So our house in Portugal (our house! also a really real thing that actually exists!!) is mostly empty, except for the beds we ordered to be delivered before we arrived, along with a desk and chair. Our shipping container is perched aboard a cargo ship that has only just squeezed its way through the Panama Canal, and though we brought a ridiculous number of suitcases/duffels with us (nine with Marido, six with myself and Filha), we couldn’t cram all our creature comforts into the cargo bay. Entranced, enamoured, ensorcelled, enchanted: all the dramatic, romantic e-words apply here.Īnd sure, this first week has also contained more prosaic things like jet lag and grocery shopping, school tours with Filha and furniture consultations with Marido. Now that I am here, I can say without reservation that those hours of anxiety were ill-spent. I could feel it lurking real hard ‘round about 3 am. Possibly stupid.) But we all knew it was lurking. They didn’t say the thought in parentheses.
It always felt crazy to say that out loud, to watch other people’s eyes widen in shock, hear their disbelieving laugh. Having moved our entire lives here without ever visiting the country, just to make sure. Before the move, I spent some quality time fidgeting with anxiety about whether I would even actually like Portugal, having never been here before.
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