porto: where i saw ghosts in the coffee
i woke up at 3am and decided to rent a vintage motorcycle from that sketchy guy near the river. he charged me in euros but gave me a cup of coffee with sugar that tasted like recall. it was 27.3 degrees when i checked, which is exactly the temp my skin starts to question life choices. i just checked and it's...there right now, hope you like that kind of thing. the humidity’s 61% so it’s like someone spilled a bucket of sweat into the air and forgot to wipe it up.
the city’s vibe is like a bad decision someone made on a whim. i heard that somewhere, i think it was a drunk at a bar. they said the tram system is cursed because it stops for no reason. maybe. i didn’t ask. but here’s the thing: if you get bored, lisbon are just a short drive away. not that i’m suggesting you leave. you probably shouldn’t. but hey, it’s an option.
i took a photo of a red coca-cola glass with paintbrushes on it. that was a real thing. i don’t know why. maybe because i’m an indie film scout and saw potential in absurdity. the image is here:
i also saw a guy painting on a wall with a brush made of spaghetti. it was either genius or a cry for help. i can’t tell. the local board says something about ‘no art without permission’ but i’m pretty sure he had a permit. or maybe he didn’t. who knows. i’m not a historian.
the weather report said it’d stay 27.3 all day. so i stayed up until 10pm documenting my internal monologue. i asked a vendor for directions and got a lecture about how the old town is full of secrets. they said, ‘you’ll find them if you listen to the sound of your own footsteps.’ which is both poetic and terrifying. i didn’t listen. i just bought a sandwich that tasted like regret.
someone warned me about the neighborhood near the cathedral. they said it’s haunted by a guy who wears a hat made of umbrella parts. i don’t believe in ghosts, but i did feel a breeze that wasn’t there. maybe it was the wind. maybe it was me.
i linked to a tripadvisor page for the best pastel de nata in town. it’s not mine, but it’s worth checking:. also, the yelp for that vintage motorcycle guy is a 5-star with a review that says ‘he gave me a coffee that tasted like hope.’ which is either a lie or a metaphor. i’m leaning toward metaphor.
i mentioned the maps.google.com link here:
. it’s not fancy, but it works. use it to find the spaghetti-brush guy. or don’t.
the neighbors are a mix of people who love their lives and people who hate them. one old man kept playing fado music at 3am. i think he was trying to summon something. i didn’t ask. i just handed him a euro and walked away.
this place is messy. like my thoughts. like the coffee. like the fact that i’m writing this at 2am after realizing i forgot to mention the weather. i just checked again and it’s...still there. hope you like that.
i’ll end with a photo of a dog running through a market. not mine. not sure why. but it’s on unsplash:
. maybe it’s a metaphor for me. maybe not. who cares?