Living in the In-Between

The in-between time sucks.

It doesn’t matter when it happens.  Whether it’s waiting for transport, for a wound to heal, or ... well, waiting for anything but especially at the airport, that period of doing nothing but hoping for a good and quick outcome is just exhausting.

Case in point:  my bee foot is still swollen, only not so horribly.  It’s been over a month! While it’s no longer painful to walk on and doesn’t swell up immediately upon putting weight on it in the morning, it is still not back to normal size.  Note to self: avoid all bees in the future. 

As this blog can attest, I am still a homeless wanderer.  The business I've started is going nowhere, my book has sold nothing since being published in April, and I have reluctantly begun looking for a job again, though I have little hope at this point of finding one.  As if my own situation hasn’t been weighing on me enough, the state of the world in general has also contributed to the toll on my mental health. It’s a rare day when I’m not on the verge of tears.

But I soldier on.  And, since I sometimes forget to overlap my Airbnb stays, I ended up with a couple of in-between times here in Portimão.  Yes, I remain in the Algarve because … why wouldn’t I?

Nothing lifts my spirits faster than taking a walk in the surf. Feeling the sun on my face when I wake up is truly restorative and serves to prepare me for another day of frustrations. 

Anyway, I had to be out of the last place by 11 and couldn’t be in the new place for a few hours.  So, I hauled all my crap to a nearby bench, reached for my book, and waited.  Thanks again to the wonderful weather of the Algarve for making the wait a pleasant one.

In another bit of good fortune, the next place I’d booked was a short walking distance away.  I swear, all the Airbnbs I chose are in the same ½ mile radius.  That wasn’t planned though I’m certainly not complaining – saves me cab fare.

The new place is located a few feet away from two other buildings I’ve stayed in.  I love all these apartments, though the layout of this one is somewhat odd.

Seriously, who puts the living area in the kitchen right beside the fridge? At least, unlike the last place, this one has a separate bedroom so everything isn't on top of everything else.

Complaints aside, it’s another decent place in Portimão.  This place continues to prove to me that if I can’t find an apartment in Funchal, or if I determine it’s too much of a hassle to move to the island, I would have no problem living here.

I stayed in that place for a little over a week before I managed to book the same apartment I stayed in for two months earlier this year.  Once again, though, I had a lapse of a few hours between being out of the old place and checking into the new one.

This time I waited in the nearby park I’d discovered during my last stay.  Getting there early, I parked myself on a bench and watched as the empty park soon filled with families, skateboarders, and customers of the in-park café.

I do love these places, as I’ve mentioned several times.  It’s great to have a centrally located green space for people to just gather and chill.  No need to go to the beach or the mall or one of the numerous cafes if you don’t want to take that walk.  Just bring the kiddies past the parking lot enjoy the peace. And don’t piss off the birds.

I’ll be in Portimão until the end of my Schengen period, the middle of November.  Then, sigh, it will be time to move on again.

Getting from Porto to Portimão by Train, Plane, Bus, and Car

 

As I indicated by the title of my last post, I decided to get out of Porto after two weeks.  It was chilly and rainy half the time and I just didn’t want to be there anymore. 

Though I do appreciate that even this ancient city offers a chance for the residents to touch grass.  This park area is located atop the Trinidade Metro station.  I love that a space that is usually unused has been turned into a simple way to access a park for anyone who needs it.

A travel day had again arrived.  I knew from the start that it would be bad.  I had no idea …

The first part was relatively easy.  That Metro station pictured above?  It’s literally 5 minutes away from the apartment. It was a quick downhill walk to the station where I boarded a train that took me directly to the airport.  So far so good.

I had arrived quite early for check-in so some waiting was involved.  I was anxious about it only because RyanAir, a new airline for me, required you to check in online for your boarding pass.  When I tried to do this from the apartment, the website wanted even more money from me (more on that later).  I couldn’t confirm my credit card because my phone is on a sim card that can’t receive text messages.  This has been an on-going problem on my travels and a never-ending pain in the butt.

When check-in finally opened, the lady asked to see my phone after I’d told her my issue.   She was able to quickly bring up my boarding pass and could take my payment at the counter.  Now, the website had warned that checking in at the desk within doing it online first would result in a 55 euro fee.  I was prepared to pay it since I was already frustrated and just wanted to get this over with.  Turns out though that since my big bag was 5 kg overweight, I was charged 73 euros for the overage.

That sucked.  But at least I got through check-in without being charged the extra 55 so not as bad as it could be, right?

Nope.

I ended up paying for my luggage not once, not twice, but three times!  First, when I bought the ticket (on Expedia’s website), second at the counter (most airlines allow 22-25 kg while RyanAir only allows 20 kg), and third when my little bag didn’t fit their size requirements.  That bag has NEVER been an issue anywhere else.  But since RyanAir wants all your money, suddenly the bag is too big.

