People say write holiday’s diary is the best being "fresh" after returning from a trip. So, for the notes I sit right after spending the night on the plane. Fatigue wraps the body, feet are still with sand from the Atlantic and head is full of impressions.
Veronika Makar
The plane is landing in Porto. I am pulling a jacket out of the backpack. Portugal greeted me with the wind of the ocean. My hairstyle is like after the outbreak of the atomic bomb. Despite the strong morning sun goose bumps appears on the body. Time does not rush here. It roars like a snail. An ocean breeze purifies the lungs. People also enjoying coffee so slowly here. Local breakfasts are usually eaten in cozy cafes. Up to 8 euro - toast, fresh squeezed juice and foam coffee - and you are in paradise.
Here and now
The question that is constantly going on the travel, what kind of people are local, I will answer unequivocally - smile does not go down their face. They do not know the words "complain" and "hurry". One thing what they will run for is… help, even if they are not speaking English. Noticing me – tourist with hat and huge backpack - the old lady on the bus stop counting all the words what she knows in English - "Good morning" and "Kiss me, please". The woman points her finger on the map and says with great excitement - "Comboio" (in portug. train). "No, I do not want to go to the Comboja" – I smile. And at this moment "speakingenglish" policeman comes with help.
Sandy beach in Cascais. I am taking pictures of the gulls. From the neighboring cafe I hear the portuguese fado – melancholic urban folklore. In the lens I notice a dark-skinned woman watching her children playing football. I'm looking precisely at them. This family is not living in delight, but they are rich. Rich in daily happiness.
Love is blind
Porto or Lisbon? There is no better or worse. In both places architectural and oriental motifs delight. Historic narrow streets soaked into a great history at first glance of little Portugal. Drivers of old like from the postcards trams smile at the tourist’s cameras. Young surfers trying to overcome the huge waves of the cold ocean. In the souvenir shops Bengalans sell Ronaldo shirts, Fatima figurines, cork postcards and wine bottle magnets.
On the stripes in Lisbon I meet a blind senior with a cane. He asks about direction to the metro. - What's the color of your eyes? – I was asked during our few minutes talk. "Green," I said. "I love them," the blind man says looking straight at me.
Each journey teaches, but we would not want to return to every place. Here on the Atlantic I will for sure, but next time with car I explore entire country - along and grind.
