The Pub - Discuss Anything

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Nobody Else Talks Like This in America (Carolina Brogue) 🇺🇸

Today we’re heading to one of the most remote islands on the East Coast—Ocracoke, in North Carolina’s Outer Banks. We’ll meet up with an old-school local who still speaks the dying Ocracoke Brogue—a mix of English, Scottish, Irish, and a sprinkle of pirate. Only a few still speak it. This is an inside look at a vanishing culture and a way of life few will ever experience.

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I left the UK for Lisbon – it’s 42 degrees and I am struggling to cope

Everything revolves around the heat. You can’t touch playground equipment without risking a burn, and every errand becomes an endurance test

https://inews.co.uk/inews-lifestyle/left-uk-for-lisbon-42-degrees-struggling-to-cope-3793856

It’s ingrained in British culture to complain about the weather: “It’s always raining”, “the sky’s so grey”, “why’s it so cold”. It’s one of the many reasons I moved to Portugal three years ago. I really wanted a sunnier, happier lifestyle for me, my partner, and our 10-year-old son.

 

Portugal is one of the sunniest countries in Europe, averaging between 2,500 and 3,200 hours per year. Their relaxed culture and family friendliness also drew us to the country but nothing prepared us for the sweltering heatwave that we just experienced.

 

I thought I had grown used to Portugal‘s summer rhythm – the slow mornings, the shimmering afternoons, the pinkish-purple glow at dusk. But this recent heatwave has pushed many of us beyond what feels manageable.

 

It has been nothing short of an inferno. Imagine leaving your house in the morning and it’s already 30°C. Inland towns like Moura reached an eye‑watering 46.6°C a few days ago. At one point it reached 42°C in Lisbon according to the pharmacy signs displayed outside. When the city climbs past 40°C, which it has several times already this summer, life doesn’t just slow down – it rearranges itself entirely.

Hannah says by mid-morning the pavements radiate enough heat to fry an egg (Photo: supplied)

From the moment we wake up, everything revolves around the heat. Mornings start unnaturally early at around 6am, and it’s not only because it’s uncomfortable to sleep for a long time when it’s so hot.

 

If I want a walk, a run, or even just a few minutes in the park with my son, it has to happen before 8am. By mid-morning, the sun is already intense, and by the afternoon, the pavements radiate enough heat to fry an egg.

 

In all honesty, there’s nowhere truly cool to go unless you want to crowd into an air-conditioned shopping centre. Luckily for us, Lisbon is a relatively tree-lined city, so it’s not too hard to find refuge under some shade while sipping on a cold, icy cider at a kiosk.

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You can’t touch playground equipment without risking a burn, and every errand becomes a mini endurance test. Just going to the supermarket means strategic timing, frozen bottles of water in your bag, and a mental countdown until you can get back home and return yourself to the semi-darkness of shuttered windows and electric fans.

 

Living without air conditioning, as many of us do in the older neighbourhoods of Lisbon, adds a layer of intensity. Our apartment traps heat like a brick oven, so we’ve adopted a system: blinds down by 10am, fans placed at every doorway, and cold compresses on standby in the fridge. My partner and I take turns keeping our son cool, spritzing his skin with water and encouraging him to eat cold fruit snacks with high water content such as melons, grapes and apples.

 

Having a child during this level of heat brings its own unique challenge. You become hyper-aware of hydration, of skin exposure, of shade. I slather him in spray-on SPF 50, make sure he wears a hat and super light clothing when he goes out, and restrict playing outdoors to the first and last hours of the day. He loves playing basketball in our local park so our evening routine has shifted.

Hannah: ‘The heatwave has made everything heavier – work, decisions, movement’

He now starts playing basketball after 8pm when the breeze finally starts to pick up and he finishes around 11pm several times a week. On cooler days, he wouldn’t typically be out that late. On the hot days when he doesn’t want to play basketball, we’ve made a ritual out of post-sunset walks and drinks from a local restaurant round the corner.

 

When we’re lucky, there’s a small crosswind that filters through the streets, and for a moment, it’s like the city can breathe. But sleep is much harder – especially for me. My asthma is completely exacerbated even though it’s typically under control. I found myself having to use my S.O.S. inhaler a few times during the past couple of weeks because the heat felt suffocating.

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The heatwave has made everything heavier – work, decisions, movement. You think twice before planning anything, and question everything, even your sense of what’s “normal”. Because this isn’t normal. I’m from London and didn’t grow up in heat, but I know it’s not supposed to feel like this. Not days in a row where the air feels uncomfortably tight, and where the stone walls that usually keep Lisbon cool seem to sweat right beside me.

 

I’ve found myself thinking more and more about climate change in the very real sense that this is probably our new normal. It’s hard to ignore the feeling that these extreme temperatures aren’t just a one-off event. This heatwave isn’t some random occurrence; it’s a symptom. Every time I read a headline about record-breaking temperatures across Europe, or wildfires, it hits me: things are shifting. And living through it – especially with a child – adds an urgency to my concern.

 

I’m starting to wonder what August will look like, or next year, or ten years from now. Lisbon has always been hot in the summer, but now it feels like it’s teetering on the edge of something much more serious. The conversations we used to have about “someday” and “elsewhere” are here now, on our doorsteps, in our sweltering living rooms.

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Wtf

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DHZGAvkzLwj/?igsh=MWE2eGx6N3V6bXZ0ZA==