The baggage fees ended up costing more than the ticket! 

Then, after paying that last surprise fee of ANOTHER 75 euros, boarding took forever.  This left me standing around to stew in the rage of being robbed as if I hadn’t waited around enough already.  We had to cross the tarmac to get to the plane and Porto decided to give me a last parting gift. The already foggy day turned into a light drizzle.

Do I need to explain how heated I was?  It’s a one-hour, in-country flight and it caused more stress than an international flight!  And almost cost as much!  What sense does that make?

Needless to say, I will never use that airline again.  The only reason I chose it this time is because the flight would get me to Faro before 5 p.m.  This meant that I could catch a shuttle or a bus as opposed to a cab ride.  My first time to the city, I took a cab not realizing that it would cost 100 euros.  The second time, I got in too late to get anything but a cab.  I knew from bitter, expensive experience that I didn’t want to do that again so I chose the first flight that would save me that cost.

Of course, I just ended up paying anyway thanks to the airline.

Sigh.

But I was grateful to land safely back in the Algarve.  I figure if I’m going to spend an exorbitant amount of money to remain in Portugal, I’d rather do it in Portimão than Porto. 

Still not there yet though.  I wasn’t sure whether to take any of the shuttle services offered at the airport or take the bus.  There are numerous stands and signs for either option, so I wasn’t sure how to proceed.  I eventually found a couple of machines that sell tickets.  I found the bus that would take me to the city and paid by card.

I’d much rather pay 14 euro for a 2-hour ride than 100 euros for a 1-hour direct trip by taxi.  Granted, the bus did require yet another wait.

At least I could feel the sun on my face during the wait.  There’s nothing like the sun in the south of Portugal.

The bus finally arrived and we were off.  It wasn’t the most comfortable trip as the seats were not designed for my long legs, but it went by fast enough.  Then I had to figure out how to get to my new home for the week once I was dumped at the bus station.

As there were no cabs around (strange), Uber became my only option.  The distance from the station to the apartment was a short one but still wasn’t feasible to walk.  It was getting dark, I was tired, didn’t know where I was going and couldn’t fathom dragging all my crap across uneven Portuguese sidewalks.

Turns out I did know the building as it was close to the other apartments I stayed in.  I just didn’t recognize the back streets we took to get there.  That made getting my bearings the next day so much easier.   

I do not like studios.  I don’t like corner showers.  I don’t like the fact that I managed to get into the building and up to the 8^th floor only to realize that I was in the wrong building.  Sigh.  I hauled all my crap back downstairs and around to Building B before finally entering the apartment.

Not my preferences for accommodation, but still clean and decent enough for the week.  And again, I was back in Portimão.  If I can’t get to the outrageously expensive Funchal, this place will more than fit the bill.

The morning after my arrival, I went to the Hollywood themed restaurant on the boardwalk that I’ve frequented before.  The Ukrainian manager (still haven’t caught that guy’s name – I’ll have to fix that) instantly recognized me.  He high-fived me, welcomed me back, and preceded to spoil me during the entire meal. 

I love that!

Moral of the story: Portimão is still awesome and RyanAir can kick rocks.

My Last Week in Porto

 

I was not sad to leave that place in Porto.  I’d gotten used to couch-sleeping despite the couch being too short for my long legs.  The problem arose during the last few nights when – you guessed it – the bugs found me.

The host had shown me the two open skylight windows upstairs and instructed me on how to close them.  That seemed to be a hassle though, so I left them open.  With no screens.

So, yes, the mosquitos got me.  Please note I was still dealing with the bee sting on my leg.  After the first sting on my chest, I knew the area would be swollen and itchy for a while with no major consequences.  But a sting on the ankle turned out to be a different animal.

My foot swelled to ludicrous proportions, was painful to walk on, and was dry and itchy (my winter skin has also arrived).  I’ll spare you the picture of my horribly swollen bee foot.  Just know that it is awful and doesn’t want to go away.  Instead, here’s a puppy!

                                                            Photo by Bill Stephan on Unsplash

I swear, the bees of Albania must be Africanized.  They saw some dark skin and it reminded them of home, so they just had to sting me.

Thanks for that.

                                                                            ******

The day arrived for my departure and there just had to be issues.  The first Uber driver I called reached me on time, spoke only Portuguese as he gestured at my bags, then drove off.  Huh?  Presumably, he didn’t have room in his car for my mammoth suitcase, but since this had never happened to me before, I didn’t know what to do.  I tried to cancel the ride.  Nope.  Tried to call for a new one.  Nope.

So instead, I hauled all my junk to the main road thinking I’d grab a cab.  Then my phone started beeping to alert me that my driver was on the way.  What are you talking about?  He just left me stranded.

