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In a Hostage Situation in Elvas

Writer's picture: Lisa TisdaleLisa Tisdale

When the locals turn hostile and you can't get your car out of town


A lone tree growing on the grounds outside a castle wall with a background of blue sky
Peaceful Times by the Castle in Elvas (photo by author)

After a fun and somewhat chaotic year in Lisbon, I am spending a year living in different towns in Portugal. I want to get to know this beautiful country and its people better and to experience life in different areas. I am eager to see what the next chapter might look like…and where it will happen.


As the winter weather freezes my bones, I am warmed by thoughts of my time in Elvas this summer. But not in a "warm, fuzzy" kind of way.


Arriving in Elvas to a Warm Welcome

During my time in Braga, I mentioned to a friend that my plans for the rest of the year included a trip to Elvas.


"Elvas? When?" she asked in a concerned voice.


I was a bit surprised by her tone. Everything I'd heard about Elvas had been very positive. 


"The second week in August." I replied.


"Oh you do NOT want to go to Elvas in the summer," she warned. "It is the hottest part of the country and absolutely unbearable then!" 


I grew up in the South Carolina heat, I thought to myself. Surely I could handle a week in August in Elvas.


A car is parked with inches between it and the building wall on a very narrow street
The Parking Situation in Elvas (photo by author)

Arriving to a Hostage Situation

As I drove through the 17th century walls of Elvas, I was excited about the dreamy version of the town one of my Portuguese friends had described. To him, Elvas was a magical place that brought back fond memories of his visits there over the years. I thought of his excitement, as I drove down a main street buzzing with activity. After one right turn, I arrived at a small square which was the recommended parking area for my aparthotel. 


As I was trying to parallel park the car in the only remaining spot on the tiny square, a man who looked like he might be a bit down on his luck, kindly stopped and guided me into the space. After thanking him and gathering my things from the trunk, I realized I had a situation. My host had warned me to not drive down the road to my aparthotel as it was so narrow only experienced locals could safely navigate the space. From the looks of it, the remaining options were not much better. 


Great. I had a week to make friends with the locals and convince one of them to drive my rental out of its car prison.


A Rude Awakening over Bad Coffee

The next morning, as I walked through the nearby streets, looking for an “old man bar” to have my morning galão, I spotted the perfect choice. In a somewhat hidden corner of the main square was a no-frills café with a bar and four tables. I headed in, dropped my phone and purse on a table and stepped up to the bar to order.


As I waited, I watched the old woman behind the bar and imagined what her story might be. Her family probably lived nearby, maybe for generations, running this shop. If I could only speak Portuguese better, she probably had some great stories to tell. She was helping a man who seemed to be a regular. They chatted as she prepared his espresso.


Finally, it was my turn and I ordered a galão. What I had imagined was a sweet, hard-working old lady, looked at me like I was from another planet. She made me repeat my order many times. From my observations, probably 50% of Portuguese drink an espresso in the morning, with 45% drinking a galão and the other 5% just weird. While I know that I butcher some of the Portuguese pronunciations, galão being one of them, it’s not like I came in and ordered a rare Italian race car. This is a café. In the morning. Where everyone is drinking one of two coffee drinks. 


Finally, the local man she had helped just before me intervened and she huffed off in the back to make something that loosely resembled a galão. The mix of coffee to milk was wildly off and the glass that is specifically made for the drink, was just over half full. 


I took the concoction, knowing without the help of the local man that left, that this was the best I was getting from the battle axe. I sat at my table and did my usual Portuguese study. After finishing, I put my empty cup back on the counter and asked to pay. The witch insisted I pay her 2 euros, an extremely high price for a drink that usually cost around half that. 


My grandmothers may have gotten cranky in their old age, but they would never be rude to a stranger. Instead of fighting with the old bat, I called her something I cannot write here, paid her and left. After all, if she could not understand my pronunciation of a popular Portuguese coffee drink, surely she could not understand my English.


Finding Some Joy in Elvas Among the Few Thorny Locals

That evening, I decided to take a walk to search for some rare joy in Elvas. I figured my best bet was probably outside the city walls in order to avoid the cranky old bat and any of her relatives. I headed toward a bar with an outside deck, grabbed a drink and chose a table with the best view of Elvas. It was so peaceful there. I watched as the sun faded behind the 16th century Amoreira Aqueduct casting changing hues on it and the city walls.


 The fully intact walls of an aqueduct stand in front of the fading sun
The Well-Preserved Amoreira Aquadect (photo by author)

In Search of a Locals Experience


When I arrived back inside the walls, I heard music and followed it to the main square. Tonight was one of the performances of the summer concert series. I spotted a little bar full of locals and headed in to order a drink. A local woman, dressed nicely in an orange shirt, white pants and sandals, was walking out so I grabbed her spot at the busy bar and ordered a drink. The woman returned before I got my drink and proceeded to force her way back into what I can only assume is "her spot" at the bar, elbowing me out. I wanted to ask her if her mother worked in the cafe on the square as I reached over her to grab my drink. 


The friendly bartender began to question me about what brought me to Elvas. When he found out I spoke English and liked football, he suggested I talk to a guy at a table on the other side of the small bar as he spoke English also and shared my love of football. I thanked him but said I had a greater need to learn Portuguese than I did to speak English. He began practicing with me as he busily kept the patrons served. 


Obviously, he is not related to the witch from the café or the lady in the orange shirt.



Plotting My Escape from Elvas

My days in Elvas consisted of my morning galão at a local café and running any errands before the heat enveloped the town in an unwelcome furnace blanket. Throughout the city center streets, there were little sprinklers that I can only assume were there to help prevent the citizens of Elvas from dropping dead in the heat. While one might reasonably question how clean this water was that sprayed from these rickety devices, I was drawn to them like a heat seeking missile, hoping for some small bit of relief.


During my daily outings, I scouted the streets, trying to find a route wide enough to allow me to safely drive my rental car out of town. One evening, I thought I'd found an option but reached a point with one tricky turn. The walls had evidence of damage done to cars who'd attempted to navigate the narrow passage unsuccessfully. Finally, I found a mostly direct path out that led to the loop around the town and would take me to the exit from the city walls. While there were tight spots, at least they were direct. 


In my estimation I had a 60–75% chance of success driving down that route. To celebrate, I headed over to the other side of town which I had yet to explore.


A quiet, pedestrian only side street with potted plants lining the footpath
The Suburbs of Elvas (photo by author)

The "Suburbs" of Elvas

I passed the main square, and headed toward the castle which continued its nearly 800-year residency. As I walked, there were fewer cafés and businesses, and picturesque side streets took over. I passed doors to old apartments whose walls, if they could talk, had amazing stories to tell of life along the Spanish border. This other side of town seemed a bit like the peaceful suburbs of Elvas.


As I approached the castle, I reached a café that was attached to a shop, which would have been a nice place for a drink while enjoying the views of the castle and the neighborhood. At first I thought it unfortunate that both it and the castle were closed, but then realized it added to the perfect mood of the moment. It’s rare during August to find peaceful spots in towns that attract tourism. For now, I enjoyed wandering the castle grounds alone as I looked out over the countryside that stretched for miles.


This part of Portugal has been the site of much conflict over the years so now we can be grateful that its biggest threat is a cranky old woman in a coffee shop.


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