy is looking forward to having food easily accessible on a whim. I bought some yogurt yesterday as a snack. Upon returning to Woodhaven to enjoy my “breakfast in the afternoon,” I realized I didn’t have a spoon. I cried. This is after I had to do an 8-point turn-around in our driveway and park on a nearby gravel road because a gaggle of contractor trucks were blocking all parking options in front of Woodhaven.

So, yeah, I am not sad to be missing out on a chunk of the Chaos of Tim Construction over the next month, even if we’re finally at the point where it’s going to be fun. While we are cruising, Woodhaven will slowly start being put back together. Drywall, paint, cabinetry. Tim won’t be done when we get back, but his completion should be within sight. YAY!

In the meantime, I invite you to come cruising with me from the comfort of your armchair or couch. We’re going to go to some far-flung places, and it’s going to be a blast! And no suitcases for a month!!!

Next stop: Cape Town, South Africa!

 

Let Down in Lisbon

As you might have surmised from the title, I wasn’t as enthralled by Lisbon as I had hoped. Boo! I’m very happy to have visited the large waterfront city, but I’m grateful it does not represent my full exposure to Portugal. Because if it did, I wouldn’t be tempted to return to what is truly a beautiful, lovely country with friendly people and delicious adult beverages.

The buildings are pretty. And the weather was...
sticky. I'm so not made for humidity.

I had heard people compare Lisbon to San Francisco. And indeed there are similarities. They are both very hilly cities. They are both on large bodies of water that touch an ocean. They both have large red bridges that look eerily similar. They both feature old-timey cable cars. They both are overrun by tourists.

Old Timey Trolley Cable Car in Lisbon

I promise that's not the Golden Gate Bridge!
It's the 25th of April Bridge, named in honor
of the 1974 revolution that freed Portugal from
a dictatorship. It was built in 1966 (the Golden
Gate Bridge was built in 1937).

The old section of Lisbon is the 
hilliest. For a video clip of the 
steep, narrow streets, click here.

I lived near San Francisco for nearly 30 years. And I worked in The City’s downtown for over 10 years. So I am biased. But Lisbon just doesn’t sparkle like San Francisco. It doesn’t feel as livable. And oh goodness, the sidewalks! Lisbon sidewalks are slippery tiles and cobblestones, none flat or even, with ruts and divots that just scream “PHYSICAL THERAPY.” I’m grateful we didn’t try to roll any suitcases around town.

This section is in pretty good shape!
No ankle-twisting crevices.
I can not imagine how scary
this is in the rain.

Walking around Lisbon felt more like a trudge and less like a meander of discovery. Its energy felt muted and perfunctory, not lively and vibrant like Barcelona or Porto. I couldn’t get a good read on Lisbon’s personality. It just felt like a large, historic city plodding along until it’s time to break for coffee.

Meh.

My less than enthusiastic impression of Lisbon wasn’t helped by the fact that our first bus tour featured a driver that either hated his job or hated tourists. Or both. He surged and swayed the little bus all over the old, intensely hilly parts of Lisbon, causing my back and my stomach to rebel a bit. I’m ashamed that I couldn’t bring myself to even politely say “Thank you” as I escaped his 4-wheeled torture buggy.

After regrouping in a McDonald's – and being thoroughly entertained by the little delivery trolleys – Rob and I got on a bigger bus and enjoyed a much less jarring tour of Lisbon’s museum district and waterfront. I loved all the beautiful purple jacaranda trees fully in bloom!

Sadly taken after she delivered our 
lackluster fries and weird carbonated
pineapple beverage. But the air conditioning
ROCKED!

I fell in love with jacaranda trees
when I first noticed them in Australia.
If we time it right, we also see them 
in Southern California.

Even so, after 6 hours and nearly as many miles walking over imminently dangerous sidewalks, I was relieved to return to our hotel’s gardeny oasis bar and toast to a city explored. And a trip well-traveled.

Honestly, my favorite spot in Lisbon.
The hotel's courtyard was such a 
lovely respite!

So now we are on our way home. I’m actually typing this while on the last – and longest – leg of our 24ish hour trek back to Woodhaven. I’m tired but also grateful my body held up to all I asked of it over the past 16 days.

I’m also grateful for the education along the way.

I learned I like Spanish Tempranillos much better than American versions.

I learned I love 20-year-old tawny ports and even older vintage ports.

I learned Portuguese wines are salty.

I learned a dry white wine mixed with tonic water and some mint is a lively, hip oh-so-European way to toast a warm day.

I learned I do not like Spanish or Portuguese food. So much fish. Except for tapas. Tapas are fun!

I learned that avocado is a great addition to a breakfast buffet. Ditto sliced ham.