Turns out Uber was alerting to a new driver who expected me to be in front of the apartment.  I was already several feet away.  After texting him, he canceled the ride, allowing me to call for him again as I made my way back to the apartment.

Yeesh.

Got to the new place and he dropped me off.  On the wrong side of the street.  More confusion ensued as I had to get across the street to the right building.  Grab the key from the lockbox, up the stairs, into the elevator and to the 5^th floor.

After all that, the new place turned out to be decent enough.  Another too short couch, but at least this time the bed was surprisingly comfortable. 

The place feels like it’s made out of cardboard and is very echo-y because of it.  It took me a while to figure out which cabinets had to be pulled open and which ones were pressure based.  Even when I realized I had to push a door to get it open, it was still difficult to learn where to push it.  It took me forever to get to the washing machine.

I was not happy to see that there was no microwave when I thought I saw one listed in the ad.  Imagine my surprise when I opened the oven and found this.

I have never seen this setup before.  There were no manuals in the house and a bunch of strange symbols on the dials that I just didn’t understand.  While the oven gets warm like it should, the plate rotates like a microwave.  The timers are set to 15 minutes, which got the food cooked faster, but I’m still not a fan. 

Technology marches on, but sometimes it really shouldn’t.

Goodbye Tirana

 

Well.  I was getting a little too comfortable in Albania.  Time to upend my life again.

I ended up staying in the last place for over two months because I didn’t feel like moving.  My initial plan was to the head to the coast for a few weeks, either Saranda or Durres but I never got there.  I was good in Tirana, so I stayed.  Even once the hot water heater died a week before my departure, I was still comfortable.  Stinky by the end of my stay from trying to take cold showers, but comfortable.

I did try to get the heater fixed as soon as it broke, but no go.  August is vacation month for many countries in Europe, including Albania.  The host was very responsive so I believe him when he said he couldn’t find anyone to fix it. 

For that reason alone, I was ready to return to Portugal on the ticket I’d bought months earlier.  I just wanted a hot shower and looked forward to getting one once I made it to Lisbon.

The travel day ended up being more trying than I would have liked.  After a nice breakfast at one of my favorite restaurants, I grabbed a cab and bid farewell to Tirana.  Checking in at the airport was fine enough, but the flight was late for some reason.  No worries for me though as I had a 3-hour layover in Germany.

I took a seat at a café to wait for my gate to be called when I felt something land on my arm.  I swatted it away and realized it was a bee.

I was inside the airport!  With hundreds of other people!  I didn’t even have any food and that bee came looking for me!

And, yeah, it came back around and stung me on the back of my right ankle.

Are you SH!TTING me? 

A bee stung me (for the very first time in my life) on my first day in the city (Welcome to Tirana!) and now, just as I’m leaving, another bee gets me (Thanks for staying!).

What the HELL!?!

Seriously, why do I keep attracting the bugs?  Is there some way I can stop doing that?  I don’t actually enjoy being swollen and itchy.  Add that pain to being underhydrated, overstimulated, and overtired on my travel day and … yeah.  A lot of bad things overdone.

Prices in Portugal are insane everywhere right now.  I looked at my usual haunts as well as other places like Sintra, Aveiro, Ericeira, and Coimbra with no luck.  Funchal is still overpriced in general while the Algarve is on summer pricing for another month or so.  Airbnbs in Lisbon are priced cheaper compared to Portimão -- and Lisbon is not cheap.  So, to Porto I go.

I love Portugal.  That is not a surprise to anyone familiar with this blog.  But Tap Portugal, the national airline, may be my new enemy.

While I love their beautiful safety video on their long-haul flights, checking in at Lisbon Airport was a nightmare.  The line was insanely long just to get to the automated check-in.  Then when I tried to check my bag, it was rejected TWICE for being too heavy (this hasn’t been an issue for a while now). I had to keep pulling stuff out all while worrying about catching my flight.

I finally appeased the weight machine and sprinted for security.  The line wasn’t too bad but getting both of my repacked bags stopped as well as myself(?) just further stressed me out. There was nothing on me and after asking about my foot massager (a non-powered, spikey plastic object – how was that a weapon?), I was dismissed without a word while the guy switched shifts.

Thanks.  That was an essential waste of my time.

Not enough time for me to fume in impotent rage, though, as I sprinted for the gate.  The flight was already boarding, but at least I didn’t miss it.

All that rushing in the morning just led to a long wait once I arrived at Porto Airport.  My new home wasn’t cleaned yet and the host texted to tell me that I couldn’t check in until after 2:30. I had plenty of time to get some cash, a new sim card, eat, and relax.  To a point.

