Ponta do Pargo

Nope.  Didn’t last a week.

Ponta do Pargo is extremely picturesque.  It’s very quiet and very rural.  The staff of the hotel/restaurant were nice and accommodating.  The room was simple but clean with a killer view of the water from my balcony.  And yet …

I felt trapped in a bucolic nightmare.

Okay.  That’s not entirely fair.  I did hike around the area, enjoying the scenery.  I wasn’t the only one.  The farol had various guests coming in an out while the hills were often covered with hikers (mostly German).  The word farol actually means lighthouse (I just keep referring to the hotel/restaurant as a farol).  The lighthouse itself is located down a tunnel that leads to a turnaround for tourists to park and get a scenic view.  They would often stop at the restaurant, a popular spot to view the fabulous sunsets.

In the other direction, the road ends in a cul-da-sac providing entrance into driveways for 2-3 houses.  The only road out leads through the village, a serious hoof up a hill only partially paved with sidewalks. There are wildflowers everywhere.  Calla lilies, poppies, cacti, and what looked like aloe bushes.  Everything is lush and green and many houses have their own fields to grow vegetables. I already mentioned the cows, but I also spotted some goats in the fields.  All the animals are tethered to their spots, but I still don't think that most have owners.  I think it's up to city to maintain them.

The village itself has a few restaurants, a pharmacy, and a small grocery store.  It’s this weird mix of the modern and the ancient.  You’ll see these lovely brightly colored homes with blooming gardens sitting next to rotted out wrecks.  There are few sidewalks, yet plenty of people on foot (and just like in Lisbon, the drivers will give you a lot of leeway for being in the street).  Some of the roads are barely ruts in the dirt, yet there will be a shiny new car rolling down it.  It is deathly quiet except for the church bells and the animals, until some yahoos on motorcycles race down the street.

There’s like 20 people in this village and yet they have this kickass coffee shop called Gato Legal.  I stopped there on my first Friday at the farol since the restaurant is closed that day.  I had a tuna pie and an Americano. The food was delicious and I love the air of the place.  I asked the owner how long they served breakfast and since he said all day, I assured him that I would be back.  There was a French toast on the menu that I had to try and at 2:00 the following Sunday I did.  It was amazing.  And, yes, they do serve wine and beer, thanks for asking.

In fact, they have wine and beer everywhere.  As tiny as the supermarkets are, whether here or in Lisbon, they always have a full liquor aisle.  Madeira is known for it’s wine and even though I’m not a big wine person, I had to try some.  I had the sweet version of their port – not bad.  I also had something called poncha.  It was served in this tiny glass and looked like orange juice.  I took one sip and – whoa.  That’s booze made from rum and fruit juices.  Took another sip … and then I was drunk.  Third sip killed the glass. “Would you like another?” asked the waitress.  “Yes, please.”  Good stuff that.  Poncha!

I hiked up the hill nearest to the farol, visited the village multiple times, took pictures at the scenic overlook.  I basically did all you could do without having a car and by Saturday I was over it.  I was tired of the menu.  The free breakfast was the same rolls, cold cuts and fruit every morning.  The room was always too cold and the hotel could get noisy.  I longed to be out exploring more of the island, but I didn’t want to drive.  A rental from the farol would cost 100 euros a day and the roads here are steep, windy, narrow, and go through too many tunnels for my comfort. The bus system (outside of the main city of Funchal) was incomprehensible even to the locals, took too long, and rarely made it to this part of the island.

I think an extended stay would make sense if you’re looking to escape the hustle and bustle of a city or if you’re looking to reconnect with nature.  Call me spoiled, but I didn’t need a month to do that.  Not the fault of the farol, just not where my head is at.  Yes, I should embrace the quiet to get more writing done but … a few days at the farol just had me itching for something else.

A Word About Madeira

My first indication that I wouldn’t like my next accommodation is when I contacted the host and was told it would be an 80-euro taxi ride to get to his place.  No more public transport or taxi rides for less than 20 euros.  I have to admit that my apartment in Lisbon had spoiled me.  The location couldn’t be beat and I had full amenities.  It also cost for one week what I’d planned to spend for an entire month of lodging, which is why I couldn’t rent it for much longer.

I woke way too early on travel day, said a wistful goodbye to my Lisbon digs, and headed for the taxi stand.  After about a 10-minute wait, the cab showed up and swiftly got me to the airport.  Again, I was too early and had to wait to check my bags.  Then more waiting for the gate number to be assigned.  After a quick meal, there was still more waiting for EasyJet to board.  More waiting after that to get everyone on the plane and why the hell is this taking so long?  After all that standing with my heavy bags, I was thrilled to have a window seat and a row of three to myself on the plane.  I promptly fell asleep for most of the 1 ½ hour flight.

Then the real fun began.  The only address I had for the bed and breakfast was incomprehensible to the first cabbie I met.  He threw up his hands, saying the address was not enough to navigate on, and quickly dropped me for another client.  I sent the host a message and waited for a response (I gotta say, cell phones do come in handy sometimes).  When I got something that looked a little more precise, I approached a friendly looking woman and asked if she could take me there.  She nodded and we were on our way.

