My peaceful weekend was interrupted by a quake
After a bumpy arrival in my mountain schist casa, I settled into a routine that was not hard to establish given the sheer lack of things to do in my ant-hill sized village of Talasnal. Surprisingly, this former “New York or Nowhere” woman enjoyed the peaceful, easy days of the village way of life.
However the weekend would end with a turbulent disruption to my slice of heaven.
Settling Into My Schist Casa
My casa in Talasnal was literally hanging off the edge of a mountain which terrified me. The apartment was laid out in a u-shape with the shower in my bathroom being the center of it all. The kitchen area was along the first wall to the right, followed by a sofa with a view over the valley. The bed was tucked away in the back corner. Lying in bed at night felt slightly safer as it gave a deceptive feeling that I was more on solid ground than the sofa just inches away with its view over the valley. Whatever helps you sleep at night I guess.
There was a narrow path below my balcony that was the last thing that may stop you if you found yourself stumbling over the edge of the mountain. A sounder of wild boars often made their presence known on the narrow path, offering me a little rustic entertainment. I was fond of the raucous group and thought of naming them before I realized they might end up as dinner one night in the local restaurant.
One afternoon, I settled in to watch a football game on my computer. I sat on my couch, watching the match with my lovely view as a backdrop. Sitting on my sofa felt like sitting in Yankee Stadium in the cheap seats on the upper deck. Those seats are on an incredibly steep incline with very little leg room so as to cram in as many people as possible. I always had the feeling I was about to fall over into the outfield which was similar to the feeling I had about sitting on my sofa with the valley below.
My Peaceful Mornings
During the mornings, I would get up before everyone else. This was not hard as on any given day, I may have been only one of a handful of people staying overnight in the village. I learned from the woman at Bar O Curral, who’d given me directions to where I was staying when I first arrived, that she and her husband, along with most of the people working at the two restaurants, one cafe, and one shop in the village, leave at night and return to their homes in nearby towns in the valley. That meant the village was extremely empty and quiet at dawn.
After a light breakfast, I’d head out to wander around the village. When I finished my walk around town, which took about 90 seconds, I’d go to the main square and set my computer on a table and write or work or do whatever I felt like in the moment. I was all alone there. Even the wild boars were quiet. While it could be a bit unsettling, the incredible sense of peace canceled out any fears.
I cannot accurately describe the feelings I had during those tranquil moments. You won’t feel the same if you go there and try to recreate that moment for yourself. You have to find those moments in your life and they usually happen when you least expect them. When they do, savor them. They are rare and invaluable.
(Zero) Days of Exploration
As I was doing my research on the 27 schist villages of the Lousã mountains, I’d envisioned a paradise where I could easily hike from one village to the next. There was a river I could walk beside, and maybe stop to read a book while soaking up the sun. Maybe I’d meet fellow explorers and swap travel tips and share stories.
After arriving in the village, I set out one afternoon to find the entrances to these footpaths. I noticed various colored marks painted around Talasnal that showed the way to other villages and sites. I decided to spend the next full day following these paths and exploring all I’d read about.
The next morning, I headed out on one of the marked paths, full of excitement. I was a trailblazer! Not many people came here and of those that did, most were just popping in for a quick walk around. I’d be among the few exploring these trails!
I quickly realized the vision I’d had was not to become a reality. The path became very narrow and one of the key features was that ever-present death drop to the valley below. My fear as I stood there facing the decision to push forward or not reminded me of the decision I faced back in 2005 on the path from Monterosso to Vernazza in Cinque Terre. Back then, that path was narrow, overgrown, and filled with lizards. I turned back then and I turned back now.
I thought about how since then, poor Cinque Terre has had a visit from Rick Steves. Now the place is crushed under the weight of far too many tourists. The path that was so overgrown as to force me back to town then is now well-worn and you must obtain a license to access the trail whose numbers must be capped daily.
While a more well-worn path might make this valley in the Lousã mountains more accessible to me, I prefer it this way. After all, forcing me back into the village for the day, opened me up to other experiences and meeting new people while keeping its authenticity for a few braver-than-me travelers.
The Bodega of Talasnal
As soon as I abandoned my idea of exploring the narrow mountain paths, I passed a schist home that had been turned into a shop. I’d stumbled upon the “bodega of Talasnal”! I stepped inside to check out what was on offer. There were a few staples to keep you from starving during your stay in the village as well as a few locally produced products like the flavored liquors I’d seen at Bar O Curral. Let’s just say the owner does not need to set aside more than about 15 minutes to take inventory.
Oddly enough, there were two jars of Trader Joe’s peanut butter on the sparse shelfs. As peanut butter is not popular in Europe, I was incredibly tempted to purchase one for a taste of home. I decided against it as I did not have any of my favorites with which to eat it. No bread and jelly to make the perfect pairing. No Town House crackers or saltines. Leaving the jars there felt like I was leaving a good friend behind.
I asked the guy working at the bodega if I might have an espresso to drink at the table outside. Sure! Take as long as you’d like. As he was making my espresso, I asked about life in the village and the terrifying drive to reach it. As it turns out, the nice man is married to the lovely woman at Bar O Curral who gave me all the unnecessary directions I asked for when I first arrived. I asked how he dealt with driving these death roads daily. He laughed and explained it was second nature to him as he’d grown up in the area. He clearly did not share my terror of them.
The Joys of Slow Tourism
After sitting for a while, drinking my espresso and reading my book, I headed back to the “main” square. The cafe there had an art gallery downstairs and served as the tourist information center and snack shop upstairs. I grabbed a juice, sat at a table outside, and pulled out my book.