I’d found a nice place to sit outside beside a pool full of ducks.  I’m sitting there, enjoying the sunny day when some deranged man stopped in front of me and started ranting in French.  I told him I didn’t speak Portuguese, hoping he’d be confused enough to leave, but it didn’t work. I tried to ignore him as much as possible until eventually he walked off to rant at someone else.

Each interaction with men reminds me that a majority of them are not well.  I really wish they would keep their unwellness away from me. 

Soon after that, I grabbed a cab and got to the apartment.  The host met me at the door and showed me around. 

The reason I chose the place was because it was the cheapest I could find.  There are some reasons for that price. The place has the distinct smell of mold (I knew it was a bad sign when there was a candle burning on the island). 

 

These stairs are of the devil.

This bed, I would quickly find out that first night, is a medieval torture device.

And I quickly decided to spend the rest of my stay sleeping on the only-slightly-less-uncomfortable couch.

As for Porto … it was never my favorite city in Portugal.  As I walked (and walked and walked) to the Metro on the way to the Douro that first day after getting settled in, I had a thought.

Uh oh.  I think Tirana spoiled me.  It was 20 degrees warmer there (mid 80’s as opposed to high 60’s), YouTube didn’t have commercials (that was sooooo nice), and I’d gotten very accustomed to having everything being 5 minutes away from my apartment.  Porto, while still convenient, makes you work a bit harder than Tirana.  And it costs more.

Why, by all that is green and holy, is PORTUGAL making me miss Albania?

What world am I living in?

On to a New Country

 

Alas, that time has come again.

It's time to leave Portugal.  I am so tired of writing that phrase.

But there’s nothing for it.  I’m still trying to get the store to be profitable.  I published an eBook last month for anyone looking to start their own solo travel journey Amazon.com: Have Fro, Will Travel: Tips for the Solo Female Traveler eBook : Squire, D J: Kindle Store, but still no sales yet.  And until I can get the money coming in, I can’t secure my visa.  I’ll have to remain nomadic for now. 

I have no interest in returning to the states, even for a visit.  All this travel might necessitate one, though.  More on that later.

I told myself that I would not return to Türkiye as my fallback position.  Yes, it’s familiar and comfortable for me to go there, but there are plenty of other places to visit that do not fall within the Schengen Zone.  After already being in my three favorite countries this year (Cyprus, Türkiye, and Portugal), it was time to try somewhere new.

I had heard good things about the capital city of Tirana, Albania.  It was supposedly very supportive of tourists aa English is widely spoken (Americans are so behind the rest of the world in their grasp of other languages).  The country is not in Schengen, no visas are required for Americans, and, at least according to one website, U.S. citizens can remain in the country for up to a year on their passport alone.  Cool!

There were some worries in making my new plans.  I couldn’t get a direct flight from Faro Airport but managed to get one that only took 6 hours with one layover.  The problem with that is the flight was at 8:30 a.m. and Portimão is an hour away from the airport.  I was nervous about finding a ride at 5 a.m. to get me there in time. 

Some of the sites I studied for my upcoming trip said that while I wouldn’t need a visa, Immigration would want to document my housing, check my account balance to make sure I had the roughly 50 euros a day to remain, and they’d want to see my return ticket.  Damn, would they want a blood sample as well?

I prepared as much as I could for the trip, but I was at a loss for the recommended proof of vaccination.  I lost that card from the CDC months ago.  No one has asked for it during my entire journey and I was hoping that would remain the case.

I wasn’t sure if this new country would carry my medication.  For those who don’t know, Albania is located north of Greece (in Schengen, carry my pills) and south of Montenegro (not in Schengen, do not carry my pills) so I wasn’t sure where it would fall in the spectrum. 

I have gotten very spoiled lately as each of my favorite countries carries my pills with no issues.  I’d allowed the supply to dwindle down to less than a month's worth.  I spent my last full day in Portugal stockpiling pills just in case.  I also explored a new part of the boardwalk that I missed out on the last time I was in town.

(I do love this city.  I’ll have to resist the urge to go back any time soon as there are so many other cities to visit in Portugal.)

Moving day arrived and … went off without a hitch.  I easily found an Uber and got to the airport in plenty of time.  I got on the plane (Bye Portugal!  I’ll be back as soon as I can!), headed to Stuttgart, Germany (Hey!  A new country!), made a way too long visit to Passport Control, then boarded the plane to Albania.

Landing in the airport after 1 ½ hours (and no food since they nickel and dime you for everything on Eurowings), it was time to go through Immigration.  After a very long wait that made me nervous … I sailed through with no issues.  The guy just looked at my passport, stamped it, and sent me through.  I didn’t have to answer any questions or provide any other info.  Whew.

I LOVE it when I expect a hassle and don’t get one.  And I still have the ticket I booked to get me back to Portugal in 3 months.