I already knew that Portuguese drivers were nuts, but this lady surpassed them all.  I swear she was trying out for the Indy 5000 (forget the Indy 500 – she’d already swooped way past them).  My brother used to drive just as fast, so it didn’t bother me too much.  Until she passed two cars at 80 miles an hour while driving through a tunnel …

This cabbie was far more talkative than any other driver I’d had so far.  As we raced through tunnels and skidded around circles, she’d point out the farms and what they grew.  There are banana trees all over the island as well as plots of potatoes and lettuces.  She raved about Madeira strawberries, how they were better and sweeter than Spanish varieties which just made me want some.  She noted that the weather had been weird lately.  Since Monday (it was Thursday at the time) a fog had been rolling in from the water in strange places.  We literally went into a tunnel under clear skies and when we came out, nothing beyond the road was visible.  It was truly bizarre.

I marveled at all the rows of red-roofed houses visible from the highway.  And we just kept passing by all of them.  We passed by Funchal, the capital city, by Ponta do Sol, the digital nomad village that cropped up a few years ago.  The further we went, the sparser the houses became until we finally started to see signs for Ponta do Pargo, where my hotel was located.  At least that’s what we thought.  We kept looking for the place among the few seemingly private properties to no avail.  I was about to call the host when my driver remembered that she had once brought a fare to this area and she knew where it was.  Turns out she was right and we turned into a restaurant/bed and breakfast.

I was both relieved and dismayed at the place.  While peaceful and quite lovely, it is in the middle of nowhere.  There are no attractions, no beach access, no stores, or any sign of life in general.  My room, while clean with a gorgeous view of the ocean, is a far cry from the modern apartment I’d just left.  No full kitchen this time, no on-site laundry, just a small fridge that I quickly discovered was unplugged from the only outlet behind the desk.  I could either have cold water or my computer.

And, also animals.  I took a walk up the street to get the lay of the land.  I’m basically on a 2-lane road with nothing but the hotel and a bunch of private homes.  Other than the pigeons, I don’t remember any animals roaming around Lisbon.  Here, every bush I pass starts to rustle.  Lizards crawl out of every stone wall.  There are house flies, buzzing bees, and, of course, there are the cows.  Here I am walking up the road only to turn to the field on my left and – cow.  A couple more stare me down as I gawk at them.  I don’t think any of them belong to anyone.  They’re just wild cows grazing in the abundant grassy areas.  I am literally in the Portuguese countryside.

And the host was wrong about the 80 euros for a taxi – it was actually 100.    You’d think as fast as the woman was going, we would have broken the sound barrier and made the fare cheaper.

As I write this, it’s a sunny 65 degrees. The fog is lifting over the ocean, I hear birds chirping and the occasional moo of a wild cow.  Can’t say I expected any of this.

Not sure I’ll last the whole month here.

                                                                            COW!

Food of Lisbon

Can we talk about food for a minute?  From my research, I knew that the crazy number of products we have in American grocery stores would not be replicated in Europe.  The stores are smaller with fewer varieties of everything.  But what they do have is fresher, better and cheaper than in the states.  I can attest to that by proof of an orange.

I bought 5 oranges while in Lisbon, two from one store and three from another.  Each and every one of them was juicy and delicious.  Every time I opened the trashcan, I could immediately smell the rinds – they were still that fragrant and fresh even days later.  In America, I could pay three times as much for an heirloom orange and have no idea what I would get.  The orange might be juicy or it might be completely dried out.  There was no way to tell until you peeled it.

From my apartment in Belem, there are literally dozens of places to eat within walking distance.  Every variety you could want including, Italian, Chinese, Middle-Eastern and even McDonalds and Burger King mixed in with the traditional Portuguese places.  Being by the ocean, Portugal is famous for its seafood.  I had to try some, of course, so I found a little place thinking to have some salmon.  They were out so the waitress suggested the grilled bream (a fish I’d never even heard of) because it was fresh.  The fish was served whole with a side of perfectly seasoned steamed vegetables.  Add that to the bread and small plate of cheese and the delicious caipirinha (a cocktail I’d never had before) and it made for a simple but excellent meal.

I mentioned the food trucks and carts along the pier; they’re a little further away but still accessible by foot.  There are a bunch of places everywhere devoted solely to sweets and coffee, the biggest being Pasteis de Belem, a place that always has a line out the door for their pastries.  They are little rounds of phyllo dough with a burnt custard in the middle.  I wasn’t willing to wait in line, so I bought one from the store.  Pretty tasty after I warmed it in the microwave for half a minute. 

Walking around Lisbon proper, there was a café or restaurant every few feet.  Many of the streets/alleys in the city are closed off to cars so the restaurants have tables set up in the middle of them.  I like the ones with the enclosed fire pits since it staves off the cold and wind while you eat. 

They have the best bread everywhere – even the smallest supermarket will have a variety of baked goods to buy.  I found this maple pecan croissant at a little grocery store in a different part of Belem.  Absolutely delicious.

Coffee culture is also omnipresent.  Breakfast is usually a very simple meal of bread, fruit, and coffee.  But if you want to shove bread in your face and mainline coffee all day, the Portuguese won’t even blink.  They’re doing the same thing.

They’re not big on eggs here.  Oh, you can find them in the grocery stores, just don’t look in the refrigerated section.  They also aren’t big on cow milk.  I have yet to see any milk in a grocery store.  Instead, they have a wide assortment of plant-based milks, also unrefrigerated. 

And as French fries are my favorite food, guess which phrase I learned right away?  Battatas fritas (fried potatoes) is the term for both French fries and potato chips.  Nearly every meal I’ve ordered automatically came with fries.  So, I’ve had a lot of fries in Portugal.

