It’s been this way most of the morning, persistent, going from totally opaque to veil-like where you can see the solitary sailboat and later, the die-hard boaters that are comfortable in this hazy shade of summer fog.
Wait! Now it’s lifted a bit and I can see the Riviera Rose docked at the marina. And the motor boats gliding through towards the northern side of the river, catching each others wake.
After a week away, I’ve been reacquainting myself with the life beyond my balcony, still in that honeymoon phase after a return from a trip. Seeing the same scene with fresh eyes.
Nothing new here—so why does it still fascinate me?
Good question.
I returned with a new renewed energy to get back into my life. Even the gym these past two days have felt like old friends awaiting me. Today was quiet there—our trainer Amanda is on holiday, and the quiet Hernan took her place—calm but steady, made me sweat enought to pour water on my towel and place it on my neck.
There is no laundry to do. I’ve been at it since we arrived, two sets of sheets, towels, and clothes from the trip. Perfect timing. Nothing would have dried today on the rack.
Everything in my backpack was put away on Friday. And as I removed each item, I took note of what worked and what didn’t—clothes, tech gear, backpack. Mostly everything did.
As I think about the next trip, the packing for that will be very different—the Camino requires other things to carry you through long walks, and inclement weather, especially hugging the coast of the Atlantic in Galicia.
I’m still learning how to make the walk lighter—in every way.
That comes up in late September.
So until then, I will enjoy the world around me as it settles into the quietness of August, where much of nothing happens here.
The sun set today at 20:56—I can feel the changes as we move towards the next season, though there are moments when I feel the weather has misplaced the calendar. Cooler, then really warm, misty, clear again.
I’ll take it as it comes.
The midday walk was quiet—the tide that coming in appeared gentle as is began its approach towards the river’s edge. There were two young boys in swim trunks that scampered down the rocks to the fringe of sand that remains for a little while longer—it’s summer and the river is a powerful magnet. The Venus de Milo do Douro had water encircling her—yesterday she was underwater.
Today, the sailboats share a space with the Porto Duck Tours school bus craft that always looks like it is sinking. I saw this tourist phenomenon first in Boston Harbor in the early 2010s. Somehow, they feel out of place here with what seems to be a distinctly American invention.
The sailboats don’t seem to mind this metal sea creature—why should I? I hope it is a full house.
The sliding doors are wide open and there is a gentle breeze that feels as lazy as I do right now. It seems the deceleration from last week trip to Edinburgh has caught me a little off guard.
As I sit here, I’m remembering last night—dinner with three trip mates from the Açores. It was relaxed, conversation flowed as we got to know each other away from the pressures and schedules of a tour. Bits of our lives come out in these unguarded moments—but feel safe in the telling.
Two live in central Portugal and one lives here in Porto.
The reconnection was good—the community grows in ways I might not have predicted before the trip to São Miguel.
Today, the river is quiet, and the busy-ness from yesterday is absent—for now. No gym today. In a few hours we pick up new friends that are arriving to Porto to start their adventure here. We remember that day, leaving the arrival area and coming out with our countless duffles and just ourselves to push them to our transport.
We hope to offer a warm hug and welcome. It’s disorienting enough to get off a long overnight flight to your brand new world—lucky that we get to do this.
The circle widens a little more—connecting by way of travel, moving into a new building, a Facebook post about our arrival, folks who reconnect after thirty-plus years, friends of friends who now are yours as well.
As we think about the community that has become our new family, we also hold those who live far from us, but whose place in our heart has never diminished. There is a light-filled guest room that is available—and the overhead shower that has dazzled our visitors.
I’m listening to 10,000 Maniacs, Our Time in Eden, an album that takes me back many decades—when we were much younger agewise.
Now I enjoy being a young 70, overlooking a steady companion in the river that greets me each morning without fail—with Afonso the cockerel, our Douro sentinel on guard—binoculars within reach.
And Stitch, and—oh yeah, Ted.
On this sunny, cool-ish morning, I echo the feelings of the sign outside the exit from the arrivals area at Porto airport. And I might add, Vila Nova de Gaia—your choice, north or south of the Douro is equally good.
We all root for the same futebol team, FC Porto, so why quibble.
When we first moved here in April 2024, the two buildings in front were under construction. They started filling up with its new owners early this year. The photo of my neighbors across the way show how they are enjoying their eastern balcony—coffees and long sit downs on their sofas and chairs. I like watching them—more in solidarity with their enjoyment of the river which is clearly in view.
And just to add to the merriment, a few have their laundry out to dry in the east morning sun. I’ve done the same. It should be a good day for drying without an electric assist.
I am enjoying the company.
In the background the Women’s Open at Lytham & St. Annes in Lancanshire, England is on the tele. I hear the strikes from the tee and the polite claps characteristic of European golf watchers. One of the announcers is Catriona Matthews, a Scottish golfer who won the Open there in 2009. I enjoyed this then new mom, with her husband as caddy win this coveted championship.
Further back, in the kitchen, I am helping Ted mix things up as we prepare to bake our first loaf of sour dough. Ted is following instructions and I enjoyed sticking my hands and kneading the flour and water into a raggy looking mix. It is now under wraps for 20 minutes.
It’s going to be bit.
Ask anyone who knows me and my involvement in anything cooking or baking, will want a photo as proof.
Not your average day in this home, but I’m still looking to my world and wondering if this bread thing will be become part of the family of things we do on any given day.
We’ll see.
Tomorrow, we will have dinner with our friends who just arrived yesterday. I look forward to hearing how the first few days are feeling. There will be wine.
After an energetic trip to Scotland, this week is soft-spoken—like most weeks.
Bread update in my next post.
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Maria—The Perennial Immigrant
Vila Nova de Gaia, Portugal
Notes and Sources
Most photos were taken by Ted Evangelakis, the guy with a Master of Fine Arts in Photography. But the photos here are a family affair.
Oh, thank you! We are moving to Afurada at the end of this year. We spent the summer there, on a balcony overlooking the river. I miss it so much. Your words and photos took me back.
Maria, this was a lovely snapshot of your life in Vila Nova de Gaia. My husband and I are considering Vila Nova de Gaia as an option when we move to Porto in 2027 and you certainly make it sound appealing! You described the sounds, the sights, and the simple pleasures of the day so well. I appreciate it.