What a Black Eye Taught Me About Life in Portugal

As I write this from my tiny rental flat in Murches, Portugal—a village three miles north of the popular expat haven Cascais—the wind is howling and dogs bark in the distance. The sky is a brilliant blue and the sun beats down with a scorching heat that contrasts with the chill of the wind. 

I’m in Portugal for the summer to experience “normal life” so I can decide if I want to move here. Living abroad is not new for me: I’ve lived in South Africa, Holland, Singapore and Thailand, but in those cases I moved without the benefit of a test-run. 

I had already spent months researching the country when I arrived six weeks ago, but no amount of research can compare to sitting at a local café, navigating the bus system or riding the train into Lisbon. And let’s not forget learning to walk on the notoriously slippery Portuguese tiles that cover just about every road and sidewalk — that is, when there is a sidewalk.

I mention this because, along with learning how to say bom dia and obrigada, I’ve learned a bit about the local private healthcare system. It all started with an innocent walk down the road to a new Thai fusion restaurant in my neighborhood. This particular road is barely wide enough to accommodate two cars, let alone a sidewalk, so I was forced to walk on tiny, slanted tiles that make up the gutter. 

Within minutes of setting out, I was face-down on the road, clutching my head and yelling, “Ow!” I had slipped and the fall had knocked me out for a split second. I went home with a huge gash above my eye, a bloody leg and gravel impaled in my hand. The next day, with my eye turning various shades of blue, and my torso feeling like it had taken a beating, I walked into CUF Cascais, part of a nation-wide private healthcare system. I told the gentleman at the door that I had fallen and needed to see a doctor and he gave me a number from a machine and told me to sit in the waiting area. 

Fifteen minutes later I was in the office of a kindly Portuguese doctor who spoke perfect English. He listened patiently to my story, asked a number of questions and told me to come back the next day for X-rays of my ribs. When I checked out and told the attendant that I didn’t have local health insurance and would pay cash, she apologized for the high fees and handed me a bill for €100 ($109). Was that all?

Just how hard had I hit my head? 

I told this story a few days later at a coffee morning for expat women. I’m not sure I would have told them if I wasn’t sporting a deep purple eye with a large bruise on my leg to match. I had only been to one previous coffee morning and I was actually embarrassed to show up to the Cascais Market looking like I had been in a brawl. 

But sharing stories like this is what these meetings are all about.

And I didn’t want to miss the chance to sit among them again. And after a long period of living back in the US, I craved the company of expats like someone walking in a desert craves water. 

There is something unique about a person who chooses to leave their home and everything that is familiar and comfortable to live in a country that is in every way foreign to them. There are many reasons to do this, but in many cases, the move is fueled by curiosity and a desire to learn about another culture.

I came to Portugal to learn about the lifestyle but also to meet others who had made the leap before me. In the short time I’ve been here I’ve met women who have trekked through the jungles of Indonesia, sailed the seas around Greece, braved Moscow winters, competed in the bustling business world of Hong Kong and lived among a prominent family in Saudi Arabia. They come from England and Scotland and South Africa and Germany and the US. Some grew up in another country in a Portuguese family.

They have their stories, and I have mine and we all want to share and listen. Now on the cusp of my seventh week here, I feel completely and utterly at home, and I have a far busier social life than I do back in New England. There are weekly scheduled events and I’ve been welcomed to all of them. I’ve been invited to tea and dinners and for walks along the beachfront promenade. In short, I’ve been made to feel a part of the community. 

Many people move to Portugal for the beauty or the weather or the healthcare or the proximity to Europe. They are all compelling reasons to make the leap, but for me, the most compelling reason to move to Cascais is the women I’ve met—and those I’ve yet to meet.