Een vrolijk verhaal over de Pools-Duits-Braziliaans-Paraguyaanse voetenmanicuur en verder heel veel hilarisch immigrantenleed.

Buurman, ik open met goed nieuws want ik heb eindelijk een adresje gevonden in Olhão waar ik zonder tegenstribbeling mijn handen en voeten kan laten verzorgen. In Rio de Janeiro en Paraguay - waar ik net als in Portugal ook bijna het hele jaar op Birkenstocks of andersoortige Jezus-sandalen liep - ging ik op gezette tijden naar de voetenmanicure (dat is Amsterdamse humor, die geinponems zeggen ook wel eens handenpedicure).

Mijn poezelige tere schrijvershandjes vinden het fijn om professionele aandacht te krijgen van een juffrouw en bovendien zijn mijn jatten mijn enige wapens (nog even los van mijn genadeloze bigi tolli). 

De eeltvorming op de voeten in dat soort warme landen is niet kinderachtig en in Asuncion had ik een vast adresje waar ik elke maand mijn voeten en handen en mijn gezicht liet doen (mee-eters en zwarte puntjes laten uitknijpen, je kent het wel), plus een massage van een uur. Ik was dan ongeveer 25 euro kwijt, en daar zat de happy ending bij inbegrepen.

Het betrof een nette salon in de Calle Palma, in het hart van de stad, waar het altijd wemelde van de keurige notabelen die ook nog eens hun haar pikzwart lieten verven. Denk aan schoenpoets, en denk aan het drama van die zwetende Rudy Giuliani en aan die scene in Death in Venice waarin de haarverf van kindervriend Gustav von Aschenbach begint uit te lopen op het strand. Ik vind mannen met geverfd haar een esthetische gruwel, maar Latino’s mogen het van mij wel doen. Oude Italianen en Argentijnen komen echt overal mee weg. 

Tonnie Hoes, beter bekend onder zijn artiestennaam Twan Huys (dat bekt beter in Hollywood), ziet er bespottelijk uit met die geverfde pruik, net als Rik de Leeuw destijds. Typisch midlife crisis-gedrag. 

 

Nog erger natuurlijk zijn mannen met een pruik, een toupet een haarstukje. Iedereen wijst ze na op straat, en vooral kleine kinderen die dan keihard roepen: mama, die kinderlokker draagt een rare pipopruik. 

In die salon in de Calle Palma gebruikten ze een soort kaasschaaf om mijn eelt er af te bladderen. Dat ging er behoorlijk hardhandig aan toe maar ik had na die Stroessneresque marteltechniek wel de pootjes van een pasgeboren baby. 

In Portugal ben ik een keer of tien afgewezen bij een pedicure, meestal door een onaantrekkelijke vrouw met een snor die een hartverzakking kreeg bij het idee dat ze een man moest “verzorgen”. Een marica! En dat terwijl nationale held Ronaldo de allergrootste kastnicht van het land is. 

In Sarajevo deden ze ook al zo moeilijk als ik mijn voetjes wilde laten doen en uiteindelijk vond ik in notabene in de negorij van Albanië een heel aardige meisje dat het voor een zeer schappelijk prijsje wilde doen (geen happy ending, gelukkig). 

Albanese voetenmanicure

Ik had trouwens ook al een kalknagel ontwikkeld door het harde leven in natuurgebied Ria Formosa, en dat is een heel gedoe om daarvan af te komen en bovendien een goor en smerig gezicht.

Bij de Etos in Nederland vond ik een flesje van een paar eurootjes, op basis van eucalyptus, en dat is een wondermiddel.

Goed, er zat inmiddels zoveel eelt op mijn poten dat ik 6 centimeter langer was geworden. Deze week kwam uit de sportschool in de Ria Shopping, waar ik me voor de duizendste keer dood ergerde over mijn smerige voeten, en liep ik wanhopig richting de kubus.

Sportschool!

Bij de rotonde van die kubus staat trouwens altijd een mannetje met een petje van een jaar of zeventig.

Vroeger heette zo iemand de dorpsgek. Hij wordt daar ‘s ochtends geparkeerd door zijn moeder van 95 en ‘s avonds weer opgehaald. Hij staat bij die kapperszaak die vroeger nog een vieze gore kroeg was en verder drentelt hij op en neer op de stoep. 

En toen kwam ik Angelica Kaminski tegen.

