The Hillbilly Viking

Well, it’s time to say goodbye to Portugal and their comically affordable healthcare, their cod-scented grocery stores, and their counterintuitive, rectangular toilets (apparently “a round peg in a square hole” is not so much a metaphor there as it is literal, potty training instructions). And yet, I am admittedly melancholy (as well as 4 mini-bottles deep into KLM branded wine) as I write this, cruising 30,000 feet over the ocean near Iceland and already wishing we could turn this plane around.

We will be crossing the Atlantic near the southern tip of Greenland (surely, soon to be something like Vance-sylvania in the North Sea of America), and I can’t help but feel the dread of returning to a homeland that I don’t necessarily recognize or feel connected to anymore. But enough of that. I’m still on vacation.

Compared to the inbound, KLM is mostly redeeming themselves on this flight, partly because of their generous, non-judgmental wine policy, but mostly because of Patty’s plaster cast. It has not only garnered us early boarding on each flight, but it is also a flight attendant magnet. They want to help her, talk to her, question her about her accident, stare accusingly at me (OK, not loving that part so much), and otherwise grant her every wish like a flock of Germanic genies in powder blue pantsuits. I’m happy about that part, though. She deserves it after the past 24 hours she’s had. Also, I’m considering a fake, velcro cast for future travel.

There is something seated directly behind us coughing so consistently that I swear it is a sound effects synthesizer on auto-repeat. Sadly, the corresponding, moist blasts of gouda-smelling air hitting the back of my bald head suggest a more organic source. I dare not turn around. The woman across the aisle to my right, who came on the plane with a spoiled child and two carry-ons larger than my first, two apartments, is apparently trying to pass phlegm triplets through her nose. I don’t know whether to offer her a Kleenex or a bassinet. Reminds me of my Uncle Ron (the first one). It’s been going on for over an hour now, and I don’t even think her water has broken yet. God, I miss the masks (and etiquette) of Covid right now. If we escape this flight with anything less than Ebola, I guess I’ll have the KLM genies to thank (and the anti-bacterial properties of KLM chardonnay). For my own sanity, I need to stop obsessing and change the subject.

When in Portugal, we met a number of Americans looking for an escape plan, for lack of a better phrase, and I have never encountered that level of exodus envy in all my previous travels. Without additional editorializing on that phenomenon, if you are among the 49.99 percent of the electorate seriously considering a change of address, this is what we learned about Portugal:

• The Azorean island of Sao Miguel is beautiful, bucolic, friendly, affordable, and an unfortunate victim of shitty weather and extreme isolation. Unless you are looking for a place to finish your apocalypse-prompting manifesto (and you own industrial-strength paper weights because it’s really frickin’ windy), I might suggest elsewhere.

• On the mainland, Porto is nice, but big and hilly. It is safe, vibrant, modern, well served by public transportation, and as architecturally European as it gets. Great if you are young and fit, but perhaps not the appropriate terrain for your golden years.

• Coimbra is an ex-pat hotspot, south of Porto with a solid collegiate scene. It’s half the size of Porto, but I feel like it is already the next “it” location and will suffer from its own success. The weather, however, may be just about perfect year round. Also, the students wear black cloaks as part of their school uniform, which makes it look like gangs of Harry Potter impersonators roaming the streets.

• As far as Lisbon, the Algarve, and all things south, we lived in Florida for three years. We don’t do south anymore, so we didn’t go. Might be perfect for you, but you won’t hear it from me.

• Viana do Costelo may very well be our future, forewarding address. It’s quite a bit north, so weather could be better, but it’s in a flat river basin with excellent walkability, industry, and a thriving ex-pat community. For my money, this is the place. Additionally, there’s a great little hospital there that is reasonably priced. Ask for Dr. Feliz.

This is the last entry for the Portugal portion of our presentation. Stay subscribed, and you’ll be sitting ringside for our next adventure. Thanks for following, like-ing, and commenting. I hope you enjoyed it. Please return your seats to their upright positions and stow your tray tables in the seat backs in front of you.

Obrigado.