First, let’s continue our deep dive into the wild, wacky, and occasionally terrifying world of real estate in Portugal. Because clearly, just finding a house here isn’t dramatic enough—we had to add blood, glass, and trauma to the mix.
If you’ve read my previous post, you already know that Portugal has somehow managed to combine charming Mediterranean chaos with real estate prices that make your soul leave your body. And what do you get for your money? A questionable shower of horrors, apparently.
Let Me Set the Scene…
We rented what was supposed to be a luxury condo in a fancy development priced between 2.5 and 3.5 million euros. Now, if you’re thinking, “Wow, must be amazing!”—hold onto your glass doors.
This wasn’t our first rodeo. By the way, as you might know, I’m an interior designer and now also a real estate broker, and my husband and I have renovated homes across several countries. We’re picky and we’re detail-oriented. We’re allergic to silicone jobs that look like they were done by blindfolded squirrels.
So, naturally, imagine our joy when we discovered that this sparkly, overpriced condo had the kind of build quality that would make a paper straw look sturdy. Admittedly, we’ve all heard horror stories of new builds. However, nothing could’ve prepared me for what came next…”
The Night of the Glass Massacre 🩸
One regular evening, post-forest adventure, I jumped into the shower with my son to help him rinse off a day’s worth of twigs, bugs, and god knows what else. Picture this: a stylish (read: uselessly fragile) floor-to-ceiling glass shower enclosure, held up by two hinges and hope.
I heard a soft crack. And then—BOOM.
The entire glass wall imploded. Not shattered. Not cracked. Imploded. Like something out of a Final Destination sequel.
Suddenly, we were standing in a puddle of blood and sparkly death confetti. I was covered in cuts and too stunned to move. My son had deep gashes on his forehead, face, foot, and finger. Glass was embedded in our skin. It was pure, unfiltered horror.
Ambulances, Attitude, and a Lot of Tweezers
My husband called 112 (put that number in your phone now, trust me). Within minutes, an amazing ambulance crew arrived. Calm, kind, and the only light in that absolutely bloody mess. They even let Charlie ride with the sirens on—which, despite the trauma, was a top-tier kid moment.
Hospital? Less magical. One doctor greeted me—bleeding, shocked, and barely dressed—with: “Why you no speak Portuguese? You are in Portugal.”
Right. Sorry. Let me just wipe the blood from my eyebrows and pull out Google Translate.
I should have pulled a Meghan Markle and replied, “I don’t speak… yet! Have you heard about the power of yet?” Maybe that would’ve shifted the tone from interrogation to inspiration 😉.
The doctor treating Charlie, however, was calm and precise. He spent over an hour removing glass shards from my son’s body with tweezers, glued and stitched him back together like a Pinterest craft project, and sent us home—to our now crime-scene-like bathroom.
Spoiler: I’ll be writing a whole other post about public vs. private healthcare in Portugal. Because, oh yes, we’ve sampled both.
The Management Company’s Response?
When we informed the condo management company of what happened, unsurprisingly, they acted like we’d spilled a cup of water on the floor.
“Oh yes, that happens sometimes. Tempered glass. Unlucky. Here’s a broom.”
Excuse me, what?
Shockingly, this kind of thing had happened before. Apparently, spontaneous glass explosions are just… a thing now. Meanwhile, unfortunately, my child missed summer camps, couldn’t play, couldn’t swim, and now—weeks later—needs surgery to remove yet another piece of glass stuck in his foot.
Moral of the Story
So yeah. I might be sounding a bit extra today—but this post comes with a warning. If you’re looking at a new build in Portugal (or anywhere, really), don’t get seduced by the floor-to-ceiling aesthetic.
If you see a massive pane of glass held up by some silicone and a prayer—run. Or at least ask the agent, “Has anyone ever bled out in this shower?” Just to be safe.
Final Thoughts
This experience has left me pretty shaken, and I’ve definitely fallen out of love with the shiny-new-condo life. Would I ever live in a developer build again? Only if I’m also handed a hard hat and a liability waiver.
So, stay tuned for my next post about healthcare in Portugal — because naturally, we ended up sampling both the public and private systems. Why settle for one when you can try the whole menu?
Até já 💛
Kasia
🏡 Wondering if condo life in Portugal is for you? Think walkie-talkies, traveling trash, and a healthy dose of Big Brother vibes. Read more here.
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