I’m eating at my usual restaurant in Porto’s city centre.
I’m not a foodie, so I don’t experiment much.
For the third time this week, I’ve ordered a Vegetarian Francesinho – a sandwich with vegetables, egg, and cheese, covered in sauce – some French fries, and a half-litre of red wine.
It’s not exactly the right food-wine pairing, but it’s still immensely satisfying.
Today, I have ordered a second Vegetarian Francesinho to go, and it is wrapped in paper on my table.
Two days ago, a man had wandered into the outdoor patio asking people for food.
He didn’t exactly look homeless; he looked more like the working poor.
The first day, no one (including me) gave him anything and he wandered off to another restaurant.
I thought he was just trying to scam people.
The next day, he came back begging for food and a man at another table offered him half of his plate.
The beggar wolfed it down like he hadn’t eaten in days.
It seems he truly was very hungry.
Today, I see the beggar approach again.
This time, I make eye contact and motion him over.
I hand him my sandwich-to-go, he bows gratefully, and wanders off.
I imagine he has the sense that the food was enough, but that to seat himself at the table may be problematic with the restaurant management.
The beggar stops at the stone wall across the pedestrian path, unwraps the sandwich, and wolfs it down, eyes glancing all around like he’s guarding his meal.
I would order an extra sandwich again on my last two days in Porto, but the beggar doesn’t show up again.
I end up offering the extra meal to someone back at the hostel, where I’m staying.
I wonder about that man in Porto from time to time, wonder how he’s doing, if he’s eating well, if his situation has improved.
I wonder about the resiliency of people, how some lives are more tragic than others, how we are lucky to be here at all, and how some people are so much luckier than others.