My biggest concern, while eating all the bread and fries I want, was negating all the work I’d put in to losing weight.  Not to worry.  While my situation in America was more controlled with weight lifting sessions and supplements, here I walk at least 2 miles a day by default.  Sometimes up some serious hills.  Burns off those carbs real quick.

Tipping here is optional.  Since the waitstaff aren’t working for that tip, you’ll often have to flag them down to get their attention. With the more laid-back atmosphere, it’s common for lunch to go on for hours.  No one rushes you out to fill the table again and everything is just allowed to progress at it’s own pace.

I’m not even a foodie and I’m impressed.  Almost every meal I’ve had has been excellent.  Even if the waitstaff aren’t checking on you every minute, the staff are polite and easily switch from Portuguese to English depending on the customer (an impressive skill that I admire).  And in one restaurant, the staff gave each of the women a free rose.  Come on, Lisbon!  I already want to move here.  Quit trying so hard!

Lisbon Part 2

My first foray into Lisbon proper was by taxi as I was on a mission.  I had bought a universal adapter at home in preparation for Europe, but didn’t realize until I got to Portugal that it does not work for a 3-prong plug.  That meant no computer and that wasn’t going to work.  There is a communal workspace along the shore in Belem so I asked the woman who worked there if she knew of where I could get a new adapter.  She was kind enough to write down the location of a store in the mall downtown and I was on my way.

After a frantic search at FNAC, the regional version of Best Buy, I found the adapter.  A quick lunch in the small 3-story mall and I left it to look around the area while I was there.  There is so much to see in the city. The place crawls with people and cars navigating the narrow, hilly streets.  Wandering aimlessly (what I do best), I found my way to this huge courtyard by the pier.  Despite being able to see the suspension bridge that I’d walked under on my first day, I quickly discovered that there was no way to walk a straight line along the pier.  There were too many breaks for traffic diversions and entrances to boat docks.  It’s either take a taxi or public transport to get to Belem from Lisbon.

Speaking of which, my wandering led to the Cais do Sobre station, the end of the green line of the Lisbon Metro.  The station also houses a few cafes, shops, entrance to both the Metro (underground) and the above train lines, as well a decent sized grocery store.  How convenient is that?  You’re on your way home from work or coming back from a day trip and can easily pick up dinner before jumping on the train.  No cars needed; just be sure you have your grocery bags with you.  It’s the first thing the cashiers ask before they ring you up.

With the help of yet another nice lady who saw me staring at the ticket machine in confusion, I managed to buy a ticket on the above ground train.  Three stops later, I was in Belem again, purchases in hand.

I said before that I didn’t have any solid plans for my time in Lisbon.  What I did have was a vague idea of things I wanted to do.  I thought of taking the train to the nearby city of Porto as another new home candidate or maybe take a day trip to Sintra for some sightseeing.  Unfortunately the weather didn’t always want to cooperate.

While it was sunny the first few days I was there, it soon turned for the worst.  Monday was just awful.  It was windy, rainy, and cold.  I was out in it for about an hour before I called no mas.  I admit it; I’m a weather wimp.  Though there were plenty of people still out wrestling with umbrellas and trying to avoid getting splashed by passing cars, I had to return to the apartment.  I hated to do it but there’s only so much I can take.

With the extended travel plans scrubbed, I was still determined to learn the train/underground system since getting back from Lisbon the first time was so easy.  I purchased a 3-day Lisboa Card from this mirrored kiosk near the park.  This grants you access to all public transport and museums – a good deal.  There is also a rechargeable Viagem card for the trains, but the Lisboa Card is nice to have since you don’t have to wait in line to recharge it.

Once the weather cleared up again, I was back on the train to Cais do Sobre.  From there, it’s a short walk downstairs to the underground.  My mission this time was to find the Hard Rock Café.  I’ve collected the shirts for years and couldn’t miss out on Lisbon.  The restaurant is located on Rua du Avenida where you’ll also find all the chi-chi stores like Fendi and Mark Jacobs.  There’s also a Lidl grocery store along with still more restaurants and cafes. 

A later visit to the city also revealed a really nice park at the end of the street.  I loved that park and the fact that the city is built with so many places to just sit and chill.  You might have to walk six miles to get there but the atmosphere is worth it.

My last full day in Lisbon was a local one.  One of the museums near the apartment was the Monsteiro dos Jeronimos, an ancient monastery that always had a huge line out the door to enter.  I thought to go there on that yucky Monday morning except all museums are closed on Mondays.  This day turned out sunny so I got in line.  Expansive and gorgeous, you can feel the age of the place when you enter.

I highly recommend coming to Lisbon at least once.  Some hints: do not rent a car there.  The drivers are a little … um … insane and there’s nowhere to park.  You are much better off on foot or on one of the scooters or bikes that are parked all over town.  Noise levels can be … challenging.  I knew from my research that the walls of apartments can be pretty thin.  I can attest to that as I could hear every person walking outside my apartment as well as the neighbors next door with their screaming baby.

I deliberately chose to visit Lisbon at the tail end of winter/beginning of spring because I wanted to know what those seasons were like (I’d been spoiled for far too long with the mild winters in Georgia).  The city forces you to get outside on foot – a much different thing than being in a car all day.  The rain and wind are rough being near the water and there’s always the risk of tripping on wet tiled walkways.  Even with the dodgy weather, there were plenty of tourists about.  Come summer I’m sure the place will be insane with all the noise and festivals.

Still, I like Lisbon.  I know it’s only my first stop on the new home search, but I’m impressed enough to consider it a candidate.  Don’t know if I can afford it or what the rest of the year will bring, but I look forward to returning there.