I was immediately reminded of Montenegro upon landing as the same mountain range is shared with Albania.  After being handed over from one taxi guy to another, I finally got a ride into the city.  My driver was from Egypt and spent most of the long trip speaking to someone on the phone in Arabic.

Traffic made the 45-minute trip take over an hour.  Just like in Montenegro, there’s only one major highway and both lanes were completely clogged.  In addition to that, the driver’s phone showed a different route than the one I got from the Airbnb site so we ended up going to the wrong address first.

The streets of Tirana are just as narrow as those in Türkiye.  Multiple times we had to back up on a street because there was another car coming directly into our way.  Add the pedestrians and bikers and parked cars and I was wincing through most of the trip.  I will hand it to these drivers though, they know what they are doing.  They are highly skilled at managing the streets.  I’m also glad that I don’t have to navigate them in a car.  Walking looks dangerous enough.

The host of my new home for the week had another lady meet me at the cab, saving me the trouble of having to contact anyone.  Awesome.  The lady showed me in, very carefully pointing out the features of the place.  This is a nice size apartment.  The pictures did it justice.

After she left, I got unpacked, set up my computer, and headed out for a meal.  I hadn’t eaten all day and was starving.

One thing I will say about Tirana – this city is hopping!  The streets are busy, there are tons of pedestrians, bikes everywhere, and cafes full of people.  This was a warm Wednesday night in late May, but you’d think it was a Saturday with as many people that were around.  Just walking around to get my bearings before it got dark, I found several restaurants, pharmacies, a park, and a mall within just a few blocks of the apartment.

And then there’s this. 

A little touch of Türkiye in Tirana.  There’s even a kitten hanging around and multiple calls to prayer!  Love that!

Spring has Sprung in Portimao

 

There are now more sunny days than not in Portimão and I’m grateful for them.  The signs of spring are everywhere, both the good

And the bad.

I’ve extended my stay in the apartment for the remainder of my time in Schengen.  It’s still not the pink palace or even the last place I stayed in, but I’ve settled in and don’t feel like moving.  The hyper kid who lived upstairs was apparently just a renter.  There are now a bunch of dudes who party late and come in talking all loud and scraping the chairs across the floor.

Not ideal but still better than that freaking kid.

Monday 4/28/25 rolled around, sunny and bright.  It was hair wash day, so I’d planned to spend a good chunk of time indoors.  The morning was going well, and I was in the process of washing out the last of the conditioner when the power went out.  This was around 11 a.m.

I checked the breaker box to make sure it wasn’t me.  I’d had this problem in the last apartment in Portimão when I tried cooking dinner using three burners while the oven was on.  But the only thing I had on this time was my computer and the light in the bathroom.  It couldn’t be me.

I finished up my hair and decided to go out.  Seeing the emergency lights on in the hallway confirmed that the whole building was indeed out of power.  No worries.  I’d walk to the beach, which was about a mile away, confident that the power would be on there.

I took my usual route to the water, taking extra time to watch the waves.  The wind was kicking up something fierce.  It meant there were few people on the beach but there were some folks who were wind and kite surfing.

I love watching kite surfers.  Anytime someone catches some wicked air it puts a huge grin on my face.

Sighing, as it’s always hard for me to turn my back on the water, I headed back to the boardwalk on the hunt for some lunch.  I passed by a bunch of people lining up for one ATM and thought it odd.  There were several other ATMs around and I’d never seen such a long line for a single one.

It didn’t occur to me that something bigger was wrong.

I saw a couple of restaurants, including the one I wanted to go to, appear to be open … but not really.  Either there were chairs across the entrances or the staff were just milling around.  The few restaurants that were open were insanely crowded.

Still didn’t occur to me that something bigger was wrong.  A lot of restaurants in this area are closed on Mondays after being open all weekend.

Once one of the restaurants cleared out a bit, I went in and sat down.  When I placed my order, the guy kept saying no because the power’s out.  He then explained that this was a COUNTRY-WIDE issue and not just in Portugal.  He mentioned Spain and France were out as well.

What.  The.  Hell?

Spain and Portugal hit by major power outage

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; the world is going to hell in a handbasket.

I got by relatively easy.  I had cash on me.  I was on foot and not reliant on a car when there are no traffic lights or a train/bus that runs on electricity.  But since I’ve never heard of a country-wide outage, I had no idea how others are coping with this … bizarreness.

I take that back.  At least on Praia da Rocha (Rock Beach), people were playing games and getting snockered as per usual.  No panicked people crying in the streets and rending their clothes.  This is Portugal. Chill is the name of the game here which is why it took me so long to catch on to this unique event.

I’m still not sure how the restaurant continued to function, but I was happy to have my steak and rice meal.  I figured it would be the last meal I’d have for the day as nothing I had in the apartment can be eaten cold.  As I ate, I noticed a bunch of people trying to get into their nearby hotel.  But since the door was electric … yeah.  I had the same issue in Türkiye and it is a serious problem.  The world is far too reliant on one system to get everything done.

