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Published: March 28th 2011
My feeling toward the people of Europe is one of appreciation and affection. Everyone is kind and helpful.
Were it not for the kind intervention of some unknown Samaritan in Brussels, we would have never FOUND our plane
let alone catch it. Landing in Porto, the good feelings continued as we were accepted into the warm current of life in this
vibrant and truly entertaining city. Again, strangers came forth to offer assistance (Maria hobbling about with her cane may have been some help in this regard...), unbidden but certainly appreciated.
This is a real blue collar town. Folks here yell and gesture, they argue and kiss and generally strut around like a bunch of
hormone-crazed teenagers. Workmen seem to be everywhere, knocking stuff flat and putting things up and patching
things together.Buildings are ornate, but charmingly dilapidated- you get the feeling these folks slap stuff together because they have more important things to do. Like having an argument in the middle of the street so they can make up and go for an espresso after.
Most importantly, this is a city where people have learned to live with and on top of each other. It bears a strong
resemblance to the more pleasant parts of East Vancouver or my dear old beloved Saint John. People laugh along with you when you go for goofy tourist gags involving the kissing of fish heads in the market.They don't mind when you use their wares for props and then not bother to buy them.You have the feeling that they did not really have anything better to do, or if they did, it can wait.
Lunch: A group of businessmen sit down and immediately drain a huge jug of vinho verde within three minutes. Food comes quickly, and it is clear to see that these are preferred clientele. I soon see why. An array of bottles is brought to the table and they disappear as quickly as they came. After some time, menus go up to provide some measure of privacy. One imagines clandestine business deals being discussed, and the furrowed brows and serious tone would make that seem so. But the menus come down and a another bottle of wine arrives. One begins to suspect that the lads were putting together their change and figuring out if there was enough for another round...
The humidity, like the graffiti, seems to
get into everything. It adds to the fuzzy dustiness of the place and makes for great photos. Hey, in my opinion, if you have a good graffiti scene goin' on, you've got something good goin' on.
When people kick off from work (yes, they do work) the streets come alive with all manner of performers and hawkers. Roma women sell watches from an array strapped on the arm right up to the shoulder. Puppeteers work their craft and musicians of all sorts sit on the cobblestones and cry out in song. Within an hour and a half, it's all swept up and the streets are bare. Porto is like that: surprising and disorienting all at once.
But when it gets dark is when it really gets fun.
On an evening stroll to get some breakfast vittles for the family(apparently, breakfast here consists of little more than coffee) I came across
a)a car stopped in the middle of an intersection so that the back seat passenger could jump out and lock lips with her fella. Cars waited patiently and seemed to enjoy it. Oh yes, couples neck everywhere in this place. Could have something to do
Guia
Kevin enjoying his foodwith the abundance of wine available for mere pocket change.
b)Stumbling upon the theatre district, I encountered some sort of impromptu event that involved the singing in of some
prominent local star. His adoring co-musicians strolled in a line across the sidewalk. They looked smashing in their tuxedoes. A hearty song of praise embarassed the focus of their attentions while he walked modestly in front of them with his guitar slung across his back and his hands in his pockets..
The strum of their guitars sung out his name as the revellers swilled openly from bottles of port.I considered joining them, but felt terribly underdressed...
c) Intermittent whoops and yells from all quarters, for no apparent reason. And this on a Wednesday night!
All of this at 9 o'clock in the evening. Now, thatś a hometown crowd and, frankly (between you and me) thatś my kinda town.
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