“What’s the name of this town?” Vera asks, I assume more to break the silence than out of curiosity.
“Peniche,” Rita says after checking her phone.
From the little I can see outside the window, Peniche looks like a nondescript town somewhere on the coast of Portugal. The houses that line its narrow, deserted streets have none of the grandeur or charm of Lisbon and Óbidos. From some of the signs hanging on the buildings it appears that this town is a popular surfers’ destination. There are signs for a surf school, a surf resort, a surf hostel, and a surf café and bar. All that’s missing are the surfers. I guess it’s either too late or too early in the season, or maybe it’s just too late in the day.
“The house is a little bit out of town,” Rita clarifies. “About ten minutes from here.” I can almost hear the wheels in her head turning between the statements. She would have preferred to stay in a more central location, but she didn’t want to miss out on a good deal and driving a few miles out of the way was never a problem for her.
I personally could not care less where the house is located. It’s not like I have any plan to go out and look for more things to see and do. I’ve seen enough for one day and I am happy to find some privacy to unwind and reflect on the day’s events.
After crossing some more dark and forgettable parts of town, Rita parks the car on a dead-end street. The darkness that stretches beyond this street and the few clusters of flickering lights in the distance offer few clues as to what lies outside of town. We remove our luggage from the car and meet the host, who’s waiting for us on the sidewalk in front of a humble looking two-story house. She punches a few numbers on a heavy lock attached to the handle, opens the front door, and lets us in.
The wide granite staircase that appears behind the door is absolutely gorgeous and looks completely out of place in this ordinary house. The ornate design on the stained glass that decorates the top part of the front door definitely failed to alert me to what I was going to see upon stepping in, if that was its purpose. I feel my pulse accelerate as I climb the staircase, not because I am out of shape, but because I am excited about what’s to come. After spending two nights at a tiny apartment on the fourth floor of a creaky and musty apartment building in Lisbon, this place already feels like a little suburban palace. I can’t wait to see the rest of it.
Which is nothing like the glamorous opening act.
Apart from the luxurious staircase, it is a simple family home with the basic ingredients that make a comfortable stay for short-term visitors.
We are ushered into a bedroom on the first floor, attached to a bright pink bathroom, then up the granite stairs to the second floor, where two more bedrooms are located. More stairs between the bedrooms lead to a large kitchen that includes a dining area and enough pots and pans, silverware, and dishes, all marked with Ikea symbols, to accommodate at least two families of avid surfers on vacation.
Vera voluntarily banishes herself to the first-floor bedroom, probably to spare Anna and me the nightly horror show, or maybe to spare herself the hassle of climbing and descending stairs while carrying a suitcase. Rita accepts her mother’s decision to sleep downstairs and drags her carry-on to an adjacent bedroom, which I don’t get to see. Vera’s insistence on occupying the smaller bedroom of the two is so compatible with the Polish martyr mother stereotype that it is almost comical.
I am more than happy with the situation. The upstairs bedroom in which I get to spend the night is spacious and sparsely furnished. There is a bed by the wall with a lone night stand next to it, a quaint antique-looking armoire across from it with more than a dozen clothes hangers inside, and a cheesy painting of seagulls flying above crashing waves hanging by the door. The large window facing the dark end of town has no blinds or curtains. It makes me feel somewhat exposed since I can’t tell what anyone who’s standing outside can see when looking up. I take a blanket that I find in the armoire and hang it over the window. Hopefully it will provide some privacy and block the sun in the morning.
I share a full bathroom with Anna, which is an upgrade from the miniature closet that doubled as a bathroom in the previous Airbnb. Did I already mention that Freddy’s gigantic frame wouldn’t have fit inside the bathroom in Lisbon had he decided to join us? Luckily, he chose to stay in the comfort of his four-bedroom house and leave the search for adventures to Rita who shares the downstairs bathroom with her mother. Each bathroom has a pile of clean towels and enough toilet paper for a family of five. Each bathroom is also decorated with colorful ceramic tiles, rather than the plastic walls and suspiciously-looking floor I stepped on back in Lisbon. So life looks a little more promising in this town that I have already forgotten its name and have no clue where to look for on the map.
I think this is going to be my first quiet night since I’ve left my brother’s place in Tel Aviv. Even though the bed feels unfamiliar and the water pressure in the shower is yet to be tested, I feel good in this big house. I can breathe here without anyone hearing me. I can go to the kitchen to make a cup of tea and a slice of bread with cheese, exchange a few words with Vera who has already settled at the dining table, and soon retire to my room, knowing that I have survived another day as a tourist without offending anyone.
No comments:
Post a Comment