After several chaotic house viewings, a rental market that tested our marriage and one memorable property featuring a roast chicken fossilising in the oven, we finally found a place to live.
A small house in a gated condominium in Cascais.
Exactly where we wanted to be.
The funny thing is that we never wanted to live in a condominium.
In fact, we actively avoided them.
We're the kind of family that likes space, privacy and not knowing what our neighbours had for breakfast.
Back in Cyprus, we spent years renovating a beautiful stone house with uninterrupted sea views and no neighbours in sight.
It was just us, the wind and the occasional goat.
Now?
We have neighbours on three sides.
And because Portugal likes to keep you humble, our new home comes with floor-to-ceiling glass doors throughout the house, including the bathrooms.
"Forgetting to lower the electric blinds before a shower could potentially turn an ordinary Tuesday morning into a community event."
I apologise in advance to anyone living opposite.
The adjustment has been interesting.
Every morning I watch my neighbour stroll across her apartment looking as though she's stepped straight out of a luxury lifestyle magazine.
Meanwhile, I'm trying to locate missing school shoes, negotiate with three dogs and drink a cup of coffee before somebody needs something.
It's a very different aesthetic.
At times I genuinely feel like an extra in someone else's Instagram reel.
Still, despite the occasional identity crisis, condominium life has turned out to have unexpected advantages.
The complex is quiet.
It's secure.
There are playgrounds, sports courts and, most importantly, a small forest where children spend hours building dens, climbing trees and disappearing into adventures that don't involve screens.
Our son has never spent so much time outdoors.
He's cycling around independently, meeting friends and enjoying a level of freedom we rarely experienced before.
Naturally, being the slightly neurotic mother that I am, I immediately bought walkie-talkies.
Now we communicate like participants in a very low-budget version of Mission Impossible.
The other surprise has been the sense of community.
Within weeks, our son had acquired a collection of friends who wander in and out of our house with alarming confidence.
At times I feel as though I've somehow acquired several additional children without the inconvenience of pregnancy.
And then there was the blackout.
During a nationwide power outage, neighbours appeared at our door carrying candles and flashlights, checking whether we needed help.
It was incredibly kind.
Meanwhile, we sat calmly in the dark, completely unfazed.
Years in Cyprus had prepared us for this exact moment.
Power cuts?
Water shortages?
We had survived them all.
We already owned enough emergency supplies to comfortably outlast a minor apocalypse.
Perhaps that's the biggest surprise of all.
I thought moving into a condominium would feel restrictive.
Instead, it has given us something we didn't realise we were missing.
Community.
Although I still miss the goats.
Next time I'll tell you about the unexpected body-image culture of living in a Portuguese beach town and why moving to Cascais gave me a completely new appreciation for confidence, bikinis and very impressive glutes.
— Kasia
Kasia Plattner is a writer, relocator and professional starter-over. Author of The Art of Making Life More Complicated.