The Fellas

They seem pretty comfortable with us being back home. 

One of Those Places

Have you had that feeling when you find yourself in a place in the world you’ve never been before and you instantly know it? The feeling that maybe your bones recognize the land and the buildings? Your heart somehow remembers the faces of strangers as you pass them on the street? I’m having that feeling every time I turn a corner or inhale deeply or drink an espresso in a cafe on the square. (Well, the espresso and I are not strangers as we’ve met previously. On many occasions.) We leave here today but some part of me will always stay. I am astonished by Portugal.

Smacksy Sunday Links

How to know it's August. 

Key lessons for living a simple life.

Shoulder taps.

A satisfying way to end your day.

Easy, homemade peach cobbler.

On the syntax of literature.

And border collies hugging.

Happy Sunday.

Smacksy Saturday Photo: Castelo de Palmela

This boy.

Portugal Day 4

On Day 4 in Portugal, we left Lisbon, traveling 16 miles south to the town of Palmela. Our hotel shares a wall with the chapel belonging to the Castle of Palmela and integrates the cloisters of the old convent. The chapel is a relatively newer building at the site, dating back to just the 17th century. Just.

The castle dates back to the year 856, built by The Moors. It sits atop a hill with a view of the Setúbal Peninsula and the Costa Azul. Roughly translated by someone who doesn't speak the language, those words are Portugese for "Wow."

The monastery orchards.

When Mr. Rosenberg and Bob and I walked up to the castle for the first time, we heard singing. There was a bride and groom having their picture taken. A man in their small group of eight was singing to them. That moment has become my new definition for breathtaking.

You will want the sound on for the video.

Outside the hotel, plants and stairs and beauty.

Inside the hotel, chairs and stairs and beauty. 

View from the room.

View from the breakfast table. Bom Dia/Good Morning/Good Day. It is. 

On Portugal Time

The sun was just setting in Lisbon as we walked into the busy square near our apartment. Josephine Bistro, the sidewalk cafe, was packed. Mr. Rosenberg asked a passing waiter how long the wait was for a table. The waiter answered, "I do not know. Maybe one beer? Maybe ten?"

We found his estimate to be accurate.

I'm Like One of Those Dogs Who Work at the Airport

All of us have special skills. I have a few myself. Most of my skills center around organizational craziness involving silverware drawers and coat closets. I can also wiggle my ears. I have memorized an arsenal of old-school remedies ("Put a copper penny between your top lip and gums to stop a nose bleed...") I can fold a fitted sheet. I can name any Steve Miller Band song in three notes. Am I just showing off now? Yes, I am. Today at the Lisbon apartment we are staying in, I employed one of my very special skills.

I have not smoked pot since 1987 but being raised in Santa Cruz, California - a marijuana haven - I have a sixth sense (Sensimilla? Hello!) about where pot is hiding in a room. In California, it's legal and you don't have to hide it anymore so I haven't employed this skill for quite some time.

In a game I like to call I Know Where You're Hiding Your Weed, look at the photo below of the living room at our Airbnb and guess where the gram of plastic-bagged weed is hiding. (I did!)

If you guessed, inside the seemingly empty chest being used as a coffee table in the center of the room, you are correct! You are now allowed to add Weed Whisperer (or something) to your special skill list. Congratulations. I wiggle my ears to you.