O Meu Diário de Coimbra

Monday, March 10th

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(Week Four)

My apartment in Coimbra was originally going to be a year-long Airbnb rental, until my immigration attorney, Matheus, said the Portuguese authorities in charge of my residency application would look more kindly on me if I had an actual lease that could be filed with Autoridade Tributária e Aduaneira, the Tax and Customs Authority.

Marcelo, my Airbnb host, agreed to do that.

(Matheus and Marcelo. I don’t think we’re in Oklahoma anymore.)

Marcelo came over two weeks ago, opened a tiny notepad and wrote on a tiny piece of paper . . . Lease 1000€ 12 meses [months]. He then tore the page out of the pad, handed it to me, and asked me to sign it.

I did.

I’m sure this is all perfectly legal, and anyway, I can’t find the paper now.

Since then, no official document, no request for money, no nothing from Marcelo.

Last Wednesday, I got a message.

Hi Barry. I’m in Brazil. I’ll come back next Thursday. Thank you very much! Best regards, Marcelo.

I assume he’ll want some money soon.

Marcelo has two housekeepers for the apartment— they alternate cleaning the place Às segundas-feiras (on Mondays) — neither of whom speak English but both of whom have extra keys to the apartment, he tells me, should I lock myself out, which I can feel happening in the next day or so. I don’t have either of their cell numbers, nor, for that matter, know either of their names, but one woman is from Nigeria — at least I think that’s what she said when we met — and she has big eyes, light skin, and a high ass.

Shouldn’t be hard to find her. How many big-eyed, light-skinned, high-ass Nigerian women schlepping cleaning supplies through the streets of Coimbra can there be?