Jij denkt, die moet wel Pools zijn! Dat klopt, want haar overgrootouders waren Pools en Duits en emigreerden 100 jaar geleden naar Brazilië en uiteindelijk naar Paraguay. Angelica studeerde milieukunde en besloot 2 jaar geleden in haar eentje naar Portugal te emigreren. Met een Braziliaans paspoort kun je hier meteen aan de slag. Ze deed een cursus pedicure en manicure van 4 weken (kost 400 euro) in Faro en heeft nu in het pand bij de kubus haar eigen salon. Bovendien heeft ze een Nederlandse vriend die in Hoorn woont. Angelica kan al een beetje Nederlands en verder spreekt ze 5 talen. We hadden het uitgebreid over Paraguay en over Brazilië en het was supergezellig en na 1.5 uur moest ik 22 euro aftikken. Dat is echt voor niks. Angelica is super stoer; gewoon helemaal in je eentje naar een onbekend land emigreren en daar binnen no time een bedrijfje beginnen. Ze heeft gezien haar familiegeschiedenis het juiste DNA natuurlijk, en ik ben net zo’n immigrant als zij en dat schept een band. Ik kwam met helemaal nakkes nada naar Portugal uit Zuid-Amerika, Ja, met vijf honden, dat dan weer wel. Migranten als Angelica wil ieder land, en ik denk dat ze naar Nederland gaat verkassen, naar haar vriendje in Hoorn. Slecht voor mijn voeten en handen, goed voor haar!

Van de week las ik twee hele andere migrantenverhalen die in schril contrast staan met het succesverhaal van Angelica, en die verhalen zijn echt Ik Vertrek next level, qua horreur. Misschien had je deze serie al eens gezien bij onze vrienden van Portugal Portal, en als je het leest weet je niet of je moet huilen of lachen. Hier een stukje: 

De dag na dat de accu onder water had gestaan hebben we geprobeerd onszelf bijeen te rapen en besloten we te kijken wat we van de accu konden maken. We hebben hem naar onze keuken gesjouwd en compleet open geschroefd. Mijn moeder en ik hebben weinig verstand van elektriciteit. We kunnen een kroonsteentje tussen een kapotte kabel zetten en met wat moeite zelf een stekkerdoos monteren maar een complete accu begrijpen zat er voor ons niet in. We begonnen dan ook met alles zo droog mogelijk te krijgen. Daarna bekeken of we iets zagen dat zichtbaar ‘mis’ was, maar ondanks al onze moeite konden we het ding niet aan te praat krijgen. Later hoorden we dat hij waarschijnlijk compleet ontladen was en dus niet zomaar weer opgeladen kon worden. Aan de accu was er dus vrij weinig te doen maar ondanks dat we niet weg konden probeerden we toch bezig te blijven. We probeerden te redden wat er te redden viel. De vloerbedekking, de bank, de boeken, onze kleren, de kasten. Alles zat onder de schimmel. We hadden onze vloer er zo goed als compleet in zitten, onze voeten waren droog, maar we hadden nog helemaal geen aandacht besteed aan al onze spullen. Met alle schoonmaakspullen die we nog in de tent hadden probeerden we alles schoon te maken en voor de kachel te zetten. 

En toen las ik op Portugal Propaganda - The truth about living here, onze favoriete Facebook-groep, een echt horrorverhaal waarbij het verhaal van de Nederlandse dames een zonnige zondagse picknick lijkt. Je moet er lid van zijn, en de link hier plaatsen heeft geen zin. Daarom de tekst, in het Engels. Leest en huivert!  

We chose to come to Portugal from France. It was nearing the end of a lockdown (the first one although we didn’t know it at the time) so we physically couldn't visit any accommodation prior to moving. Also the end of the Brexshit transition period was looming so we had to move quickly or be stuck in France. We found a place to rent and the Portuguese guy was so helpful. It was his dream to help people move here to see how wonderful Portugal it etc etc. He was brilliant, he did videos calls from his accommodation to show us everything. It was small and expensive for what it was, but we were desperate to get to Portugal and we researched as much as you are able online and chatting to people by messenger. It was in 8 hectares of land, he had ducks, chickens, boar, ostrich, horses etc. We had the right to use the land to grow anything and he even was happy to take us with our 4 dogs (at the time - now we have 13!).

