“I am afraid you’ve been tricked.”
Gulp. Silence. Sick-to-our-stomach feeling. Hard-earned money gone. Thieves. Bandits. Scumbags.
All these epithets and more spring to mind as we listen dumbfounded to our hostess. She continues.... “we deal with this company and we know you never send money. (We did.) Use only credit cards (we transferred cash). Never share your personal email (we did)...Use the company as a filter. A go-between (we didn’t).” We were cleverly led astray by a bogus look-a-like.
Here we are in Lisbon looking for a rental apartment for one month and now we are certain we’re scammed. The advertised apartment on-line did look almost too good to be true. It was.
All we want to do now is leave, return to the safety and security of our Canadian home.
Gulp. Silence. Sick-to-our-stomach feeling. Hard-earned money gone. Thieves. Bandits. Scumbags.
All these epithets and more spring to mind as we listen dumbfounded to our hostess. She continues.... “we deal with this company and we know you never send money. (We did.) Use only credit cards (we transferred cash). Never share your personal email (we did)...Use the company as a filter. A go-between (we didn’t).” We were cleverly led astray by a bogus look-a-like.
Here we are in Lisbon looking for a rental apartment for one month and now we are certain we’re scammed. The advertised apartment on-line did look almost too good to be true. It was.
All we want to do now is leave, return to the safety and security of our Canadian home.
But like the proverbial possé galloping in to save the day, we think (nay, hope) we may thwart the attack because of a five hour time difference and banking rules. Panic-stricken, we contact our son in the financial business in Canada who manages to unravel the almost-done deal. Now we can breathe again. Now we can explore Portugal affordably---and we can eat!
The apartment we eventually rent, half way up a narrow steep hill on the first floor of a traditional stone building, sits in a working class/student section of the city. Laundry hangs from clothes lines strung out back and front. This is November; Lisbon is sometimes warm enough for only a tee-shirt, sometimes not. Inclement weather brings forth residents who scurry up and down vertical cobblestone streets with warm scarves wrapped around necks, umbrellas clutched in case threatening clouds burst. In contrast, colourful graffiti and weird artful figures swirl and sweep like wallpaper across nearby exterior walls.
Climbing the dozen worn-in-the-middle wooden steps to a shabby landing leading to our apartamento dark door, we open the door to....a red and white IKEA décor!
What a shock....our DIY furniture in this small space does not match or complement this centuries-old neighbourhood. We cannot complain, though, as there are modern amenities, including internet. But there is an offensive sewage odour coming from the kitchen sink we never resolve.
The apartment we eventually rent, half way up a narrow steep hill on the first floor of a traditional stone building, sits in a working class/student section of the city. Laundry hangs from clothes lines strung out back and front. This is November; Lisbon is sometimes warm enough for only a tee-shirt, sometimes not. Inclement weather brings forth residents who scurry up and down vertical cobblestone streets with warm scarves wrapped around necks, umbrellas clutched in case threatening clouds burst. In contrast, colourful graffiti and weird artful figures swirl and sweep like wallpaper across nearby exterior walls.
Climbing the dozen worn-in-the-middle wooden steps to a shabby landing leading to our apartamento dark door, we open the door to....a red and white IKEA décor!
What a shock....our DIY furniture in this small space does not match or complement this centuries-old neighbourhood. We cannot complain, though, as there are modern amenities, including internet. But there is an offensive sewage odour coming from the kitchen sink we never resolve.
Living in this local community, our learning curve escalates. Especially at the supermercado. Few fish filets (North Americans don’t like picking out bones) but plenty of dried salt bacalhau (cod) and other whole fresh peixe with glassy eyes, octopi with suction tentacles, new fruits to taste, like persimmon. What is this squat orange fruit that looks like a tomato? Brimming with nutrition is good to know but when and how to eat it? Shopping for groceries requires the eye of a detective. How do you unlock and package fresh buns and famous Portuguese bread from their glass cages? Where are the eggs? (hint: not in the cooler).
Out and about: what metro line takes us to centro or the train station? With winding, steep hills of cobblestones, when does one street end and another begin? Did the tourist office mean turn right here or there? We backtrack numerous times and start again using familiar benchmarks (yes, McDonald’s! although who would eat there in this land of delicious pastries and inexpensive wine?) All this plus the challenge of language and currency.
After many mistakes, wrong turns, curses and blame, we begin to learn the intricacies of this amazing city reputedly the second oldest in Europe after Athens. Vibrant, friendly, so wonderfully European, Lisbon buzzes with heavenly pastelerias, excellent vinho do porto, and delicious local cuisine like seafood at Ramiro’s across the square from our apartamento.
After many mistakes, wrong turns, curses and blame, we begin to learn the intricacies of this amazing city reputedly the second oldest in Europe after Athens. Vibrant, friendly, so wonderfully European, Lisbon buzzes with heavenly pastelerias, excellent vinho do porto, and delicious local cuisine like seafood at Ramiro’s across the square from our apartamento.
First heard about this famous restaurant from our host rental agent who sang its praises. As fans of Anthony Bourdain’s gastronomic TV show, we also learn Bourdain dined at Ramiro’s during a taping in Lisbon. A must for us then. When first exploring our neighbourhood, we noticed patrons lined up outside the door and around the block of this three storey seafood cervejaria. Time to taste the excitement! As North Americans, our first shock: no reservations. Our second shock: on arrival you receive a random number; when it appears on the outside screen, your table is ready. We randomly wait among growing crowds and meet a visiting American couple (he, a well-known baseball writer/statistician). This is the third night his wife has staked out Ramiro’s hoping to get in. Suddenly the screen flashes our random numbers (ours is 1060...their’s 1645), one after the other, and we are ushered into the brightly lit restaurant, second floor. Coincidentally we sit at the same table and devour sizzling shrimp laced liberally with garlic, served with mounds of garlic (again!) bread.
A taxi driver points out his friend’s marisqueria (seafood restaurant) in our neighbourhood. We eat there and are treated to a local version of fado, bluesy music with centuries-old origins. Patrons in their fifties---one in his nineties---sing of broken hearts and lost loves with gusto and melancholy. These dining performers welcome us with warmth and curiosity.
From the internet we learn fascinating tidbits of information about our adopted city:
click here
This is only the beginning of our five week stay in Portugal.
And to think we almost gave up and flew home.
click here
This is only the beginning of our five week stay in Portugal.
And to think we almost gave up and flew home.
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