Fortunately, that was not an issue for me this time.  The host had provided keys to the front gate and the door to the building, but I didn’t even need those.  The gates had both been propped open.  Then I just had to climb up 8 flights of stairs (fun!) only to discover that the water was out as well.  That’s new.  Never had that issue during a blackout in the states.  A few hours later, the Wi-Fi went down.  I was surprised that it stayed up as long as it did.

I read my book until I lost the light and then called it a night.  I had a feeling this would last a while so best to just buckle down.

The power came back on at 11:30 p.m.  How did I know the exact time even though I’d gone to sleep hours before?  A mighty cheer went up around the city that woke me up.  Lots of hollering and clapping.  These are probably the same people who’ve been drinking beer all day so they were well lubricated for the celebration.

I smiled in relief, got up to turn off the bathroom light, and went back to bed. 

I’ve mentioned multiple times that this journey has had a lot of weirdness in it.  The last few months have been pretty normal, relatively speaking.  I didn’t think I’d have anything else happen that would trip my weird meter.

I think this one takes the cake.

Another Trip Around the Sun

 

My month in the apartment was coming to an end.  Time is passing by so quickly it’s astonishing.

Since I couldn’t get into the pink palace, I considered visiting another city while in Portugal. But first, I once again checked for lodging in Funchal and … yeah.  The prices have gone nuclear.  Most places wanted $900-$1000 for a week’s stay.  These are the same 1-bedrooms I usually book, not entire houses or anything fancy.  Are you kidding? I was looking to pay that much for a month of lodging, not a single week.

So, I remain on the mainland.  Hey, it’s still Portugal.  I still love it here so … moving on.

I then considered other cities in the Algarve but then remembered that I’m cheap and also still comfortable in Portimão.  Leaving here would require taxis or shuttles to get to nearby cities and the thought of doing that so soon was too much for me to handle.

The company that owns both apartments I’ve stayed in owns other properties in the area.  I chose one that is a short walking distance away and made the transition.

I knew this place wouldn’t be as nice as the others. And I was correct.  But I’ve come to trust this rental company so I knew it would be a clean, decent place to stay for a few weeks.

One thing I didn’t count on was my upstairs neighbors. That apartment has children that sound like they’re playing hockey on a nightly basis.  Running back and forth, dropping stuff, scraping the wooden chairs on the tiled floors, and of course, the crying.  For hours.

I am so glad I don’t have kids!  I don’t even like to be around those things!

I got well acquainted with the noise because Portimão keeps doing a will-I-or-won’t-I thing with rain.  The mornings will usually be bright and sunny.  Then sometime around noon when I’m ready to go out for a walk, it will start to get dark and rumbly.   I’ve risked it a couple of times and ended up soaked, even with my umbrella. 

With all the unexpected time spent in the apartment, I’ve still managed to keep up with my haircare.  I decided to do an amla treatment (a mud mask made from Indian herbs). Mixing it up caused the powders to get into my nose and throat.  Applying the paste triggered a burning sensation on my skin.  Rinsing it out, I got some of it in my eyes that led to even more burning.

I think one of the powders was either expired or had gone through too many airport security scans. The result of all this was a persistently itchy scalp, congestion, and some seriously red and irritated eyes for several days.  Had me looking like Quasimodo just in time for my 54th birthday photo. 

Ahh … good times.

(Photo not included because again – Quasimodo.  My hair was the only thing that looked good in that shot.)

I did treat myself to a spa visit on my birthday.  It was a unique one to say the least.  I’d been to the spa before when I was in Portimão last year, but this massage was different.  Targeted for sleep and relaxation, the treatment involved an extensive face and belly massage in addition to the usual routine.  Lots of essential herbs and good smells.  And yes, it did make me sleepy.

The spa is located near the beach so, of course, I walked along the water.  It was a sunny warm day which brought out the crowds.  There were also a couple of setups for volleyball which attracted a bunch more people.  There’s always something going on at that beach.

A few days later, I was sitting at the dining room table on my computer when I heard a tapping sound behind me.  From the balcony.  I’m on the 8^th floor.

With trepidation, I turned around and found this guy standing at the sliding glass door.  When I tried to approach to get a picture, he flew onto the railing.

I’m used to attracting stray cats (even while pet-free, I’m still a crazy cat lady). I guess now I’ll start attracting birds as well.  Is that my birthday gift from the universe for turning 54?

No offense, but I’d rather have a steady source of income and a visa.

The Long Rocky Road Home

 

And continuing with the theme of little annoyances …

As I was packing up my stuff to leave the hotel, I broke the spoon rest I’d been using since Porto.  That thing lasted a whole year of travel and I break it in Georgia.  Nice.  I’m still going to use it though.

