Swapping Bell Schedules for Church Bells: Our Portugal Retirement

When we wheeled our two suitcases out of the arrivals hall in Porto last spring, I had a neatly labeled folder of visa papers and an anxious buzz in my chest I hadn’t felt since the first day I ever taught. Within a week, a neighbor pressed a sack of oranges into my hands and waited patiently while I stumbled through “muito obrigado” and a few other words we’d been practicing. This is how Portugal welcomed us—gently, and with fruit.

Why Portugal, Why Now

We’re retired teachers in our sixties. We loved our careers, but not the feeling of racing the clock. Portugal kept coming up in conversations with former colleagues abroad: slower pace, good healthcare, and a cost of living that would allow us to live on our pensions without the constant arithmetic of “can we afford this?” We also wanted a place where we could walk more, learn a new language together, and be students again, of a sort.

After a scouting trip that was mostly rain and pastel de nata, we chose Coimbra—a university city that feels alive without being frantic. It’s small enough to run into the same barista twice in a week, and large enough to have a symphony, bookshops, and doctors who know their stuff. On spring mornings, wisteria spills over old stone walls, and students in black capes vanish into fog along the Mondego. It’s lovely without trying too hard.

The D7 Visa: How We Actually Did It

The D7 is designed for those with steady passive income—pensions, investments, that sort of thing. It felt made for retired teachers like us, though the paperwork can feel like a group project with nebulous instructions.

Here’s what we did, step by step:

• Proof of income: We gathered pension statements showing a consistent monthly amount. As we understood it, you need to show income roughly equal to Portugal’s minimum monthly wage for the main applicant and a portion for the spouse. We added bank statements to show savings as a cushion.
• NIF and bank account: Before applying, we got a Portuguese tax number (NIF) with help from a local representative and opened a Portuguese bank account. Not every consulate requires this first, but ours strongly suggested it. It also made renting easier later.
• Housing: We secured a 12-month rental contract in Coimbra. Landlords often ask for a guarantor (fiador) or extra months upfront. We didn’t have a fiador, so we negotiated a slightly higher deposit. Paperwork matters here: your name exactly as on the passport, NIF included.
• Insurance: We purchased private health insurance valid in Portugal to bridge us to the public system once we had residence cards.
• Application: We submitted our D7 packets through the consulate that handles our state. It included the national visa form, criminal background check, apostilles, copies of our passports, proof of means, proof of housing, and the rest. The checklist felt long, but the logic is simple: prove you’re stable and insured.
• Approval and entry: Once the visas were stamped into our passports, we had a short window to enter Portugal. We booked a one-way flight, landed in Porto, and exhaled. A few weeks later, we attended our residence permit appointment—now handled by the new immigration agency—handed over biometrics, and received our residence cards by mail. Ours were valid for two years.

A note from our hearts to yours: processes evolve, office names change, and timelines vary by consulate. Double-check current requirements. Build in extra time. Patience isn’t a virtue here; it’s a strategy.

Finding a Home We Could Actually Live In

We used Idealista, walked neighborhoods, and chatted with café owners. Coimbra is built on hills that make you earn your bread, so we prioritized proximity to the river paths and a bus line. After many viewings (and a few scams we learned to sidestep—no cash deposits without a contract!), we found a one-bedroom on the third floor of a building shaded by plane trees.

Our rent is manageable for our pension, and the building has elderly neighbors who greet us with “bom dia” and update us on the weather like a Greek chorus. Utilities run lower than we expected in spring—cool nights and open windows during the day—but winter electricity was a surprise. We’ve become loyal to sweaters and slippers; space heaters are for the truly stubborn mornings.

What We Spend (And What We Don’t)

People always ask about money. We’re not economists, just two people with a spreadsheet.

• Rent: A one-bedroom in Coimbra cost us less than half of what we paid back home for a similar place.
• Groceries: Fresh produce at the market (Mercado D. Pedro V) keeps us under what we used to spend, especially in spring—strawberries, favas, and tender greens have become our seasonal diet. Fish is reasonable if you’re flexible and ask what’s freshest.
• Eating out: Lunch specials are our indulgence, with soup, a main, and coffee for less than the cost of a movie ticket back home.
• Transportation: We skipped a car. Our bus passes cost less than a single tank of gas used to and trains get us to the coast on a whim.
• Healthcare: More on this below, but private insurance for the two of us is affordable, and public co-pays are modest.

We do splurge on good shoes. Cobblestones demand respect.

