Between Journeys
Ordinary Rhythms Return
For those reading this post for the first time—and as a reminder to myself—I write to see clearly, to remain attentive, and to stay awake to the extraordinary ordinary that greets me each day.
The Perennial Immigrant began as a way to reflect on the life I was building in Portugal. It has since become a place to explore belonging, place, family, and the ongoing practice of learning—through new languages, new customs, familiar rhythms, and the kindness and generosity that so often appear unasked.
And a reminder that change, growth, and wonder remain possible at any age for those willing to stay curious about other ways of being and doing.
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Walk slowly. Listen closely. Learn always.
Our creations come not when we’re out in the world, gathering impressions, but when we’re sitting still, turning those impressions into sentences...Sitting still is our workplace, sometimes our battlefield.
Pico Iyer. The Art of Stillness: Adventures in Going Nowhere (TED Books) (p. 21).
It is early afternoon and the river view is clear, the water inviting enough that I’ve seen a few swimmers out near the river beach. The Riviera Rose river cruiser arrived yesterday. As with most summers, sailboats from other countries make this stretch of the river their mobile Airbnb for a few days, sometimes longer.
Earlier, everything was covered in thick mist, but like most things on this stretch of the Douro, it is a movable feast.
There is much excitement in the courtyard downstairs.
I’m kidding.
The builder has decided it is finally time to correct an issue with our mailboxes, whose openings on the outside have never done much to keep out the wet and humidity. After two years, this apparently seemed like a good enough time to fix it.
Yes, things move slowly here.
Fingers crossed this fixes things.
Just another day on our street. Not much and everything all at once.
All good.
At the gym this morning, we met Dona Teresa, an 87-year-old woman who is thin, trim, and still colors her hair. She can’t do the heavy stuff, but what she does, she accomplishes with humor and determination.
She lifts 1 kg barbells and walks with two 2 kg kettlebells for balance training. And she does it pretty well. She even broke into a light trot to prove she still has it.
There is no doubt she does.
Every once in a while, mostly for fun, I pull the old-lady card to get out of doing an exercise I don’t like. Today Amanda, looking in Dona Teresa’s direction, smiled and said that the “velha” card was no longer accepted as a get-out-of-jail-free card for me.
When she’s right, she’s right.
It also got me thinking.
As I reflect on our recent trip to São Miguel, I always find it interesting to review what I carried with me—both on the outside and on the inside—and what might inform future adventures.
Did I pack the right clothes? Could I have packed less?
For future trips, my goal is to leave the purse or sling behind altogether and wear a vest with enough pockets to carry the few things I really need. I’m curious to see if lightening my physical load might also make the journey feel a little lighter.
The inner packing list proved just as revealing.
While I enjoy the scenic overlooks and museums, I’ve come to realize that I’m happiest when I wander without a particular purpose. I like slipping into small shops, noticing what local people have chosen to display, stopping for a drink or a bite to eat, discovering statues in out-of-the way parks—and then simply continuing on.
Those are the moments when I’m most likely to discover the threads that bind us together, no matter where we live.
I didn’t have much opportunity for that on this trip. There was more time on the tour bus than on foot, and more time taking in spectacular views from over a thousand meters than lingering on ordinary streets.
All good things to know before the next journey.
What worked.
What didn’t.
Back home, it has been a hot week—excellent weather for laundry. Yesterday I washed three loads, and by evening everything was dry, folded, and put away.
Heat, however, isn’t kind to Stitch, so our walks have become shorter as we search for patches of shade. He’s asleep on the sofa now, dreaming whatever dreams pugs dream. I suspect they involve food.
In a few weeks we’ll take him for his six-month checkup to make sure his cancer remains in check.
At twelve years old, we are grateful for every day with him.
Time together.
That’s all.
We woke this morning to a strong, warm wind that sent whitecaps skimming across the Douro. Not long after came the extreme heat warnings, expected to remain in place through at least Sunday. Most of Portugal is shaded red on the weather map, the kind of warning that changes how you move through a day.
