Art and music in Porto and Lisbon (Lisbon)

Painters and musicians at every corner. Buildings covered in colorful tiles everywhere. Sun, fun, and the constant smell of weed. That's what Portugal has been to us.

Even though it was a short time, we spent beautiful hours here in this potpourri of different types of people from all over the world.

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While we are waiting for our night bus, which is supposed to take us from Lisbon to Seville at 8:30 p.m., Jen and I pass the time in a small café around the corner. I sit on a palm print chair and open a magazine that shows beautiful pictures of Lisbon. Lisboa es linda. Timeout Lisboa is the name of the magazine. And it conveys that as well. The photos show beautiful places in the setting sun. People strolling along relaxed promenades, enjoying the views, taking photos.

I recognize some places and views. At the square with the pretty pergola, surrounded by a sea of purple blossoms, we listened to banjo and guitar players the day before yesterday and looked down on the blue water of the harbor.

The other double-page photograph, taken in backlight of the low sun, evokes a special memory in me. The place is not as idyllic and holiday-like as it appears in the photo. When I got up from a shady bench yesterday afternoon and wanted to go over to Jen at the fence, who was enjoying the view of Lisbon there, I saw a pigeon on the sandy footpath lined with tall trees that runs across the square and is interrupted by a fountain.

The pigeon stood at the edge of the path and looked around frantically. As I passed by, I saw that it was standing on one leg. I was surprised because that is not usual for a pigeon. Then suddenly I saw something lying next to its foot. Instantly, I had to look away. I was too shocked. I couldn't look, but I couldn't keep going either. Is that possible? How did this happen? Maybe I was mistaken. Maybe it's not what I think I saw.

But if it is, how could I help her? I decided that I couldn't help her and told myself that this is just life and nature and the way things go. And I felt bad about it. I took two more steps and stopped and looked back. The pigeon still seemed nervous, looking up and down. She looked at the ground. She pecked herself occasionally with her little beak.

None of the other people sitting around, strolling, chatting, reacted to the bird. Nobody seemed to see what I saw. I was worried. I wanted to do something. I looked over at Jen, who was sitting calmly on her bench and looking at the city through the fence. The gentle breeze gently blew her hair back.

When I turned back to the pigeon, she was gone. Apparently, she had flown away. But in the spot where she had stood, there was still a small oblong pink thing. That I didn't dare to examine closer, out of fear that it might actually be what I thought it was.