In search of my next home in Portugal
After a sad farewell to Braga, a place of which I'd grown very fond, I rented a car and headed northeast toward the Spanish border to the town of Bragança. I had shortened my original plan of staying a month in this remote town, to just a week based on the advice of a Portuguese friend who said it was a place to visit, not a place to stay for long.
He was wrong.
Following the Signs…to Spain
When I first planned this year’s stops, my goal was to live in a variety of locations, covering all the various corners of Portugal. Bragança was among the most remote, situated in the northeast corner of Portugal, just 38 kilometers (24 miles) from the Spanish border. It felt even more isolated as the only way to reach it was via bus or rental car as there are no trains.
As I drove toward Bragança in a rental car, I kept seeing signs for Spain. Every time I passed one indicating how much closer I was to our Iberian neighbor, it felt like I was slowly leaving my beloved new country behind. Being close to the Spanish border does not make Bragança any less Portuguese outside of maybe having a few more tapas and paella bars. However, for some reason in my irrational mind, it seemed that way.
In need of a comfort break, I stopped at what was the last rest area in Portugal. The place was not a rest area so much as a gas station with a toilet out back. Given that I grew up in a small Southern town where my happy childhood memories include taking rides in the back of a pickup truck and having nature for my bathroom, I am not above a rustic port-a-potty. I just was not in the mood today. So, I headed back to the highway, wondering what was waiting for me in my next location.
As I arrived in the Spanish border town and was looking for a place to park my car, I was getting my first glimpse at my home for the week. It looked clean, orderly and quiet, almost soulless in a way. The few people I saw were sitting at cafes or walking along the shopping street that looked the equivalent of a strip mall.
Did I Find the Perfect Apartment?
After finding the building I was staying in and parking the car, I was anxious to see if my apartment lived up to the photos online or if they were from years ago and it was now a crumbling shell of its former glory. I climbed the flight of stairs to my top-floor apartment, opened the door and was instantly blown away by the floor-to-ceiling views of the town and the castle sitting on top of it all.
I realized I may have made a terrible mistake. As long as I could find food, fresh water, and had a wifi connection for work, I could stay in this apartment for a month and stare at that view. Forget the rest of the city. The place was heaven for someone who has to work from home.
Every moment I spent in the apartment, I grew to love it more. Early in the morning, I would roll out my yoga mat and do my workouts facing the beautiful scenery. I dragged the table, which was my office, to the window so I was able to enjoy the view while I worked. The kitchen was well equipped for me to cook meals that I enjoyed on the balcony. In the evenings, I climbed into the quiet and comfortable attic bedroom, which I called my sleeping cave, and slept better than I have in months.
My favorite time in the apartment was the afternoons. I couldn't keep myself off the terrace after the full sun of the morning passed, drying my laundry hanging on the line in the process. I would have my lunch out there and then bring my laptop out and continue working until it was time to head out and explore the town a bit.
Stumbling Upon Bragança’s “Old Man Bar”
During my evening walks I would always take a new route through town in hopes of finding some interesting local life. One night, I walked past two men sitting on stools outside a bar, drinking small beers and having a chat.
OMG could this be an old man bar? If you are not familiar with my obsession with old man bars, let me define one for you. An old man bar is a place that, while usually filled with older men, attracts the true locals. Their parents and maybe even grandparents were around the last time the place was redecorated which quite possibly could have been the bar’s opening day. Old man bars are a great place for a chat with your neighbors, while you have a drink or a nibble of a pastel doce (sweet pastry) or salgado (salty, deep-fried pastry).
I LOVE an “old man bar”. There are several in every town, but sometimes can be hard to find as they don’t need to advertise, meaning they may not even have a sign with the bar’s name outside. There is no need as the locals know where they are and stop in daily, sometimes two or three times.
After spotting the two men, I looked inside the place and saw an old-school bar with a few stools and a stainless steel countertop that could have been out of a 50s diner. There was an older man sitting alone in the corner, which I assumed was “his” seat.
