Let’s start with the obvious: the journey here deserves its own post — and Stacey is going to tell that story when she’s emotionally recovered enough to type without breaking into a cold sweat. All I’ll say is… two kids, three pets, and almost everything we own in the world made it across the Atlantic in one piece. Barely.
And then… we arrived.
Our new home is everything we hoped for: sun-drenched rooms, a yard full of possibility, and, to our utter delight, landlords who seem to have stepped straight out of a kindness fairytale. Antonio and Aura met us at the door with cold beer, bottles of water, juice for the kids, and armfuls of grapes and figs from their garden. The figs were soft and warm from the sun, their sweetness so intense it made me forget, for just a moment, the chaos we’d left behind.
Speaking of the garden — it’s ridiculous, in the best possible way. Olives, figs, oranges, lemons, limes, and enough grapes to fuel several small wineries. Every morning, the air smells faintly of citrus and sea (new personal scent?), and the breeze carries just enough coolness to make the hot, hot sun tolerable… at least for now. A heat wave is coming, and we’ll see how smug we’re feeling by Tuesday.
We tackled the kids’ room first. A trip to IKEA (Portugal edition) was just another adventure in getting things done, but ultimately ended successfully with two epic loft beds complete with desks underneath. Gann and Rory claimed their new territories immediately, announcing they were “never leaving.” Honestly, we’re fine with that.
We’ve also rented a car, braved our first grocery runs, and even wandered the Saturday market, where stalls overflowed with bread, cheese, and vegetables in colors I swear don’t exist in the U.S. Quick errands here are never quick. Partly because everything is still unfamiliar, but mostly because Portugal moves at its own pace — and it’s not about to speed up just because you think it should. This is something I definitely knew before getting here… but is a whole different things to actually live it…
My only regret so far is my absolutely dismal Portuguese. If I could go back, I’d spend more time learning Portuguese before we came. I now underestimated how much even basic greetings matter. We’ve already had our first less-than-friendly interaction with a local who made their displeasure clear — a humbling reminder that being the outsider comes with responsibilities, not just romantic notions of “starting fresh.” (More on that in a future post.)
Grocery shopping has been its own mini adventure: milk and eggs here aren’t refrigerated, there’s no such thing as half-and-half, and my first store was… not a win. My second attempt was better: a smaller, Portuguese cousin of Walmart where I could get a loaf of bread, a set of towels, and a frying pan all in one go.
And then there are the moments I didn’t see coming — the ones where I’m suddenly frozen by the thought: What have we done? It hits in waves, the magnitude of being here permanently. There’s no “going home” to normal; this is normal now. I’d been naïve enough to think I’d skate through culture shock because we’d visited before. Turns out, familiarity isn’t immunity.
Still, there’s so much to look forward to. We’re working on leasing a car, setting up my workspace, and delivering on our promise to take the kids to a water park. They’ve been absolute rockstars through all of this, and they deserve pure, unfiltered fun. The beach is calling us, too. I can’t believe we haven’t gotten to it yet – it’s so close!
We’re here. Unpacked-ish. Learning the rhythms of a new place — slowly, sun-soaked, grape-fed, and wide-eyed.