Kitchen Table

When I entered that kitchen I felt I was reencountering old friends. A smile, a beer, a joke about Portuguese people, another beer, a music we sang together and one more cold beer that went down our throats, a delicacy we cooked, one more beer we drank. Endless laughter, loads of music, non-stop chat, too much food and liters of beer sealed an instant friendship between a Portuguese and a group of Brazilians from all over the country, all of us just passing by Belém do Pará. I ended up not seeing much of this city but with no regret of the long hours spent around that kitchen table, where I ended up learning more than if I had wandered around the narrow and confusing streets of this place forgotten by time and fortune. The only thing which was not forgotten in Belém was the art of welcoming foreigners. Not even the first mugging of my trip will make me forget how welcome I felt around that kitchen table.

Belém do Pará, Brazil, January 2009