We moved here at the end of lockdown and for a few days everything was okay. We met a lovely Dutch couple (who also rented from him on the same plot) and we got on very well. Hugo the landlord, warned us gently that they weren't nice and we shouldn’t speak with them, which was a bit odd. The animals he had weren't well treated or looked after and all the fish in his huge pond were dying because the water quality was so bad. We'd see them gasping for air at the surface, and then a few hours later, they'd be floating dead on the top. He paid a neighbour to look after the animals but he was hopeless and didn't give them enough food, or even fresh water. I'm an ex-animal keeper and have a lot of experience in animal husbandry so I offered to help him look after the animals for free and he agreed. At first it was okay. He had an ostrich which wasn't licensed and was on an inappropriate diet (they need a specific diet to keep their legs strong to carry the body weight). We found out from the Dutch couple that he'd had 3 ostriches but two had broken their legs and were shot.

Alarm bells were ringing everywhere so long story short, he fell out with the Dutch couple and he physically attacked the old man. We saw it all and intervened to save our friend and from that moment on we were public enemy number one. He ranted and raved at us, he put barriers around our property so we couldn't use the land, he stopped me filling up the animals water and feeding them, by locking all the enclosures. I had to throw food over the fence. He then started to become abusive and put up video cameras everywhere pointing into our house (which was mostly glass fronted). The cameras had an audio feed and he would bellow at us every time we left the house. He even started to wear a camera on his head so he could video every interaction with us (see pic). The GNR were called many times, one because he pulled a knife on my husband (took them 48 hours to come because it wasn't a gun!). During this time Hugo had commented that my mum who was 80 at the time and staying with us for an extended holiday "smelt like death" (this was in front of the GNR), and the Dutch lady who'd had breast cancer, "smelt like cancer and would die soon".

Eventually he turned off our electric in the early hours of the morning and sliced through the cable. He did the same with the water. He told us we had 3 days to leave or 10 men would come and physically remove us from the house. We called the GNR and they advised us to get a solicitor. An emergency meeting was called and after an 8 hour meeting (yes you read that correctly), he was told in no uncertain terms that he was breaking the law and must reconnect by midnight. His own lawyer got us on one side and told us he was a nutcase, and the best thing we could do was leave for our own safety.

During this period, we reported Hugo to the animal welfare arm of the GNR for keeping wild caught and trapped boar, wild caught and trapped deer and all the other animals in disgusting conditions. His wild boar got into the pig enclose and killed 3 of the piglets. We watched on in horror and couldn’t do anything. I could tell you 20 stories about that time.  

A week or so after I reported him, we heard a commotion one night and sneaked out to see. He was loading the boar, into a builders van. He came back and did the same with the deer, and then the ostrich. The following morning the GNR arrived for their assessment. They couldn’t find anything wrong as Hugo had removed all the animals that were illegal and removed all the dead and dying chickens, fish and ducks. I discovered afterwards that they had contacted him, and given him prior notice of their inspection!! I told them that he had removed all the illegal animals and they ignored it. Three days later, the animals all came back, in the builders van.

We were still desperately trying to find alternative accommodation when he tried to poison our dogs, and then he physically attacked me. The police were called again. They didn’t bother coming out. This is seriously condensed as a story. It was hell. We couldn’t leave the house empty so had to go out separately. We found a house to rent that was being renovated. There was no working kitchen as such, but once we'd explained our situation, the landlord Antonio said as long as we were happy to live in it while the renovation was finished, it was okay with him. We got our stuff and left. Two days later, Hugo put posters all over the town with a photo of us that he'd lifted off FB saying we were criminals and he would use force if we attempted to return and we shouldn't be trusted. The Police did nothing. Again. See the photo attached.

We were told by Antonio that the renovation had been rushed and was apparently almost finished anyway. We duly arrived at Antonios obviously stressed. We had signed a 6 months contract and paid a month as deposit. My Mum was still on holiday with us at this point! Again, long story short, the place was a dive. All the kitchen cabinets and fittings had been dumped outside and not replaced with anything. There was no hot water, Charlie was dispatched to check the attic and there was no hot water tank or boiler or any means of hot water. A quick call to the landlord and he told us it was normal in Portugal for the tenant to fit a boiler for the hot water and a fitted kitchen! On a six month contract.

