Port by Dan Brook

 

Port

By Dan Brook

 

            He had paid enough money for a fancy flat to buy citizenship — he only needed to invest a minimum of €350,000 — so he was set. Sitting by the Douro River with a small plate of black olives and a glass of green wine, he could hardly believe his luck. Even though he now lived in Porto, he could not bring himself to enjoy the city’s namesake wine. But no matter, as there were other delicious options to choose from. His waiter Pedro casually remarked that “Portugal has the most amazing medium-quality wine.” He chuckled, but thought it an apt description.

 

            As he sat there in the warm sunshine, he gazed at the Dom Luís I Bridge, at a boat, and across the river at the Porto Cálem winery. He wondered about the many people who quaffed that liquid lifestyle throughout the generations over the past few hundred years that it’s been in operation. The meals had, the deals made, the love exchanged. The poetry written, the songs sung, and, yes, the drunken stupors. Then his eyes refocused on the boat. He of course had heard the Portuguese saying that “If I had the money, I’d put a ship on the water”. But he had already escaped and had found his new home. His ship had already come in to port.

 

            To walk to and from his flat, he never tired of the narrow alleys, cobble stones, quaint mosaics, and famed Portuguese azulejos, those originally blue tiles that came in a wide variety of colors and styles, adorning many homes and buildings. At least once a week, he would stop into the magnificent Lello & Irmão Bookstore, an architectural and literary wonderland, where J.K. Rowling spent so much time before — and got so much inspiration for — writing her Harry Potter series, eventually making her the first and only book billionaire, a fact that intrigued him. He was known in the bookstore and rarely left empty handed.

 

            Besides reading and socializing, he loved snacking. So the tapas, tostas, lupini beans, various salads with purple cabbage, and other local delicacies suited him well. He even managed to find vegan francesinha though he wasn’t vegan himself, but the real version repulsed him. And although he didn’t used to be a dessert person, generally preferring savory over sweet, he fell for the pastel de nata, which he indulged in once a day. The warm custard encased in flaky pastry with a sprinkle of cinnamon on top was simply too good to refuse. And he never rebuffed an offer that was too good to refuse.

 

            He sometimes missed his hometown, and home country, with a certain amount of saudade. It was at these times, and only at these times, they he subjected himself to fado. He was grateful not to have been caught for his crime and to be living under an assumed alias in a foreign country. He made sure never to mention his hometown, nor his real name. Indeed, he didn’t even use his assumed name, unless he had to.

 

            That said, he was writing a fictionalized account of his escapades under the pen name João Coehlo. He didn’t even think the authorities were seriously looking for him, but it was best to be careful and he enjoyed the game of doing so. Life was good indeed. How could he know that he was presently under surveillance, while Interpol was gathering evidence? He would find out soon enough.

 About The Author 

Dan Brook, PhD teaches in the Department of Sociology and Interdisciplinary Social Sciences at San Jose State University in Silicon Valley, from where he organizes the annual Hands on Thailand (HoT) program.