Lisbon Part 1

When I would tell people about my plans for a one-year sabbatical, the second thing that surprised them was usually that Portugal was my first stop.  I don’t think most Americans think about Portugal much.  Travelling abroad usually means the UK, France, Italy, Germany, or Spain.  The little country to one side of Spain usually just slips right by them.

I have to admit that I was of those people.  It only took some research to change my mind.  It occurs to me that the country you never hear about in the news is the one you need to live in.  No political upheaval, no random accounts of violence every day, no major headlines at all coming from this country.  It’s ranked as one of the safest countries in the world with a top 20 rank in healthcare.  English is widely spoken and the natives are very tolerant of outsiders.  

Americans may be ignorant of this country, but Europeans sure aren’t as Lisbon is truly a multi-cultural city.  Just walking down the street, you can hear multiple accents and languages, see every color of skin, and people of all ages.  I like that I don’t stick out like a sore thumb as a single black woman.

My neighborhood, Belem, is located just north of Lisbon proper.  Following a random woman as she crossed the street on my first day, I found myself on a pedestrian bridge that takes you over the busy highway and impassable railroad tracks.  The bridge is connected to a new museum called the MAAT.  It’s modern design gives you a great view from the top while the path leads you down a very nice walkway by the river Tagus.

It was a gorgeous sunny day on Thursday, so there were a lot of people out and about.  Even at 3 in the afternoon there were people walking their dogs, playing with their kids in the park, biking and scooting by (the scooters are everywhere and I think they’re free to the public) and just enjoying the sunshine.  There was a good laid-back vibe to the city that I immediately liked.  I had to take a shot of this contraption as I’ve never seen anything like it before.  It’s a rolling bar where the guests have to peddle to get it moving while they drink beer and socialize.

Beer isn’t the only thing free flowing in Lisbon.  If you’ve been walking all day and really need a glass of wine, Portugal’s got you.  There are literally carts scattered all over the touristy areas offering a variety of wine and some beer (Super Bock is big here).  Even at my lovely apartment, the only bits of ‘food’ were a bottle of water in the fridge and a bottle of wine on the counter.  If I were a wine person, I’d be in heaven.  Though I can’t imagine being a heavy drinker and trying to navigate the uneven cobblestone walkways.

Yeah.  About that.  While pretty and historic, the walkways are kinda tricky.  Rome still wins the title of most exhausting, but this city has its obstacles, too.  Lots of crowds, streets busy with cars, buses and taxis (who are very accommodating to pedestrians), oh, and look out for the flying rat you’re about to kick.  Portugal is big on having stairs just appear out of nowhere.  There will be a slight incline and suddenly there’s a step and if you’re not prepared for it, you will trip. 

The city is known for being on seven hills.  Makes it great when you’re looking out at the skyline, but not so great if you’re walking up those bad boys.  Most people were wearing sneakers or sensible boots which just made the occasional woman looking cute in her high heels stand out all the more.  Every time I saw one, I had to keep my jaw off the floor and pray for the safety of that poor woman’s ankles.

I didn’t come to the city with a specific plan.  While I am scouting Portugal as a new home, I knew I didn’t want to live in Lisbon.  Too noisy, too crowded, and too expensive.  That being said … I could see myself living here.  My rental is in walking distance of a bus stop and the train station.  Belem is three stops away from the end of the line and from there you can exit the street level train and head for the underground that stops all over the city.  Being a mixed-use area, there were several restaurants and small convenience stores along the way to the train stop.  Multiple museums are a few blocks away along with some gorgeous gardens and parks.  If that's not enough, there is a bank of taxis right by the pedestrian walkway and tuk-tuks darting all over the place ready to take you anywhere you need to go.  Gotta love the easy access to everything.  Just what I’m looking for in a new home as I don’t want to own another car or live in another car-dependent suburb. Almost thirty years trapped in Atlanta traffic was more than enough.

Flight Time

The day had finally come.  My last bit of administrative work before leaving America was to sell the car.  I had already arranged for Hennessy Honda to buy the car since I’d purchased the car from them in January 2020.  Having only driven it a few hundred miles before my company went into lockdown in the middle of March, the car didn’t have too many miles on it.  Other than a couple of road trips to Hilton Head in 2021 and 2022, I rarely used the thing.  The low milage and minimal wear and tear contributed to me getting a great offer of $18,000.

I met with the same guy I’d seen weeks ago.  We’d had a nice discussion about my plans and why I was selling the car.  When I showed up again, he was shocked to realize that the day had finally come.  I waited as he coordinated the sale with his boss, who was equally shocked to hear what I was doing.  I know that selling a house, selling a car, and travelling out of the country in the same week is unusual for me – I didn’t realize how much it would shock other people.  Surely, I’m not the first person to chuck it all and leave for another country? Military personnel alone had done the same for years.

I severely underestimated how long it would take to get the car sold.  I had to send away the first Uber driver I’d called because the wait was so long.  Not ten minutes after she left, the sale was finalized.  Instead of leaving with check in hand or a wire transfer like with the house, the dealer said they’d pay off the loan with my bank and mail me a check to the PO box.  Kind of a pain but at least I’m not travelling on that money.  Not a big deal if I don’t see it for a while.