The flight I’d booked out of the country would take me to Philly and then onto Lisbon.  I actually prefer this method of getting out of the U.S. as it makes the transatlantic flight shorter (6 hours as opposed to the direct flight out of Türkiye that took 12 hours).  A good choice … except the flight got delayed.  Twice.  Then, for the first time ever in my traveling life, my flight got cancelled. 

Awesome!  Now what?

At least I’d already had a surprisingly good BBQ chicken pizza (served in a paper bag -- okay) so that I wasn’t starving during the delays.

I got into the very long line of disgruntled passengers for the front desk and heaved a great sigh.  I stood there for about 5-10 minutes, getting more annoyed as the through line for foot traffic was right in front of me, when my phone started pinging.  American Airlines had already rebooked me so there was no need to stand in line.  That was the good news.

The bad news was that instead of going to Philly, I was now headed to O’Hare (that airport is spooky), and Heathrow (yay!  Another stressful run-in with security!), on the way to Lisbon.  This route also meant that I would be too late to make my separate flight to Faro Airport and would have to rebook that one on my own.

Have I mentioned lately that I’m really tired of moving around so much?  That it’s the airports and the crowds, the waiting and the expense that is really getting on my nerves?  

I managed to get through O’Hare at a run so I wouldn’t notice the creepiness and quickly boarded my flight.  In Heathrow, my already tired self got into the stupidly long line for security and prepared for another hassle.  When my computer bag wasn’t flagged, I said Hallelujah so loud the woman next to me snickered.  Lady, you have no idea what I’ve gone through in this airport.

Happily, I arrived in Lisbon, an airport I know so well now I can maneuver around with ease. I was equally happy to see that my two checked bags made it to Lisbon with me (the cancelled flight had me worried). Except … where is the ticket booth for Tap Portugal?  I see the dedicated area for checking in bags, but what about arranging for a new flight?

After wandering around for a while, a woman pointed me in the right direction.  I got to the desk and explained my situation only to be told that the next flight was at 11 p.m. (it was around 3 in the afternoon) and for the privilege of waiting around in the airport for hours, I’d have to pay them another 150 euros.  Seriously?  For a 45-minute flight?

Titanically heavy sigh.

After being extorted, I got my ticket and grabbed a quick meal before heading to security.  This should be a breeze, right?  I mean, I’d traveled across the pond with everything intact and even avoided a long search at Heathrow.  So, nao faz mal (no worries in Portuguese), right?

Except … both of my bags had been checked for the overseas flight.  In order to do that, I had to shift some weight from the large roller bag to the small one.  One of the things I moved over was my big bottle of leave-in conditioner that I can’t get anywhere except from Amazon.  I’d also just filled it up so it was nice and full.

It’s trash now.  Thanks, Portuguese Security!

And I still had an hours-long wait for my flight.  I’d arrive in Faro after 11 after all the shuttle services were closed.  That meant another 100-euro taxi ride to the apartment – which the guy couldn’t even locate at first. And neither could I.

I mentioned in a previous post that the Google Fi service on my phone recently switched my home region from the U.S. to Portugal.  As expected, the service no longer worked in the U.S.  No big deal.  I’m still not a big phone user and most of the time I could just hook up to the hotel Wi-Fi if I needed anything.

Well, I’m back in my beloved Portugal.  Does my phone have full functionality in what is supposed to be my home country?  Nope.  I kept switching from Google Fi to the Esim I’ve been able to use in Cyprus, Türkiye, and Portugal and only the Esim will connect.  What am I paying Google Fi for again?  Oh, right.  Just to annoy and piss me off.

Just … why … this is ... I don’t even know.

The beauty part?  After all that, I finally did make it to the apartment in Portimão and I FREAKING LOVE PORTIMAO! I am very happy to be back here.  I couldn’t book the pink palace where I stayed for two months last year, but I scored a month in the other apartment I stayed in which is almost as good. 

 

And it's a good thing I like this apartment as I've spent more time inside than I'd planned.  The first week was marred with off and on rain almost every day.  The mornings would be sunny and glorious, then by the time I was ready to go out for a walk and lunch, the torrential rains would come.  Kind of annoying.

On one of the days I finally could get out, I went to the beach (of course).  After a long walk, I stopped by a restaurant I liked by the water.  As soon as I sat down, a waitress came over to remove the other 3 place settings.  She looked at me and said “Caipirinha?  Mr. T?”  I just stared at her.  The drink order was correct, but I didn’t recognize the Mr. T part.  I got the menu and noticed that Mr. T was their 30-euro steak entry.  Not what I ordered last time but similar to the steak that I did order.

THE WOMAN REMEMBERED MY FACE AND ORDER FROM 4 MONTHS AGO!!!  HOW?!  WHY?!

