Saturday, July 16, 2011

Foz do Douro

The wind blows off the sea and through the old fishing village, filtered and diffused by narrow streets that twist and turn up the hillside. Men in tailored suits, their jackets draped insouciantly over their shoulders with the sleeves hanging limply, grip cigarettes between their knuckles and discuss vintage port in voices like gravel under car tires. Modest women cast sidelong glances, pluck children from cobblestones. And amongst the chorus of sleepy sounds, the silhouette of a stray cat, back arched against vibrant colors, waiting for a handout.

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