My driver got me to the airport with some delay.  I hadn’t realized how long it’s been since I’ve travelled internationally from Hartsfield.  Delta had built a new terminal in the 12 years since my trip to Italy and we ended up taking the long way to get there.  But I was proud to say that booking my first trip with Uber was a success.  Paid with Venmo (thanks to the movers) and got the airport with plenty of time.

I flew out of KLM, another new experience for me.  I liked the service on the airline as well as the fact that I was seated on the edge of a 3-seater in the middle row with no one in the middle seat.  Made up for the only so-so leg room.  Still, I didn’t get much sleep as it was hard to get comfortable.

Being that KLM is a Dutch airline, we had a layover in Amsterdam, the airline’s hub.  I do want to visit the city proper one day, though not in March.  It is still very cold there and had me hoping that Portugal was warmer. 

We went through passport control at Schiphol, but it surprised me that there was nothing in Portugal’s airport.  No customs or passport check getting off the plane which was kind of strange.  I kept looking around to make sure I wasn’t slipping by customs as I headed outside to contact an Uber.

Thinking myself cute that I’d set up Uber the day before, I wasn’t happy to realize that Venmo doesn’t work outside of the U.S.  OK.  Instead of just catching a taxi, I was determined to get the Uber to work.  I hastily set up my primary credit card for the billing (more on that later) and was finally able to get a driver to come.  Being unfamiliar with the airport, it took a while to even find the guy, but eventually I was able to flag him down and we were on our way.

As Vitor, the driver, barely spoke English, we had a quiet trip while I looked out the window.  I knew from my research that I wouldn’t need to rent a car and I’m glad I didn’t – the Portuguese are very aggressive drivers.  There were a lot of people cutting others off and honking horns as we navigated from the highway to the very narrow and congested side streets.

Does this look like the entrance of an apartment to you?  Is it any wonder that both my driver and I were confused?  But the host was kind enough to send me a picture of the entrance along with the code to get in.  I also had the help of a nice man who poked his head out from the apartment next to mine to point me in the right direction.  Despite the unassuming front, the apartment is narrow but surprisingly long with a single bedroom, two baths and a little sitting room in the back.  The way it’s set up means it gets a little natural light, but doesn’t have proper windows. A very nice (if chilly) place in a location that can’t be beat.

Once I got settled, I was ready to explore.  The weather was a sunny 60 degrees.  Perfect conditions to experience a new city.

Closing Time

I slept like the dead after moving day.  Didn’t matter that I was in a strange bed with a very uncertain future ahead of me.  The only things on the agenda for that Tuesday were to gleefully return my cable equipment to Comcast and, of course, finalize the sell of my home.

It had been a journey to get to this point.  Many times I didn’t think the house would ever sell.  While I’d heard stories of homes selling within days of a listing, that was mostly before summer 2022.  Getting towards the end of the year, the economy was heating up, people were getting laid off and everything just seemed more uncertain with each passing month.  I put the house on sale on 12/1/22 and we had an open house the following Saturday.  It was a wet, miserable day so I was surprised that we got four people to come in.  No takers though.

The price was lowered from the original asking price three times and each time we did it, there were more showings.  And yeah, those were fun.  My realtor, Connor, would call/email and tell me when to leave the house, requiring me to erase any evidence that I lived there.  Clean the bathrooms, the kitchen, make the bed and tidy up then make myself scarce.  I had one chick show up twenty minutes early while I scurried out the back, a couple of no shows, and one realtor who used the entire 30 minutes when most of the showings took half that time.  I had gone out for a walk during that one and came back tired and cranky, forced to wander around the neighborhood until these strangers got out of my house.   There were a couple of surprise showings, people ringing my doorbell when the house wasn’t ready and I’d been given no warning.  Then there was the one realtor who showed up ½ hour after his slot when I’d already returned home and was setting things back to normal.  Copping an attitude of ‘well, we’re here now.  It’s up to you.’  I wanted to punch him in the face.  Instead, I played nice and again left the house so these strangers could do a walk through.  The showing process was truly a pain in the butt.

Fortunately, the fourth and final price drop actually caught a buyer.  I’d had a couple of other offers but neither of them felt right.  One was from a realtor who wanted me to replace the roof (a roughly $10,000 expense) so she could rent the place out.  The other offer was from an investor who wanted to do the same.  Connor didn’t like these offers any more than I did.  I explained to him that I did not want to sell to an investor, someone looking to pay me as little as possible while gouging the next owner/renter just to make a profit.  There’s a housing crisis on, housing prices are through the roof while wages are stagnating.  I wanted someone in the house who wanted to be there.  This offer seemed to fit the bill perfectly.  This is his first home purchase and will be his primary residence and not just a way to make money. 

I went to an unfamiliar part of town, not far from the house, to meet with a lawyer, a bunch of real estate agents, and the new owner, Michael.  I initially thought I was late because everyone else, except Connor, had already arrived.  Connor did appear soon after and then it was about signing a ton of paperwork.  As we both signed, I explained to Michael some of the benefits I’d found in living at 150 Swanee Lane (a nice quiet neighborhood that was walking distance to a grocery store, post office, and various restaurants) as well as some of the issues (noisy water heater, lousy parking).  He was not the most genial man I’d ever met but I wished him the best.

As we were walking out, I expressed my genuine gratitude to Connor.  He was very personable, quick to respond to my emails and seemed to understand my wishes. Unlike my last realtor.  I attributed my inability to sell the house in 2007 due to the rising housing crash, but now I think I also just had a bad realtor.  I simply did not like that woman.

