We Have a Driver Named Fabio

And He's the Hero of a Romance Novel He's Never Read

Author’s Note (Listen to the Voiceover Above) ☝️

This story is 100% true, and 87% funnier when listened to by the author (click play above). It’s about love, language barriers, and a Portuguese driver named Fabio who just might be the most unintentionally romantic man alive. Best enjoyed with an espresso and a soft 80s ballad playing in the background. ☝️

Dear Reader,

We have a driver named Fabio in Portugal.

In fact, we’ve had two.

We nicknamed them Fabio1 and Fabio2.

One day in February, Fabio1 picked us up in front of a castle and drove us home after a chocolate festival.

We didn’t tell him that in America, what we were doing would be classified as peak romance novel fodder.

In fact, I could probably write a bestselling novel based on that sentence alone!

You may be picturing a windblown Fabio from the covers of ‘90s romance novels. You’d be wrong—but only a little.

He’s nothing like his Harlequin romance counterpart.

He’s a nice looking young Portuguese man who drives an electric car and chain smokes through his anxiety.

He favors the ‘80s love ballads in his car —Air Supply, Michael Bolton, Christopher Cross.

All heartache, all the time.

He has one sister in London, and one sister in Lisbon.

He’s learning English so that he can visit his sister in London.

We’re learning Portuguese so that we can say to our drivers, “Stop here please, this is our house.”

He once gave us chocolates as a gift that melted in our hands during the car ride, and we dashed to the bathroom afterwards to wash, but we were touched by the thought.

Also, our Fabio likes to apologize.

We once were halfway through the ride home, sitting in silence, listening to Christopher Cross’s classic, “Sail Away” when he burst out with an impassioned, “I am sorry.”

Startled, we asked, “For what?”

“I was one minute late to pick you up at the grocery store.”

We tried to assure him that we didn’t consider that to be the hanging offense he felt it was, but we weren’t successful.

He is always very serious.

I don’t think he enjoys it that I laugh so much in the backseat.

It makes him nervous.

In my defense: being driven through a city with a castle by a man named Fabio while “Take My Breath Away” plays softly in the background?
Impossible not to laugh. I mean—come on.

But then Fabio fell in love.

And love, as you may know, is hell on punctuality (and sometimes on punctuation).

A few months ago, he was supposed to take us to the bus station to go to Lisbon to see a concert, and about 15 minutes before he was scheduled to arrive he texted me to ask if his girlfriend could come along.

I said, “Yes,” of course (I mean, I have to meet Fabio’s girlfriend, right?)

But then, he kept texting me that he was behind schedule (must have been the girlfriend).

Finally, when we realized he was going to be so late that we would miss our bus, the universe sent a backup Fabio—our petsitter’s boyfriend, Felix.

Love really was in the air.

We were so grateful.

Fabio kept calling me after, trying to apologize to me in Portuguese.

I texted him, “Não faz mal” which means, “It’s okay,” and is my favorite Portuguese phrase.

But really, it wasn’t.

We lost a little bit of trust with Fabio on that day.

The romance faded.

A few weeks later he texted me a cut and pasted English translation apology and asked for a second chance.

I’ve included it below:

Good afternoon Mr. Gianeli …
I hope you find each other, are well…
Can you give me the last chance to make some transport?
I promise I’ll stick to the schedule …
If you would let me, I would really appreciate it. I really like you, and I consider you to be extraordinary people.

I mean … you had me at, “I hope you find each other.”

But when you throw in, “I consider you to be extraordinary people,” well, apology must be accepted.

The next time he arrived at our house to pick us up he stuck his hand straight out to me to shake and said, with great formality, “Hello, Meester John Elly.”

We got in the car.

In town, he bought us a coffee and we sat in tense silence with tiny espresso cups in front of us while he rolled a cigarette up because none of us could communicate in each other’s language what we wanted to say, exactly.

It was just like one those moments in a romance novel when the star-crossed lovers can’t seem to get out that they really love each other.

Everyone can see that they’re meant to be with each other, and yet they can‘t admit it.

I wanted to reach across the table and take his hand and quote the band U2 and say, “We can’t live, with or without you,” and have him say, “Hey, hey, you. Get out of my dreams. Get into my car!” just like Billy Ocean sang.

Alas, he kept brooding in silence, just like all of the good heroes named Fabio, and drove us to our next destination, the Spanish grocery store.

But perhaps my mood rubbed off on him because the next time we needed a driver, he sent me this text:

“I’m in Caldas da Rainha. I’m going there now. See you soon. I’ll wait as long as it takes for you. Sorry.”

It was the perfect love note.

Patient. Kind. Full of promises that probably won’t be kept.

He’s not perfect.

Neither are we.

But he did consider us ‘extraordinary people.’

That has to count for something.

Love,

Janelle

P.S. If you enjoyed this piece, you’d likely enjoy this one too. Read How to Be Naked In Germany in February by clicking here and learn what happened when I finally made it to northern Germany.