Cirgull of life

Is there any greater moment of contentment than sitting in a European bakery in mid-morning with strong coffee, fresh orange juice and a buttery croissant? I don’t think there is.

I had a relaxing day of chilling, strolling and eating one of those 5 Euro set menu affairs for lunch. Incredible value. Towards the end of the afternoon I was reading my book on a bench on the Praça da Trindade. A woman was panicked relocating a seagull with a broken wing that she discovered had been ensconced in a flowerbed. It was cowering pitifully and she gave it water whilst valiantly trying to contact anyone who could help. She showed me where she’s bearing scars on her fingers from previous gull rescues. There is an animal rehabilitation facility outside of Porto but they rely on members of the public for transport. Incredibly, the fire service said they would transport it (I imagine without sirens) and faith in the collective actions of humanity was restored, momentarily.

I was emotionally invested by this time so stayed to give the gull water occasionally and man the scene in case the fire brigade arrived (which of course they didn’t). A group of dusty construction workers with their power tools joined me on the bench to drink wine from cartons at the end of the working week.

The guy pictured remained when they left. He seemed a mainstay of the Praça based on the number of passersby he greeted, and gamely tried to communicate with me in Portuguese. He seemed to be lacking all teeth so I tried as hard as possible but could only understand single words, not phrases. I’ve never been in a situation that more closely resembled that Fast Show newscasters sketch. It was an unintelligible stream except for words such as Pyrenees, Toulouse, the Beatles and Pink Floyd (he was harking back to a once-upon-a-time journey to France, and had established that I was British). He resorted to pointing out items and stating the word, which was good vocab practice I suppose. The gull was identified and subsequently kicked. Previous faith in humanity was de-restored. Before I scarpered he wanted me to photograph his tattoo, which states o futuro de nós dirá (translated as something like ‘the future will tell of us’ which I think he explained was related to some former life in the military).

I haven’t slept well since holidays began so I chilled all evening, accompanied by the loud squawking of gulls on rooftops nearby. At least some of Porto’s gull population was in robust health. I was only tempted by some rousing karaoke (This Is Me from the Greatest Showman) which I temporarily wanted to join, but restrained myself.