As I sat, I’d watch random tourists pop by to explore the town, only to exit again within a minute or two. As I watched them execute their “check it off the list” tourism strategy, I thought how much they missed by just popping in, snapping a photo, and moving on to the next stop. Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn’t be cheaper, quicker and better on the environment for these tourists to just pop some popcorn and watch a YouTube video of the place from the comfort of their home.
These hasty travelers reminded me of the man and his wife that I’d met in Monsanto who drove my car out of its parallel parking space prison. He had shared a list of all the villages they’d seen when they drove through, which included a one or two word evaluation of each. I was grateful I had the opportunity to form more than a one or two word evaluation of this tranquil, beautiful, place before some popular travel show personality makes their way here and ruins this little slice of heaven.
Bring Me the Green Soup
After a bit of reading, it was time for my evening ritual back at Bar O Curral where I’d discovered my love for “caldo verde”, the green cabbage soup that can be found all over Portugal. Oddly enough, not being a big soup fan, I’d never tried it until arriving in Talasnal. When I wandered into Bar O Curral the first night, I was not very hungry so I asked for something light. The lady highly recommended the caldo verde, which she described as a very popular soup in Portugal made of cabbage and potato.
“Caldo verde” translates as “green soup”. I am not a fan of soup, much less green soup. Never bring me split-pea soup. Ironically, the thought makes me turn green. However, not wanting to insult this woman by refusing an enthusiastic recommendation, I told her to bring me the green soup.
It gave me flashbacks to a time in Tomar where a young boy waiting tables in a family restaurant recommended the roast goat. Not incredibly excited about eating goat, I commented that since we were on a river, a nice trout might be in order. He slapped his menu book to his chest which he stuck out proudly and proclaimed for all to hear “The roast goat is the best thing we have on the menu!” Defeated, I replied “Bring me the goat.”
While the roast goat had not been a hit, the green soup was. Hidden in its healthy, green goodness were two or three pieces of sausage which was just enough meat to make the soup the perfect light meal. I was such a fan that it became my dinner every evening. I’d follow it with one of the flavored liquors, starting with my first choice of the “mel” or honey one which I loved.
Pondering a Slower Pace of Life
During my time in my tiny schist village, my mind often wandered, as it had more during these last months, to how and if a village like this could be a part of my life. While I could not see myself making this tiny of a village a regular spot, I did think of how a friend from Lisbon had recently purchased a home in a town not far from here, and used it as an escape from the city. My “New York or Nowhere” soul had often wondered why people would want to escape from a city to a small town. However, my extended stays in extremely tiny villages had stretched my comfort zones to a place where I was beginning to see the joy in smaller town life.
I was finding I liked the “forced” slower pace. Being a social being at heart, I need no encouragement to head out and find fun in the cities I live in. In a surprising turn of events, I have found that the smaller towns have forced me to spend more time in other pursuits. I cook more, read more, write more, and relax more. I am beginning to wonder if after this year of wandering around my beloved new country, a year in a smaller town might be a nice change from Lisbon.
Darkness Falls on My Last Night in Talasnal
After my soup on my last night in Talasnal, I tried the local “bolota” or acorn flavored liquor. The acorn flavor was nice and light and replaced the honey as my new favorite. After my acorn flavored discovery, I headed back to the main square to have a glass of wine and try to figure out if any of the diners were staying overnight in the village. I chatted with a mom and her sons who had been exploring the area all day and stopped for dinner before heading back down the mountain. I encouraged her to get on with that as dark was setting in.
The village became dark and felt a bit scary at night. It’s not like there were tons of street lights to show the way. I hunkered down in my cabin as soon as the restaurant was closing and shut all my doors and windows. I enjoyed peeking out at the stars, which I did from my windows. The balcony was there waiting for me but for some reason, I became a bit unnerved and preferred locking up inside. Maybe it was the wild boar that hung out on the path below. Maybe it was the unknown of what else might be out there in the darkness.
We Shake in a Quake
Somewhere around 5am, I was lying in bed, unable to sleep as visions of how close my bed was to the edge of the mountain passed through my head. Suddenly, there were loud noises and a lot of shaking. I first thought it might be the neighbors above me and then I remembered there were no neighbors above me. Maybe someone was on the roof. Maybe the wild boars had climbed up there. Maybe I’d brought a villager home after the red wines. Nope. Pillow is empty.
I opened the doors to the balcony and the boars were going wild, squealing and running around on the path below. I rushed back inside when something flew by my head that was probably a bat.
I shut the balcony doors and turned and checked my phone for any messages as to the source of the apocalypse. Nothing. I settled on my sofa and switched on the television. The local news was giving updates about a recent earthquake just off shore. Great. I am hanging off the mountain in a rock house during an earthquake. I crawled back in bed and pulled up the covers. Somehow it felt slightly safer there if the aftershocks came, not that the whole house would not go down the mountain.
As soon as morning came, I packed up my things and headed to my car parked up the mountain road to attempt my final white knuckler drive down the mountain. I gripped the steering wheel tight, anxious to reach the town of Lousã in the valley below. While I’d had a lovely time, I cannot say I was not happy to move on down the road to my next adventure and leave the house hanging off the mountain behind me.
Finally I reached a stop sign surrounded by fields of corn on flat land. I paused there, grateful to arrive on safe ground. I had to resist the very strong urge to get out and kiss that flat land. Repeatedly.
Plot Twist
Unbeknownst to me at the time, I had left my beloved fridge magnets I’d been collecting as I traveled around this year, on the stove hood of my apartment up in Talasnal.
Unfortunately, that would require a future trip back up the treacherous mountain road.
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