35. yellow sunflower, olive and orange groves

until they reached their destination.
Porto is a beautiful city located in a gorge a few miles before the River of Gold, the River Douro, enters the Atlantic Ocean. They watched three Portuguese workmen painstakenly laying granite cobbles in beds of sand on the promenade that was being re-furbished. They looked down at the shoals of small black fish crowding around a hot water outlet into the river. They looked high up through the early morning river mist to see one of the famous award–winning bridges spanning the river, seeming to float in the air without any attachment to the river banks as the mist swirled around it. They went into bars during the day and club at night. It was good to be alive. They took full advantage of their visit to cross over the river in one of the many wine company sailing barges, resplendent in its bright colourful attire of red, blue, yellow and orange flags and drapes. They walked up the steep steps of the other side to sample the port wines in their cold storage caves. Then they returned to the northerly bank to meet Shanolla’s mother.
They climbed up the maze of very steep, narrow cobbled streets of the Old Town until they reached her block of apartments. She had been looking out for them from her street terrace high above their heads. At the first pull of the doorbell the door opened. In front of them stood an olive-skinned, raven-haired old lady dressed in homely Portuguese clothes and leather sandals. For a moment Shenolla and her mother just stood there; staring at each other. Transfixed. Then as recognition took over they hugged and kissed each other over and over again. Richard felt it had been worth coming just to see that reunion alone. By the time they had climbed up all the stairs and