Nice thing about living in a small town: you get to know people. Not just my local cafe owner, but also the guy who wanders about smiling at everyone, his Tourettes manifesting itself in loud moans and groans and the occasional naughty word. Or the ancient fisherman with no front teeth who can't resist babies but never begs from their mothers (only from poor English teachers.) Or the tall dreadlocked Nigerian who wears a different traditional outfit every day and sells real Ray-Bans for €5. Bargain.
Cascais is a tourist town and has been since King Luís II first saw its crescent beaches in 1870 and decided it would be just fine for his annual summer vacation. But its native population (just 35,000) keeps a tight hold on its daily life - the fishermen still weave their nets on a secretive, rocky shore, the housewives still march about the streets chattering as loudly as they can, and the cafe air is still more full of Portuguese than English.
Long may it last.
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