Winter Storms
Friday Happynings
We’ve had a series of intense storms on top of a rainy winter, and yesterday, with the power out, I was texting with a friend. He’s a Navy vet, I spent some time on ships, and so we texted a bit about storms and boats and how you sometimes have very little control when the weather decides to be in charge.
We’ve both been in harrowing situations, he probably many more times than I. But we old farts love to swap stories. We had a bit of a moan about the power outage. The power goes out here more frequently than in the States. His had been cut for various periods of time in the past week while I—about 10 blocks away—hadn’t had any problems for a month or so.
Most of the time, the power is out for a few minutes then comes back on. Things beep as the power goes off and you just kind of wait. Sometimes when I am working, I won’t notice the power is out until I go to look up something on the Internet.
Yesterday, the power was out long enough for us to start checking with each other:
“Is your power out?”
“Looks like it’s all over town.”
“My friend in Cacela is out, too.”
It’s a little network that pops up in bad weather, power outages, cable outages.
Half an hour later, the power returned and we went on about our days. Power and internet outages are just part of the deal here, like hanging out your laundry instead of using a dryer. A bit of an inconvenience and then you get used to it.
Many of the towns in The Algarve are summer-time places. It’s easy to love Portugal in the sunny seasons, which is about three-quarters of the year. (Unless you’re in Porto; there it is rainy three-quarters of the year.)
It is, of course, easy to love Portugal when everything is running smoothly: The sun is shining, the wine is flowing and the conversation is fun and stimulating.
Winter is when the real Algarve happens. It’s not hard, but it’s different.
People are bundled up, going about their business. They are coming and going to work, doing their shopping, having a leisurely coffee in a now-uncrowded café. The kids are at the bus stop every morning and are dropped off each afternoon. People greet each other on the street (that happens year-round) and stop to chat because there is a little less urgency to our days.
In winter, your favorite restaurants will close for thirty days, giving the staff their much-needed holidays. Public transportation might cut back on a few routes, so travel takes a bit more arranging. The outdoor cafés are empty and a bit forlorn. Fewer concerts, festivals, activities.
Winter is real living in Portugal, not the postcard, Insta shots that you find on the brochures.
I’ve been listening to the wind howl at night and watching the palm trees bend to the east. The entire view is a misty, moody grey—everything feels tamped down in the gloom, a stark contrast to the whipping of the green palm fronds in the wind. A piece of signage from the ferry kiosk is on the street below, but the boats stay on their moorings and the palm trees bend, but don’t break.
I love a good storm. Always have. Of course, that’s because for the most part, I didn’t have to be out in them. I could watch blizzards from the picture window of my house, a fire in the fireplace. Or watch a lightning storm move across the Gulf, drawing closer before sweeping over us and traveling on.
While we may complain about the rain or the storms or the cold, the truth is that it makes us feel a bit more alive, more in touch with the land and sea, with nature. We have to make a bit more effort to carry on and it reminds us that we have reserves, that we can do more.
It’s easy to love a place when everything works. Winter—and the occasional power outage—are when you find out whether you belong.