Portugal was never part of the plan.
In fact, before all of this started, I knew embarrassingly little about it.
I had never been there.
I had never seriously considered moving there.
And if I'm being completely honest, I mostly thought of Portugal as Spain's quieter cousin who didn't get invited to as many parties.
Spain was the dream.
Until a memorable family holiday ended with a spectacular bout of food poisoning that took down the entire family.
"Nothing makes you rethink your future quite like spending several days regretting every life choice that led to a particular seafood platter."
So we broadened our search.
And that's when Portugal quietly appeared.
At first, it wasn't particularly exciting.
It simply kept showing up.
Every time I researched schools, quality of life, healthcare, climate or family-friendly locations, Portugal seemed to be sitting there patiently waiting for me to notice it.
Like the quiet child at school who turns out to be far more interesting than everyone else.
Eventually, we decided to investigate properly.
Which is how we found ourselves flying over for our first scouting trip in January.
January.
Possibly the least glamorous month to visit Portugal.
The internet had promised sunshine.
The reality was wind, rain and an Airbnb with heating that appeared to be purely decorative.
The house felt less like holiday accommodation and more like a large stone refrigerator.
Now, I like adventure as much as the next person.
But adventure becomes significantly less appealing when you can't feel your toes.
There may have been some complaints.
Possibly several.
Despite the weather, however, something clicked.
We walked along the dramatic coastline near Guincho, watched enormous waves crash against the cliffs and ate enough grilled fish to temporarily consider growing gills.
Most importantly, we visited schools.
And while the weather was doing its absolute best to scare us away, Portugal itself wasn't.
The pace felt different.
Slower.
Calmer.
Less frantic.
People seemed to spend more time outdoors.
Children appeared happier.
Life felt slightly less complicated.
Which, for someone whose entire memoir is called The Art of Making Life More Complicated, was a surprisingly attractive proposition.
Of course, there were setbacks.
We returned for a second trip.
Caught Covid.
Tested both the healthcare system and the local viruses.
But even that wasn't enough to put us off.
By the end of those visits, something had shifted.
For the first time in a long time, we could imagine ourselves living somewhere.
Not holidaying.
Not escaping.
Living.
Which turned out to be the beginning of a much bigger adventure than any of us expected.
Next time I'll share what happened when we actually started looking for a place to live and discovered that the Portuguese rental market is not for the faint-hearted.
— Kasia
Kasia Plattner is a writer, relocator and professional starter-over. Author of The Art of Making Life More Complicated.