A most surprising, curious thing happened early Monday evening: some people showed up at my apartment unannounced. Worry not – home invasions have thankfully not arrived in Lisbon and there was a small window of warning in the form of a phone call. “We’re 500 metres away from you and should be ringing the buzzer soon.” They must have been doing some kind of crab walk because it took them about 20 minutes to cover the half kilometre, which gave the household a comfortable margin to shuffle magazines, fluff cushions, check the bar and inspect the lighting. As I went about these tasks, I tried to recall: when was the last time someone came by without days or weeks of planning?
Perhaps if you live in a hilltop village in Piedmont or a cosy town in New Hampshire, this happens every day and you always need to be ready to welcome, host and let the day or evening take its course. I grew up with these types of spontaneous diversions. In Kitchener, circa grade two, Peter would knock on our back door (never the front) and suggest that we go buy some gum and comics or ride our bikes to the park. In early-1980s Ottawa, Susan and Jennifer would call after dinner and invite me over for a swim and a Duran Duran singalong. And in Notting Hill, early 1990s, Melanie, Max, Sally and many others would just drop in on a Saturday afternoon or early on a Sunday evening. Why did it stop? Is it part of modern big-city life? Are we more guarded and private? Is it more of an upper northern hemisphere thing?
Anyway, I was very happy to go down to the lobby to welcome Henri and Solène and shepherd them upstairs via the service lift – not because this was a clandestine operation but because we’re waiting for Kone to come up with an inspired replacement solution for the main lift. Settled in the living room, Solène apologised for the intrusion. She said that they had just attended a screening for one of her documentaries around the corner and felt the urge to seize the moment, swing by to say hello and catch up on the world. As I mixed G&Ts and poured wine while Mats organised the snacks (if you haven’t tried Mercadona’s canned jalapeno olives, you’re in for a proper treat), Henri gave his take on the situation in France and the state of Europe in general, and Solène was full of questions about my recent trip to São Paulo. The conversation moved towards cinema and Solène’s hopes for another Oscar (she’s a producer), more on France and whether Portugal has the apparatus in place to dodge the problems of its neighbours. For the record, I was a bit more hopeful than Henri, as I believe that Portugal has geography, ginga and favourable demographics on its side. But let’s see.
At some point, the conversation moved to furniture acquisitions and sofa makers (the pair have just taken on new digs in another part of town), more G&Ts were prepared and then an invitation was extended to meet visiting parents later in the week. As our Mercadona snack supply was dwindling and there was a nanny who needed to come off shift, Henri and Solène said their goodbyes and disappeared down the service lift. What could have been a perfectly cosy evening à deux turned into something lively, off-script and oddly nostalgic. As we tidied up and sat down to catch the final episodes of The Gentlemen, I decided that it’s time for more spontaneous appearances.
For our subscribers in Manila, you have now been officially warned: I’m about to show up for a little surprise visit and, rather than minutes, you have a full week to prepare. See you soon!
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