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My plane took off and landed in two hours in Porto, Portugal. I didn’t know what bothered me more - being on the very edge of Europe or my parents not knowing about it. Was it because of the lack of money or a midnight wind, but I shivered. Like two times. Welcome to the unknown. The train took me through the clear night to the place I found myself. I still remember that all as if I saw that yesterday. I remember the moss-covered stairway which no one ever stepped onto, be it an unaware tourist or a Portuguese patriot. If you follow these stairs with your eyes, you will probably see that fancy old-style ruined blue tiled two-storey house. You certainly have a vision of a Saturday worker who came there at 11 a.m. to keep on with a repair, his black trousers all in white (probably paint?) spots and black slippers being torn on the outside. You already smell the paint and hear him climbing the ladder, don’t you? I go on to seek for more. I find it. Small granny in her flowered dressing gown. In the kitchen. Her door wide open, her pupils dilated. Everywhere’s smoke but she’s clapping and shaking passionately her head. The kitchen is as old as the granny is. At 4 p.m. I got lost in the back streets. I believe I was seeking for a place to eat but my mind was wondering and my tireless heart was leading me upwards. I saw a tiny bar pressed into the brick wall, with retro music from the sticker pasted tape recorder and a couple of old prostitutes wearing smoky eyes and faded blouses that provided a view of their saggy breasts. They were smoking cigarettes and judging my appearance. Just a few hours later I met my Portuguese girl and I wanted to kiss her. We spent the evening with a joint and two cats. She showed me the city and we stole some paints. We sat on the rock and ate muffins. What should I do when she wipes the powder from my lips with her hand? I headed to the ocean then. The mightiest thing I ever saw. The smell of dark streets enveloped me more sweetly and tightly, the lanterns winked at me (were they broken?). I smelled childhood and a village church, apple pies and secrets. I was in the place where the warm May evening left a mark in my soul for ever. Street friendship and naive forgiveness. I was the happiest in the world. Was it because of the semi-sweet white or Portugal?