Feliz Ano Novo! We limped in to 2023

The ethereal strains of “Silent Night” in Portuguese reverberated off stone walls and columns in the vaulted monastery church, finally making it feel like Christmas Eve to me. I cleared my throat – all that incense was making it scratchy – and lined up at the end of the Missa do Galo (Rooster Mass) to kiss the Baby Jesus.

And then plans for our first Christmas in Portugal began to go awry.

The fates, not to mention Santa and Baby Jesus, do not like to be tempted and that’s exactly what I must have done when I debated Santa’s address and jokingly wondered, in my last blog story, whether we’d get Covid from kissing the Baby Jesus. Somehow, a ‘vi’ got inserted into our dreams of a “cod” Christmas, turning it into a “Covid” Christmas.

Our Christmas Eve began wonderfully. After soaking dried, salted cod for two days to revive it, we made Bacalhau Espiritual (baked cod with bechamel sauce) for dinner with our neighbour Maxine. Cod is the key comfort food for Portuguese people on Christmas Eve. I had baked a bolo rei (king’s cake) and then we received a boxed bolo rei from our landlord as a gift, so we sampled both for dessert. Maxine was kind enough to say she liked mine better, but Bill and I both found it dry, with not as much fruit inside or on top as the landlord’s.

We counted dinner a success. Then Bill and I walked over to the Monastery for the Missa do Galo – the Rooster Mass – that began at 11 p.m. (We’re Protestants, but we wanted to experience the traditional Catholic service.)

We understood a few words of the Portuguese: noite de Natal (Christmas Eve), Deus (God), O Senhor (Lord), and Jesus Cristo, but mostly we stood and sat with everyone else and let the chanting and music envelope us.

After the mass ended, everyone stood in the main aisle, lining up towards the front to kiss the small ceramic figure of Jesus, from the nativity scene, that the priest cradled in his hands. Bill was reluctant, but I wanted to take part.

“You can just step aside at the last minute if you want,” I assured him, so we joined the line inching slowly forwards. The incense grew stronger, irritating my eyes and throat. As we got closer, we watched what people did. Some people did kiss Jesus, and the priest then wiped that spot with a white cloth, presumably soaked in a disinfectant, before the next person stepped forward. Others simply bowed, while others kissed their fingers and touched them to Jesus.

When my turn came, I bowed my head, kissed my righthand fingertips, and then touched them to Jesus’ left toes. Cute little toes. The priest moved his hand just slightly, as if he was going to wipe away my touch, but he didn’t. I stepped away and turned to watch Bill, who bowed to Jesus with his hand over his heart.   

As we moved towards the side aisle, we came upon people standing with lit candles. We had seen people arriving for the service with candles and lanterns. Here, they lit them and left the church carrying the light of Christ into the world. What a lovely tradition.

“I wish we’d known to bring a candle,” I whispered to Bill.

On Christmas morning, we awoke to gifts under our handmade pinecone tree and in our socks. Some Portuguese believe Baby Jesus brings the gifts, while most give credit to Santa. Whoever our nighttime visitor was, he left me with some extra special gifts – sore throat, congestion, and cough. It wasn’t the incense after all. I tested negative for Covid but we still cancelled planned get-togethers with friends over the next few days.

We struggled on with our planned Christmas Day meals. We used slices of my dry bolo rei to make French toast, imitating the traditional Portuguese treat of rabanadas. And we ate a small turkey dinner with more bolo rei for dessert, plus a glass of port.

By Dec. 28, I felt a bit better. We were literally heading out the door to pick up a rental car when I thought “Gee, I should test again.” That darned second line appeared right away. I was positive for Covid. We cancelled our plans to visit Madrid and then go on to Zaragoza to spend New Year’s Eve with our Spanish daughter, Roxy. Bill tested positive two days later.   

During our Covid isolation, our excellent neighbours brought us soup, tea, vitamins, and groceries. And I began to seriously contemplate whether I had temped fate/Santa/Jesus with the three questions I had posed about our first Christmas in Portugal: Does cod taste yummy on Christmas Eve? Will we get Covid from kissing Baby Jesus during the Rooster Mass? Will Santa find us in Portugal or will he bypass us since we didn’t send our letters to Laponia?

Not only had I debated Santa’s address with Antonio, but also I discovered that Roxy and her cousins agreed with him! I was shocked. They mounted a spirited defence of his Laponia address during a Christmas video call. Perhaps Covid was Santa’s retaliation upon me for getting his address wrong all these decades? Or had Jesus transmitted the virus to me via his cute little toes? Or was it just fate?  

The only clear answer was that, Yes!, cod does taste good on Christmas Eve.

We emerged briefly from Covid isolation on New Year’s Eve when we went upstairs to Maxine’s rooftop terrace (suitably masked, Purelled, and well away from Maxine) to watch the fireworks at midnight. We took glasses of espumante (Portuguese bubbly wine) and 12 grapes each, intending to follow the Spanish tradition of eating a grape for each bong of the clock at midnight. It’s a challenge to fit them all in and not choke. (The Portuguese eat 12 raisins, but that seemed too easy.)

However, once midnight hit, the fireworks exploded not only from the castle ruins near our apartment, but also from beside the Monastery and from hilltops all around the town. We stood mesmerized by the colourful bursts surrounding us and completely forgot about our bubbly and grapes. (And once I remembered, I realized it was hard to eat them quickly with a mask on!)

All in all, we limped into 2023. But that means we have nowhere to go but up!

Feliz Ano Novo!

We celebrated Christmas and New Year’s Eve in Portugal in December 2022. Find out where we are right now by visiting our ‘Where’s Kathryn?’ page.