Coming up on a year of living in Tavira, this is the title that resonates most with me. More often lately, I feel like someone out of their element — a fish out of water. I find myself longing for a familiar home, while also knowing that the home I left isn’t quite the same anymore. Whatever this feeling is, I believe I’m meant to experience it — that there’s something here to learn from, to grow through, and to understand more deeply.
On the Home Front
Here in my Tavira home, things are relatively normal. The cats are being cats. My Portuguese driver’s licence finally arrived in the mail (though I had to turn in my California one to get it). We replaced a few appliances that weren’t working well (the oven and the dishwasher), prepped for the upcoming garage cleaning, and our lovely 91-year-young neighbor dropped by to study Portuguese with us. All very normal indeed.
It’s funny how ordinary days can sit alongside an unshakable sense of in-between. Everything looks steady on the surface — the cats, the errands, the quiet rhythm of home — yet beneath it, something is still shifting. I’m still adjusting, still learning how to belong, how to breathe differently in this new water that’s slowly becoming my own.
Volunteer Gigs
We’re still volunteering with the East Algarve Cleanup and the Red Cross.
Over the past two weeks, we’ve picked up so much trash. This week felt super-extra — more than thirty people showed up, and together we made light work of it. We always find our fair share of Super Bock beer bottles, and there’s always one oddball item. This week, it was a stroller in a tree.
I’m not going to lie — the Red Cross has been a lot. Let’s talk about the “hot-dog-on-a-stick” hat for a second. One of my friends made me a MOD (Manager on Duty) hat to commemorate my new role (and I wear it proudly).
As warehouse manager, I’ve dipped my toe back into what feels a lot like real work. I surveyed the volunteers, pulled together their feedback, and outlined a few themes and next steps. My leadership counterparts are wonderful, though I am re-learning how to fit into the rhythm of it all.
Right now, I’m knee-deep in a project that feels like a game of Jenga. The old shelves were buckling, so with a generous friend’s donation we replaced them — and spent last Thursday building the new ones. Next up: clearing out what we don’t need and tackling the mountain of donation bags waiting to be sorted.
We find the strangest things in the warehouse too — like hundreds of food-server outfits: green striped vests and white caps with piping. The volunteers are wonderful — always game for a task and a photo, especially when they’re trying on the extra hats we uncover.
Here is a picture of the hallway to the warehouse, and the outbuilding where the laundryroom is.
There’s something fitting about trying to bring order to a place that’s always in motion. The warehouse mirrors life here — a constant shuffle of what stays, what goes, what gets repurposed. Maybe that’s what this whole year has been: sorting through what no longer fits and making space for what does.
Cachorro-Quente
A hot dog (cachorro-quente) might seem like an odd segue — and an even odder fit — but Portuguese-style hot dogs are everywhere, and it only seemed logical to have “hot-dog night” with friends. So we fired up the built-in Portuguese grill on our balcony and cooked up a batch of dogs — as one does.
Hot dogs in Portugal aren’t quite the same as back home. They’re usually tucked into a soft baguette-style roll and layered with sauces, shredded carrots, crispy potato sticks, and sometimes even corn or cheese. It’s a whole production — and we were here for it.
Somewhere between mayo and carrot shreds, I caught myself smiling at the absurdity of it — eating a very Portuguese take on a very American food, on a balcony in a city that’s still finding its way into feeling like home. Maybe that’s what this season is all about: finding small, unexpected ways to belong, even when you still feel like a fish out of water.
Lunch on the Farm
We heard that Nunes had an accident on his farm, so we wanted to stop by to see him and bring lunch. Of course, with Natalina, it’s never that simple — and not just because of the language difference. Communication is a dance of culture, personality, and her strong-willed kindness. She’s a natural hostess, and no one ever leaves her table hungry.
We arrived knowing she had already prepared a full feast: three kinds of meat — chicken, secreto pork, and beef — served with homemade sweet-potato fries. When I got up to help with something, their cat, Nina, immediately jumped into my chair, ready to take my place at the table.
Dessert was pomegranates, but not like the kind we had back in the U.S. These were huge, lighter in color, and tasted a little like watermelon — sweet, soft, and unexpected.
Lingering over those pale pink seeds, I realized how life here can be both familiar and new — full of small surprises that still taste like home.
Change of Season
You can feel the shift in the air now — a softer light, cooler mornings, and the first hints that Tavira is slipping toward winter. We’d heard that Halloween wasn’t commonly celebrated here, yet we spotted a few decorations, some trick-or-treaters, and even a loud party in the neighborhood behind our apartment. But the real headliner is the twinkling lights — the first bits of Christmas sparkle starting to appear.
The mix of holidays feels a little like indecision — are we in fall or winter? I get it; I’m somewhere between endings and beginnings too, still learning how to hold both.
The Flood and the Apology
The flood came on Wednesday, with the first big rain of the season. The storm drains were closed, and parts of town quickly filled with water. Streets turned into shallow rivers, and for a few hours everything felt a little uncertain. Maybe it was a hint — time to swim.
But the next morning, Tavira offered its apology — a sunrise so beautiful it stopped us in our tracks. The sky was streaked with gold and rose, a quiet reminder that every mess can make room for something luminous.
Not Many Adventures
There haven’t been many adventure days lately but we did manage to fit one in about a week ago. And our intention was to finally see the Palace of Estoi, only to be thwarted again when we arrived and discovered the hours had changed.
So, in true “make-it-up-as-we-go” fashion, we shifted course and went looking for fontes instead — natural springs scattered through the hills. That’s how we found Fonte Férrea, a peaceful spot surrounded by trees. The signage there reminded us to beware of wild animals that might appear and noted that two of the hiking routes pass through hunting zones. “Avoid walking on Thursdays and Sundays, from October to February,” it warned. Very good to know — and no, I’m not hiking there ever.
It wasn’t the plan, but maybe that’s what makes it fit the theme of this season: learning to enjoy where we end up, even when it’s not where we meant to go.
On Reflection
Maybe this is what belonging looks like — not a sudden arrival, but a slow unfolding. A year in, I’m still adjusting, still learning the rhythm of this place and of myself in it. Some days feel settled, others like I’m still finding my fins. But between the ordinary moments, the mismatched shelves, and the changing skies, I’m beginning to see that “off course” might just be the right course after all.
Fish in water.
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