Little Mishaps in Portugal #2

Introduction

Traveling through Portugal with Haru was full of joy, but also some genuinely terrifying moments. The most memorable? His escapes. This wasn't the first time — he'd broken out of the house in Korea three or four times before, and we knew we had to be careful. We weren't careful enough. Here are a few of the incidents that stuck with us.

March 15, 2026 — Escape #1

We were staying in Atouguia da Baleia, about an hour's drive from Lisbon. It's a small coastal village — the name roughly translates to "whale watchtower," named after a whale that washed ashore there in the 16th century. The area around the accommodation was all farmland and rice fields, with a small strip of shops about a 10-minute walk away and a beach another 20-30 minutes beyond that. We ended up there because it was cheap, not because there was anything to see.

It was a lazy Sunday. I woke up from a nap and Robert wasn't in the room. Haru wasn't there either, so I assumed they'd gone out for a walk together. Then Robert walked back in looking shaken.

"Haru escaped. I caught him on the road."

Haru knows how to use his paws — he can push open doors, and if a handle goes down, he'll pull it down. Sliding doors he can work open with his paw and nose. He must have slipped out while I was sleeping.

According to Robert, he'd been walking alone when he spotted a familiar dog standing in the road at the edge of the village, staring right at him. Just imagining it was enough to make my stomach drop. If Haru had gotten excited and bolted into the surrounding farmland, there was no guarantee we'd ever catch him. Luckily Robert stayed calm and approached slowly.

After that, whenever Haru was in the room, we locked the door with a key and closed every window.

March 22, 2026 — Haru Jumps Into the Douro River

We spent about two weeks at a wine farm in Seixo de Ansiães — a village where terraced vineyards run along both sides of the Douro River valley. The days are hot and the nights are cool, which apparently makes for rich, sweet grapes. The whole place feels like one enormous vineyard.

The owner mentioned there was a kayak we could use anytime and pointed us toward it. Kayaking on the Douro — the three of us (Robert, Haru, and me) headed out, feeling like proper adventurers. The riverbank spot turned out to be the owner's private land, but a group of young locals were already there with beer and music. Based on the owner's attitude about it, he seemed to operate on a "clean up after yourself and I don't care" basis.

We carefully launched the kayak, got seated — Robert, then Haru, then me — and started paddling into the river. Haru had been visibly nervous on the boat. And then, without warning, he jumped in.

I couldn't ask him why. But he did it so casually that my first reaction was just: What? Why?

He still had his leash on, so we hauled him back into the kayak. Everyone was equally startled — Haru shook himself off vigorously, we caught our breath, laughed, and got back to paddling.

It turned out Haru wasn't the only thing that went into the Douro that day. Somewhere in the chaos, my phone went in too. Losing your phone in a foreign country, in the middle of nowhere, is exactly as bad as it sounds. But everyone was fine, nobody got hurt, and we had a good time — so I'll call it a memory.

March 28, 2026 — Escape #2

After 9 days out in nature, we drove straight up to northern Spain. We checked into an Airbnb in A Coruña, on a steep downhill street with traffic flowing fast right in front of the entrance.

We were unloading the car and bringing bags in, and while Yan and Robert were both distracted, Haru slipped out the door. We'd just arrived, had no idea what was around us, and the road in front was exactly the kind of street you don't want a dog loose on. We called his name and ran. Fortunately he hadn't gone far — he was standing next to a parked car in the front lot, and we got to him before anything happened.

Was he trying to get back to the mountains, the hills, the Douro riverside walks he'd been free to roam? We'll never know. What we do know is that from then on, we double-locked every door and checked the locks two or three times before relaxing. It was exhausting.

April 8, 2026 — By the Atlantic

The Porto apartment had a washing machine and dryer, but with multiple households sharing them, laundry would pile up when it rained for days. It had been raining, things needed washing, so I headed out with Haru and a laundry bag to find a laundromat nearby.

Parking was tight in the alley, so I left the car on the coastal road a block away. Walking over, I stopped to take in the view — the Atlantic, wide open, the whole beach. Haru doesn't love wave sounds, but he enjoys walking near the water at a comfortable distance. You can tell he's happy: he looks at the ocean, sniffs the sea air, watches people pass by with his tail doing a slow wag. Then, apparently having worked himself up into a state of excitement, he proceeded to defecate enormously in the middle of the street.

The volume was impressive. And then I realized: I'd been focused on the laundry bag and left the waste bags behind.

I stood over the situation trying to block it from view (didn't work) and looked around desperately. Then, from far down the road, an elderly woman started walking toward me — slowly, clearly not having an easy time walking, but heading specifically in my direction. I had a feeling, somehow, that she was coming for me. An older couple had been sitting in a car watching the ocean, and they must have seen me panicking. She came over without a word, smiling, and handed me a small bundle — tissues, cardboard, paper, whatever she'd found in the car that might help.

I crouched down, said "Obrigado(Thanks you)" about fifteen times, cleaned everything up, and went back to her car to thank her again properly. She smiled and gave me a thumbs up from the window.

Every Portuguese person we met was warm and generous like that. I made a note to myself: if someone's in trouble, don't hesitate to help. Standing at the edge of the Atlantic, having just experienced a moment of unexpected human kindness — that, and Haru's contribution to the sidewalk — made for one of the better memories of the trip.

Second Week of May — Escape #3

The Porto accommodation had a garden, and when no other guests were around we'd let Haru roam it freely. Robert had left for yoga, and I was lying on the sun lounger in the garden when I heard our host, José, call out: "Yan!"

I looked up. The front door was open. No Haru. No José.

Haru had slipped out in the moment José was opening the door to come in. José immediately ran after her. I followed. Suddenly it was a chase through Foz, the quietest neighborhood in Porto.

As I ran, trying to figure out how to catch him, I noticed where he was heading — and relaxed a little. Part of our daily routine was: I'd finish my workout, take Haru for a walk while Robert went to her yoga studio, then Haru and I would walk to the beach and come back. Haru was running straight toward the yoga studio.

Sure enough, José was standing frozen in front of the studio, facing Haru across the sidewalk. I told him to leave it to me, walked past Haru as casually as I could (any excitement and he'd bolt), and grabbed him. We walked home.

When Robert got back, I told her what happened. The part about Haru finding her yoga studio and waiting there — Robert was genuinely moved.

Closing

Back in Korea, whenever Robert and I talk about the trip, Haru is never far from the conversation. He didn't listen, he caused trouble, and he scared us more than once. But somehow the memories we made together feel bigger than all of that. While we adjusted back to daily life pretty quickly, Haru still wakes up in the night, and spends his afternoons sitting on the balcony in a patch of sunlight, staring out the window.

He might be the one who misses the trip the most.