I learned that as much as I like food and exploring new cuisines, I’m not fancy enough for “gastronomic experiences,” and Michelin Stars are wasted on my tastebuds.

I learned that I can still enjoy traveling even when I can’t sleep and am riddled with anxiety. In related news, I also learned magnesium supplements are not for me.

I learned I can travel pretty lightly – and merino wool is amazing – but a limited wardrobe gets boring real fast. Even with a jeans jacket and jaunty scarf.

I learned that while I really enjoyed and benefited greatly from having private tours (organized by our travel agent), having a personal tour guide was a lot of socializing and not a lot of time for recharging. This introvert is pooped!

I learned (or confirmed) that as much as I love to get out and see the world, I live exactly where I am supposed to be. I missed the peace, groundedness, and refreshing dampness of Woodhaven. I am happy to be heading home, even if it is for what can be best be counted in hours.

Yes, Hither is coming to a close. And Yon is right on its heels.

We will be back at Woodhaven for less than 72 hours before we head back to PDX for the next adventure in Escaping Tim (which is progressing along quite well from all reports). I personally think we are nuts, but it sounded like a grand idea a few months ago.

Stay tuned!

Cheers from Lisbon!
And to the next travel adventure!

A Primer on Port

Many years ago, probably at a winery in California that was trying something new, I was introduced to port wine – usually just called port.

Port is a sweet dessert wine with a high alcohol content. Relatedly, it is responsibly served in a small glass to help you keep your wits about you. Traditionally made from red wine grapes, port is like Champagne – in order to call it port, it has to come from Portugal, namely the Douro Valley. Although Portugal makes regular wine, too (much to my surprise; I truly had no idea!), I have long wanted to visit Portugal to learn more about my favorite way to end a meal. Here’s what I learned!

• The Douro River Valley is about 2 hours east of Porto and is home to 166 different varieties of wine grapes, most of which eventually become port. The Douro River starts in Spain where it is known as the Duero River – where we began our trip a couple of weeks ago. In Spain, most of the grapes grown along this river are Tempranillo grapes which are turned into regular (not port) wine.

I just can't get over this view!

• Ports are not made from specific varieties of grapes. Instead, they are made from a mishmash of red grapes grown in the Douro Valley. Over half of the 150+ different grape varieties in the Douro Valley are red. Which ones are in your bottle of port is a delicious mystery.

I was entranced by how the vineyards crawled over
every hill and ravine. Years ago, I thought all European
vineyards looked like this but I had never seen
it until Portugal!

• As with regular wine, not every year’s grape harvest is a winner. Unlike regular wine, though, if it’s not a stellar year for port, the grapes will be pressed into juice, aged, and will be blended with wine from other years to make a non-vintage port later on. But those years that are awesome? Those years – decreed by the Spanish alcohol bigwigs 2 years after the harvest – are designated as Vintage years. Ports made those years are made only using grapes from that year and the year is proudly printed on the bottle. Generally speaking, vintage ports are considered better and fancier and are more expensive than non-vintage ports.
  
  
• Since it takes a while for port wine potential to reveal itself, port makers let their wine hang out for a couple of years before they decide – based on Bigwig proclamations – if their wine will become ruby port, vintage port, or tawny port (more on that in a moment).

Speaking of hanging out...

• The key thing that differentiates port from regular wine is that the fermentation of port is stopped quickly – typically after only a couple of days – so that the sugar content is kept high. Fermentation is stopped by adding alcohol (elegantly translated as “spirit water”) to the grape juice. The extra alcohol kills the yeast and stops fermentation. This also increases the alcohol content of port. Whereas your typical red wine might have 12-14% alcohol, port has 19-21%. Yee haw! Sip that little glass slowly!

The grapes in the Douro Valley are
hand-picked. This is why. The hills
are STEEP and the vineyards are
terraced. The difficulty accessing
the vines is one of the reasons ports
can be expensive.

• There are several main types of port. They all start the same; the difference is how/if they are blended and how they are aged. Ruby port is young, lower quality, and is aged 2-7 years in stainless steel or concrete before being bottled. LBV – which stands for Late Bottle Vintage – is a cheaper, accessible port that is produced every year regardless of the quality of the grapes. It will have the year on the label but it is NOT a vintage port. LBV is typically aged 4-6 years in large wood barrels. Vintage port is port from one year that has been deemed special and worthy by the aforementioned bigwigs. Vintage ports are typically aged up to 3 years in stainless steel or wood barrels but can continue aging in the bottle for decades (like 80+ years). Tawny ports are aged in smaller barrels for up to three years before bottling. This allows them to have more contact with wood, giving tawny ports a more caramelly and nutty and brown sugary flavor than the fruity, black jamminess of vintage or LBVs.

Three different Vintage Ports.
At the end, I asked for a taste of their
20-year-old tawny. It won!

