Chapter 14: The Great Portuguese Apartment Hunt

Finding a long-term rental is NOT easy

May arrived and with it, warmer temperatures, a loosening up of lockdown, and a new Airbnb. I had moved to a town I couldn’t pronounce. My British friend Jo and I played with it, bouncing the nasal pronunciation of the ão of Ohlão back and forth between us. Two syllables or three? Accent on the first or last? Either way, I was in my new place.

This Airbnb was the best apartment yet. It was a REAL apartment: a fully outfitted eat-in kitchen (very clean), a separate bedroom, nice sized bath. The living room was a bit of an odd space, but the entire apartment had lots of light, was clean, and well outfitted. I now understood what a “super-host” is.

Getting to the apartment was a bit rocky. It is located in the historic center of Olhão, a rabbit warren of cobblestone back streets and pedestrian-only walkways. Which meant my Uber driver couldn’t bring me to the actual address. We had to park a few streets away and try to find the address—no easy feat. I finally stopped and asked in a shop and the shopkeeper, who had obviously done this before, stepped out of the shop, and pointed me back to the cross “street” just steps away.

I rang the bell and the host was there to greet me and help out. We dropped the bags and I went back with the driver to get the rest of my things. The owner left and I settled in to my new digs.

The windows were open and there was a warm breeze coming in. The apartment was on a corner and there were lots of people walking by, talking and laughing. It was a busy area and after the isolation of lockdowns, I started to feel like I was finally in Portugal.

When I first arrived in Albufeira, I was more than a tad enchanted by the cobblestone sidewalks or calçadas. Until I tried to walk on them in the rain. They’re slicker than goose shit. Even in dry weather, walking on cobbles takes a little getting used to. Portuguese women navigate them at a rapid clip in spike heels without blinking, of course. I find these women astonishing, awe-inspiring, and intimidating. I am proud to say that I can now navigate the cobbles at a matching clip, in my Fila running shoes. If it hasn’t rained.

One of the “benefits” of cobblestones is that they create a distinctive sound. They also amplify sound. REALLY well. You can hear a car (or a horse-drawn carriage) approaching on a cobblestone street from at least a block away. That’s especially handy in areas where there are a lot of pedestrians. The buildings in this particular area are about twelve feet apart which creates narrow “canyons” where people walk. The result is that sound is amplified and carried for at least a block. I could hear the conversations of people walking in the area long before I could see them. I could hear the trash containers being emptied several blocks away. A bicycle crash around the corner was as loud as a car crash. (No fatalities or injuries, but both bicyclists chose to stay in place for about twenty minutes while they gathered their wits.)

Not too far away is the Nossa Senhora do Rosário Church, built between 1681 and 1698. The bell tolls the hours and half hours and puts a fine bit of punctuation to the expression, “clear as a bell.” Although it was several blocks away, the first time I heard it ring out, I thought I was standing in the bell tower. For reals. Because…cobblestones. Everything is amplified and echoes. (Think of the cartoon cat who gets hit hard and his head turns into a bell ding-donging loudly. THAT loud.) It took me about a week to stop jumping every time they rang out. I also learned to expect the second round of church bell chimes that came two minutes later, in case you missed any noise the first time. (For my Boston friends, think of Dave Maynard, suffering through Community Auditions: “And in reprise…”)