We had to wash in cold water, the taps in the bathroom didn't work and the toilet didn't flush. Only one plug socket worked in the whole place., and all the ceiling lights were broken so we had to use our phone torch in the evening to go to bed. We resigned ourselves to the fact that we didn't intend to stay so we didn't bother unpacking our trailer and belongings. See the two photos below of the bathroom and the bedroom. notice the open gap straight to the outside around the ceiling! Our kitchen equipment was all packed so we cleaned out the metal dog bowl every morning and used a two ring electric stove to make coffee every day. The landlord said if we didn’t like it, we could leave. Unbeknown to us there was a leak underground so we were forced to pay a 100 euro water bill when we left two weeks later. The landlord kept our remaining 2 weeks rent and our deposit.

On to house number 3. Recommended to us by a UK couple that were leaving and had bought in the same village. They said the house had a bit of mould and they had to clean it on occasion. We paid our deposit and rent and moved in. Third move in just over 3 months. Within a week of being in, the walls were turning green. It was summer so we had the doors and windows open every day until the late evening. My Mums suitcase which was in the wardrobe was turning green. My shoes were mouldy and in the evening when it cooled down the walls were actually dripping with water. We bumped into the couple who used to rent it and I asked her exactly how often did she had to clean the house. She then told us she bleached it every week without fail. Every single room! If she didn’t it turned black and made them ill. That’s why they left but they felt as if they needed to get new tenants as they were leaving their contract early and didn’t want to fall out with the landlord who lived in the same village. This village also had high security walls around each house and alarms and guard dogs. (despite Portugal being touted as one of the safest places to live!) We had to run the gauntlet of about 20 barking dogs every time we walked ours. We also spent a terrible morning listening to the neighbour trying to kill his geese. Badly. We had to go out in the end!

In the meantime a wooden chalet on the beach just north of Figueira da Foz that I had enquired about weeks earlier, but had no response, became available. It was only 45 square metres and the bedroom was across the garden in a separate building. We were desperate so we moved again. Previous landlord kept our deposit again and tried to stiff us for a whole gas bottle after 2 weeks! The landlady seemed lovely, and despite its size, we lived happily there over winter for 6 months. It was too small for a settee in the lounge so we laid on a bench in the evening. On the bright side it was cheap to heat! We totally transformed their overgrown garden over that period, much to the delight of the owners. The end of the final lockdown arrived and they decided they wanted to let it again for holidays so we were given notice, even though we had a contract. We agreed to leave if they refunded the remaining rent and deposit. They agreed. We managed to find accommodation through a friend in a village half an hour inland, so we moved again. There was a last minute glitch and we were 2 days late leaving from when we had originally promised. The landlady used this as an excuse to keep our rent and deposit. Again.

The last house needed work but was warm, not damp and we could finally relax for a while. When we left there 8 months later (for our move to the north), the landlady thanked us for all the work we did improving it, returned our deposit, and we are still friends.

House number 5. Landlord was sceptical about our dogs so we paid a higher deposit. Lived there for 6 months until we bought a house. (it took 6 offers on different properties and lots of solicitors but that’s a whole other story). Landlord came for the final inspection and was shocked that the house was better and cleaner than when we had moved in. We had done the garden, trimmed all the hedges, re-seeded the lawn, planted flowers and repaired a few things in the house like hinges on cupboards etc. he was very appreciative. We even found him another tenant. He promised to return our deposit minus the minor final electric bill. Two years later and are still waiting for that deposit….. Did I mention the guy is an advogado with his own business!

We spent an inordinate amount of money trying to sue Hugo for physically attacking both of us, slandering and libelling us and causing distress. We found out in the meantime that he had done this to 3 other tenants. Our Dutch friends were also forced to move house. The GNR had a huge file on Hugo. He tried to counter sue and we became “suspects” which involved us having to visit our local GNR every time we moved and not being able to leave Portugal without informing them and showing return tickets. We found out last month that the case has been dropped despite all the evidence. Even videos by the GNR. Welcome to Portugal where no-one gives a shit.

Even after all this, we decided that we’d just had a bad run of luck and decided to buy a house. More fool us.

I shall post about our nightmare of actually buying a house once I’ve summoned up the emotional strength. Just re-living this has drained me.

If you've got this far, thank you for reading, and get yourself a stiff drink.

*edit** I'll post a video of Antonios  house (no 2)  "after renovation". Just realised i still had it. We were all so stressed including our poor dogs.

Michelle Symmons