The threshold

There’s a sense of calm excitement on the banks of the Tejo River. The Tejo originates in Spain, 3 000 km away, and flows into the Atlantic Ocean here in Lisbon, Portugal. We’re hiding from the summer heat (and the tourists) in a café down a shaded side street. You can smell the sea. In the distance, a cruise ship sounds its horn before it carries its cargo of mostly pensioners further south, to the warmer waters of the Canary Islands and Madeira.

“Good vintage,” I compliment the beer in my hand before Tom and I clink our glasses.

“Why Portugal?” Tom asks. He’s