Things We Love to Hate To Love About Portugal
And the immigrant lessons hiding in plain sight
As a 3+ year immigrant to Portugal, I can attest that most of the challenges of living abroad are not logistical — they’re internal. Mentally and emotionally, it’s exhausting. And despite what social media sells, immigration doesn’t neatly conclude once you cross a border. If anything, that’s when it really begins.
Now, as I stare at 13 boxes in my 552-square-foot apartment, preparing to immigrate to France later this year, I’m reminded of the little things that used to annoy me about Portugal that now barely register and hold a certain charm. I could write all day on this topic. Instead, I have selected a few of my favorite things I love to hate to love about Portugal, along with the unexpected lessons they offer.
I’m not generalizing — just sharing what I’ve lived and observed in southern Portugal, the Algarve, since 2023.
Snuggling Up To Your Neighbors
Take my apartment. Electrical outlets are as rare as pot roast at a vegan conference. And the few that exist? One plug! Singular. No ambition. No vision. Which means extension cords and multi-plugs are not accessories — they are a lifestyle.
There is exactly one plug in my bathroom, mounted high on the wall like it’s trying to avoid responsibility. Blow-drying my salt-and-pepper locks has become an exercise in balance, reach, and mindful avoidance of getting electrocuted.
Apartment living also means proximity — to people, to habits, to noises you never knew existed. I’ve been fortunate. No late-night arguments or crying babies. But I can hear the upstairs neighbor every morning as her dogs run down five flights of tiled stairs for their morning constitution. There´s the man one level above who demonstrates his morning flatulence skills, followed by the whoosh of a toilet and a guttural belch. I avoid hearing this by not oversleeping. And don´t forget the ongoing, eight-month jackhammer renovation that suggests they may be excavating for oil. And, of course, the elevator has not worked for a month. I never use it — until now, when I need to move.
Portugal is known for its mildew and mold, causing immigrants to wander through their apartments, sporting rubber gloves, a spray bottle of deadly chemicals, and an eagle eye hunting for anything that looks remotely like a dark spot. I´m still convinced this is the cause of many lung and sinus challenges.
Living near six restaurants means weekends arrive with enthusiasm. Late-night dining, laughter, music, and the occasional local singer who believes the street is their stage. Add in a neighbor’s yapping Pomeranian and another who lets his dog roam at night, barking at absolutely nothing, and you have what I now recognize as a very full life happening around me.
Yet, no one seems bothered. Except… the American in apartment 2L tossing and turning in bed. Progress, not perfection.
Lesson learned: Noise is relative. Better to have life noise than sirens.
Ice Baths and Other Character Builders
If you have a gas water heater and kitchen stove in Portugal, chances are your propane “bottle” is tucked inside a cupboard, quietly living its best life until — without warning — it doesn’t.
I’ve become remarkably skilled at predicting the exact moment my shower will turn from warm to glacial. It’s a rhythm now. A partnership, really.
One evening, halfway through roasting chicken and vegetables, the oven light flicked off. Just… gone. I stood there, door open, staring at my half-cooked dinner like we had both been betrayed. A calm but firm “damnit” was issued, followed by an emergency microwave intervention that produced something technically edible and emotionally disappointing.
Public restrooms? Toilet seats are optional and sometimes missing in medical centers, bus stations, public schools, and restaurants. I’ve stopped questioning it and instead take a small, private pride in my ability to execute a stable, quad-engaging hover like a boss. And the hand dryers — those gentle, whispering devices seem more interested in ambiance than function. I used to get impatient. Now I dry my hands with 3 feet of toilet paper, picking off disintegrated remnants from my knuckles like it’s part of the experience.
Lesson learned: Release expectations from life.
Mother Earth Has Entered the Chat
Portugal is small enough that the environment isn’t abstract; it’s immediate.
During my first year, water restrictions were a real thing. And when taking out the trash requires a walk down the stairs, down the street, and around the corner, you start to reconsider what “throwing something away” actually means.
I now use less water, less electricity, and produce one small bag of trash a week. Not because I suddenly became virtuous, but because the infrastructure here gently insists on awareness.