I could not stop my feet and followed them inside. As I stood surveying this little slice of Bragança heaven, I noticed a TV in the corner that was showing tonight’s Euro Championship game. The older man pointed at something behind the TV so I walked in that direction. As I turned the corner, I found another room with a bigger TV showing tonight’s game. While I had planned on an early night, I could not resist grabbing a seat and ordering a fizzy lemon water.
As I sat there, I watched a bit of the game but mostly I watched the locals pop in and out, having an espresso, soda or a small beer. Some had a little one in tow who also got a drink and if they were lucky which they usually were, a Chupa Chup. Bragança was far from soulless. I had just been looking in the wrong places. Having set low expectations, I had been judging the town unfairly. I was so grateful that I had found my way here.
After that night, I continued exploring the corners of Bragança and found lovely people and places everywhere. I truly regretted not having a full month here to really get to experience life in this lovely town.
Finding Life in the The Lost Corner
Despite my regret over not having more time to enjoy the various corners of Bragança, there was one place I got to know pretty well.
My first night in town, I stumbled upon what would be my living room for watching that week’s Euro Championship football games. As I had just rolled into town and the game had already started, I popped into the first place I saw with a television on the wall.
What a stroke of luck! The place, called “The Lost Corner” had a Williamsburg Brooklyn hipster vibe without the arrogance. It consisted of one small room with a tiny bar in the back that had standing room only for at most 2-3 people. On the right, there was a couch and a couple of chairs that felt like a living room, and on the left was a long high table with bar stools.
There was not a tourist to be found in the place. I loved it instantly! I stood in the back near the bar, so as not to interfere with the locals who were already in their seats for the latest game. As I ordered a drink, the man who seemed to be in charge came over with a big smile and a bar stool for me to sit on. Thanks buddy!
My Lucky Portuguese Scarf
The next day I showed up to watch the Portugal vs. Slovenia game, wearing a Portuguese team scarf. There were some people wearing jerseys but as it was the middle of summer and quite warm, no one in their right mind felt the need to break out a scarf to show their team support. On the other hand, since I was traveling light and had just picked up this scarf in Braga, it was my only option.
It was a tense match with Slovenia playing a solid defensive game, trying to resist the onslaught of a strong Portuguese offense. When it finally came to penalty shots that would decide the game, the Portuguese goalie became an impenetrable wall, blocking every Slovenian shot. What looked like a sure defeat earlier or at best, luck of the penalty draw, had turned around in an epic shootout. I waved my scarf in celebration as the locals erupted in cheers for the Portuguese team.
When I returned to The Lost Corner a few days later to watch the Portugal vs. France quarter-final game, I had forgotten to grab my scarf. With a look of shock on his face, the man in charge asked me, “Where is your scarf??” He said not to worry that he would find one somewhere for me to wear.
I know a good football superstition when I see one. After all, I used to insist that my friends and I continue going to the same bar across from Yankee Stadium before the NYCFC football games and having the same pre-game PBR beer because I believed it brought the team luck. NYCFC lost a lot back then, so this was not good thinking but just saying I could relate to the man’s anxiety.
So, I ran back to the perfect apartment to retrieve the scarf. When I arrived back at the bar, the man smiled and seemed content. Unfortunately, the powers of my scarf must have stayed back at my apartment enjoying the view as the game went sideways and Portugal was defeated. While I was disappointed, I don’t know if the locals cared much at that point as they were all half in the bag. You never really see Portuguese people tying one on but put their team in a big game and all bets are off!
Too Little Time in Bragança
After my week was up, I reluctantly packed my bags for my next stop of Viseu. While I was excited to see what Viseu held in store for me, I had to say a sad goodbye to Bragança. The week had not been enough to really let me get to know the town and meet more of its people but had given me enough of a taste to know I’d love to return.
For now, the journey continues 200 kilometers (125 miles) south…
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