O Meu Diário de Coimbra
Monday, March 10th
(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 I’m not even sure she’s the woman but she came to the apartment one day and seemed to know her way around) — 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?
