Saturday Morning in Porto

Saturday morning in Porto. Mid-October, 24 degrees. The city smells like coffee and history. We’re sitting on the square in front of São Bento, said to be the most beautiful train station in Europe — though you wouldn’t guess it now. It’s been under renovation for years, as government projects often are: slow, noisy, and with no clear end in sight.

But none of that matters. The sun is warm. An accordion player fills the air with nostalgia, and a girl walks by. Nothing flashy about her — simple clothes, natural look — but there’s something about her stride. Free, calm, as if time doesn’t touch her.

We both watch her go. Marlot-Anna smiles, and so do I. In Porto, that’s still allowed — to simply look, without intent. Just to admire life passing by.

A few tables away, the waiter brings warm pastel de nata and strong coffee. The square hums with life. And I think: maybe this is why I love Portugal. Everything’s slightly unfinished, yet somehow perfect enough to make you happy.