• The barrels that port is aged in are OLD. Like over 100 years old. They stay in good shape because the extra sugar in the fortified wine keeps the wood solid.

Such a different approach to barrels 
than wine making. Port makers use
barrels forevvvvvver!

• Vintage ports are delicate like Champagne in that they must be consumed within 24 hours after opening the bottle because they quickly go flat. They also need to be decanted. Non-vintage ports don’t need as much special handling. They can age in the bottle for 5-6 years and can keep in the fridge for 4-5 months after opening. Tawny ports, on the other hand, can last for up to a year after opening the bottle if you keep it chilled in the fridge. A fast and easy trick: if the bottle of port you are opening has a regular cork in it, drink it quickly. If instead the bottle has a T-cork in it, it can last a while.

Snagged off the interwebs: a t-cork
(or T-Cap Cork if you want to be official)

• There’s a white port called Chip Dry that is mostly available only in Portugal, Spain, and England. It is made from white grapes and is aged for up to 3 years before being bottled. It is dry and citrusy and is being marketed to younger people to try to get them drinking port (port is commonly considered an “old people’s drink” in Portugal). The hip way to drink Chip Dry is with tonic water, soda water, and a sprig of mint. I tried a “port tonic” and it was pretty dang tasty, even though I’m not sure white-haired 58-year-olds are supposed to be drinking it. I’m a fan of tonic water, so I am going to find a dry white wine at home to try to replicate the refreshing cocktail of the Portuguese Millennials.

L to R: Chip Dry, LVB from 2020,
Vintage Port from 2018, 20-Year-Old Tawny

Speaking of Portuguese Millennials:
our lunch entertainment one day was
a gaggle of young women eventually
celebrating a birthday but first, sooooo
many poses for the camera! 
Click here for an entertaining video!

• One company is also making a Rose port. It is a gorgeous dark pink/fuchsia color. It is sweet and tastes a bit like cherry or strawberry Kool-Aid. It was fun to try but I’m not sad its availability is mostly limited to northern Portugal.

Isn't that pretty?? Pretty much tastes
like it looks.

• Interestingly, the older the tawny port, the LIGHTER the color. Usually, as wines age they get more brown, not less brown. Go figure!

Not the best photo to illustrate my point, but at
least you can see the beautiful amber color of
the tawny ports.

• After trying all sorts of ports (one day we tried 10…), I have concluded I prefer tawny ports, typically 20-year tawnys. At dinner in Lisbon, we ordered a glass of 1974 tawny port that blew us both away and did amazing things with a chocolate torte. For red/ruby ports, I seem to like older Vintage ports that are at least 25 years old. Probably because they tend to not be quite so fruity as they age. 

This was NOT the 10-port day.
No, this was after a food-and-wine
tour that left us not needing more of
either, and yet...

Olá Portugal!

We just finished three full days in Porto, Portugal which also included a day trip to nearby Douro Valley. The Douro is where soooo many grapes are grown and eventually turned into port. But that’s another blog post coming very soon.

The weather has been fantastic! It's nice to be
back on the coast, too. Woodhaven isn't super
close to the ocean, but it's close enough to get
marine influences in our air and weather.
I forget how much my body and spirit like
being near the water.

Porto is – as you might deduce – a port-side town. Strategically positioned in northern Portugal where the Douro River empties into the Atlantic, the city dating back to Roman times has become quite the tourist destination in the last decade or so. Porto comes complete with scenic bridges, river boats, and a gondola ride over the river like you find at county fairs. Sadly, we never had time to take a glide. It looked like a wonderfully romantic and unique way to take in the beautiful vistas.

Porto is surprisingly hilly!

Lots of lovely spots to grab a snack.

We later learned that J.K. Rowling of
Harry Potter fame lived in Porto when
she first started writing her books. 
We're pretty sure the winged
lion statues in this fountain inspired
Gryffindor.

Pretty architecture that sort of looked like
Spanish Victorian, if that's a thing.

The inside of a store called "O Mundo Fantastico
da Sardinha Portuguesa" aka "The Fantastic
World of Portuguese Sardines" – for all your
sardine needs. I had none. Ewwww.

The hilly city of about 250,000 residents (the metro is about 1 million) sits on the north side of the river. We stayed in a hotel on the south side, in a small town called Gaia. It provided easy walks to port houses and also offered stunning views of Porto. Porto is old and occasionally steep, with narrow, bumpy cobblestone streets, palm and eucalyptus and pine trees living together harmoniously, and lots of red tiled roofs topping light-colored buildings. It is so pretty! And sort of magical.

There is a foot bridge at the bottom which we
never got around to walking across. Also,
locals gather nightly on the top bridge to watch
the sunset. That makes my heart so happy!

