Porto Sketches, x.

then the only sounds in the air came from our sandals dragging along the shiny paving stones of the wide pedestrian shopping street down we strolled and our voices bouncing off the storefront windows. there was no one else in the avenue designed to accomodate hundreds, but i didnt feel out of step. i spoke at length with the brighter blond about the camino de santiago, which she had also done a portion of, and then we turned and were at another street, similar to the indoor outdoor passage where babak and i had encountered the subterranean sleeping compartment bar the other night. again the entrance was odd, but this time there was no one. instead it was more like a university building, with a plastered bulletin board and reclanguar spiral staircase with frosted glass windows in the middle of every door leading off. we passed across and inside where there was, reassuringly, a bar. polished mahogany in fact, and smart staff in all black behind. some words i now forget were spoke and then we went upstairs where a few university-cool looking kids were hunched on short cubes in a cluster while 3 young guys prepared instruments on a stage. the lights were low to match the music playing, and the graphic printed walls were different colors mixed with grey. in the adjacent room a short girl with short dark hair and big dark eyes polished glasses behind a bar and i asked for a wine.

then the people id come with were sitting, cluster style as per the order of the venue, tasos had left i was informed, and the bartender turned out to be an aspiring actress who loved porto but hoped to be getting out soon to find a bigger bowl to swim in. the wine was chilled and dark and pleasant. her eyes were big and hopeful and encouraging. nextdoor the room was filling with people noise and smoke and i went back and forth so as to maintain contact with my carriers who i'd only just met through my greek connection. it turned out they all lived together on a street that sounded similar to a famous one of my own university days. i recalled that the german had mentioned that earlier, but when shed said they were 25 id understood it to mean the address, not the household. i learned that 25 european undergrads were occupying the same house further down the road and they soon were to be altogether to dig the music and the informal sunday jam scene. i returned to the actress who smiled apologetically over shoulders as her bar filled up, knowing it would remain that way for the rest of the night.

then the music played and i found myself with 2 of the 25, girls from spain who were as happy as i was to find someone they didn’t have to speak english or portugese with. the music was mellow but good, 3 semi talented young boys playing drums guitar and piano. then they broke and at the bar i saw the drummer and we talked about music and porto and night. i bought him a drink and introduced him to the bartender but there was little else to say and as the bar filled again i went and said goodbye to the spaniards and made down for the courtyard behind where the rest of the 25 sat speaking in the evening light. i spoke some shit for a while with a few people, but our meeting was short and weak. something like, << this guy is american, friend of tasos, no idea where malaka is, yeah i still have to finish the final thesis too... >> i let the moon travel a bit and then gave a short goodbye for my swift exit and then i was walking across porto at night again, listening to my sandals slide on stones and the wave sounds of sporadic cars and recognizing with certain familiarity storefronts, corners, intersections and lights and then i was at tasos' again, asleep.