Leaving the lawyer’s office, I took the cable boxes and modem to the local Comcast office.  I was expecting a hassle.  The company has been robbing me blind for years.  Their internet connection was good and reliable, but I was paying way too much for cable that was less appealing to me every year.  I’ve heard horror stories about Comcast customer service – one of the reasons I rarely contacted them for anything. Instead of a hassle, though, the Comcast guy took my bag of equipment, barely glancing at it as he pulled up my account then asked me ‘Why are you paying so much?’  You tell me, pal!  He said I had an older plan and should have come into the office to renegotiate.  NOW he tells me.  I told him I would happily take that money back if he’s offering.  Unsurprisingly, he couldn’t do that.  He instead told me I didn’t owe any more and closed the account.  I do love it when the hassle I’m expecting never arrives.

With the rest of the day free, I decided to do something that I’ve wanted to do since I moved to Woodstock in 2003 – visit the historic downtown section.  I’d driven down Main Street numerous times over the years, but never bothered to stop and get out of the car.  Since it was a gloriously sunny and warm day, I finally parked the car to walk up and down the short strip of restaurants and shops.  There are some funky little places down there and I’m glad I got a chance to see them.  I had a ginormous calzone for lunch at this hole-in-the-wall pizza place with enough left over for dinner. I checked out the bookstore and the visitor’s center.  Seemed a good way to end my time in fair Woodstock. I will miss it.

Moving sucks.

There’s just no other way to put it.  And it’s not just the move itself (oh, we’ll get to that).  It’s all the things to arrange, organize, disconnect, etc.  You don’t realize just how many things are hooked into your job, your address, your phone number.  Doesn’t help that I don’t have another address or phone number (or job) to hook into.  All new territory for me.

I arranged for a PO box for the year.  I opened another bank account featuring a debit card that had no foreign transaction fees.  I had to inform all my banks that I would be travelling (hoping for no issues on that front).  I had to purge all my work info off any websites.  I balked at using the COBRA benefits set up by my former employer, but since they offered to cover a big chunk of the cost for the first six months, I figured, why not.  It meant I had coverage for my last two months in Georgia and will be covered if I need to return before June.  After that the cost goes up to $600 a month.  Since I also had to get travel insurance (much cheaper but only applies to travel out of the US) I might not continue with COBRA after June.

I knew I wouldn’t take my slow, 8-year-old laptop to Europe, so I bought a new smaller computer last year while I still had my employee discount.  I also purchased a Google Pixel 6a phone specifically for this trip and now I’m forcing myself to use it.  Anyone who’s known me for a minute knows that I am not a cell phone person.  I didn’t want to become addicted to it like so many are these days. God, I’m turning into an old black lady – though even that’s not accurate.  My 70-year-old stepmom knows more about this stuff than I do (Hi Cynthia!). I’m just way behind the curve.  She’s the one who suggested What’s App for travel messaging.  I hooked up with Venmo at the suggestion of one of the movers. I accidently stiffed them of a decent tip as I only had $60 on me -- not nearly enough on a $1000 move job.  And soon I’ll have to seriously rely on the phone to navigate the Portuguese transit system to get to my AirBNB in Lisbon.  Scary, but I’m determined to figure it out.

I made the decision to move months ago, so I had plenty of time to purge and pack.  And still there was just so much stuff.  Stuff on top of stuff.  I had the VVA come to pick up for charity at least 5 times – and yet there was more stuff.  I thought a lot had been done by the time moving day arrived – and yet there was more stuff. 

With closing on the house set for Tuesday, 2/28/23, I arranged for the movers and a junk removal company to arrive on Monday morning.  I woke up at 5:00 with my mind racing – good thing too since I needed all that time.  I was doing laundry, washing dishes, and packing everything at the same time. Had to make yet another run to Home Depot because I ran out of boxes (again) and both tape runners had died.  I got the mattress and box spring downstairs thinking that the junkers would show up first, but it was the movers who were actually on time.  They moved the mattresses and the smaller pieces of furniture away from the front door and got right to work. I was still packing things up, cleaning, and throwing things out while still waiting for the junkers to show up.  The whole thing felt surreal – I went from task to task while still not believing that I was actually moving out of my beloved house.

The movers finished, earmarking a few pieces of furniture for themselves once I’d labeled them as junk, and still the actual junkers had not arrived.  They had been scheduled for the same 8-10 window as the movers and yet … I had to call them repeatedly while the movers just sat outside on my dime.  Eventually, they asked for the info to the storage facility so they could get started.  They aren’t supposed to do that, but better than sitting and waiting indefinitely.  I sent them on and again called the junkers.

By this point, I was dog tired, anxious to join the movers, and highly annoyed.  After being put on hold by yet another representative who called the crew, I just rescheduled the meet to a 4-6 window and rushed to the storage facility.

As I suspected, the crew was waiting inside but they weren’t allowed to unload the truck unless I was present.  Only then do they charge you.  After that, I was just there to watch.  I had serious doubts that my recliner, huge bookshelf, and monstrous desk would even fit into the 10x10 space I’d rented.  But, somehow, the three-person crew managed to Tetris everything inside.  I’m still amazed they were able to do it – that and I can’t believe that all this stuff is what I whittled down from way more stuff.  So much stuff!

