For a stream of emotions, Porto

 

The Capélio, with its machine of requested discs. There, right there. Fado was sung, sometimes the father, sometimes the daughter of Capélio himself.

The black coffee, the view over the river, the fritters on the terrace watched over by dogs thirsty for pataniscas, someone walking their eyes between the weekly and the permanent tourists, the cabbages and fruits, the shot of absinthe and strawberries, the trading sessions, the eternal sweaters of wool from Póvoa, the small boats floating on the surface of the dark and viscous stain of the river that goes down to the sea. From the grilled sardines, the pepper salad, the sausages and the alheiras of Montalegre, everything fits in this photograph, then the grilled sardines and the planes on autopilot and the drones, the Port wine and the sunset in that privileged place. The sun surrenders to the already dark mirror of the waters. And Rui Veloso's music continues. With Carlos Paredes inside. And Ary dos Santos, Sérgio Godinho and Zeca Afonso, etcetera and such, so much so that Jáfumega, Gnr nas Dunas, the Pronunciation of the North that Rui Reininho offered us. We are 125 blue, in the interior of the country, in the center of the country, we are attempts at expression. On the walls, the rocky walls that resisted the floods of the Ribeira, we are almost a nation of so many notes, Sé, Foz, Passeio dos Alegres and Matosinhos, Leça, fishing lot, the early morning of the sailors. Porto has lights from Paris, but they are from Porto, and that also fits in this photo, the Church of S. Francisco, Miragaia and Alfândega, the bars crowded with people with plastic cups in hand, beer, vodka and tropics, on the columns of the wall that resisted the floods, loaded with black and white images of people,  niches of people who used boats to move around, in the areas that the river took. It was Venice, without Gondolas, but as a reward, with some beautiful rebel boats, and detached lovers, and collector's magnets for the fridge of the house, and the Serra do Pilar, because Porto would not be Porto without the Serra de Pilar, without Gaia, without Monte da Virgin, or the guitar and fado, the glass of Port wine,  The embrace, the mist and the dawn, the laughter of others, the music that was in the distance, our footsteps. The stray dogs that drank in the square, your diane with the fried egg behind, brown, the color of a poio on the ground, the lever, the handbrake stay in your hand, but for everything there is a solution, in Porto. The tributary of the invicta where the Douro joins the sea.  The cube in the distance, the Meia Cave, the Black Mother, the Acácio and the woman with the aprons, the Michael Jackson Twin from Paredes, meandering the Billie Jean, the Stone anchors on the pier, the peace of the West here in front, in São Pedro da Afurada, everything is Porto and smells of seagulls and fish and fishmongers' cries and the smell of coffee from my friend from Ribeira and I hear the Away a guitar and a few whispers, in the pubs murmurs of people who live and talk and who, until so many pages, talk about the social problems of the undefeated capital and the nostalgia for the docks of Lisbon, for Sporting's last game, for Dona Aninhas who has already ordered sardines for Saturday's barbecue. She uses the restaurant's window to photograph the Pillar and Bridge. Porto is all this and the Bridge, and the bridges that Porto has, the varejas by the river when the 40 degrees come unexpectedly. Porto is full of Carmo à Foz, it's ice cream with cones, orelheira, bucho, and Guedes in the square, with seafood feijoada and roast pork sandwiches and nearby the coliseum in Paços Manuel, but if you don't get around it, you'll go to the invictos, the shopping center in a coma, near Rua Formosa, far from Avenida de Roma. Anyone who is from Porto knows what a river surf is. That's when we insist on drinking from the night, the dew of culture, the profusion of cultures, the harmony and the welcome that Porto gives. And if you're here, sitting on a stone bench in front of the Douro River and you're thinking about it, which is in Paris, Rome or closer, there in Largo Do Rato Or in the Elevador de Glória, at 28 of the viewpoints, you also have Lisbon in Porto, closer. In Porto you can dream! Listen to Jafumega. The Bridge is a Mirage. All bridges are in this corner of the world!