On The Duoror River June 21

          Saturday June 21, 2025- Motoring on the Duoro River 

                  It was a “free day” for us on the River. There were no scheduled activities or tours. We had a late breakfast at 8 A.M. and then sat topside, watching the river and the steep hillsides unfold before us. The countryside can tell a story for you, if you try to read it. This one told us of farmers, trying to eke out a living on rocky, thin soil. The grape vineyards here are terraced laterally. It was different from many other countries who planted and grew them vertically. I am sure it has something to do with both drainage and harvesting 

.Sometimes doing nothing is positive. We read for a while and then caught an hour nap. Being a slug can be fun. Noon found us back at the trough. Fish soup and a light salad were washed down with a dry white wine. As always, the conversation was both lively and entertaining.

                     It was a beautiful day to be on the river. We made our way topside to read our books and luxuriated in the warming sun.

                    The ship was nearing Regua in the late afternoon. We tied up along-side of two other longboats. There would be a festival ashore tonight. Some custom or other entailed hitting friends over the head with plastic hammers, to celebrate the Lord knows what. Another nap below made for a lazy day.

                  The dinner gong summoned us at 7 P.M. We collectively made our way below. The crew handled all of us at once with aplomb. Potato soup, a local Bream white fish in sauce and a carmel-flavored cake were washed down with another delectable Portuguese red wine. By now we were all comfortable with each other. Conversations could be both lively and even mildly caustic. Friends talk that way with each other.

                 After dinner we ventured topside to watch the festivities. Marching bands, dancers in colored costumes and local citizenry marched down the nearby streets to a stands, set up along the shoreline. Food vendors, and local merchants hawked their wares from tents along the line of march. The speeches given were lost to us, both by lack of volume and their Portuguese content. It looked like fun for all of those involved, even the hit over the head with plastic hammer people. All of the locals seemed to be enjoying the festival.

             It was after ten P.M. These adventurers had heavy eyelids. We made our good byes and descended to our state room, to read and drift off to the arms of Morpheus. We could still hear fireworks and the banging of drums late into the night. Bueno Noches mi amigos.

                                             -30-

                                           (456 words)

                                    Joseph Xavier Martin