I have a Russian friend who is addicted to cruises. Her father once asked her,
“When will you save money and buy a house?”
She said the place she loved most from all her travels was Portugal. So, after she retired, she moved there.
I thought, “Maybe I should live there too?” I didn’t decide right away, but I chose to visit first.
Lisbon, the capital of Portugal, is only 7 hours from New York. It’s 5 hours ahead of New York time. The airport process was fast. The weather is Mediterranean, with palm trees everywhere. I didn’t want to pull my suitcase up the hill to the hotel, so I took an Uber from the airport—it was so cheap, I felt almost guilty.
The reason I didn’t walk is because the streets are all made of 2.5-inch beige stones. That night, I looked out the window before bed. The stones on the ground were shiny, like they were wet from rain. But it hadn’t rained! I was surprised they weren’t slippery.
Some buildings had beautiful tiles on the walls—maybe from the old days when Muslims ruled this area and built mosques. A small yellow tram climbed the narrow hill streets, twisting its way very close to people walking by. The city wasn’t dirty, but not super clean either. It was simple and calm—a small city that didn’t feel stressful.
Even though Portugal has no strict laws against marijuana and alcohol, people were kind and quiet. No one bothered me on the street. I was shocked by how cheap the groceries were, especially wine! Restaurants had no tax and no tipping. Many places had delicious fish dishes—especially cod, my husband’s favorite.
About 3 hours north of Lisbon by train is a city called Porto. I took a cheap train there, and it was a smooth 3 hours and 20 minutes. But on the way back, I paid double for a faster train. It arrived an hour quicker—but it shook so much that I got sick and had to lie down. Because I felt so bad on the train, I don’t remember much about Porto. Some people say Porto is even better than Lisbon.
“I don’t know why, but Portugal feels right for me. The prices are low, the weather is good, people are calm, and there’s so much culture and history. I like that it’s not too fancy like other European cities. What do you think? Since I’ve already left my home country, maybe I should try living in Europe?”
My husband didn’t answer. Then I remembered—during the whole trip, he was focused only on finding restaurants that made good cod fish.
“As an artist, there’s no such thing as retirement,” he finally said. “Where else is better for artists than New York? It’s expensive, yes, but look—so many construction cranes here. Soon, Lisbon will also become expensive. Retired Americans usually move to beach towns in the south. Let’s check that out first.”
“But the southern U.S. is probably just full of boring American stuff,”
I replied.
“How about you go live alone in Portugal for six months first?”
Suddenly, I felt really tired. I wondered,
“Do I really need to spend all this time, money, and energy just to let go of my desire to live somewhere else?”
I felt empty, not understanding myself—why I keep leaving my comfortable home, then coming back again and again.