When people hear I’m moving to Portugal, inevitably they will ask, “Why Portugal?”

I give the short answer. When I travel, I consider if it’s some place I’d like to live. Portugal was a definite yes. It was beautiful, and the people were friendly.
The long answer is, well, long. And it starts in Spain.

 

The bus trip

My best friend and I stared wordlessly out the bus window. It had been a long ride — 17 hours — with only a couple of stops from our hotel east of Barcelona to Lisbon.

Two women sitting in front of us — short women — had leaned their seats back almost as soon as the wheels started turning. Tracy and I are tall with long legs. We each had less than 2 inches between our knees and the seats in front of us. With the seats angled toward us, it felt like less. We couldn’t cross our legs or move without causing the other to move. We’d take turns kind of turning to the side. I felt bad for the tall men on the ride. At least one opted to stretch out under the seats. For a coach bus, it wasn’t designed for big, tall Americans. The women in front of us slept pretty soundly, though, sprawled out in our laps.

We had spent a week in Spain. Tracy’s son was playing soccer, and she had invited me to go along. The group was made up of soccer parents and their sons and daughters, ages 13 to 17. We were traveling in two buses across Spain to spend a week in Portugal.

Before the bus trip, the adults had been talking about how long the journey might take. Map apps suggested 12 to 14 hours. A couple parents decided to fly. Ah, hindsight. That so would have been worth it.

But Tracy and I are the adventurous type. We’d already had a few experiences on this trip alone. How bad could this be?

Very.

It was so bad, you could not even complain about it, because you’d just want to cry. So you sat in silence, not even able to sleep because you were so uncomfortable.

We had traveled all night. We kept hoping we were close. But we weren’t. The day wore on.

Love at first sight

At last we could see Portugal — Lisbon — and the famous bridge that is reminiscent of San Francisco’s Golden Gate.

We were booked into a hotel about a half hour outside the city, near the soccer stadiums where the teams would play. That meant we still could not get off the bus, despite finally reaching a new country.

Even driving into Portugal, though, we noticed how green it was, especially compared with Spain, which was humid but desert-like, with cacti and rocks instead of grass.

The hotel was lovely. Business class, we had real beds, fluffy towels and air conditioning. Spain, well, that’s a story for another blog.

Hotel and restaurant staff were friendly and accommodating. It was night and day to our Spain experience. Even strangers who didn’t speak English tried to help us.

Welcoming and green

Getting off that bus, after such a negative experience (and that’s barely counting the bus ride), was like waking up after a bad dream. (There are many reasons I don’t want to go back to Spain.) We were so grateful to be someplace welcoming and green.

Despite getting a migraine from the extreme heat in Portugal, it still was better than Spain. If you know my migraines, you know that’s saying something.

Nearly everything about Portugal made me feel comfortable. I didn’t know the language, but it was OK if you made an attempt at pleasantries. People were friendly and helpful. I felt safe on my own. I felt at home.

When I needed to choose a place to start my foray into the world, I chose Portugal. There are other places I’ll go back to, but Portugal was such a sight for sore eyes (and backs, hips and knees …). Even though I’d never been there before, Portugal and its people welcomed me in.

That’s why I picked Portugal.

Be a Better Writer Tip

Immerse yourself in your story to be a better writer.

When I wrote about the bus trip, I put myself back in that seat — albeit briefly. It was easy to recall exactly how cramped it felt and how uncomfortable we were after so many hours. Most of us can relate to a long trip, by car, bus or plane, so readers are able to recall their own memories and pair them with my words.

Even if your readers can’t relate directly to your story, though, you should be able to describe it in such a way to help put them there — physically, mentally or emotionally.

It’s not necessary to use a lot of description to do this. In this case, you know it’s a coach bus with seats that tilt and at least one man on the floor. Perhaps you can “see” the short women sitting in front of us. But I don’t describe colors, patterns, details or even really what we see outside the bus (the country, city and bridge, but in vague, limited terms). I didn’t think that sort of description would add to the story but instead would weigh it down or detract from it.

Rather, I tried to evoke that feeling of being stuck in one spot for too long. In order to do that, I had to put myself there again. Immersion, at least mentally, can be beneficial as a writer.