In any day now you can find the turmoil on the busy streets filled with tourists in the industrious cities of humans consumed by a hurry of life; you can hear sound wings of seagulls and swallows, clothes flying on the lines, pigeons on balconies, but no more phrases launched with character from locals, no more chords from the Portuguese guitar, but you can count with the longing overflowing in your chest and always the river, always the river.