Ted and Stitch set out together for their morning walk, sticking to the shady side of the street. The moment they reached a stretch without trees, Ted scooped him up and carried him the rest of the way to the park across the street, where there was still relief beneath the canopy.
Overheated paws, a short snout, and a thick coat make this more than an inconvenience. It requires paying attention.
The windows are closed now and the air conditioning hums quietly in the background. Even the short walk to the recycling bins felt like stepping into a blast furnace.
One of the reasons we chose northern Portugal was its milder climate. These days, though, there is no escaping the reality that weather patterns are changing. Across Europe, many people are enduring temperatures far beyond what their homes were built to withstand.
Those without the privilege of air conditioning bear the greatest burden.
So I’ll put on my hat, pull on my neck buff, adjust our routines, and count myself fortunate.
Even on a day like this, the river offers another story. Kayakers, swimmers, and sailors have all found ways to live with the heat, moving across the water while the rest of us look for patches of shade.
It is another reminder that every season asks something different of us—in the weather and in the writing.
Some weeks arrive with a clear theme.
This wasn’t one of them.
My thoughts have wandered from the gym, to the weather, and now to faxing my ballot for the Florida primary. It is always a slightly nerve-racking exercise: opening the email, completing the ballot, printing it out, and then finding a way to fax it.
Fax, really?
So much happened in such a short time. We returned from São Miguel and slipped almost immediately back into the familiar rhythms of everyday life. If I’m honest, that transition has been a little disorienting.
Not in a bad way.
Just enough to leave me noticing a collection of small moments without yet knowing how they fit together.
Perhaps that’s enough for today.
Tomorrow there will be haircuts for both of us. Stitch will have his own day at the groomer. Life will continue to unfold in its ordinary way.
I’m learning not to rush these in-between weeks. Sometimes the story doesn’t reveal itself until after I’ve lived it.
When Ted was out with Stitch on their last walk of the day, he captured this post-sunset splendor—dusk, or the gloaming, that quiet interval between sunset and darkness.
The stillness of the moment felt right after a long, hot day.
After a week when my words seemed to wander in different directions, it also felt reassuring.
On this Friday, sexta-feira, we awoke to orange skies, the result of brush fires burning farther east. Yet despite the haze, the day carried an unexpected sense of calm.
Perhaps it came from doing the ordinary things I love—hanging the laundry, getting our haircuts, and spending a quiet afternoon with Stitch.
Sometimes that is enough to help everything settle back into place.
When we first moved into this apartment, we spent months deciding where everything belonged. The furniture found its place fairly quickly, but the artwork seemed to need more time. Rather than rush, we leaned pieces against the tops of the low bookshelves, letting them tell us where they wanted to live. Over time, they did.
A few weeks ago, we decided to rethink the room once again. The dining table, which had lived on the diagonal since our days in Coral Gables, now sits straight. The credenza moved closer. The sofa shifted back.
So why am I telling you this?
Because moving the furniture somehow helped move something in me.
The unsettledness I’d been carrying around all week seemed to loosen as we pushed, lifted, cleaned, and imagined the room a little differently.
Walking does that for me.
Apparently, rearranging a room does too.
Sometimes all it takes is changing the view by a few feet for everything else to begin settling into place.
I’ll take it.
I didn’t solve anything.
But I do feel renewed.
Sometimes a small shift in our surroundings is enough to remind us that we aren’t as stuck as we imagined.
For now, that’s enough.
If you’re up for it, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Answer all, one, or none—whatever speaks to you. I’m simply grateful that you’ve read all the way to the end.
What ordinary routine helps you feel like yourself again?
Has a small change ever shifted your perspective in an unexpected way?
As always, até logo—see you later!
Thank you for the gift of your time, attention and support.
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Obrigada,
Maria—The Perennial Immigrant
Vila Nova de Gaia, Portugal
Notes and Sources
Most photos were taken by Ted Evangelakis, the guy with a Master of Fine Arts in Photography. But the photos here are a family affair.
While I didn’t love this heat wave, I did appreciate how quickly my laundry dried!
For me, making the bed and putting away the laundry feels like a reset every day.