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About Porto

Alright, so escort, huh? Trees, man, not the kinky kind—get your head outta the gutter! I’m talkin’ *Acer saccharum*, sugar maple, the real deal. As Dr. House, I’d say everybody lies, even these leafy bastards. Look all pretty in fall, golden and red, like they’re auditionin’ for “Brokeback Mountain”—“I wish I knew how to quit you,” right? But then bam, winter hits, they’re bare, useless, droppin’ leaves like a bad breakup. Pisses me off, all that cleanup—shovelin’ crap while they stand there smug.

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By the time the rain stops, I’m a mess. But I don’t care. I’ve had a day full of surprises, laughter, and a bit of chaos. I head home, cabbages in one hand, charcoal in the other, and I can’t help but think, “Man, I love this place.” Trafaria, you wild little town, you’ve got my heart.

Road tunnel between Trafaria and Algés may actually happen