We’ve just arrived into Porto, settling into the rhythm of this beautiful city. The air is soft in the morning, the kind that invites you to slow down. From our terrace, the neighborhood stirs gently; a child practicing piano in the distance, a neighbor quietly tending her garden, the familiar clatter of dishes being put away. It’s the kind of peaceful backdrop that makes a simple cup of coffee feel like a small ceremony.
In this pocket of calm, I started a new book: Dispatches from Pluto. It’s a memoir about cultural collision and unexpected transformation, set not in Portugal, but in the Mississippi Delta. Yet somehow, it fits. The author dives into a strange, vibrant place full of contradictions and charm, much like what we’re experiencing here. Maybe that’s what drew me to it. There’s something about being somewhere unfamiliar that sharpens your senses, opens your mind, and makes you pay closer attention to the details: whether it’s a place, a person, or even a story.
This quiet stands in sharp contrast to last night’s whirlwind: Festa de São João, Porto’s biggest street party. The city was electric: people grilling sardines right on the pavement, music blasting, beer flowing, sky lanterns rising into the warm night, and fireworks crackling overhead. And of course, the inexplicable joy of strangers tapping each other on the head with plastic hammers (I still need to look up the story behind that tradition).
We wandered through several neighborhoods, sipping cold beer and watching the sky light up with fireworks. All around us, the city revealed its beauty. So many Art Nouveau buildings with intricate, stunning details that made it feel like we were walking through an open-air museum. After much travel and long days, we headed back around 1am to catch some much needed sleep. But the city partied on until the morning hours.