Completely wiped, I checked into the hotel before getting something to eat.  Then I headed back to not-my-house to continue cleaning and wait for the junkers.  They finally arrived, apologizing profusely and offering me discounts.  Most of the junk was piled in front of the house, so the two guys handled that first then headed for the big items like the sofa and second recliner.  We chatted about my plans as they worked, the guys telling me they had never been outside of the south, let alone gone to Europe.  I encouraged them to travel, as I do everyone.  I paid them and waited while they helped my former neighbor move some mattresses out of his garage.  Then I left the keys and the garage door opener on the counter and left my home of the last nineteen years for the last time.  I was proud of myself for not crying – though honestly, I think I was just too tired.

An interesting note: I moved to Atlanta in 1995 right before the Olympics the following year.  My favorite radio station quickly became 99X, the local alternative station.  Over the years the channel disappeared, reappeared on satellite radio, then disappeared again.  A few weeks ago, I was flipping channels and was shocked to find the station back again.  Determined to listen to it as much as I could before I left, I had my portable radio set up in the dining area while I moved.  I listened as the original host of the morning show announced his new cohost – the cohost he had back in 1995.  I thought it was this weird circle closing with everything resetting to how it was almost 30 years ago.  A happy surprise and the universe seeming to echo my thoughts lately that things were much better in the 90’s.  An unexpected send-off as I seek a new life.

Because of the fatigue, the rest of moving day was a blur.  I got back to the hotel and all I wanted to do was lay down.  I had to force myself to eat my Wendy’s salad before crashing.  The hard part was over, but there was still work to do.  I had an appointment with some lawyers at noon the next day that I didn’t want to miss. 

A Twix and Between Christmas

What a weird year this has been. Things started out fairly normal.  January saw me still working from home, same job, same house. Now here I am in December, 50 pounds lighter, jobless, and preparing to completely change my life by selling the house and travelling Europe for a year.  Wow.  Didn’t see any of that coming.

I also didn’t see the ‘once in a century’ storm we’d have for Christmas this year.  Saturday, Christmas Eve, Atlanta saw record low temperatures of 6 degrees F.  I’m just glad that it’s been sunny and dry the last two days.  I can’t imagine living through the blackouts and whiteouts they’re having up north this year.

Watching the weather reports only added to the sub-zero amount of Christmas spirit I have this year.  I just packed the decorations into my storage unit last week.  The last two months have been all about getting rid of a lot of stuff in preparation for the move, so no new presents for me (the only Christmas present I want is for someone to back up a truck full of money in front of my house and get it off my hands).   I sent out a few cards as I do every year, but got zero response.  Seems like I’m not the only one lacking in spirit.

Now I’m just waiting.  And it stinks.  I can have all the plans in the world to go out and explore, I can make all the travel arrangements I want, but getting someone to first see my house and then decide to buy it is completely out of my hands.  The realtor I’m working with is a nice guy and doing his best, but I think it’s just a matter of bad timing.  End of year, economy heating up, lots of people getting laid off. So.  The holding pattern continues. 

I do hope everyone has a good holiday.

Well … I got laid off last week.

 And I just ‘celebrated’ my twenty-year anniversary at my current employer in March.  How quickly things change.

I knew this was coming.  There had been a lot of changes imposed on my group in a very short time to cut costs.  I’d heard the rumblings of a recession for months now.   So, when the boom was lowered, it wasn’t a shock.  But still there are … feelings.

Admittedly, I was getting burned out.  I’d been in my position for ten years and was ready to move on.  The changes within the position in the last year did not help anything.  I knew it was time (waaaay past time) to get out, but I kept dragging my feet.  It was only when I started to get the layoff vibes in September that I started making plans.

My first move was to declutter the house with a plan to sell it.  Please note:  I love my house.  This is my first home, I’ve been in it for 19 years come December, and I have been very happy here.  But, since I had no interest in immediately jumping into a new job, there was no way I could maintain this house for very long.  The declutter part has been a bittersweet experience.

I have seriously been considering going expat or a while now.  I’d originally wanted to sell the house years ago and move to Australia.  But considering that I made this decision right before the 2008 housing crisis … and those plans kinda fizzled out.  Cut to 12 years later and that impulse to leave America is even stronger than before.

I changed my mind about Australia for various reasons then switched to New Zealand.  That idea died when I saw a report on Kiwi TV that said expats were leaving the country in droves because of the expense and the hard path to citizenship.  Then I began to focus on Portugal.  I have heard good things about the climate and the quality of life that has already attracted a large portion of black Americans to move there. 

Acquiring a visa takes some time though, and I was thinking I would have more of it before the layoff.  This job officially ends on 12/31/22 which has me scrambling to establish a workable timetable.  I canceled my planned scouting trip to Portugal for November and instead sent my passport to get renewed.  It expires in July 2023 and I wanted to make sure it got back to me before I put the house on the market.  I don’t know if I’ll have enough time to apply for the D7 visa before the first of the year, so I hatched a new plan.

I’ve also been researching the idea of a grownup gap year (my brain is just swimming with ideas).  I’ve found that there is a whole community of black women who took several months off to just travel and get their heads right.  I didn’t realize until the last month or so that I could really use a break, a time to rest and relax before finding another job.   Now, I’m trying to figure out an itinerary, looking for employment opportunities, packing up the house, searching for my medications overseas, picking up some Portuguese (Madeira would be my first stop), doubting myself every step of the way, feeling overwhelmed, excited, sad ….

Like I said.  There are feelings.

How I lost 40 pounds in 4 months (or how I spent my summer 2022)

 

Simple answer for this one:  WW online.

Before I say any more, this disclaimer:  I am not sponsored by Weight Watchers.  I’m not a dietician or personal trainer or anything like that.  I’m just a middle-aged chick who wanted to lose weight to improve my health.  Hope that makes things clear.

