Cafes in Lisbon were empty. And very special. The owner of one of them was preparing coffee as if it was the most precious elixir vitae in the world. Every time I hear this song, I'm back there again.
And the second place was a bar in the middle of nowhere. Lazy Sunday, melancholic fado filtering from the old radio, almond cake and Sangria from under the counter, for friends, not for tourists. There are places where the time stops. And it's impossible to illustrate or describe it. No way.
