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I urgently needed space. And not the kind with aliens and comets — I needed proper self storage.

That’s when I found KUBOO Self-Storage in Seixal. Honestly, this warehouse felt more like a five-star hotel for clutter. Everything was spotless, well-lit, and super secure. The team at the reception? The kind of people you could chat with for hours — friendly, helpful, and always ready with a tip or two. And for someone like me, who can get lost using GPS in their own neighborhood, the location made things so much easier — easy access, zero stress. It’s the kind of storage space you actually enjoy using.

When moving day came, I called the movers, packed my life into boxes, and off I went with my home on my back. I told them to stack everything carefully — like Tetris on expert mode. It ended up more like “Jenga with trust issues,” but oh well. I nearly got crushed by a tower of boxes full of “stuff I might use someday”… or not.

Now I visit the storage unit regularly. Sometimes to find something, other times just for a little zen moment among my things. I’ve already rediscovered a jacket buried deep in my wardrobe that I thought was gone forever, and even reunited with a toaster I’d lost touch with. A real homecoming for lost appliances.

Truth is, with KUBOO, I gained more than just space — I gained peace of mind and a place to store everything that doesn’t quite fit into life, but I’m not ready to let go of yet. And if anyone asks, I’m not a hoarder… I’m just in a serious relationship with my boxes — and all the emotional baggage that comes with them.

The current political polarization in the United States and the rising cost of living have made me consider other countries.

Honestly, moving to Portugal had been on my mind for quite some time. Such an amazing country with sunny weather, stunning beaches and a relaxed, laid-back vibe… just like home! Portugal is a safe and secure country and is one of the most proficient non-native English-speaking nations in the world. Plus, I love surfing and I can’t find anywhere better than Portugal right now. Some friends living in Cascais used to tell me how much they love living there. Well, after some consideration, I can now say I’m an expat living in Carcavelos. Me and my family, of course!

Moving a lifetime of memories, clothes, toys, some furniture, our belongings… We had to ship everything in a container! And where to store it? Well, let’s just say my 5 years of experience in self-storage helped choose the best option near Carcavelos. First I asked for quotes and after visiting the facilities, I couldn’t take our belongings anywhere else but to KUBOO. A visual play on the Portuguese word “CUBO” that means CUBE. With its vibrant and energetic yellow color, it reminds me of the sun on the West Coast.

We initially booked a 10sqm Kuboo (as they call their units) while we did some renovations on an apartment we bought in São Domingos de Rana. When the work was finished, we took most of our things home and moved into a 4sqm Kuboo. Anabela took care of our process and made our move as simple and streamlined as possible. And I was surprised to find out that everyone at KUBOO, really every single person, speaks pretty good English. I’m learning Portuguese, but this makes it much easier to communicate with KUBOO’s staff. Their signage, contracts, emails, social media… It’s all in English and Portuguese.

I worked in the self-storage industry for quite some time, but I’ve never seen a company that cares as much about the small details as KUBOO, that does what it takes to make their customers so happy, that makes it seem so easy the effort of moving to a new country without speaking the language. Thank you KUBOO.

She: Mine was kuboo 2321, a mini-storage with 2sqm on the second floor. His unit was the one in front of mine. Inside, it looked like a studio but it was as messy as you’d expect a man to be. There were boxes, blankets and canvases everywhere, cans of paint, bags, endless junk in need to be decluttered.

He: At least once or twice a week, we’d cross paths in the KUBOO corridor, always in the late afternoon. A shy smile was all I’d gotten from her so far. Not that I’d tried very hard or anything, but she aroused a different kind of curiosity.

She: He usually carried boxes and cases in and out of his kuboo, always apologizing for the inconvenience and the noise… I didn’t mind, in a way it was a companion, it reminded me that my kuboo neighbor was there.

He: One day I saw her struggling to put together one of those shelves they sell here at KUBOO and I decided to offer her a hand. We started chatting and I helped her with more than just the shelf… and I realized that she had also helped me, without even knowing it.

We ended up unintentionally storing each other’s baggage.

One thing led to another and we were still talking when Bela from reception came to do her round before closing the store. We had no idea the time had passed.

She: Fortunately, KUBOO has 24-hour access, so we were able to spend some more time talking together.

When my stomach started to growl, I invited him to dinner. I still had a lot of packing to do, but I think we both eventually made space for a new beginning.

We were Kuboo neighbors…and we still are, friends friends, kuboos aside.

I was in a long moving process, emptying my deceased uncle’s apartment, the place where I spent most of my childhood, near Carcavelos beach. My uncle was my closest relative, my safe space.

Long weeks of separating in boxes what to keep and what to give, carrying furniture and home appliances down the stairs, and stressing because that’s what these movings do to us. Torn because I wanted to store some of my uncle’s things close to me, but had little available space in my house.

She used to be seated on a yellow bench at the park near my uncle’s place everyday after lunch. Always reading a different book. I recall Iliad, The Divine Comedy and Paradise Lost.

She didn’t have the look of an epic literature enthusiast but, who does? And, how did that lady have enough headspace for such daily readings?

On my final day of moving things, while carrying out the very last few boxes, I found the guts I had stored deep inside and asked my questions.

She smiled. Told me about KUBOO and the ease such Self-Storage brought upon her daily routine.

I knew I had to know more, not just about her, but about this KUBOO and what they were doing to simplify her life. So I invited her for a coffee.

The rest is history. Or as we like to call it, our own epic narrative.

I guess in some way Dante was right and the path to Paradise really does begin in Hell, but if you’re lucky enough to end up at KUBOO, the path to Paradise is secured.