Today was a day of relaxing. Nothing of any great interest was going to happen. A trip to the barbers for a trim and a beard cut was first on the agenda, after breakfast. A typically Portuguese cafe with an unusual piece of art on the wall. It was sunny and warm outside, compared to iow light in the cafe. I liked the atmosphere and stayed inside. Coffee, a homemade chicken and spinach pastry and a homemade samosa, which was better than I’d had in restaurants. At the table in front of me sat two well spoken English ladies, probably in their early fifties. They’d turned out well, it was obvious they’d made an effort. Coffee and a brandy each they had. It was 11am.
I really liked this piece of work. Outside the cafe was a different type of art. A guy sitting at a table. The table had Portuguese words inscribed into it.
The guy was a very famous Portuguese poet, António Fernandes Aleixo,born 1899 and died in 1949 having contracted tuberculosis. His works were famous for their irony and social criticism. Incredibly, he was semi-illiterate.
The piece below is of the poet and hangs on the wall inside the cafe.
The city was small and I liked it. Like any tourist I took photos of anything that struck a chord with me.
Above. Graffiti inside a small alleyway.
One of the main streets.
They’re not selling, oranges and fish. There is a huge indoor market that has loads of fish stalls that stinks to high heaven.