Healthcare: From Paperwork to Peace of Mind

We registered at our local Centro de Saúde, got our SNS numbers (número de utente), and were placed on a waitlist for a family doctor. The waiting took months, so we did what many expats do: used a private clinic for routine care while we waited. A same-week appointment for Linda’s knee and a general check-in for me were straightforward and fairly priced.

The public system has been kind to us. When we finally got our family doctor through the SNS, it felt like passing an exam we’d been studying for. The GP took her time, asked about our walking routines, and explained the referral process. Pharmacies here deserve their own love letter—pharmacists give practical advice, and we’ve gotten to know ours well enough that she suggested a gentler allergy medication for spring pollen. We’ve called SNS 24 once for a late-night question, and they were patient and precise.

A practical note: keep your paperwork accessible. The system is increasingly digital, but a good folder still goes a long way.

Learning the Language, One “Bom Dia” at a Time

We started with an A1 course and a lot of humility. Portuguese in our sixties is a wonderfully humbling project—nasal vowels turn our tongues into pretzels, and we practiced “pão” (bread) with enough frequency that our local baker laughed and gave us a free roll after a particularly valiant attempt.

Small courtesies matter here: “bom dia,” “boa tarde,” “se faz favor,” and “obrigado/obrigada” used correctly. In our building, we keep our voices low after 10 p.m., and in lines we’ve learned to take a number (pegar a senha) and wait our turn. The rhythm of things is different—less transactional, more relational. When the woman at the market started tossing in a handful of herbs “para o feijão,” we knew we were doing something right.

Making Friends and Finding Our “We”

We joined a weekly language exchange at a café near the university and a walking group that meets by the river. Linda volunteers an hour a week at a seniors’ center practicing conversational English. I found a book club with readers from four countries and a reading list long enough to occupy a quiet winter.

Expat groups on social media helped us find community quickly, but the deeper friendships came from consistent routines—same café, same butcher, same bus line. The day our neighbor, Dona Teresa, knocked with a plate of folar (the Easter sweet bread), I realized how much these small rituals had knitted us into place.

This spring, posters for the April 25th Carnation Revolution celebrations are already up. Last year we pinned red paper carnations to our coats and joined the crowd in the square, singing along to songs we didn’t fully understand, feeling the emotion anyway. It’s the sort of holiday that makes a newcomer grateful for a country’s memory.

A Day in Our Spring Routine

We wake to church bells and the slap of rain on our balcony or, if it’s one of those clear April days, sunlight that turns the river silver. Coffee at the pastelaria—me a bica, Linda a meia de leite—and a shared pastel de nata because restraint has its limits. We often stop by the market for broad beans and spinach, then loop through the park alongside joggers and students planning exams.

On a whim last week, we took the train to Figueira da Foz, ate grilled fish, and watched a kite festival fill the beach with color. Back home, I simmered a pot of caldo verde while Linda called our daughter and propped the phone by the window so she could watch swallows stitch the sky above the rooftops. Retirement here isn’t grand gestures; it’s the daily accumulation of small, good things.

The Hard Stuff We Didn’t Post on Social Media

Bureaucracy can be opaque. Our residence appointment was rescheduled twice, and one time we waited two hours past the slot while clutching our folder like a talisman. It’s not that people aren’t helpful—they are—but systems move at their pace. We also underestimated how tiring it is to be new at everything. A trip to the bank can take the energy of a school day.

Homesickness visited at odd times—standing in a supermarket aisle unable to find oatmeal, or hearing a song from the ‘80s outside a pharmacy. The antidote has been permission to miss what we left, and curiosity about what we’re gaining.

If You’re Considering the Same Path

• Scout multiple cities and seasons. Portugal in August and Portugal in April are different planets.
• Budget for the unexpected—visa translations, extra housing deposits, and the cost of your own impatience.
• Learn key phrases before you arrive; take a class once you do. It’s not just politeness—it unlocks kindness.
• Use both public and private healthcare. Register early for the SNS, and keep a private plan to bridge gaps.
• Build a routine. The fastest way to belong is to become predictable in a few places.

What We’ve Found

We didn’t come to Portugal to reinvent ourselves. We came to live a life that felt softer at the edges, where afternoons could stretch and worries could shrink. This spring, a year in, we know which bus driver nods when we board, where the best cod cakes are fried to order, and how to tape carnations into our window for April 25th. We’re still learning the language of a place that has made room for us, kindly and without fuss.

If you find yourself at a similar crossroad with a folder of documents and a hopeful heart, know that the road is walkable. Wear good shoes. Pack patience. And keep a little space in your suitcase for oranges.

Best wishes from Coimbra,