concrete cama.

 WEDNESDAY 16th MAY.

crescent moon, a reasonably comfortable sleep on concrete, especially considering i couldnt be arsed unpacking my sleeping bag, and the movement i thought was an animal on the railway line was actually a gaggle of cockroaches half a metre from me – they behaved, anyway, they re not poisonous, and i ve lived with them before, they re alright –
i m just rolling up the surivival bag when a train goes past at 0710, but its a beaten up old regional style with lots of space and signs for bicycle, good stuff. so itrumpety trump it down to the train station for the 0815. and when it arrives – its the fecking stupid trenhotel from salamanca. and the conductor waggles his finger at me, no bicycles. so i have 3 hours to kill in nelas until the 1130 , which i think – hope!!- is a regional and will allow me to take my bike – i m waiting waiting waiting for the espacio internet to open and if it s a no-go i can cycle to the library to try there – i m not sure about portuguese men i m avoiding eye contact a little but i m sure everyone is staring – oh well, sleep on the beach tonight!

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blank is better – the lines run try straight, like pylon cables – no musuems, no drawings, no fun –
is that guy still searching for a cigarette, 2 hours later?
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so it turns out the clock on my phone was an hour fast and i could have gotten the 0820 after all.. i missed it by ten minutes…
that will be funny one day, i m sure

(actually it turns out i didnt know portugal was in a different time zone. go figure) 

the train to comibra, easy, €7, nice, slipping through tunnels, the train to porto, €8, wow, although i jump on the wrong train at coimbra b and get laughed at by the teenage by sitting there, so i get to see a bit of cooimbra after all, cycling along the river, and then another 40 minutes til the next regional train to aveiro, so i make a quick run for cold beer water and cherry tomatoes
back at the station – sweating – joao makes his acquaintaince – so you saw the guggenheim – yes but from the outside – you dont like art? – oh but of course – he s a Picasso type, for sure – invites me to his place and to an art event on friday, lets meet tmoro, he s at the station to meet 2 french girls, sounds like a laugh, this brings me back, Croatia and that guy whatever his name was –
oh and then a nice guy helps me onto the train with my bicycle, come back Portugal all is forgotten –

THURSDAY 17th May.

sitting along the north side of the ribeira at Porto – a type plays ‘Partigianni’ on the accordion, he has played Macarena and the tango, the locals love him, its a nice barrio feel with the washing hanging out to dry on the balconies and at night the lights are impressive, i didnt see that last night in my determination to head out to the beach.
my god, what a journey that was, 4 hours of being lost trying to find the fecking beach, giving up (almost) as the sun slipped from view (I didnt know what way was west anymore), the old man giving me the wrong directions from his window, but then i wonder whether i m being rude by trying to speak through spanish with them, the portuguese.
the train – coimbra aveiro, aveiro porto – the youth club with their bicycles on the train, taking up all the room, i offered my seat to the older lady and one of the girls took it – and then, Porto, and all the tourists, but  amazing, the ceramics at sao bento station, the walk uphill, the chat with fernando outside the music shop (i thought you were austrian, i m learning german he says)
and then a stop in the garden to eat altramuces and finish my sneaky beer, and off i go, across the bridge to Gaia, in search of the praia –
i went badly off course, found a lidl shop to buy seeds and sangria, and when i think i m just lost and stupid and desperate my mind clicks and i get it together and read the nearest bus shelter map to find the passage under and away from the autoroute is just beside me and maybe things will work out after all. its still a bit of a trek but well-signposted and i hit the bicycle route along the praia at madalena. mary mary. and i sit on the steps, offer to manannann, and listen to the waves, and drink sangria, and try to work things out in my head – but actually i just upset myself, thinking about Red, and La Caleta, maybe not in that order, fuckfuckfuck

the smell of roadkill – the smell of orange blossom is far superior and i hope that wasnt the cat that i fed fish skin to under the table at barca da alva who was flattened under the bridge in the morning – so i sleep in the sand – theres still fecking ants though – 

am woken up in the morning by 2 dogs jumping over me and a man shouting, he seems to be shouting at the dogs and not at me though, so thats alright – and one dog stays, new friend, but he wont leave me alone and barks when i dont throw the stick and bites my sleeping bag when i try to roll it up and put it away, total nightmare, he thinks its all a great game, and no-one comes to collect him. so much for discretion. he eventually trots off with 8 guys who are jogging along the promenade, and i get an invite to coffee from nice guy in wetsuit. but the day is still cloudy and not quite the day on the beach, in the waves, i was hoping for. but tomas comes back around midday to chat, the sun comes out, we swim, he heads off to change i stretch on the beach, and then we head off to lunch in espinho. calderaba, martini with a sliver of lemon, red wine from the south, for friends, delicious olives, tuna pate, oh yes – i say a lot about myself, but he is being guarded,  still, i dont tell him about AW, we talk til 3.30 the senor wants to close for siesta but we dont want to move, linger, shady siestas, sleep now little girl – but i tear up in the car, talking about Red, but then he says its my fault that it happened and i m not sure whether he really means that or is just the martini and the hormones talking – 
now, after a wee promenade back into the centre, the clouds are threatening it might rain tonight, but i cant dial joao because i dont have the right international dialling code, shit – 
still its nice sitting here with my sangria, there was the sound of a saxophone as i came close, made me homesick (saxsick? did i do the right thing by sending it home? how do i explain that its just a big lonely old horn that doesnt make anyone happy?) 
and i lost my shell to sea badge, which i am upset about, but there must be some way in which that was meant to happen, right?
ferreira, cockburns, warre s, dows, offley, sandemans, hopkins, calem – i have yet to drink port in porto –
joao rings but the call cuts and i dont understand why –
the catfight, the girl taking photos of the cats as they somersault through the air, its like american beauty, gone horribly wrong –