The bridge is to the right, the Atlantic Ocean is
to the left. A few of the blobs that look like
boats are actually gondola cars.

We spent one day learning all about port. Another day was spent in Old Porto, eating and drinking our way through the town with a local guide. The third day was spent leisurely cruising down the Douro River about 2 hours upstream, watching the vineyards reveal themselves as the first rain of our trip slowly gave way to sunny humidity.

The Douro River Valley

Along the way, we got to have a mind-blowing dinner. The food and drink were quite tasty. However, what made my head explode was that we enjoyed it with friends. In Portugal. What?!

Teresa and I worked together a lifetime ago at a Really Big Oil Company in San Francisco. We became fast friends and stayed in touch as our lives and careers took different paths. For several years – after we moved to Woodhaven and Teresa and her family moved to Idaho – we met annually in Walla Walla, Washington to enjoy wine weekends. They were always filled with laughter, authenticity, and great food and drink.

A couple of years ago, as their daughter was preparing to launch from college, Teresa and Jack started to put into action a long-held dream to live abroad. With Portuguese roots, it didn’t take the Abbotts long to figure out where to graft their American roots onto old stock. Now living an easy Uber ride north of Porto, Teresa and Jack motored down to Porto and joined us for a lovely dinner overlooking the Douro River. I’m still utterly amazed. It was soul-warmingly familiar and stunningly unexpected to catch up with dear friends over a meal in Portugal. A huge highlight!!

Never in a million years would I have predicted
this photo when I first met Teresa in a San Francisco
conference room in the mid-1990s!

With much prodding from fascinated friends, Teresa
agreed to start a blog about their adventures moving
to Portugal. Check it out here!

As I said, the dinner was tasty. Honestly, it had a lot to do with me ordering a very unPortuguese pumpkin risotto. I tried so hard to enjoy local Portuguese cuisine. I don’t normally consider myself a picky eater, but I just couldn’t find anything to get excited about food-wise. Once a very poor country living under a dictatorship (until 1974), Portuguese people have incorporated all of the pig “from snout to tail” into their daily diet. Plus a fascination with sardines. And salting cod like movie theater popcorn. Rob asked me if I could live in Porto. As lovely as the city and people are, I would pretty much starve and mope around dreaming of fresh salads and spices.

Salty cod with chickpeas

Tasty sausages and a steak tartare thing.

Street food! So much bacon. If I lived
in Portugal, I would survive on bacon.

Much to our monolingual relief, Rob and I have had absolutely no issues getting around without speaking Portuguese or even Spanish. I learned to say “thank you" (obrigada for female speakers; obrigado for male speakers), but otherwise I just listened to Portuguese around me and was grateful when I was correctly sized up as an English-speaker and the language was graciously switched. 

Portuguese spoken in Portugal is a fascinating language. It’s not Spanish. And it’s different than the Portuguese spoken in Brazil. Seeing it written, homeland Portuguese looks like Spanish that is written in puffy paint. It has lots of round letters and includes lots of squiggly accents and tails. To listen to it, Portuguese sounds like a weird mashup of Spanish and Russian, with lots of soft “shhh” sounds and words that seem to run into each other.

As I do, I have spent a lot of the past few weeks observing (or staring at) the world around me from behind the safety of my sunglasses. Here are a few things I have noticed:

• Spanish and Portuguese people do not carry around their drinks. No water bottles, no toddler-sized Stanleys, no bespoke coffees in Venti cups. And yet somehow, they all appear suitably hydrated. While white sneakers used to be the tell-tale sign of an American tourist, I’m starting to wonder if our emotional support water bottles are now the beacons of Americanism.
  
  
• Tattoos are not really a thing. Nor are body piercings. Coming from Portland, the folks on the Iberian Peninsula look naked and remarkably untouched.
  
  
• Similarly, very few people color their hair unnatural colors. The only people I have seen with purple, pink, blue, green, or Raggedy Ann red hair have been women in their 70s who have clearly reached the age of not caring what anyone thinks.
  
  
• North Face is THE brand of travelers and outdoorsy people here.
  
  

• Portuguese women are more about hats and less about scarves.
  
  
• Leggings as public attire is definitely an American thing.
  
  
• Smoking is super common, even in outdoor restaurants. Vaping is very popular, too, especially among 30-something women.                                                                                       

Something else I observed:
a street musician in Porto using
chickens (sitting on his knees)
as musical accompaniments.
Click here for a video!

Rob and I are currently on a train zooming three hours south to Lisbon. We will spend tomorrow being tourists and then gawdawful early the next morning, we start our trek home to Woodhaven. I’ve heard lots of people say Lisbon reminds them of San Francisco. Can’t wait to see if I agree!

Beautiful sunset over Porto and Gaia. 
I totally get why gathering on the bridge to watch
the sunset is a daily local tradition.