When we bought a house in the cork forests of the Alentejo three years ago, we imagined it as a vacation home. A place for summer weeks, a quiet escape, somewhere our kids could grow up knowing a little of Portugal and a lot of sunshine.
But life changes. Kids grow up. Our youngest went off to university, the nest suddenly felt a bit too empty, and my wife and I had an idea we hadn’t expected: What if we took a reset? A real reset. What if we spent the fall in Portugal?
It felt outrageous for about five minutes — then it felt like a good idea.
And so, one sunny September day, we boarded an Air Canada plane with two suitcases and a bit too much anxiety. We were tired — tired of bad news, tired of the noise, tired of the grinding realities that seem to define modern American life.
In the back of my mind, a memory kept resurfacing: the summer I began spending time with my Portuguese family five years after my mother died. I was kind of a lost kid, grieving and adrift, and Portugal — a country that had endured hardship, poverty, dictatorship, famine, revolution — somehow offered me something I needed: Hope.
Portugal had lived through a lot… and was still here.That mattered to me then.And, as it turns out, it matters to me now.
Forty Years Later, Portugal Gave Me Hope Again
We stayed 78 days. Not tourists — living on a farm in a small Alentejo town. And in living at Portugal’s pace, I remembered things I had forgotten.
We stomped grapes with friends and enjoyed harvest traditions older than the United States itself. We picked olives under a warm November sun with neighbors.
We swam in the ocean in October. We turned quinces into marmelada in the kitchen. We watched baby lambs take their first shaky steps, a reminder of how life insists on beginning again.
We hiked to ancient castles — some Portuguese, some Roman, some Moorish — each one a monument to centuries of reinvention.
We dined on animal parts most Americans would never consider, proof that resourcefulness can become a delicacy when survival calls for it. And the pride of surviving, of still being here, somehow sustains.
We walked through streets the Romans had built at the height of their empire, now layered with the ruins of the centuries that followed their fall. Rome’s empire still stood in the east when Portugal was born.
And slowly, the reset began.
Life Slows Down in Portugal — And That Changes You
It wasn’t the big things; it was the little ones that did it: a meal that lasted two hours because a conversation deserved the time. The ritual of sopa to start dinner — always nourishing, always grounding. The tiny cup of coffee that politely ended every meal and started every day. Fall festivals, saint festivals, food festivals — celebrations of ordinary life, made extraordinary. Seasonal foods and wines that reminded us that time is supposed to unfold in seasons, not deadlines. More roasted chickens than I could imagine, and a community coming together for a meal and music.
Somewhere between September and December, Portugal helped stitch me back together.
The costs, and cultural insights?
Grocery shopping was 20-40% less. Food was so much fresher, and I felt better all told in just 7 days. Eating out was 30-40% less, especially without 20% tips. Yes, fuel cost more, as did toll- but the smaller car we rented got great fuel economy, so it actually cost less. We spent less, ate better and enjoyed life.
What 78 Days Taught Me: Lessons learned
I learned to take Portugal for what it is, not what I wanted it to be. I saw that a slower life can still be a full life. And, that a country shaped by centuries of difficulty can teach resilience better than any cable news show. That communities still exist where people stop, talk, listen, and mean it. That food tastes better when it is natural and comes with a story. That hope is something you can find again — even if you lost it decades ago.
Now, I am not saying that it will do that for everyone. I was lucky to have spent ten summers with my family exploring, learning, and, on occasion, being forced to lunch on cow brains. In our 78 days this fall, we certainly met a few “expats” who struggled with the cultural and language barriers. I think we all run from something — and often we take our fear with us.
But for me, I found myself proud to be Portuguese — and in that pride there was no sense of being better, just pride in my fellow humans, my tribe. The simple things that define us — a vegetable soup and simple bread, a shared sense of a past, and the warmth of being different. And perhaps most importantly: I remembered that life goes on — beautifully, imperfectly, stubbornly — even when you don’t feel ready for it.
So as I look back at the last few months, I do so with nostalgia and gratitude. Midway through the trip, we saw Xutos & Pontapés live in Tomar — and for their encore they played the song often called Portugal’s other national anthem, A Minha Casinha. Like so much in Portuguese culture, translating it is not easy. It speaks to humility and contentment — not asking for too much, and being grateful for what we have. A simple, anti-consumerist, calming idea — reminding us that wanting too much makes us want what we can’t have.
What saudades I have
For my happy little home,
As modest as I am.
My God, how good it is to live
On a simple first floor,
Counting on the blessings from the sky.
Portugal taught me that once. It taught me that again this fall. And for that, I am grateful.
Jayme H. Simões is a Portugal–U.S. communications consultant who writes about the realities of moving, living, and retiring in Portugal, based on first hand experience.
Let’s Move to Portugal Now is an independent resource for Americans considering life in Portugal. We provide practical, experience-based information on visas, housing, health care, cost of living, and everyday life—focused on clarity, realism, and informed choices. This site is not affiliated with the Portuguese government and does not offer legal or immigration advice.
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