Porto Sketches, iv.

in the morning babs and i both woke while sun shot through the shutter cracks as beams along the walls and floors. early yet, 9:30 perhaps and tasos still asleep. on the street babak looked bad - weeping and gnashing of teeth. well not teeth but his eyes were not well. the solution tasos had provided was nasal spray. i feared the lad wouldnt be able to see, and though i stressed as his pale eyeballs and red sockets poured streams of liquid agony, he assured me it would all turn out.

not far from the flat we came to the praca (plaza) do poveiros and found that terrace café again that tasos and his co loved so. we sat and had two short espressos and the porto morning toast - torrada: thickly sliced soft white bread toasted and brushed with melted butter.  then, the soft spoken friend from a day or two ago appeared on the terrace horizon and sat with us while i had another coffee and we talked about our night, the day, and abandoned villages in the forests for filmmaking. babak flushd his eyes with cold water inside and came out refreshed. i asked him if he wanted to seek out a farmacy or something and he told me to cease all worries. we paid and parted, saying "until later".

then babak and i were back in the large covered fruit market, where i got another nectarine and the lad picked out 2 fresh figs. the sweet ripe fruits dripped down our chins while we walked around and looked at bakery stands, live chicken sellers, fake flowers and porcelain icons set among the strange scenery of derelict enclaves, torn tarpaulin awnings and broken glass pavilions. i took him through the wide pedestrian shopping streets where he laughed at the survival of fashion chains long since lost in london. we strolled down the major avenue of the center and took a left where i finally found the old lady macaroons that i'd been talking about to him for several hours. actually, on our way to the old lady we saw the very same treats in a window and took ourselves inside a café where we sat at a long zinc bar and got two pastry/cakes served to us on little white plates. something to drink, but two coffees were already working in me so i went with a glass of port - my first in the city. babak followed suit and we found ourselves at 11 o'clock facing cakes and large glasses of dark red port, being stared at by a woman and her very young son next to us at the bar. for the next 30 minutes we reflected on the city and our situation and talked about college appreciation societies and failed attempts at activism. we laughed heartily and thought ourselves geniuses for combining the two cakes and then washing the super cake down with such a suitably sweet libation. no one ever had the gourmandistic imagination that we possessed.

then i recalled hearing about the world's most beautiful bookstore hiding somewhere in the city and we went in search of it, crossing the main avenue and climbing steep two-lane streets flanked with cafes and watch shops. as we walked i had babak tell me about the results of his latest soul-search, conducted very recently in reaction to his dissatisfaction with his current job. he inspired me with his drive to bring help to the people of the world and avoid at all costs leeching from some fat cat business suit. i listened to the man divulge his soul while i realized this bookstore would not come out of hiding and turned us down toward the river to catch our 12 o'clock boat trip.

through those tiny snaking pedestrian alleys of slope/stair mix and doorways left ajar of unknowable interior spaces we made our way to the river, where we realized that not having a confirmation number or anything from our booking would make our finding this place whose location we knew not less than simple. we decided to bag it, talk to some girl selling tickets to the same river cruise, and bought them right there. popped up to a café and had a glass of refreshingly effervescent green wine before coming back down to board the boat. all morning the sun had been present but dispersed and filtered by a bright fog lying over the city. it made for a sky above with a surface sheen of sheer brightness - something that had added to babak's broken vision (now repaired) earlier on the terrace. when we sat on the wooden benches of the old boat's deck, the fog seemed to break a bit, and i laid down to feel the powerful sun bake my bare face and arms. i laid there for some time, feeling the rocking of the boat and the exhausting heat of the sun, while babak tried to take funny candid pictures of me and the undersides of the bridges we passed. id seen it all the days before so i just closed my eyes and felt the boat rock, listening to americans compare the use of real estate here and "back home".

the boat turned back and i went in the cabin for a coffee. i stepped in and took off my sunglasses and looked behind the bar at the most beautiful girl i could remember seeing. her straight brown hair was down past her shoulders, one of which was bare as the neck of her grey sweatshirt hung down on her left arm. she had tan skin and pink lips, and looked at me with her wide hazel eyes when i walked up to her to order my drink. i wasn’t sure what language she spoke but she looked so inquisitive that it seemed she didn’t speak anything. i said café and she nodded. filled the handle with the grinds and tried to slide it into the machine. tried again and then again. i watched her smooth, delicate arms with amazement until i realized that they couldn’t make my coffe, so i motioned to ask if i could come around and help. she shrugged and i tried to do so, but to get to the bar entrance one had to nearly walk out of the cabin before coming back around the other side of the dining tables to get there. when i did, she had just gotten the handle in the machine and started the coffee. i said cup of ice in portugese and took out the exact change and gave it to her. she checked the menu behind her where i’d seen the price and turned to affirm but i was already turning to go. i sat on the deck telling babak of my discovery of the angel within and drank the worst espresso i’d ever had with a broad smile across my face. for a few minutes i could do nothing but think of her so i went in to return the glass and see what i could say.

i don’t remember now but with her slow portugese and my slow spanish, we were able to ask each other questions and talk more or less understandably. i got a piece of paper and pen and we started to ask and answer with little pictures. pictures of boats and houses and streets and finally a stick figure boy with a shirt that read "tom" and a stick figure girl with a shirt that read "paula". she was studying tourism, and when i asked what that meant she said it put her on that boat for experience. i liked her studies. i told her about babak and myself and our short visit and she told me after the boat she would be walking around the town. i drew us walking together and after a pause paula smiled and nodded. i drew a telephone and she wrote a number. then some officer with a thin black mustache and greasy black hair came out and asked me what i was doing. i said talking and he said about what. i said the city. he then took over the conversation asking me about my city and telling me about his life as a sailor. all the while i stole looks over at paula behind him who nervously smiled as she shrugged about the old goon. i talked amiably about port cities and pretended to be impressed at whatever the dick wanted to impress me with before he turned back to some other officers looking at some charts. i told her, as the boat came back to the dock, that i would call her and she scribbed a time on the paper before i went out to grab babak and get on with our day. it was just 1 o'clock and we had much to do. besides, paula wouldn’t be free till 6:30. we strode toward the cathedral to chase down the office of the company with whom we'd booked several port wine cellar tours...