How this process got started:  I’ve been into healthy eating and regular exercise for years now.  There is a gym in the basement of my office building and I’d gotten into the habit of hitting it every morning before getting to my desk.  I’ve always been a bigger woman so my focus was not usually on weight loss as I’ve gained and lost the same 20 pounds over the years.  I firmly believe that exercise and a reasonably good diet are important to everyone. 

Things were going just fine until March 2020.  The transition to working from home indefinitely did nothing for my physical health.  Being jarred out of my routine and barred from the gym at the job (coupled with anxiety about Covid) left me basically immobile for two months.  It was only after realizing that I wasn’t doing myself any favors with all the additional butt time, I slowly adapted to a new routine.  The diet remained the same, but I started to move more.  I felt like I was getting back on track.

Cut to two years later and quarantine had not been kind.  It’s not like I was pigging out on the regular but by the beginning of 2022 I had reached the age of 50 and was post-menopausal.  I had no idea the damage to my body until I went for a routine doctor’s visit in May.  My blood sugar was at 106 and my weight had ballooned to 257 pounds.  What.  The.  Hell.

The WW program had been suggested to me multiple times in the past, but I always insisted that I could do this on my own.  Joining the online program, though, pointed out various tweaks I could make to my routine put me in a calorie deficit.  Cutting down on butter, cutting out my once-a-week fast food habit, and getting rid of all added sugar were a good start.  Additionally, I set up my own weight-lifting station in my living room and scoured YouTube for work at home routines.  Through these videos, I also learned how hormones can affect the body with age and how they need to be regulated to maintain a healthy body weight.  I added a probiotic to my supplement regimen along with apple cider vinegar and turmeric.  I was already a big fan of a multi-vitamin, fish oil and green tea so what’s a few more pills?

It is now routine for me to have two weight-lifting sessions a week and 2-3 cardio sessions where I power walk around the neighborhood.  I prepare bento boxes for lunch every week, using a food scale to maintain proper portions.  Water all day every day and logging my food online saw me losing around two pounds a week.  No cheat meals but I do allow myself cheat drinks.  I took up mixology right before starting WW -- two things that don’t really go together but at least WW assigns points for my 3 beverages a week.  I’m still shocked that this has gone so well.

What I’ve learned: 

1.       Consistency is key. 

2.       Plateaus will happen but don’t be discouraged. 

3.       Don’t be afraid to indulge every once in a while. 

4.       Rest when you need it.

5.       Weight loss is not a sprint, it’s a marathon.

6.       The best meal in the world is nothing compared to putting on a pair of pants that fit last year and watching them fall off while I laugh maniacally.  Good times.

Breaking out of my bubble

 

Wow.  It has been a wild 2 ½ years!  Who’da thunk that a few months after my very first cruise in December 2019, the world would come to a complete stop because of a pandemic.  That one of the first incidents to mark the strange year to come was that the very ship I was on, the Grand Princess, was the same ship that got held up off the coast of California because of the rising Covid cases onboard.  That what was originally supposed to be a few months of quarantine turned into a few years with no real end in sight. 

I still vividly remember the email sent out by my employer on that Tuesday, March 10, 2020.  To paraphrase: ‘Management has officially determined that ^&*(: has hit the fan.  Take your laptops home and don’t come back to work until we say it’s safe.’   Um.  Okay.  I worked from home for the next few days terrified of even leaving the house for groceries and trying to soak up as much info as I could find.  At the time, it was expected that we’d return to the office by the end of the month.  Then it was the end of May.  Then it was July.  Then it was …

I got used to the ‘new normal’ as the world descended into hell.  My work station had already been set up for my regular work from home Thursdays.  Online meetings with my teammates kept me connected to the outside world and the work load continued as usual.  The fact that I’m a loner with no social life made the adjustment much easier.

As uncertain as those first few weeks were, I certainly did not miss being in Atlanta traffic.  I had already started my year off with an accident in January that totaled my car – the second car of mine to be destroyed by someone else’s stupidity.  I’d purchased my first ever new vehicle that same month which was great, but there was always that nagging fear that this car, too, would get hit.  Quarantine took care of that fear nicely.  Instead of spending 2-3 hours a day, 4 days a week driving the 25 miles to and from work, I now spend less than an hour a week in the car.  I went from spending around $100 a month on gas to filling up the car maybe once every 3 months. My local grocery store is only a mile away and an easy walk on sunny days.  As much as I like my new car, I don’t mind that I’ve barely put 5,000 miles on it in 2 ½ years.

In some ways, I was designed for quarantine.  I’ve never required human company and now that I see everyone as teeming with virus, I got no problem staying away from them.  I busied myself with crafts and remained grateful every day that I still had a job, a roof over my head, and had avoided getting sick.

But now … I’m feeling a little restless.  2022 is coming to an end and I’m ready to break out of my bubble.  Other than a couple of trips to Hilton Head (still love that place) in 2021 and 2022, travel has been placed on the back burner.  I’ve barely written anything in the last 3 years.  I turned 49 during quarantine, then 50, and now at 51 I’ve had more than enough time to think about what I want to do with the rest of my life.  It’s time to get back to my passions, beginning with updating this blog more regularly.  I’m planning my first post-Covid international trip to Portugal in November.  Wish me luck.

<script async src="https://pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js?client=ca-pub-4780065057158904"
     crossorigin="anonymous"></script>