Lesson learned: Mindfulness often begins with inconvenience. Reuse, recycle, reduce, repurpose is the name of the game.
Time… Is a Suggestion
Time, in many places outside the U.S., is fluid. Not wrong, just… flexible.
Recently, I overheard two tourists complaining that a restaurant listed as open online was closed when they arrived. Just a piece of paper taped to a locked front door announcing no business today.
“Well, you would think they would update their website or at least Google,” barked one lady.
The second tourist chimed in, “We walked four blocks for nothing. They obviously don´t value their customers.”
Oh, weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth!
I smiled and figured the restaurant was probably closed due to something important, like life balance… or possibly a family celebration for a second cousin whose best friend´s neighbor is throwing a birthday party for their dog.
Now, if a business is closed upon my arrival, I assume it’s not meant to happen that day. I pivot. I find a café. I sit down. Sometimes the detour becomes the better plan.
Just this week, a friend and I planned a day trip to Faro so I could finally replace my dying iPhone. She suggested I call ahead since it is Easter week.
“I’m sure they’re open,” I texted her with confidence. Still, I called the store and was informed, “Oh, no… we are closed on Good Friday. But we are open on Saturday.”
So we’re going on Saturday. And somehow, that feels entirely reasonable.
In Portugal, lines are longer. Processes are slower than a turtle marathon. But standing in line — whether I’m number 13 at the grocery store or waiting (like today) for B32 to be called at the pharmacy — has shifted from irritation to opportunity. I people-watch. I attempt to read labels in Portuguese. Or I just stand there… doing absolutely nothing. Which, for us Americans, is a peculiar skill.
Lesson learned: Flexibility isn’t giving up. It’s adapting.
Bureaucracy: A Slow Dance with No Clear Lead
Portugal’s bureaucracy is legendary — and it’s not entirely undeserved.
But what I’ve come to realize is that it’s not just slow — the challenge is that it’s inconsistent. There is no universal checklist. No guaranteed sequence of events. The same government procedure that works for one person may completely unravel for another.
And this repeats itself over and over with the process of securing a Portuguese driver’s license, national medical number, fiscal number, banking, utilities, and so on. The big whopper, of course, is renewing your resident permit, which can send people into immigration lockdown for lengthy periods of time. My renewal took 210 days with the new and improved government portal. I consider myself fortunate.
The frustration isn’t the process — it’s the unpredictability of it.
Lesson learned: Start early. Be patient. Ask for help. And when it all becomes too much, step away to clear your head. The system will still be there tomorrow — unchanged, or entirely changed. It’s always a surprise. Procrastination and immigration are arch enemies.
But There Is Something More
Living abroad brings more change than you can ever prepare for. No amount of research, planning, or list-making accounts for the daily reality of it.
And yet, somewhere in the inconvenience… something shifts. The things that once felt like constant friction begin to feel… instructive.
You become more patient. Less reactive. Slightly more amused.
Not because everything has improved — but because your relationship with it and your perspective on it have.
Yes, I still have moments in Portugal. The public spitting. The snorting of sinuses. The staring and concerned expressions when people learn I moved here solo with no “sheeldren or uzzbund.” A favorite is the quintessential verbal “opa,” which covers every mood from smashing your finger to seeing the cute train conductor with big biceps.
That part never gets old.
But as I prepare for my next chapter in France and move out of my apartment in Portugal on April 13th, I realize I’m not leaving these experiences behind; I’m carrying them along as gifts of life.
And when I return to the U.S. for French immigration, I will feel like a foreigner. The urgency of life. The expectation that life should proceed efficiently according to one´s personal schedule.
And for the first time, it feels… optional.
So maybe the things we love to hate aren’t really the problem. Maybe they’re the invitation.
To slow down and look in the mirror.
To let go.
To loosen our grip on how things should be.
Because somewhere between the cold showers, the closed shops, and the bureaucratic maze, life doesn’t become perfect—
But it does become… fuller.
And strangely, that turns out to be more than enough.