The waitstaff I’ve met on my travels have been wonderful.  They’re also a little scary.

Something else scary.  A little over a week after I arrived in Portimão, Heathrow was shut down because of a power outage.  Being a major hub, this disrupted travel for thousands of people.  It might take weeks to recover full function.  It looks like I slipped through just in time.

London’s Heathrow Airport closure causes global travel disruption

Too Many Planes, Too Many Airports

 

Yeah.  I knew that time was coming again.

You would think that I wouldn’t want to go through the separation anxiety of leaving Portugal ever again, so I just wouldn’t keep coming back.   But I’m not that bright.  Can’t stay away from the country, have yet to secure a bag to remain, so … gotta leave again.

This sucks.  Hard.

I was very happy in my pink palace in Portimão.  I didn’t do anything terribly exciting, hence not posting to this blog in a month.  I worked on my online store, tried to get some of my other writing done, and basically chilled.  Total all, I had two glorious months of not having to get on a plane, two months of regular walks along a gorgeous beach, two months of not having to plan my next moves.  It was lovely.

And did I mention that the hosts sent their cleaning lady, a nice woman from Brazil, to clean the place twice during my stay?  Can I tell you how much I loved that?  I’ve never hired a maid in my life, but I might have to consider it the occasional special treat once I find my new place.

That last week or so was a bit on the taxing side, emotionally.  Not only was it the stress of leaving my most recent comfy home, but I came to the harsh realization that two years out of work has done a serious number on my bank account.  There is still no hope on the job front.  Just news of more layoffs and the confirmation that ageism is alive and well in this horrible job market.  My online shop has been open for a couple of months with zero sales.  I’ve gotten plenty of phishing emails and people looking to scrape more money out of my pocket in consultancy fees, but that’s about it.  It’s all been very demoralizing.

Adding to that stress, I was faced with yet another trip across the pond.  More fun.  I figured one last trip to the U.S. before January and the return of the orange regime. 

It’s just gonna get worse, people.

Anyway, there was nothing I could do about leaving Portugal as my Schengen days were coming to an end.  Sadly, I packed up and prepared to leave. Remembering that horribly expensive taxi ride into the city, I took a far cheaper Uber back to Faro Airport (more about the stupid expense of taxis in a later post). After one of the longest ½ hour flights I have ever had (why are children … children?), I was back to the VIP Executive Picoas in Lisbon.  I do love that hotel.  So comfy.  I booked my stay for two nights (including breakfast, which I still recommend) before the flight back to the states.

My short stay in Lisbon was enjoyable as always.  The city was all lit up for Christmas and full of tourists, even if the weather was a good 15 degrees cooler than in Portimão (I miss it so much!).  There was a Christmas Market in the park with carnival rides and an ice rink (seriously?  How?  It wasn’t that cold.).

I visited my favorite Hard Rock Café and was stunned to find that one of the waiters recognized me.  What?  The last time I went to that restaurant was six months earlier – the reason I remember that is because it was Easter Sunday and stupidly packed.  Weird, though, that I didn’t remember the dude.  I’m sure I’ll remember him if he’s still working there the next time I visit (he was definitely a cutie).

Way too soon, it was back to Lisbon Airport.  The flight to the U.S. was marked by having to switch my aisle seat in the very back of the plane to a seat near the flight attendant’s sitting area.  Not sure why the switch, but at least I had leg room for days.  A quick layover in Philly and then it was back to the ATL.

I hate that airport.  I didn’t used to before starting this journey.  Now it makes me itch every time I see it.  Still, the transition from plane to baggage claim to tram to car rental went smoothly enough.  Then it was off to an Airbnb I visited in January.

Still as cozy as ever, I did the standard things there during my short stay.  Mail pickup (including retrieving samples of the very t-shirts I had designed – very pleased with them, I must say), reupping on supplies, and dying my hair again.

I met the host on the way out of the place and we had a nice chat.  I filled him in on some of the places I’d visited since last seeing him and encouraged him to make his own way to Europe.  He said I was killing him with all these travel stories.  I told him I was killing myself as I’d hoped to be housed in Portugal months ago.  I confirmed his opinion that the Portuguese are a laid-back people living lives that aren't consumed by all the daily crap that Americans deal with.  That's just one of the reasons I'm still trying to get back there.  But for now …

Back to the airport.  Yeah.  I can’t keep doing this whole transatlantic hopping thing anymore.  The money, the butt-numbing time on uncomfortable planes, the stress – can’t keep doing it.  I was on the plane to the states when I realized that I need to do this as little as possible in the coming year.  I just can’t handle it anymore.  Screw dying my hair, screw getting the mail, and, as I had no income in 2024, screw having to fly back to do my taxes.  I need to remain in Europe for as long as I possibly can.