Helen and Peter in Portugal

With the presents brought by Baby Jesus himself on Christmas Eve, the Portuguese Christmas differs from the traditional turkey in England.   Instead of the blow out meal on the 25 th December where drinking starts at 11am with the annual sherry (boy I miss the traditional Christmas) the Portuguese share dinner on the 24 th with a big dose of Bacalhau, salted cod fish, which looks nothing before it’s soaked for 48 hours.      The Portuguese say that there’s a bacalhau recipe for every day of the week…..they love it here. Before the soaking One of the 365 recipes after the soaking Another of the 365 recipes image from http://www.theydrawandcook.com/recipes/bacalhau-a-bras-by-claudia-salgueiro  After the family meal, everyone will go to church for the 'Missa do Galo' or 'Mass of the Rooster' service. During the service an image of baby Jesus is brought out.   It is then put in the nativity scene (the presépio) which every church aro

It all started when I mentioned that it might be nice to have a separate place where I could go and watch TV or read or play on the Wii…I said that I’d also like a second bathroom and I’d like a utility room. I wanted to convert the animal barn on the side of our house (accessed through the kitchen) into a ‘snug’.   After a few months of persuasion Peter was in.    We looked for a builder (traumatic enough, read the blog post ) we found the one we wanted and work was scheduled for January 2014.     In December 2013 I started to take down the old bread oven in the corner of the room.    A mass of stones, red clay, and 50 year old soot.    I’d come out looking like I’d been down a mine.    Our 90 year old neighbour sat on her step and laughed at me.   She was still grinning when finally the oven was dismantled and I carried hundreds of stone down the 14 steps to the stairwell for storage.    It wouldn’t be the last time I moved those stones!!!   January came, Mark and Ru

As France empties for the month of August, Central Portugal swells with the amount of visitors coming home for a month in the ‘mother land’.    (I read that there are more Portuguese in France then there is in Portugal….is this possible?).   The squares are full of French cars, the main language heard in the cafés is French and a cheery ‘Bonjour’ instead of ‘Bon Dia’ will see you right in the morning.      With all these extra people to entertain, we enter party season – or festa season.    Portuguese festas are a funny thing, speakers go up in the villages and the quiet is ruined with pimba music being piped through the speakers from 10am (hear the horror of this below). The   lights go up on the church.      The stage goes up ready for someone to come and sing along to a backing track and the huts go up to serve the beers and pork rolls.      It’s pretty much the same all over Central Portugal.   At 10pm the main act comes on, there seems to be a